I also wanted to tell him I loved him, but it didn’t feel right. I can’t explain it, other than maybe it was too weak a thing to say. Plus I figured he knew in his own way. I just repeated that it had meant a lot.
Tooth, whether he heard me or not, was still moving about, albeit slower than before. Sonofabitch was strong, a real tough mother. Should have been dead already, considering the amount of blood he’d lost. I could see by the crack of light from under the door that he was still hunkered over to one side, his hip probably shattered into tiny shards. And though I couldn’t see it, I figured he must be pumping out blood like a ruptured water main.
From above me, the ceiling shook with footsteps, a random pacing to and fro. Dust trickled down on my brow.
“Jamie,” I shouted, not caring if Skinny Man heard me or not, “Jamie, I’m sorry we fought all the time. I’m sorry for this, it’s all my fault. I’m sorry for not being nicer to you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I. . love. .”
And that was all I got out for Jamie, that I was sorry, because I felt the weight of the moment in my stomach and threw my head back and sobbed uncontrollably. I managed to say I love you, but she probably didn’t hear it around the sobbing. For all I knew she was dead now anyway.
The footsteps came down the stairs, the key went into the lock, and the door opened. Silhouetted against the light from upstairs, the skinny maniac sauntered in, already naked with the damn dog behind him.
He didn’t speak; he didn’t come over and touch us either. There was a new look in his eyes, not so much fear but sobriety, as if he’d just received some sort of life-altering wake up call. He reached up and turned the bulb on, apathetic to my snivels, and bathed the room in the color of dead leaves; the once yellow bulb was spattered with blood.
I looked over at my best friend, who was beyond anything I would ever recognize as human. Naked. Burnt. Bound. Gagged. Split. Sliced. Drenched in blood with two round medallions of raw meat stuck to his chest where his nipples had been, his duct-taped face erupting with pus and blood and strands of razor wire that had wedged into his forehead and cheekbones. The hole in the tape sucked in and out of his mouth so faintly it might have only been the breeze coming down the stairs that made it move. His blackened groin was a mass of bubbles and blood-filled boils that oozed down his legs. He was in the process of dying, our plan not so much abandoned as improbable now.
Flies speckled the walls, lit on my body, on Tooth’s body, in the dog dishes. The floor was brown with dried blood. A few toes, one with a silver ring, still lay about. The foot was gone, probably to wherever the mystery woman went. The pieces of Tooth’s cell phone were sticking out of the gore like tiny sinking lifeboats.
Skinny Man was going through his instruments on the table, picking up little knives and trowels and axes, examining a handsaw and a long metal rod sharpened at one end. He spread them out on the floor and went through each one, picking it up, hefting it, looking at us, putting it down.
I was beginning to breath heavier and heavier, both because Tooth was about to die, and I was about to take his spot in the game. Skinny Man knew Tooth was on his last breath, which meant those instruments were for me. He was mad at me anyway, because he couldn’t roll my number. Why I had been spared so far I didn’t know. I didn’t even want to begin to think about it. Not only did I not want to jinx it, but if I delved into it and sought for some religion, I would only attempt to find meaning in it. There was no meaning to this; this was just our bad luck. Nothing more. Purpose? Fate? Destiny? It was bullshit. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time, that was all.
And because I had my fucking driver’s license on me, Jamie was in it with us. He had never gone back to get my parents, or to seek out Tooth’s home. What were my parents doing now? They must have gotten back from Providence. But they wouldn’t come looking for me, not if they knew I was with Tooth. They’d just assume we were off drunk and hanging out. But Jamie, she was another story. If she didn’t check in they’d be concerned, they’d call her friends and ask if they knew where she was. She was supposed to have been at the damn mall flirting with boys. What happened? Cancelled plans? Bad luck again?
The wrong place at the wrong time.
Skinny Man chose a hammer and a spike about the size of a magic marker and stood up.
Tooth’s body, up till now supported by both the wall and the chains, began to slide down. Small nerve spasms rocked it back and forth. He wasn’t getting any air and his body was fighting for it.
“Tooth! Oh God, Tooth! No!”
Even though I knew it was my voice it still sounded far away. I’d read about how these moments appear as though you’re watching a television show or movie. But that’s only half right, because part of my brain knew it was happening right there, and so what I actually felt was split in half. I was two people, the mind and the body, looking at a picture of a cellar but feeling the wall and dirt floor within it. I wanted to be all mind, to see it all as a two-dimensional image. But it didn’t go that way.
Skinny Man unwrapped the tape from Tooth’s face. Underneath, the razor wire fell away to reveal branches of lacerations. His cheeks were shredded like tattered rags.
“I want to know why they call you Tooth,” Skinny Man said. He smashed the hammer into tooth’s jaw with the indifference of a man just doing his job and Tooth’s bridge went flying against the wall in a splotch of blood. “Well I’ll be, you ain’t even got any teeth, Tooth.” He pulled back his arm and swung again. Two molars shot out from the torn cheeks, blood spit out like black cherry sundae sauce. Tooth didn’t make a sound; I think he was crawling toward the light.
I was still screaming, “You fucker! Stop it! Stop it! Tooth! No!”
Then he put the spike to Tooth’s jaw and rammed it in with the hammer. Again and again he smashed the hammer into it. The jaw broke, actually came loose from the hinge. Skinny Man dropped the hammer and spike on the ground, grabbed the jaw with both hands and thrust downward on it, thrashing it, yanking, giving it all his weight.
My eyes were out of my skull.
Skinny Man pulled and pulled, picked up the hammer one more time and smashed it down on the front of the jaw. Then he yanked some more, ramming Tooth’s head down into the neck collar, and finally there was a crack and then another crack and then the jaw separated from the skull. Skinny Man yanked it still until the skin peeled down and ripped around the neck and it tore off and he held it in his hands and just stared at it triumphantly.
Tooth was dead.
I went still. Before I closed my eyes I saw Tooth’s skull, missing its jaw, the tongue hanging down like a necktie, blood flowing and some other goo, probably saliva or mucus, cascading out as well.
Under my lids, I went back to California and pretended I was watching Tooth pick up girls on the beach. He was wearing his Red Sox hat and had a beer in his hand, making lewd gestures that made the girls giggle. He waved me over but I was reading a Spider-man number one. I didn’t want to ruin his chances and besides, he seemed happy.
CHAPTER 19
“Don’t go anywhere,” Skinny Man said, winded but grinning his stupid grin again.
I kept my eyes closed, watching the waves, trying desperately to make the dream real, but I heard him unchain Tooth’s body and drag it up the stairs, the head smacking each step in succession, like Mark Trieger, and that washed away the vision. I waited a few minutes and then opened my eyes again, looked at the empty room, saw the jaw bone in Butch’s dish though the dog wasn’t around. He must have followed his master out.
I turned away from the jaw with its sheet of torn skin curled up under it. It was crawling with little black dots. The flies had phoned their friends, invited them to the cookout.
The reality of the moment hadn’t sunk in, and even though I saw the empty chains, the notion that Tooth was dead was Greek to me. In fact, I couldn’t feel much of anything. A heavy numbness started in my head and dripped like oil down to my feet. Numb from the insanity, numb from the shock, n
umb from the pain in my shin which had become more of an itching than anything else. I was a Novocain space ranger.
The little axes and knives still sat in the middle of the floor. The hammer and spike were near my feet, but they were just far enough out of reach I couldn’t get them. If only the spike were a few inches closer, maybe I could shove it through my head and join Tooth.
There were no keys around, even though I’d heard them jingle when he unchained Tooth. That answered one of our earlier questions; he kept them all on the same key ring and he must have taken it with him.
From upstairs I heard, “I’ll do it! You don’t got to do everything yourself. Your way is not always the best way.”
Canine domestic dispute. God was a funny motherfucker.
I heard him go outside, leaving me in total silence. Even the flies were hushed, contentedly sucking in the bits of carrion strewn about. I hadn’t heard Jamie in a while, but I didn’t want to think about that either so I just rolled my head side to side, apathetic that I could feel the cold cement against the back of it once more. I didn’t care about anything; I just wanted to go to sleep.
But when my head hung forward and I found myself staring at the ground, I couldn’t help but notice the spike again. It was so close yet worlds away. What if? I thought. How long would he be outside? What could I do with that spike?
As if I was being controlled by a puppeteer, I stuck my foot out as far as it would reach. The chain offered about two inches, but the spike was about three away. There had to be a way. I’d read so much about telekinesis, about moving objects with your mind, but no matter how hard I willed the spike to move it just lay still, happy where it was.
I looked over at the chains hanging empty beside me, the open cuffs stained red. Could I reach them, use them somehow? Did I really care?
But my musing was cut short when I heard the driveway door creak open real slow, like an old man with back pains afraid to fart too quick. It could have been the wind, but somehow I doubted it. I just had that feeling that something was amiss. Not hard considering my location. And sure enough, out of the shadows, came Butch down the stairs. Alone.
The fucking dog was a spawn of hell, had eaten flesh for a living of that I was sure. His oily black coat reflected the blood-stained bulb as he hungrily walked over to me. A cold, slimy tongue whipped out and licked the wound on my leg. I jerked my knee and he pounced backward.
“You like that,” I said. “You want me to beat your face again, you fucking bitch?”
He cocked his head and studied me like I was abstract art.
“Yeah, you remember that, outside, when I punched you in the face. Hurt didn’t it? Something broke, huh? What was it, a tooth, your jaw, a cheekbone? Come any closer and I’ll do it again and I won’t stop until you lie dead on the floor. C’mon!”
The black hellhound didn’t move, just sat looking pensive. Then he sniffed the air a bit, like he was figuring out which part of me to bite first. Should have known he wouldn’t run away. He probably grew up biting chained prisoners.
I jerked my knee again to entice him, and he jumped back and forth real quick, almost as if he was just playing. He gave a little bark and glanced at the stairs, like he was afraid the noise would bring his mentally handicapped owner and a smack to his ears. So I did it again, thinking at least that would be something.
Dogs are quick though, and you can’t read them as well as humans, so when he charged me I yelped in terror. He jumped back, then snapped a few times and rushed me again. This time he went for my ankle but he bit the chain instead and shook it frantically. Growling and biting, he whipped the chain about. I spit a wad of phlegm at him and hit him in the eye and damn it felt good. Stunned, he took a few steps toward the stairs and licked his lips.
“Butch!” came from outside. “Butch, get out here now!” I heard Skinny Man getting closer to the house, yelling for his dog, until finally he stuck his head around the top of the stairs and said, “Butch, you know better than to go down without me. Get yer ass up here right now.” I could see from his torso he was still naked, his garish gray tattoos looking like spots of decomposition. Didn’t anybody live nearby enough to notice a naked man with a corpse in his backyard?
Butch looked at me, looked at his owner, and trotted up the stairs a defeated animal. As the two of them drifted out into the yard again I heard Skinny Man say, “Don’t worry, we’re gonna play with him in a few minutes.”
It was a small victory but it was mine and it was all I had so I took it. The flies were landing on me like early arrivals to a concert looking for the best seats. It was all very telling of what was about to come. And I knew I couldn’t win, not really, so I put my head down again and tried to find that spot on the beach once more.
And damn if I didn’t notice something lying by my feet.
The fucking spike.
How the-? It was right next to my left foot, practically touching it. A few half-smudged paw prints decorated the dirt next to it. Butch must have kicked it when he lunged at me. My heart started to race and my body broke a sweat. I almost fought the feeling off, because I didn’t want hope to fuck with me, but I also realized I didn’t really want to die.
I lifted the toe of my sneaker and got the spike under my foot. I would have to do this very carefully, I thought, and I’d probably only get one shot. I drew it back and placed it perpendicular to the wall so that it stuck out like a nail. Using my heel, I pushed back on the tip of it and lifted it slowly until it was upright. Quickly, before it could fall, I slammed my foot flat against it and trapped it under my sole. The leg iron bent outward and cut my ankle open, slicing in deep enough I could feel it in my head. I gnashed my teeth against the pain, telling myself if this worked a lifelong limp would be worth it.
I reached down with my hand as far as I could, about two feet away from the spike. At this point I cursed myself for having never played sports because I was going to need more than luck on my side. I needed some fancy footwork and some serious skill. With the spike facing up like a rocket nearing takeoff, I flicked my foot up as much as the chain would allow and shot the spike up the wall.
Into my hand.
My heart was a salsa beat trying to rip through my rib cage. I couldn’t believe it. I was so stunned I just leaned back against the wall and sighed, a big exhalation of tutti frutti emotion: rage, determination, fear, sadness, but mostly rage. I flipped the spike around so that the point was out and twisted my wrist to see what I could do with it. You ever see monkeys pick up a toy at the zoo and not quite understand how it works, try to eat a soccer ball or stick a comb up their nose? That’s how I felt. And forget what I’d seen in films. I sure as fuck wasn’t about to pick a lock with it, not only because I had never done so before, but also because the tip was too big to fit in the keyholes of the cuffs.
But I had it, so now what?
I thought maybe I could pry the cuff open, but thought better of it. The handcuffs were too strong to be broken and I’d probably break the spike or sever my wrist. I could see if Skinny Man would get close enough to jab it in his belly, but that would be a waste, he’d just take it away. I had to use it to get free somehow.
“Jumping Jesus, that fucker was starting to stink like my Aunt Gretchen’s ass sores.” It was Skinny Man, bounding down the stairs with Butch in tow. His limp prick swished back and forth like a broken watch hand. He was dirty, like he’d been digging, and the sonofabitch was wearing Tooth’s Red Sox hat. I put the spike behind my lower back and pressed my body against the wall to hold it there.
“I put him next to Sundance, so the dog can get his revenge,” he said. “Better late than never, you know. And Sundance, he don’t like people that mess with him. He’s a mean mother when he gets mad. Like this one time, delivery man comes to the door, and Sundance he’s all barking and fixing to bite the guy’s nuts off. But the guy figures he’s safe because Sundance is behind the screen door and all, so he yells, ‘Shut up, you smelly mutt!’ And Sundance, you k
now what he did? He goes around the back and opens the back door and runs around to the front and bites the fucker in the ass. Tore a chunk right out. The guy’s screaming and hollering for me to get the dog off him. But at that point it was out of my hands. Butch comes tearing through the house right behind Sundance, sees his brother having so much fun, and goes right for the neck. BAM! Just like that. Boy, we had fun with the fella, didn’t we, Butch? Say, you ever seen one of these?”
He held up a short, slick, tube-like object. It was grayish-white where it wasn’t covered in blood, and ringed with ridges.
“It’s called a trachea. Interesting, I think. It’s Butch’s favorite. Here, boy, here ya go.”
The dog took it and went over to his dish and put it on the floor. This seemed pretty amusing to Skinny Man, whose cackle filled the room. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you got a pole up yer ass.” He walked over to the dice, shooed away some flies and picked them up.
“I suppose you know what that looks like.” I cursed myself for replying. What if he grabbed me and I dropped the spike? I wasn’t thinking worth a shit.
“Actually I don’t, but we got time enough to find out. Where’s that duct tape?”
“Who was she?” I asked.
He looked at me funny, then hit on what I was talking about. “That bitch? She was probably someone’s girlfriend or wife or mother. I don’t really know, I didn’t ask.”
“Why did you kill her?”
“What is this, a Barbra Walters special? What do you care?”
“I just want to know what she did to you, what we did to you, why you’re doing this.”
“You’re just stalling. But it won’t help you because I’m in the mood for walking, not talking.”
The Summer I Died Page 13
