by K. L. Savage
“Does anyone know where this place is at?” I ask. “I don’t remember seeing it, but I don’t want to wait for Reaper. She’s been gone too long. She’s only been five miles away. I’m so stupid. I’m so goddamn stupid. I’m an idiot! A brick building. It’s old! It wasn’t hard to look for. I’m so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I bang my hand against my head, berating myself for being the person my Uncle said I would always be.
“Stop it, Tongue! You aren’t. We were all looking. We thought downtown, not remote. We will find her.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to hear anything he has to say. I deserve punishment. I run over to the fireplace that Reaper just had installed in the main room. It’s in the corner, wood-burning, and there are a few fire pokers leaning against the mantle.
“What are you doing? Tongue. Don’t do anything crazy,” Tool says.
“Do you know who you are talking to?” Bullseye asks him.
I grab a few logs from the box and throw them in the fireplace, grab a match from the shell of a grenade that is a makeshift vase and strike it. Soaking the logs with lighter fluid, I toss the match and watch the flames whoosh and heat, nearly burning my skin. I grab the fire poker and shove it in the fire, letting the iron turn from black to scorching red.
“Put down the poker,” Skirt and Poodle corral me with Tool and Bullseye flanking their sides. “Don’t do anything crazy. We will find her. We will bring her home.”
“I deserve this.” It takes some maneuvering, but I dip my head under the strap of the sling and take it off, my arm falling limp to my side. Next, I rip my shirt off and throw it in the fire.
“No, you don’t. You’re human, Tongue. You’re human,” Braveheart says from the doorway, coming in from watching the gate. “Look at me,” he says gently. “Tongue, you’re human. I think you need to hear that. Look at me.”
I rip my eyes away from the bright glowing orange at the tip of the fire poker, smelling the smoke taunting me for my punishment, and give Braveheart my undivided attention. Nothing he says will change my mind. I deserve the pain. I always have. It’s why my Uncle burned me. Reaper cuts to inflict pain, but that won’t do anything to me. I’ll only enjoy it.
Fire, heat, getting burnt.
That’s where my fear and pain lives.
He holds out his hands, something people do when they are talking someone down from the ledge. Nothing can be done for me. What does Daphne see in me?
I’m not someone a kind person bets on for the future. I wreck them.
“Tongue, you’re human.”
“You keep saying that—”
“Because I don’t think anyone has ever told you,” Braveheart, the skinny new member says. “I think,” he licks his lips, staring at the poker. “I think you were raised to be an animal. You were abused. You are trained to be a certain way. It’s how you’re programmed but guess what, man? You aren’t a killing machine. You. Are. Human. You’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling. You’re allowed and it’s okay.”
“It isn’t okay. She’s in danger. I should have been more for her.”
“How can you be more? You’re obviously everything you need to be for her, or she wouldn’t love you. She loves the human, Tongue.” He pounds his chest with his fist, right above his heart. “That part of you that you keep hidden from us or the part that maybe you didn’t know existed because of her. We are human at the end of the day, and I think you’ve felt a lot of those things that make us vulnerable, that makes us…”
“Human,” Poodle finishes.
“Right,” Braveheart says.
“Human,” I mutter, a concept I haven’t thought of before. I know I still need punishment, if not for what has happened to Daphne, for what has happened to Sarah. I fall to my knees and turn around, giving them my back. “Punish me, anyway.”
“Tongue.”
“Please, Tool. Someone do it.” I slide the poker across the floor and Bullseye picks it up before it can burn the wooden slabs.
“No,” Bullseye says. “Daphne needs you at your best. If after you want punishment, I’ll be the one to do it. I promise,” Bullseye states.
“You swear?” I ask him, but he has no time to answer because Reaper is pounding down the hallway.
“Alright. Let’s ride. We have Tongue’s special lady to rescue, then I think I remember something about a wedding?” When he comes into the main room, he sees me on the floor, kneeling and then eyes the poker in Bullseye’s hand. “I’m not going to ask. No time. We need to go. Seer has saved the day again. Also, Tongue, he says to look out for a gift and that you’d know what it is when you see it.”
“Daphne,” I get to my feet and dig into my pocket for the keys to my bike, but Braveheart takes them from me.
“You aren’t driving with your arm like that. We will take my Ford Raptor.”
“Come on, his little lady might not be able to save herself.”
I bet she could, but if she can’t, I’m going to get her out of there.
And then I’m going to show her how she can kill with a swipe of a knife.
Then she’ll be able to save herself.
It’s important to me that she can because I’m starting to realize, there might be times when I can’t.
I’m so tired.
I have to keep my eyes closed because the moment I open them, I see things I do not want to see. I’ve cried. I’ve begged. I’ve screamed.
But the Groundskeeper keeps me here thinking he is doing what is right.
I’m on a cot in a room that only has half a roof. Opening my eyes, I notice the wall is black with mold and there is a stench coming from somewhere that I really can’t think about because I’ll throw up.
The Groundskeeper zip -tied me to an old, rusted iron bed frame, and then disappeared. He said, “He had errands to run.”
Whatever that means.
It’s surprising that someone so sick in the head has to go out and do actual things in life. I bet he is going to go buy groceries or real food would be nice. Something other than green beans because I am starving. If I have to live here with a crazy person, I want some fattening food.
My eyes are raw from crying, and my entire body is sore. I’ve never felt so beaten and defeated. I want to go home. I want this all to be over. My shoulders hurt, my skin is killing me from the zip-ties, and I’m fucking scared out of my mind of this guy. If he can get the best of Tongue and bury him, what am I going to do against him?
The cot moans when I attempt to turn to my side, but I can’t because of the way my arms are lifted over my head. Closing my eyes, I wish for sleep and dreams that lead me anywhere other than here.
I hear a door open somewhere in the distance and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It’s the Groundskeeper.
“I have a treat for you!” he singsongs from a distance.
I yank and pull against the iron bed frame, then feel it bend. Holy Moly. It worked. Of course it worked because it’s old and rusted. I need to use this to my advantage. I hold my breath and tug again. Every second that passes by, the metal gets weaker and bends.
He enters the room, still wearing that damn mask I hate so much. “I have a challenge for you.”
“I don’t care,” I hiss just as the metal gives.
He lunges to me, pinning me down with his weight, but I don’t go down without a fight. I refuse to give up. The walls start to move again, and the people that live in my alternative versions of reality come forward, watching me struggle against the Groundskeeper. Tongue is in the corner, staying in the dark, watching me.
I get the same feeling I got when he was real. Power surges through me and I lift the bar over my head and slam it against the Groundskeeper’s back. The force has him rolling off the cot and slamming against the floor. My hands and feet are still tied together, but at least I have a chance at getting away from him. I scoot toward the edge of the bed and hop to my feet. The concrete is cold, turning my nerves to stone.
The rust
ed bedframe is still in my hand and I bring it down on his head again, swinging it like a golf club. The mask flies off his face and rolls across the floor. It stops, creepy baby face up. This is my chance to see the face of the man that kidnapped me, but every second I wait to run is a second wasted.
I hop toward the door and keep hopping my bunny ass out of here. I look left and right to see which way to go. This place really was an old Asylum. There are old wheelchairs in the hall that had been stranded and a few gurney’s, which isn’t what creeps me out. It’s the long hallway that never seems to end, tunneling into oblivion. Then there is the number of doors.
So many rooms.
So many painful memories are trapped within these four walls.
I want out of here.
Now.
I hop along again, passing the table we ate at. The green beans are still on the floor, and rats are nibbling on the leftover food. They are huge with long pink tails, staring at me like they haven’t had human flesh in a while.
That’s not true. I’m being dramatic. I’m hungry, tired, sore, and I miss Tongue. My head is killing me. I want my medication. I never want to see what I’ve been seeing again.
Taking a quick break, I lean against one of the old beams and take a deep breath. I’m sweating and cold. I wheeze, holding my side when a pinch starts to form. The floor sways, moving like slow lava, and I grab onto the beam to stop myself from falling when the cement disappears and there is nothing but sky.
“It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It isn’t real,” I chant, but the only way to really know is if I try to walk—hop—across it.
My sanity is gone; what else do I have to lose?
With shaky arms and closed eyes, I let go of the beam and jump, waiting for a freefall experience and a rush of air blowing over me.
My feet land on solid ground, and I snap my eyelids open, staring at the wobbly floor in awe. The endless blue sky is still there and with every hop, I get closer to the door.
Until I land on broken glass. It crunches under my bare feet, cutting and digging into my skin like the unforgiving knife Tongue uses against his enemies. I slip and my arms land against the shards. The cuts sting and the glass penetrates my skin. Blood decorates the different varieties of colors. The hallway of glass puzzle pieces is almost pretty. There are clear, green, dark green, brown, black, red, blue, all different colors.
I guess I know what the Groundskeeper was doing on his errand. He was going to challenge me to escape thinking this would hurt me.
Well, the joke is on him.
I like to be cut.
My feet are too sore to try and stand up, so I begin to army crawl toward the door that’s about twenty yards away. I move one elbow up, drag down the glass, then the other, and drag down more sharp pieces. It hurts. I’m holding back tears, knowing this isn’t the same as Tongue cutting me because when he does it, it’s with a tender touch.
Right now, the glass is cutting my chest, my legs, my hands, every part of me that is showing is bleeding. I’m not going to give up.
“You’re doing so good. Don’t stop,” my mom’s voice has me lifting my head up and this time when I see her, she’s clean, dressed in a pretty blue dress, and smiling. “Don’t ever stop.” I know she isn’t real but seeing and hearing her say those words to me is exactly what I need to move my elbows again and crawl.
When I come to the door, my arm shakes as I reach for the door handle. Glass is embedded in my forearm, hundreds of pieces. Thick medallions of blood drip down my arm and onto the floor. Everywhere hurts, but it won’t hurt nearly as bad when I get to Tongue.
Before I can open the door, someone else does, and shiny black boots enter my vision.
I didn’t make it.
His friends came.
I collapse with exhaustion, laying my cheek against the broken bottles, giving in, and giving up. I’m so tired.
“Tongue! Tongue, she’s here, man. She’s right here. Hey, Daphne,” a kind, warm voice has me attempting to see who my visitor is. They know Tongue. Am I seeing things? How do I know if this is real? “Hey, you’re safe. It’s me, it’s Slingshot, blue-eyes. Jesus Christ, what did he do to you?”
“Slingshot?” my voice is pitchy as it breaks from a high note of relief.
“Hey, let’s see those blue-eyes, come on. Tongue is right behind me.”
“Really?” I lift my head and give him my eyes like he wants.
Slingshot is about to answer me when he is picked up and thrown to the left, discarded without a second glance.
“Comet.” Tongue’s nickname for me has the dam breaking, and I sob as he scoops me into his arms, not caring about the glass that cuts him along the way and cradles me to his chest. “Daphne. My Daphne.” He brings me outside and sits on the steps, holding me gently as he lays me against his thighs and peers down at me. “You saved yourself,” Tongue says, plucking the pieces of glass out of my arms.
I don’t moan in pleasure this time because how the glass got there is different than last time. The situations, emotions, atmosphere, and person were different.
“I wanted to get back to you,” I say, then grin like a drunken fool, but instead of having too much beer, I’ve had too much pain. “You found me. You came for me. He said you wouldn’t.”
Tongue presses his lips against mine, cupping the back of my head with his hand as he owns my mouth. “Comet, not even death would keep me from you. I’d haunt you.”
“You’d watch me from the shadows?”
“Every single shadow, every time night falls, in every corner.”
I lean my head against his shoulder, finding comfort in his insanity.
Love is madness.
One day later
“I swear he was there,” Daphne says as she lays down in bed, nearly every bit of her wrapped with gauze. I’m about to call her my Mummy instead of my Comet, but that might not go over well, so I’m going to keep my mouth shut.
“I believe you.”
“You do?”
I hand her the pills she has not been taking, the correct ones. Doc replaced the ones the Groundskeeper switched out and gave her the ones she needs to have her psychosis bearable.
“Of course, I believe you.”
“You don’t think my mind played tricks on me?”
She told me about how she saw me, her mom, and dad, and not once did it make me think she was unstable. If anything, I only loved her more. “No, I don’t,” I state without a doubt and watch as she tosses the pills back along with a swig of water. I take the cup from her hand and place it on the nightstand. The light from the lamp shines against her brown hair and I can see the hues of caramel and red. “You’re beautiful,” I say, bending down and placing another kiss on her lips. I’ve missed them.
“So are you,” she replies, placing her palm against the only spot of my chest that doesn’t have a tattoo.
I’m about to give her a knife and ask her to carve her name into my skin when someone knocks on the door. I want to be left alone with Daphne. I’ve been apart from her for far too long. “What?” I growl and never stop staring at her intense blue eyes.
“Uh, Seer’s package arrived,” Reaper says. “And it’s hissing.”
Now that has my attention. I roll off the bed and open the door to see the Prez pointing down at a wooden box. “You better fucking hope it isn’t what I think it is.” Reaper stomps away and I bend over to pick up the box, it’s light, but I do hear hissing.
“What is it?” Daphne asks, pushing her glasses up her nose.
I love it when she does that.
“I don’t know. It’s from Seer.” I sit down on the bed and rip the card from the staple against the box. “Can you read it to me, Comet?”
“With pleasure,” she smiles.
She still finds a way to smile at me after everything she has been through. She takes another sip of water and clears her throat.
Tongue,
I saw something that told me your ol’ lady want
ed a swamp kitty. Glad you’re safe. I’ll be in touch.
-Seer
“Fuck. Him being in touch is never a fucking good thing. He said he wasn’t going to get involved with us for a while,” I sigh, wondering why he won’t leave us alone like he wants.
“Oh my god, did you get me a kitten?” She tosses the card away and bounces her butt on the bed.
“Uh, I think your version and my version of kittens are different, Comet.” I pry the box open and find a baby gator with a red bow on his head. His tiny mouth is open, probably hungry no doubt, and he is hissing. I pick him up and cradle him to my chest. “Oh, he knows who his momma is. He isn’t hissing.” I stroke his back and look up from his big forest green eyes to see Daphne staring at me, open-mouthed and a bit pale in the face. “This is a swamp kitty,” I tell her. “Ain’t he cute?”
“A swamp…” she doesn’t finish her sentence. “It all makes so much sense now.”
“You don’t like him?” I panic, holding him closer to my chest. “We can build a home for him, you know. Out here. We can build him swamp.”
“What are we going to do with him until then?” Daphne leans forward and drags a finger under our new pet’s chin. “Aw, I think he likes that.”
I stroll to the bathroom, put the stopper in the tub, and fill it with a little water. Next, I take the bow off and set him in the tub. “Aw, you’re a happy camper. That’s what I’ll call you—Happy. I have some good food for you later. I keep a few tongues on ice. You’ll be pleased. Night, Happy.”
The gator hisses at me, and I know it has to be with love, and I turn around, turn off the light, and shut the door. I stand in the corner, not in darkness since the lamp is on, but I just watch Daphne, thankful that she exists and is safe.
“I feel your eyes on me,” she singsongs. “And tomorrow, when I’m not exhausted, I want to play with Happy.”
