Inflictions

by John McIlveen

  “You can take the boy out of Boston, but you can’t take Boston out of the boy,” the man offered his hand. “Name’s Chris Tana, T-A-N-A. Most people call me Tana.”

  Joseph shook and said, “I’m Joseph, this is Julie, Matthew, and Christopher.”

  “Pleased. Those are good Christian names,” Tana said. He opened the Whopper box, took a huge bute, and chased it with a few pulls from a trough sized drink.

  “Yes,” said Julie. “Joseph’s parents tease us for giving Jewish boys such blatantly Christian names.”

  Tana flashed another winning smile. “Well, be it Christian or Jewish, they are good, strong names.” Matthew flexed like a comical bodybuilder as Tana polished off the rest of the burger with two more bites.

  “I’m heading that way myself. I was offered far too much money to do some stonework there,” Tana said. He stood and lifted his tray.

  “Hey, I bet you’re a mason,” said Matthew.

  “Sometimes,” said Tana with a wink. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other.”

  They watched Tana leave without as much as a glance backward.

  “Odd,” said Julie.

  “Agreed,” said Joseph.

  “You see him snarf that Whopper?” asked Christopher.

  “What do you make of him?” Joseph asked Julie.

  “Easy on the eyes, in a Tarzan kind of way.”

  “Calm the juices, Jane. I didn’t mean that way.”

  “That’s disturbing,” said Matthew.

  “Oh, fine,” she teased. “He seemed friendly, but maybe a little too smooth. You know, Crocodile Dundee meets Barry White; the voice doesn’t fit the man.”

  Matthew said, “I think he was looking for a nice kosher Jewish boy with the same name as him for a little pickle smooching.”

  Christopher said, “Now that’s disturbing.”

  The Seths seemed perfect.

  Tana watched them exit the restaurant and climb into their Yukon. People were so damn easy, so willing to dole out information to complete, and yes, dangerous strangers. So unaware of how much they opened themselves up.

  Joseph Seth backed within inches of Tana’s Camry, a thoroughly nondescript 2006—exactly how he liked it—and turned right out of the parking lot.

  He waited two minutes before taking off for his new destination … Mayflower Heights.

  Julie climbed out onto the short gravel driveway and stared mawkishly at the New Englander with its screened-in porch and white cedar shakes—so typical, yet, so unique. Thirty years and it looks unchanged from the sun-soaked days when she ran up these steps, anxious for Grammy’s homemade chowder. The screened door’s spring would thrum to its limits as Grandpa yelled, “Hold the door for Pete’s sake!” Then it would slam shut with a resounding crack!

  She hoped her sons would enjoy the beach as much as she had. “You’re the ideal age for this,” she told them. Her antics would seem pitiable on today’s high-speed standards. Just the frantic pace of modern video games astonished her. The hand-eye coordination was dizzying, especially to someone who peaked when Pong and Pac-Man were state of the art. “I have so many stories to share from my childhood!” she gushed.

  “Uh, I … have to … uh … feed the llamas,” Matthew said.

  “Yes, definitely the llamas!” agreed Christopher. “Surely they’re famished!”

  “Okay, you clowns,” Joseph said. “Grab something besides yourselves.”

  Laden with luggage, they made their way into the cottage. Nobody noticed the beige Camry parked two hundred feet away on route 6A.

  For two days Tana watched … waiting.

  Matthew and Christopher stumbled out of the little cottage shortly after six on Tuesday evening. They jogged away jostling each other, intent on the beach, shops, arcades, and a great deal of bikini appreciation. Julie and Joseph left shortly afterward, off for some selfish entertainment. Tana’s gut told him that now was the best time, and his gut was uncanny.

  Tana stayed well back. Tracking the boys was easy since they stopped often to girl watch. At six-five he didn’t blend in very well, despite the thickening crowd near the heart of Provincetown.

  As daylight waned, the boys refocused on the shops and arcades, and soon entered a candy shop. Tana waited outside, pretending to mull over tacky, high-priced Cape Cod and P-town trinkets, but keeping his eye on the confection-seeking boys. They emerged with bags in hand, and a long, red strawberry whip hanging from Matthew’s mouth. Tana stepped toward them looking introspective.

  “Hey, it’s Braveheart dude,” said Matthew, elbowing Christopher sharply.

  Tana looked up and said, “Well, hello! I figured I’d see you again. How’s your vacation?”

  “Okay, so far,” Christopher said.

  “Great! How are your parents?”

  “They’re tickled pink. They’d get excited watching mold grow,” Matthew said.

  Tana laughed. “Well, there’s no place quite like Provincetown, right? As long as they don’t make the mistake most people do and invite all the relatives.”

  “Nope, just two weeks of us. The big bond-a-thon,” Matthew said with an eye roll.

  Bingo!

  Tana smiled and said, “Don’t underestimate family bonding; someday your life may depend on it.”

  The boys exchanged a silent glance.

  “Stay safe,” Tana said and waved. “Masons have to hit the sack early.”

  “Rock on,” said Christopher. Matthew groaned.

  “Bet on it,” Tana said. He rounded the corner of the nearest side street and broke into a sprint.

  Christopher gave the pinball machine a sharp thrust … a little too sharp.

  Tilt.

  “Ha! I win, gerbil dick!” Matthew yelled.

  “Lick me, pus tooth,” retorted Chris.

  “Pus tooth?” Matthew asked and Christopher shrugged. A man in an orange vest veered purposefully past, glancing at his watch, reminding Christopher of their curfew. He checked his cell phone and backhanded Matthew’s bicep.

  “What?”

  “Shit! We gotta hyperspace, it’s eleven-seventeen.”

  “We’re screwed,” Matthew said, taking off in a sprint.

  “Wait!”

  At nearly eleven-thirty, Matthew led the way up the porch stairs, flung open the screen door, and shot into the cottage. He came to an abrupt stop. Christopher collided with him, nearly sending both of them to the floor.

  “What gives, you stooge?” Christopher complained, winded and fighting to maintain his balance. Then he saw why Matthew had stopped.

  Chris Tana sat on the living room couch with his legs splayed before him, appearing very at ease. He scraped his nails with a wicked looking switchblade that reflected flashes of light as he maneuvered it.

  “You’re late,” said Tana. His voice was vibrant, emphatic, and too disturbingly friendly. “Not very responsible, are you?”

  They watched Tana warily, alternating their gazes from his face to the switchblade.

  “Where’s our parents?” asked Christopher.

  “Piss poor grammar, too,” Tana said with a blinding smile and then pouted mockingly. “So serious,” he said. “Lighten up, you’ll get ulcers.” He started at his fingernails again, and nonchalantly nodded, “Your parents are in there.”

  Christopher looked to the kitchen doorway. He moved cautiously forward, feeling far enough from Tana to chance a look. Matthew stuck behind him, his eyes locked on Tana, who remained focused on his nails.

  “Unfortunately, your parents are a little tied up at the moment,” Tana said.

  Joseph and Julie Seth sat bound to chairs with duct tape, their mouths were taped as well. They faced the doorway where Christopher and Matthew stood, their backs to the counter. Julie stared at her sons, terror lighting her eyes. Joseph Seth was slumped unconscious in his chair. Blood trickled in a rivulet from his left temple near his eye.

  “Dad’s going to have a headache,” Tana said from inches behind them, making them jump. �
��Pardon me, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He moved so smoothly past them he seemed feline.

  “What do you want?” Matthew’s voice trembled. Tana seemed pleased.

  “A little entertainment. Just so we’re on the same track, if either of you even tries to run, mom and dad are dead. Boy Scout’s promise.” He raised three fingers and gave a quick nod.

  “Have a seat,” Tana said, motioning to two chairs that faced Joseph and Julie from the opposite side of the kitchen.

  Neither boy moved.

  Tana reached behind his back. “Abracadabra, handgun!” He said and displayed the barrel of the gun the way Vanna displays $250 vowels. “This, I’m sure you bright young lads learned from CSI or whatever other drivel you watch, is a silencer. Ignore my requests and I can become very convincing, and with no more sound than one of those silent farts you’re so fond of.”

  Christopher and Matthew obediently sidled into the chairs. Tana grabbed a canvas duffle bag from beside the refrigerator and set it near the boys. He withdrew a roll of duct tape, squatted, and began taping Matthew’s legs to the chair. Christopher looked at the top of Tana’s head and contemplated driving his foot into Tana’s chin, but his twitching leg betrayed his thoughts.

  “Behind your knee there is a very busy artery. If you try what you’re thinking, I’ll have you spraying like a gas pump. You can yell, but a bullet or a knife—your choice—is wonderful for silencing vocal chords. Do you want to take that chance?” He looked up. Christopher returned the stare as stoically as possible, but his chin quivered, divulging his fear. Tana winked, taped Matthew’s hands and arms behind the chair, and then went to work binding Christopher. He backed their chairs against the wall, yet still facing their parents. He rounded the table in the center of the room, pulled something from his pocket, and waved it under Joseph Seth’s nose.

  “Wake up, sunshine,” Tana said.

  Joseph pulled away from the smelling salts and opened confused eyes. He looked from Tana, to Matthew, to Christopher, and to Julie. Finally comprehending, he yanked at his restraints, emitting angry, muffled protests. Tana placed the gun barrel squarely between Joseph’s eyes, initializing a torrent of panicked, stifled cries from Julie.

  “You should stop,” he said to Joseph, and then repositioned the barrel on Julie’s brow, “You are killing your family.”

  Joseph immediately stopped his protests.

  The fear was so palpable Tana could almost smell it. He sat on the edge of the table. All eyes were glued to him.

  “Thank you. Now that I have your attention, I imagine you’d like to know what this is all about,” he said, returning the gun to the small of his back. “You see, I get bored rather easily, so I invent new ways to entertain myself. You seem like a fun-loving family.” All of the Seths starting shifting looks among each other. Tana gave an embellished sigh. “Did I lose you already?” He stood straight and spread his arms as if trying to share a simple point. “We are going to play a little game, a game called Make a Choice.” Tana could actually feel the tension rise. He stared intently at Joseph and Julia and raised two fingers, as if offering a peace sign.

  “I noticed two things when we met the other day. Your sons, though not identical, are clearly twins and you both love them very much. That is what makes this game so much goddamned fun.”

  He walked to Matthew and Christopher, though his words were still directed at their parents. “This game takes twelve hours to play. I would love to play it longer, but I’m a busy guy with other commitments, and I must leave by noon tomorrow.” He put a hand on Matthew’s head. “And when I leave, either one of your sons,” he paused and put his other hand on Christopher’s head, “or both of your sons will be dead.”

  Julie shook her head frantically, tears welling from eyes that looked ready to eject from their sockets. Joseph remained composed, but a white-hot hatred emanated from him. Tana was truly enjoying this.

  “Wait! I’m not finished,” he said raising a finger. “This is the important part! Whether one or both of your children die … is entirely up to you!” He pointed to Julie and Joseph with both hands. “You get to … come on, say it with me … Make a Choice!”

  “You’re fucked, man,” Matthew said bitterly.

  Tana went nose-to-nose with Matthew and said, “Most certainly, though not nearly as fucked as you. But, let’s not get off track. It’s all very simple, Mr. and Mrs. Seth. You have twelve hours to decide which one of your sons dies, or,” he rose up and pointed to Matthew and Christopher, “they both die.”

  “You won’t get away with it, they’ll find you,” Christopher said.

  “Who’ll find me?” Tana theatrically lowered his head as if waiting for a secret. “I’m flattered that you think you’re my first, but you’re not by a long shot. But, I do think you’ll be my best yet.”

  Tana drew the shades and moved to Julie. He bent to her level and said, “The beautiful irony is that even if you can’t decide who dies, you’ve still made a choice … both die.”

  Julie’s eyes swam out of focus and rolled back as she passed out. Beaming, Tana jumped up and pumped his fist. “I love when that happens!” He brought out the smelling salts and coaxed Julie back to consciousness.

  “For the next eleven hours, you will all remain in the kitchen. This way you will have a good last look at your son … or sons. It’s now ten-oh-seven. I’m a generous guy, so you have until ten—ten tomorrow morning. That’s three free minutes.” He laughed and left the room.

  Matthew and Christopher hadn’t muttered a word in nearly two hours. They were looking at her, desperation and profound fear holding her gaze, the same thing they were seeing in her eyes. How could that bastard even think of something so inhumane? The death of one would be the death of the other, at least in spirit, and the death of either would split her heart in two. Her sons, dear god! Julie’s stomach clenched and her vision wavered, threatening unconsciousness again.

  No! She had to remain strong for the boys. Why wasn’t Joseph helping? Why wasn’t he trying to save them? She turned to meet his eyes, and hated him for what she saw there.

  Don’t you dare give up, you fuck!

  She wanted to scream at him, hit him, and tear that look out of his eyes. She glowered at him. You created them with me, Goddamn you! What about your vows to love and protect? You’re not holding up your part of the deal. We need to be protected, not the eleven o’clock news. Not reduced to something people shake their heads at, shocked, appalled, and rapt, thinking what a shame, before going back to their tuna casseroles, whiskey sours, or cribbage games, maybe amused, definitely entertained, but mostly unaffected.

  Christopher needed the toilet. He squirmed in his chair and looked at his parents, anguish etching his features. Joseph checked the clock and his nerves turned to ice. 1:27 AM! The minute hand seemed to move like the second hand.

  “Hey!” Matthew yelled. “Hey, my brother needs the bathroom!”

  Tana entered the kitchen, evidence of sleep clinging to his features. He looked at them one by one. His eyes stopped on Christopher. “How we doing, lad? You appear a bit uncomfortable.”

  Christopher locked his gaze on the floor.

  “He needs the bathroom,” Matthew said.

  “I heard you,” said Tana. “Your brother can talk.”

  “He’s afraid.”

  “I want to hear it from him.” Tana moved within inches of Christopher’s bowed head. Joseph saw Christopher’s body tense as if awaiting a blow.

  “Do you need the bathroom, Christopher?” Tana asked.

  “Please,” he barely whispered.

  “I think not. I’d have to release you and then bind you up again. Too much trouble.” Tana checked his watch with embellished movements. “Besides, this won’t take long, in slightly more than eight hours you may not have to worry about it any longer.”

  Matthew surprisingly shouted at Tana, “Fuck you, you dick!”

  The backhand was rattlesnake quick. Tana’s hand was back
to his side before Joseph knew his son had been struck. Julie flew into a rage, struggling to free herself from the restraints. Anger also boiled within Joseph, but a backhand was the least of their worries. He would save his energy for the right moment. He needed to be ready if it presented itself. This prick was cool and aloof, but surely not flawless. Tana would slip eventually, somehow.

  Matthew’s cheek blossomed to a fiery glow that would eventually darken and swell. His eyes brimmed, but Joseph knew Matthew wouldn’t allow himself to cry for Julia’s sake.

  “What an impolite young man you are,” Tana said. “If I were your parents, I wouldn’t want a child as rude as you. In fact, I would think your disrespect should only simplify their decision.”

  Tana looked smugly at Joseph, grabbed a fistful of Matthew’s hair, and gave him an openhanded slap to the face that sounded like a bullwhip. It was a direct challenge that shook Joseph to the core and made his quandary all too clear. Tana had castrated him and rendered him impotent. Tana could perform any perverse desire his putrid mind conjured up, and there wasn’t a damned thing Joseph could do. Panic blazed a searing stream up the center of his back, over his shoulders, down past his buttocks and into his legs. Like a trapped animal, Joseph threw every iota of himself into his attack. The tape had to give under his fury. The bones and sinews of his arms and legs would shear through it. Joseph tipped, falling sideways until his head impacted the floor with a blinding flash and the tearing of claws at his temple. He tasted blood, yet somehow remained conscious. He saw Tana’s boots as they approached and braced for the kick he knew was coming … but it never came.

  Tana squatted on the floor near Joseph, displaying a satisfied smile. He said, as if confiding with a dear friend, “Bet that brought you back down to earth. I was wondering how thick, or thin, your resolve was.” He lifted Joseph and his chair with minimal effort. “Don’t be offended by the love taps I gave your son, but we need to know where we all stand in this little game.”

  Julie’s tears flowed freely, carrying with them her dignity and spirit. As if reading Joseph’s earlier thoughts, Tana walked over to Julie, put a giant hand behind her head. He pressed her face directly into his crotch and pumped his hips perversely against her.