Blister

by Jeff Strand

"They weren't scary clowns. They were just clowns."

  "Take me home."

  Brandon quickly tries to reach under her dress. She shoves him away.

  "What the hell? Did you really just do that? What, are you a rapist now?"

  Brandon looks confused and humiliated. "I'm not a rapist," he says, softly.

  "Well, you're an idiot and a jerk and an ex-boyfriend. Thanks for ruining my birthday."

  "Ex-boyfriend? For real? You can't break up with me over this."

  "We'll talk about it tomorrow. For now I just want you to take me home."

  "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he says.

  And then he lunges forward and slams her head into the dashboard.

  * * *

  Rachel opens her eyes. She thinks she's in a cabin. It's too dark to see for sure. She's strapped to a mattress on the floor, and there's a rag shoved in her mouth, packed in so tightly that she can't spit it out.

  She lets out a muffled scream and violently struggles, but she can't get free.

  There's a flick sound, and then, about ten feet away, the flame of a lighter illuminates a scary clown mask.

  No, a whole clown suit, complete with oversized red shoes. The clown slowly walks forward, making a deliberate attempt to be frightening, and then crouches down next to her.

  The lighter flame goes out.

  When the flame returns, Brandon is holding a straight razor.

  Rachel screams again.

  The clown silently lashes out with the razor, cutting deep.

  Rachel continues to scream as the clown slashes again and again.

  The lighter goes out.

  The clown continues to mutilate her face in total darkness.

  The illumination of a flame returns, but this time it's the flame of a blowtorch.

  Rachel shrieks until her vocal cords don't work anymore.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "I'm sorry," said Rachel, apparently noticing my horrified expression. "Did I overshare?"

  "What? Oh, no. No, you didn't." I took a non-existent drink of my Cherry Coke.

  "That was probably a bit graphic for our second conversation. My social skills have eroded."

  "How did you get away?"

  "I didn't. He got distracted by something, then quit burning me and left. I eventually got loose. And then it was hospital time. They can do miraculous things these days, apparently, but not so much for me. I guess it wasn't a very good hospital."

  "Jesus."

  "People call me Blister. I called myself Gauze Girl. The day they unwrapped me for the first time...not my best."

  "Brandon's in jail, right?"

  Rachel shook her head. "Nobody ever saw him again."

  "Are you scared he'll come back?"

  "Five years later? Not really. If I were a betting woman, I'd say that he ran out deep into the woods, put a bullet in his own brain, and became a nice meal for the local wildlife."

  "Wouldn't bones and stuff have turned up?"

  Rachel laughed. "This isn't one of your big-city razor-cutting-and-blowtorch-burnings. They looked for him, but there weren't a lot of forensics involved."

  "So he could still be at large," I said. Yeah, I knew that it sounded really corny.

  "See, now you sound like my dad," said Rachel. "He won't let me leave. I'm lucky he lets me have this shed to myself. If it were up to him, I'd stay in the house. At least this way I can pretend I've got my own place."

  "Would you leave if you could?"

  "Maybe. Probably not. I think about it all the time, but I can scare kids even without a fake chainsaw. There aren't a lot of opportunities out there for me."

  "There's got to be something better than hiding away like this."

  "You think so? Didn't you and your buddies come over here to gape at a monster?"

  Ouch. "They weren't my buddies. Hey, do you want to go out on a paddleboat?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "I've got a paddleboat back at the cabin. We could go out on the lake."

  "Oh...no, there's no way."

  "Why not?"

  "My dad would go berserk."

  "But he'd be mostly mad at me, right? I'm willing to take the risk if you are."

  "I don't know."

  "We'll be sneaky," I insisted. "He'll never find out."

  "Sneaky. On a paddleboat. In the middle of a lake."

  Clearly, I needed to sweeten the deal. "I've got ice cream bars in the freezer."

  * * *

  We sat next to each other on the paddleboat in the middle of the lake. Rachel had agreed to come with me, but not without a mask, so she currently was wearing the likeness of Marilyn Monroe. She slipped the ice cream bar under the mask as we worked the pedals.

  "What do you want to talk about that's more cheerful than the details of my disfigurement?" she asked.

  "What's your favorite movie?"

  "Scarface."

  "Are you joking?"

  "Yes."

  I smiled. "You need to hold up a sign or something."

  "It's Dumbo."

  "Dumbo. Solid choice."

  "What's yours?"

  "Fritz the Cat."

  "I haven't heard of that one."

  "It's animated," I said, leaving out the fact that it was X-rated.

  "So we both like living in a cartoon world."

  "Hey, it's how I make my living. Although I don't so much draw elephants on acid trips."

  "He was drunk."

  "I've been drunk. Pink elephants on parade are not alcohol based."

  "Don't taint my childhood memories," said Rachel. "My mom took me to see Dumbo the day before she died."

  "Are you joking?"

  "No."

  "Then I feel like a bastard and withdraw my comment. How did she die?"

  "Remember, I started the movie conversation to lighten the tone."

  "Right. Favorite song?"

  "'Somewhere Over The Rainbow.' Yours?"

  "'Timothy.'"

  "I don't know that one," Rachel admitted.

  "It's about miners trapped in a cave-in who resort to cannibalism. Really catchy tune. The Buoys. 1970."

  "So I was eight when it came out. Wasn't listening to a lot of cannibalism-themed music at that time in my life."

  "Jeez, you're young."

  "How old are you?"

  "Thirty-eight."

  "Wow," said Rachel. "You could be my dad."

  "The hell I could."

  "You could if you dropped out of high school with a pregnant girlfriend!"

  I glared at her in mock disdain. "How's your goddamn ice cream?"

  * * *

  As I pulled my car back into her driveway, Rachel removed her Marilyn Monroe mask. I'd been worried that her dad might have come home early, but the driveway was empty.

  "Well, thank you for getting me out of the house," she said, extending her hand.

  I shook it. "You're welcome. I enjoyed it."

  "Yeah, me too."

  "Are you going to be around tomorrow?"

  "I could try to clear my social calendar."

  "Same time?"

  "Sure." Rachel opened the door and started to get out of the car, but then stopped and looked back at me. "This isn't just pity, is it?"

  "Of course not," I said, and I meant it. I'd thoroughly enjoyed her company today.

  "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

  She got out of the car and closed the door. As she walked away, I realized that I should have gotten out and opened the door for her. Or would that have made it feel like a date? This wasn't supposed to be a date. This was just friendship.

  I watched her walk past her father's house to her shed, which I knew I should quit thinking of as a shed. She turned and waved as I drove away.

  When I got back to the cabin, I called Chuck. "What's going on?" I asked as he answered.

  "Good news," he said. "They aren't going to sue you, and you're going to buy nice shiny new uniforms for their soccer team."

  "How sweet of me. Can
I put chainsaw logos on their shirts?"

  "Ha," said Chuck, but not in a legitimately amused way. "I don't know how you can do a daily comic strip and have so much wit left over. How's your rage?"

  "All gone."

  "Good. Then you can come home."

  I hadn't expected to be released from my banishment so soon. "I'm actually enjoying this place," I told him. "I think I might hang out here another day or two, if that's okay."

  I could almost hear Chuck frown. "Why? What the hell is going on up there?"

  "Nothing. Just enjoying the peace and quiet. Making new friends."

  "Are you bringing women to my cabin?"

  "No."

  "Are you having sex in my bed?"

  "No."

  "You swear?"

  "I met this girl, but it's not like that at all."

  "I told you not to do anything in my bed. That was my one request. Make yourself at home, help yourself to anything in the cupboards, use my fishing tackle all you want, but don't contaminate my bed."

  "I've done nothing in your bed," I promised him.

  "Keep it that way."

  "It's purely a friendship thing. No chance of romance. It's actually kind of bizarre; her face is totally burnt."

  "Blister? You're screwing Blister?"

  "I'm not screwing anyone! Jesus, Chuck, keep this up and I'll whack it right into your pillowcase. What do you know about Blister?"

  "I've heard that her dad keeps her locked in the freaking basement. What the hell are you getting into up there?"

  "If you thought that there was really a girl locked in the basement, why didn't you call the cops?"

  "Because I didn't believe it."

  "Well, good. You shouldn't. She's very sweet and she and I are just friends."

  "You're extending your vacation, the vacation that I forced you to take, for a friend?"

  "Yes."

  Chuck sighed. I could picture him massaging his temples. "Festering Pus gives me no problems. Have I mentioned that? No problems. Zero."

  "Talk to you later, Chuck," I said, hanging up.

  There was nothing weird about this, right? We were two friends who enjoyed each other's company. If anything was weird, it was the age difference, but she was twenty-three; it wasn't like she was eighteen and still in high school.

  Was I completely at ease with her appearance? No, to be completely honest with myself, I wasn't. Not yet. But I was long past the "recoiling in horror" part, and I most definitely did not give a shit what people like Louie and Erik might think. I liked her, which wasn't something I could say about everyone I met. Why not spend more time around somebody I liked?

  * * *

  I proposed a road trip. Rachel agreed under the condition that a) we not actually do anything when we got to our destination, and b) she'd keep the mask on. I told her that we'd have a destination-free road trip; simply drive for an hour or two and see where it took us.

  I rolled down the windows and cranked up the music, wishing I owned a convertible. As we sped down the highway (obeying the posted speed limits, for the most part), I found myself hoping that Rachel would take off the light blue mask and enjoy the wind against her face. It blew her hair around, but the sensation just wasn't the same through plastic.

  The wind was loud, the music was loud, and Rachel wasn't easy to understand through her mask anyway, so we didn't talk much. I didn't care. It was great that we'd somehow already reached the point where it felt totally fine to take a road trip without talking.

  We sung along a little bit, but Rachel didn't know the words to many songs in my collection, and when she asked about the availability of specific artists in my cassette collection, her suggestions baffled me. Finally she flipped through my extensive musical library herself, snickering a lot.

  A sign along the road suggested that we take a detour to acquire some delicious fresh Georgia peaches, which sounded like a splendid idea. Rachel agreed, as long as she could wait in the car.

  I pulled off at the next exit, and the shop was right there. I parked the non-convertible and shut off the engine. "Sure you don't want to come in?"

  "I'm sure."

  Was I relieved? I hoped not. I supposed I was on some level, maybe even a conscious one. I think it was more the mask than her real face. If you walk to a fruit stand with a disfigured girl and people stare, you can express moral outrage at their rude behavior. If you walk into a shop with a chick in a creepy plastic mask...well, you couldn't really blame them. I'd be staring, too.

  "Any requests? I'm not sure what they'll have."

  "String cheese."

  "Anything else?"

  "If they've got cheese with bits of habanero peppers in it, I'd like some of that."

  "Wow. I didn't know you were such a wild woman."

  "Lots you don't know."

  "Do you want a beef stick?" I asked. "Places like this usually have beef sticks."

  "Is that innuendo?"

  "Oh, yeah. When I ask the ladies if they want me to buy them a beef stick from a fruit shop, they're all over me."

  "Well, naturally."

  "Seduction tip #271."

  "Noted."

  "Seriously, though, do you want a beef stick if they have them?"

  "No, thank you."

  The fruit shop did indeed have beef sticks, though sadly no string cheese. Rachel pushed her mask forward so that she could eat her peach, but didn't take it off.

  They were excellent peaches, despite it not being peach season, so we decided that this was an excellent halfway point for our trip, and headed back.

  * * *

  Now there was an important issue to bring up. I'd been avoiding it all day, but I couldn't not ask her about it. It might be awkward and uncomfortable for both of us, but I felt it was something that we needed to discuss before our relationship went any further.

  "Did you read my books?" I asked.

  "I can't start a new book until I finish the one I'm reading. I'd have a nervous breakdown. It's an OCD thing, I guess. So I only got to read about twenty pages of the first one."

  "And...?"

  "It was really cute."

  Cute. The pat on the head of artistic feedback. The little kid helping to set the dinner table and forgetting the forks but, hey, it's adorable that he tried.

  "Cute, huh?"

  "Very cute. I wasn't going to say anything until I'd finished both of them."

  "Did you laugh?"

  "Sure."

  "Out loud?"

  Rachel smiled. "Jason Tray, are you needy?"

  "No, I just wanted to hear what you thought."

  "Are you sure? Because I'm detecting a bit of a needy vibe from you."

  "I'm always open to honest feedback."

  "I'd never pegged you for the needy type," she teased. "If I'd known this about you, I would've said something much sooner. How difficult this day must have been for you."

  "Ha ha."

  I sure as hell wasn't going to admit this to Rachel, but, yes, when it comes to my work, I'm needy. I'm not saying that I would've stopped talking to her if she'd said, "Wow, that was worse than a 12th century attempt at a colonoscopy." I simply value the opinion of people I care about. I'm allowed to be insecure in this one area, right?

  "I'm sorry," said Rachel. "I shouldn't be making fun of you. That's really rude. I think that Zep the Beetle is adorable. I smiled the entire time I was reading."

  "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

  * * *

  "I think I'm going to talk to your dad," I told her, as I pulled into her driveway.

  "No!"

  "There is nothing whatsoever wrong with us hanging out. Sneaking around like criminals is ridiculous. We're just friends. Even if we weren't, it's not like we're a couple of teenagers."

  "Aren't you leaving soon anyway?"

  "That's not the point. If two people want to go fishing and eat cheese, they should be allowed to do it."

  "Dad loves guns."

  I hesita
ted for a moment, but only a moment. "I'm cool with that."

  "I mean, he really loves guns. He names them. He sings to them."

  "Look, if you really don't want me to talk to him, I won't, but I think it's more respectful for everybody if I do."

  "He'll forbid you to ever see me again."

  "No, he won't. Well, he will, but I'll talk him out of it. I choose my own friends. Anyway, I'm enjoying this place. I'll come back soon. So is it okay if I talk to him?"

  Rachel didn't respond right away, and it was hard to tell which way she was leaning. Finally, she nodded. "I'd like that."

  "Great. But I won't be here when he gets home. We'll let him unwind and have a drink first."

  "Good idea."

  * * *

  Malcolm was seated out on his porch, having a beer, when I returned. He did not look happy to see me. I parked the car, worked up my nerve, then got out and waved.

  "Hi, Malcolm," I said.

  "I can think of no possible reason that I want to see you here," he said.

  I walked up to the porch. "I apologize again for intruding. And I apologize in advance if you don't like what I'm about to say, but—"

  "Rachel told me everything."

  "Oh."

  "So, Jason, I apologize if you don't like what I'm about to say. If your motives aren't honorable, they'll never find the body."

  "That sounds perfectly reasonable."

  "Just think of me as an overprotective father times a thousand."

  "Yes, sir."

  "She likes you," Malcolm informed me. He chuckled. "She'd probably have the hots for you, but you're too old."

  "Ah," I said, not having an adequate response. I felt a bit hurt and disappointed, which was kind of stupid, especially since Malcolm was joking. Or at least I thought he was. It was difficult to tell with their family.

  Malcolm shifted in his rocking chair. "You like Yahtzee?"

  * * *

  We sat on Malcolm's living room floor around the coffee table. It was a sparsely furnished place that could use a good cleaning, but at least I didn't feel like I was going to get any diseases by kneeling here.

  Rachel rolled the dice. "Fuck!"

  "You watch your mouth," Malcolm told her.

  "I've already got my twos! This is bullshit!"