Sitting there on the stool and hovering over his tray like a prisoner, Johnny found it laughable that this was a reward even in the slightest. He would have laughed, too, if it wasn’t for his sudden urge to vomit. He dropped the barely touched slice of toast back on the tray with the rest of his food. It made him wonder how much his parents were paying the school to cook this type of shit. How else could they afford it?
Doing his best to reject his need to puke, Johnny studied the rest of the food laid out before him. In the center of the tray was the main attraction: a big juicy piece of Kobe beef lathered in A1 sauce. It was the most expensive meat there was and, to Johnny, it tasted like any other meat.
There was a cup of Bird’s Nest soup, a calm liquid poured in a Styrofoam bowl that looked like a big old puddle of snot. In the corner of the tray was his dessert: a buttery looking slab of disaster called foie gras—or, duck liver. According to the chef who served their food, the school was very lucky to be located out of Chicago. Apparently the dish was banned there. Johnny wondered if perhaps it was for good reason.
Not for the first time he wondered if things were only popular because poor people couldn’t afford them. If he took a dump and registered it on eBay for ten thousand dollars, would everyone want to bid? The uncertainty of the answer boggled his mind to no end.
“What’s wrong with you, dude?”
Johnny turned to the side where a peer of his sat. He was pretty sure they were friends, but Johnny had no idea what his name was. That wasn’t the problem with the kid, however.
When Johnny looked over at him, there was something wrong with his face: he didn’t have one. It was as if someone had wrapped a skin colored blanket over his head, erasing all identifiable features. What was left was just a head; minus eyes, minus a mouth, minus a soul.
Johnny blinked a couple times, adjusting his vision—this is what you do when staring straight into the dark—and the kid’s face cleared back up. Normal again. Or at least doing a good job at pretending.
“What?”
The kid pointed at Johnny’s tray. “You’re not even touching your food. What’s going on with you, man?”
“Nothing,” Johnny said, shaking his head. He managed to catch a handful of students out of the corner of his eye. At first, he wondered why their faces were missing, too, but then they reappeared after a short session of rapid blinks. “Just a headache. Really, it’s no biggie.”
“Well, if you’re not gonna eat that, do you mind if I take it off your hands? I just adore this foie gras.”
“Sure, whatever. Take it.”
Johnny pushed the tray to the side and sprang to his feet. It felt like someone had strapped him to a merry-go-round and applied tape to keep his eyes wide open. It reminded him of the one he and his old friends in Loathsome used to hang out on. A mixture of nausea and intoxication overwhelmed him. He was spinning all right; it was just that his body couldn’t catch up with his mind, and his mind couldn’t catch up with his thoughts, and yet his thoughts couldn’t catch up with his mind. None of it made sense, but when did anything really make sense when your eyeballs suddenly turned into tiny rolling globes? Who was spinning these plastic planets? It certainly wasn’t him. Hell, he could barely stay on his feet, let alone maneuver a globe.
The faces of everyone in the cafeteria were blurry. Like someone had painted all these facial features on them, but had accidently smudged it before the ink could dry. He felt sick to his stomach. He was going to puke. All that Beluga caviar and Kobe beef would go spewing all over these inanimate stand-ins and that would be that. Jesus Christ, this school taught him more about expensive foods than anything else. Fuck algebra. All you needed to know in life was how to properly eat an oyster.
Johnny ran. He didn’t care if he fell, he still ran. He pushed past the plaid mannequins and hurried for the boy’s bathroom. Any second, he knew his balance would go tumbling out from under him but he didn’t care. He just needed a couple minutes to himself, to take a few deep breaths like a human being without everybody in the whole goddamn universe taking his picture. Plus…he needed to check something out. He had to confirm his face was still intact. He had to make sure his fears were silly and that the eraser hadn’t struck him, too.
Johnny kicked the bathroom door opened and before he could do anything else, a wicked explosion of purplish goo discharged from his mouth and splattered against the sink. The smell was horrendous but it felt marvelous finally leaving his system.
Puking wasn’t so bad, he thought. Definitely a hobby he needed to take up more often.
He looked up at the mirror in front of him and for one frightening moment all he saw was a miserable black hole swallowing the space where his body should have been; a vortex, and what it led to was nothing at all. The worst possible destination imaginable.
Then he blinked and reality snapped back into focus.
He could see the gallon of sweat pouring over his skin; damn near on the verge of a heart attack. Kids weren’t supposed to be this stressed out—this paranoid. He needed help. He needed a fix. What he needed was some more purple. It’d been at least five hours since his last hit. Too long. Way too long.
“Now who’s tripping balls?” said a voice from behind him.
Johnny squealed and leaped around, nearly falling into his own puddle of puke. Standing next to the urinal was a real life bloodsucking vampire.
No, not a vampire. Just a Goth.
Johnny relaxed. The kid had spooked the hell out of him.
“Jesus Christ, where the hell did you come from?”
The Goth laughed. He was wearing a dog collar. “I was taking a piss.”
“That makes sense.”
“So, have you started seeing the demons yet?”
Johnny coughed, trying to get a hold of himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Just wait,” the Goth winked. “They’ll start showing up before long—and once they do, believe me, there’s no escaping them.”
“You’re crazy.”
“You’re in denial,” he said. He started to walk off but turned back at the last second. “And remember, don’t ignore the buzz. It’ll end up eating you alive.”
And with that, he was gone.
Looking back down at the sink, Johnny discovered his puke had also mysteriously vanished. It was almost as if he hallucinated more when he wasn’t high.
He turned the faucet on and splashed water in his face. He needed to go home, relax, breathe in some purple. Then he would be able to think clearer. He’d be able to finally focus.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Johnny realized that while inspecting his own features—or lack of—in the mirror, the Goth’s reflection had failed to show up along with him.
He shivered and returned to the cafeteria for a nice hot cup of kopi luwak, the rich man’s coffee. It was made from beans ingested and then excreted from a weasel-looking animal called the Asian Palm Civet.
Chapter Five
Out of the Frying Pan and Into
Benny’s Trailer
“You want a beer, man?”
“I don’t drink, anymore,” Maddox said, examining the trailer’s shady interior.
“What? You don’t drink no more?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Well, why the hell not?” Benny came back from the kitchen with a beer in his hand. He lay down on the sofa, planting his feet on the armrest, and pointed to the recliner next to him. “Cop a squat.”
Maddox hesitated for a moment, looking around some more, wondering why the room was so clean. It wasn’t like his brother to pick up after himself. Finally he gave in and sat down, settling back in the chair’s cushion.
“Comfortable, ain’t it?” Benny asked.
“I guess.”
“Found that beaut ‘bout three trailers down next to some garbage cans. Man, the stuff people throw away, it’s amazing.”
Maddox didn’t say anything; just rested his head on the chair. He w
ouldn’t have cared if a dog had pissed on it—anything was better than one of those god-awful bunks back at Megaton.
“So, man, you’re finally out!” Benny said, breaking Maddox’s tranquility. “Five years, ain’t it feel good?”
“Ten, and yeah, it feels good.”
“Well, what you wanna do?”
“I want to sit here for a bit, be quiet, and relax.” Maddox closed his eyes.
“All righty then,” Benny said. “Get your relax on, no one’s gonna stop ya. I’ll just watch some TV and relax, too.”
“There isn’t a game on, is there?”
“It’s the middle of November, man. What do you think?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” It’d been a long goddamn day. “Would have been nice, though.”
“Uh-huh.”
Once in a while on the inside, the wardens would broadcast a game on the intercom, usually only postseason. By the 7th inning stretch, he’d have already won two cartons of cigarettes, betting on the outcome of each play like they were at the races.
As kids, he would make his brother crouch down in the dirt with his glove and he’d fire them in at him. He was only twelve and already reaching 85mph. A future playing ball seemed inevitable—assuming he didn’t fuck it up.
Which was, of course, exactly what he had done.
Thinking about his mistakes got him thinking about his Cadillac, making him wonder just how badly his brother had damaged it while he had been locked up.
“Hey, Benny, you still have my car, right?” Maddox refused to open his eyes in fear of what his brother’s facial expression might have been.
“Yeah, of course I still got it. It’s parked out back.”
“You didn’t wreck it or anything, did you?”
“No, man, the same condition you left it in. Shit, what do you take me for?” He tried to sound offended, but was doing a poor job at it.
“Just making sure,” Maddox said. “Calm down.”
“I’m calm.”
“You have any clothes?”
“What?”
“Clothes. I want to take a shower.”
Benny directed him to his bedroom and downed the rest of his beer, skimming through channels. Maddox stumbled through the darkness of the trailer and located his brother’s room. He snatched the first set of clothes he came across and left.
As he strode toward the bathroom his brother called out for him.
“What?” he asked, standing in the doorway, a towel hanging over his shoulder and a ball of denim and Fruit of the Loom bunched up in his hands.
“Just thought I should warn you,” Benny said, sipping a new beer, “that the soap in there is extra-slippery.”
* * * * *
Maddox flicked the light switch on in the bathroom and stood there, thinking something was wrong.
The tiled floor had not one discarded piece of clothing on it. There weren’t even misguided urine puddles surrounding the toilet. The water was actually clean. Where were the brown, crusted stains in the bowl? The pubic hairs curling on the seat? The sink was even scrubbed.
He decided he would have to bring this up later, ask Benny what new drug he was on that possessed him to be so neat. Maybe suggest to increase the dosage, see what happened.
Maddox watched himself in the mirror as he undressed, revealing his naked form. He looked over his oblong scars. He inspected his tattoos, all three representing his love for the game. There was the giant red C on his chest, where his heart would be. There was the rabid bear gashing into his right shoulder, tearing out of his flesh like some kind of demon fleeing from Hell. And, of course, there was the last tat he had done, a little over a month before getting busted. Two digits located in the center of his back in bold ink:
23
The number they had assigned him after being drafted into the Big Leagues. Wrigley Field, baby. His dream, supported by a tough ivy shield. He didn’t like thinking about his dream, anymore. Instead he turned away from the mirror and stepped into the shower. Regret was an emotion he had never particularly cared for.
After he was done he got dressed in a black T-shirt and dark blue jeans. He felt good—no, more than good. He felt fantastic.
Maddox came out of the bathroom and found Benny exactly where he’d left him. “What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the TV.
“Wife Swap,” Benny said. “I swear, man, I’m addicted to this show.”
“What’s it about?” Maddox slipped his boots on.
Benny sat up on the sofa, suddenly bursting of excitement. “Well, they take these two different families, right? And then they switch the broads up and live like that for a couple weeks. It’s like a reality show for swingers—only there’s no fucking. Well if there is, they don’t show it, at least.”
“That doesn’t sound very entertaining.” Maddox sat down in the recliner. The shower had energized him quite a bit. He hadn’t realized how much he actually missed that kind of privilege, to bathe under hot water—alone.
“It’s not,” Benny agreed. “But for some reason I can’t stop watching it.”
Maddox cracked his neck. He didn’t want to just sit here, watching reality television and doing nothing. No, he wanted to go out, have a burger, catch a movie, do something. “You got any money, Benny?”
“A little…Why?”
“Get it and come on. I’m starving.”
“What, you broke?”
“It’s kinda difficult to earn a paycheck behind bars, Benny.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
Benny threw on some clothes and they made their way around the back of the trailer, approaching a black automobile parked beside a couple of steel trashcans. Benny fished the keys out of his coat pocket and tossed them to Maddox, who barely caught them as he stared at his car in a near-hypnotic state.
“We gonna go or are we just gonna stand here all day?” Benny asked.
“Let’s go.” Maddox slid in the driver’s seat of his precious ’74 Cadillac Eldorado. He settled down in the leather, finding his comfort zone before inserting the key in the ignition and starting it up. He loved the feel of his hands around the steering wheel as the engine roared to life. It was enough to make a man cry.
Benny got in the passenger side. “See? No dents.”
Maddox glanced down at the floorboard and spotted a pile of fast food wrappers and empty beer cans. The seats were stained with God knew what. The interior smelled like pot. He tried to shrug it off.
“So, where’re we going?” Benny asked.
“I don’t know. Where’s the best place to get a burger around here?”
“With the money I have? Probably McDonald’s. Dollar menu, man, can’t beat it.”
“No, McDonald’s was always smashed and oily. I hate that place.”
“Actually, they’ve changed a lot since you’ve been away,” Benny said.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, they recently decided to add more grease.”
“Funny. Where else? I want an actual good burger. Something big and juicy.”
“Oh, well why didn’t you just say so? I got somethin’ big and juicy for ya right here,” Benny said, and winked.
“Would you like to be bitch-slapped, Benny?”
“No, that’s quite all right, thank you.”
“Thought so. Now, where else can we go?”
“You know what? There’s a truck stop up there in town. Easy to find. I’ll give you directions. There’s this restaurant inside, ya know, has the best fuckin’ food you’ll ever have. Cheap, too.”
“Yeah?” Maddox pulled out of the trailer park and turned onto the main road. “They have burgers?”
“Of course, they got burgers.” Benny lit a cigarette. “They got anything you want, man. Burgers, steaks, spaghetti, fuckin’ chow-mein. Hell, I could probably even get you some ass if you wanted some.”
“That’s okay, Benny.”
“No, it’s not okay. It’s been like, what, five years, right?”
/> “Ten.”
“Yeah, shit, that’s even worse. Go ten years without, man, you gotta be on the verge of exploding at every pair of tits you pass, huh? Unless you’re batting for the other team now. Is that it? You drop the soap too many times?”
“That bitch-slap offer is still on the table, if you want it. And I’m thinking you do.”
“Okay, okay, sorry.” Benny smirked. “Hey, ain’t you got a wife? Why the hell are you here and not over there stickin’ it in her?”
“We’re divorced now, Benny.”
“Oh…is that so? Shit, I’m sorry to hear that, man. You two had a daughter or something like that, right?”
“Yeah,” said Maddox, flicking on the radio. “Something like that.”
Chapter Six
Asswarts
Addison Kane entered her bedroom and sat at the edge of her bed. A peculiar wave of familiarity washed over her. The man in the living room, when he opened his arms out to her, there had been some sort of subconscious current trying to drag Addy to the man’s embrace. Somehow she had managed to resist, and now she wondered if perhaps that action had been a mistake on her part.
Her mother had always told her her father was long dead. But then again, her mother wasn’t exactly known for her honesty. Could this guy really be her father?
Then, from the living room: “You blew your chances of being a father!”
Oh, well that settles that, she thought.
Addison sat there for a little longer, thinking how her mother had just saved her from a lot of aggravating questions. Some she most likely would have been slapped for asking in the first place.
Then she heard a loud thud. Her mother screamed bloody murder. She said she was going to call the police. The door slammed. Silence.
It was going to get ugly here. It would probably be in her best interest to leave the apartment for a few hours. She threw on a hoodie, some socks and her shoes, and slipped out of the place as quietly as possible. Her stepfather was unconscious on the floor. She made sure her mother wasn’t looking when she pressed the heel of her shoe down on Del’s stomach. It was enough to make her smile as she jogged down the stairs and out into the cold.
Toxicity Page 5
