“Man, I hate commercials,” Benny said.
“I wish there was more beer,” Maddox said.
“I thought you quit drinking.”
“Mind your own business,” Maddox said, and drifted off into his own little world, which was cut short when the show returned from the commercials.
Rather than showing off the host’s Hollywood gleam, the screen now showed the flabby face of a forty-something-year-old woman standing in front of one of the biggest houses Maddox had ever seen. When she spoke, the nicotine stains on her teeth were clearly visible.
“My name is Ruth Desperation,” the woman announced, “and I am the sixty million dollar winner of the Illinois State Lottery.” She waved her hand back behind her. “This is my home.”
The camera shot past the woman and zoomed into the mansion, leaking through the closed door and finding its way inside the living room, showing off an interior just as ridiculous as the exterior.
Benny pointed his finger enthusiastically at the TV. “Holy crap, I know that place! I remember reading all about these people in the newspaper like, what, a year ago? I’m not even sure. Who the hell is named Desperation, anyway? Lucky sons of bitches.”
Leaning forward in the recliner, Maddox told his brother to be quiet.
The host, Jimmy Beam, was narrating as the camera panned over each room in the mansion, showing off a giant 72-inch Sony, leather furniture, a basement dedicated only to video games, and a fountain of chocolate located in the center of the kitchen.
“Gaining popularity for hitting the jackpot with the simplest simpleton’s set of digits—one, two, three, four, five, and six—Ruth Desperation did not waste any time at all in rewarding herself with the greatest of life’s pleasures. But what most people are not aware of is the extensive collection of dolls she acquired once coming in to this seemingly bottomless barrel of good fortune. Until today. Now, please, let me proudly introduce you to the rest of the Desperation family that very few have had the pleasure to meet.”
A sudden montage of doll faces emerged on the screen, flashing endlessly. With each image the woman, Ruth, declared their name. One had to wonder where she came up with all of these names, nonetheless how she kept track of them all.
Michelle. Jason. Amie. David. Bill. Ted. Russell. Phil. Cody. Stephen. Tyler. Jessie. Amanda. Christian. Jake. Nathan. Polly. Pollyanna. Anna. Howard. Anthony. Samantha. Chloe. Logan. Xander. Melinda. Dylan. Echo. Max. Lori. Todd. Etcetera.
No, really, one of the doll’s names was “Etcetera”.
The montage finally ended in the backyard of the mansion, where at least five hundred of the dolls were propped up on chairs. They were all pointed toward a small plastic altar. Standing at this altar were three more dolls—one a groom, one a bride, and one a minister.
“That there getting married are my very own Adam and Eve,” Ruth Desperation explained. “I know, it’s kind of weird, but I’m a sucker for romance. And ice cream, come to think about it. Mmm…”
An audible interview commenced as the camera slowly rolled up and down the aisle. It made a very foolish scene look quite dramatic. Maddox had to give the cameraman props.
“Do you have any idea just how many dolls you have in your collection altogether?” Jimmy Bean was asking.
“Why, yes I do, as a matter of fact. I happen to keep a personal diary containing each one of my precious little ragamuffins.”
“And how many is that, exactly?”
“7,411.”
“That—that is quite the collection.”
“Oh, I’m only getting started, my dear,” Ruth Desperation said. You could tell by the way she talked that she was in the middle of eating something. Maddox guessed ice cream.
“Do you have any particular dreams pertaining to your dolls?” Jimmy Beam asked.
“Yeah, I guess it would be nice to populate an entire island. Like Arkansas or something.”
There was a break in communication, then: “Are you serious?”
“Serious as apple pie,” Ruth said.
“What does that even mean?”
“I do not know.”
“Well, okay,” Jimmy Beam said. “Do you happen to have a favorite out of all of them?”
“As hard as it is for a mother to favor her children,” Ruth said, “I do have to admit that I am quite partial to my Aunt Jemima. She is just so delicious.”
“I…I see?”
The interview cut out and Jimmy returned to another solo voiceover: “Ruth then decided to abruptly end our conversation for another refill at her chocolate fountain, but fortunately I did manage to uncover a bit more information afterwards from various family members.”
The next shots were of a camera appearing in front of the following individuals:
(Each asked the same question: What do you think of Ruth Desperation?)
A man with a gray beard and a pipe in his mouth, wearing a World of Warcraft blazer: “Well, I’m married to her.” He then proceeded to relight his pipe and walk away without saying another word.
An obese twenty-something-year-old guy with rolls of fat hanging out from under his tank-top: “I think she loves them damn dolls more than she does her kids. Hell, she even gives them an allowance.”
A blond haired boy wearing swimming trunks plopped down on a lounge chair in the front yard: “My opinion? She’s [BEEP]-ing crazy.”
A girl in a bikini resting on a lounge chair next to the boy: “Who the hell is Ruth?”
And, finally, a dog: “Yarp?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
This Is Rebirth
Returning to the kitchen, feeling a mixture of confusion and disappointment, Addison sat down on the sofa next to Connor, basking in the warmth of his arm wrapping around her shoulders. Whenever she was in the dumps, she could nearly always count on his touch to comfort her back into a semi-sane state. That was one of the reasons she loved him, maybe the main one.
“No answer?” Connor asked.
“Someone answered all right,” Addison said. “Dunno who it was, though. Some crazy guy. He told me I would get my money in hell. Weird. I don’t think we are going to be hearing back from them.”
“You don’t think your dad is gonna come up with the money?”
She shook her head. “I doubt it.”
“Okay. What should we do, then?”
“I don’t know.” Addison snuggled closer to him. “Just hold me for a while, ‘kay?”
He squeezed her tighter. “Always.”
“You mean it?”
He kissed her on the top of the head and they fell silent, drifting off into their own thoughts while their pupils kept themselves occupied with the Harry Potter movie on television.
Connor yawned. “What do you think of ‘Quit, Bitch, Welcome to Quidditch’ as a song name? It might have potential, huh?”
Addison erupted into giggles, rudely interrupting her state of sorrow. “You’re such a nutnerd.”
“Did you just call me a nutnerd?”
“Yeah, I sure did.”
“That’s just weird, Addy.”
The front door suddenly burst open and in came Candy Blossom. She stomped straight into the living room, tears drying on her cheeks, a bag of fast food crushed in her grasp. “Oh hell no! That bastard is gonna die!”
“Jesus, what’s wrong?” Connor asked. “What’s that in the bag? Did you bring food?”
“Who’s going to die?” Addison said.
“My prick of an ex,” Candy said, reaching in the bag and pulling out a large double bacon cheeseburger.
“Hey, where’s mine?” Connor said.
“I need this to calm down.” Candy paced back and forth in the living room, taking giant bites of the burger here, carelessly flinging globs of mustard and ketchup all over the carpet.
“Are you talking about Johnny?” Addison asked. “What’s wrong? What’d he do now?”
Candy snorted. “I take it you guys weren’t watching TV. Because I was, and guess who I saw?
Yeah, him and his whole fucking family. Including that skank of his. She was sitting right there next to him in a goddamn bikini, just flaunting off her two pathetic silicone injections.”
“You’re talking about boobs, right?” Connor asked, probably already picturing them in his head. Addison kicked his shin.
Ignoring his comment, Candy went on, finishing up her burger: “Where does he even get the nerve? It pisses me off so bad. Sometimes I sit around and think about him. I wonder what the hell is so wrong with me that he could just one day outright ditch me and never return. You know, I tried to call a couple times since that day I showed up and that slut was there. The first time I called he said that he wasn’t going to change his mind, what’s done was done. The second time he told me I was pathetic to think he would ever want anything to do with a piece of trash like myself. The third time I called, he threatened to get a restraining order. Every other call since he just hangs up when he recognizes my voice. And I have to wonder, why the hell does he hate me so much? I just don’t understand it, ya know? He was always so against the upper class. Well, look what fucking happened! How could he allow himself to sink so low?”
Candy paused to catch her breath. “And then tonight I see that show about his mom, and they have a quick segment with him in it at the end, sitting there tanning with that stupid fucking plastic vacuum. It just, I don’t know—it really upsets me. He turned into such a colossal jerk. I want to call over there just to tell him off but I know he’ll hang up long before I get the chance.”
“I’m sorry, Candy,” Addison said. “It isn’t fair.”
“Yeah, we both agree, that kid became a major dickhead,” Connor said. “Just forget about him. He wanted to drop us so badly, he was never really our friend in the first place, then.”
Candy stood for a moment in the center of the living room, sucking a splotch of mayo off her finger. She seemed to be contemplating Connor’s suggestion. Then she nodded and said, “Okay, sure, I’ll forget about him all right. Right after we go and TP that fucker’s house.”
“Can’t we do that some other time?” Addison asked.
Candy frowned. “Well, I suppose.” She quietly retreated to a rocking chair.
Connor cleared his throat. “Addy doesn’t think her dad is gonna help us anymore, so it looks like we’re on our own. We don’t know what else to do, though. Any ideas?”
Candy just sat there in her own gloom, all previous energy wiped out. Lips barely moving, she said if they were eighteen they could donate a lot of blood. They could donate semen, donate eggs, donate whatever else people paid to be donated. She suggested going door-to-door selling cookies and candies. If any of them were computer-smart they could start up their own pornographic website and charge outrageous prices for memberships. She even offered to star in some of the videos if it would help them out more. She said they could list her under the bacon fetish category.
And then again, they could always just steal the money. Hell, Candy worked at a gas station. Why not just rob the place? Or anywhere, for that matter? It didn’t seem so hard. They could take out the gas station, a pawnshop, anything. They could even rob Johnny and his pisspoor family of all their lottery winnings. They could take away everything that had turned him into such a piece of shit.
Watching Candy spitball ideas, they saw that thin smile returning to her face, that smile they had become accustomed to over their years of friendship. It meant she had an idea, an idea that most likely wouldn’t end well. It was her evil scientist look.
“That’s it,” she said.
“What?”
“You guys need money,” Candy Blossom said, “and I need revenge. Why not take care of both at the same time?”
Connor snorted. “You want to rob Johnny?”
“Yeah—why not? Don’t tell me that asshole doesn’t deserve it.”
“I agree, he does, but still…”
Candy slammed her palm against the armrest, angry tears searing her eyelashes. “But nothing! Who was it that was acting all big and bad last year, huh? I seem to remember hearing something about someone paying the consequences of someone’s certain actions. Don’t you?”
“Well, we lit a bag of my poo on fire at his front door,” Connor said.
Addison spun her head to the side, disgusted. “I thought you said that was from a dog.”
He shrugged. “You try finding a dog at three in the morning.”
Candy said, “As nasty as that may be, we all know that will never be enough to satisfy our much desired vengeance. We need to do this. C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen?”
There was a moment of silence as the three teenagers pondered the situation.
“Okay, say we did decide to do this,” Connor said, “we’re gonna need to come up with a plan. It can’t be too complicated, because well, let’s face it, we’d screw that up. We’re gonna actually have to give this some thought.”
“Actually, I figured we’d just show up there with a gun and tell him to hand over the cash or we’ll blow a hole in his dirty, betraying face.”
Her deadpan expression and frighteningly serious tone made it impossible to judge whether she would actually do this or not. They both thought she had it in her, though they really did not want to be the ones to push her to such limits.
“But we don’t have a gun,” Connor said. “What are we gonna do, bring along a butter knife? I doubt they would really listen to our commands.”
“Yeah, but how hard do you think it is for someone to get a gun? I mean, this is the twenty-first century, after all.”
“But none of us are exactly connected with the whole thug scene, now are we?” Connor said. “It’s not like we can just walk into a 7-Eleven and come out with a cherry slurpee and a TEC-9. Besides, it still doesn’t change the fact that we don’t have the money to buy one in the first place.”
“I know someone,” Addison said.
* * * * *
It was starting to get late, so they called it a night.
“Tomorrow is going to be one of the most important days of our lives,” Connor said. “We’re going to need all the sleep we can manage.”
Hopefully the last day of this life, Addison was thinking, and the beginning of a new one.
“Agreed,” Candy said. “I am exhausted. Mind if I just crash here on the sofa tonight?”
“Knock yourself out,” Connor said. “My dad might freak out in the morning when he comes home from work and finds you, though. Just a fair heads up.”
“Thanks.” She snatched the remote from the table and started flipping aimlessly through the channels.
Heading down the hallway, Connor took a detour into the bathroom, letting Addison go to the bedroom alone. She crawled into bed. The room was dark and cold, although the quilt she wrapped herself up in helped matters.
Head resting against the pillow, Addison wondered if she was really capable of following through with tomorrow. Could she actually hold up a gun and force someone to give them their money? It seemed like such a pathetic and desperate act—but then again, this was kind of a pathetic and desperate situation, now wasn’t it?
When she thought about all the shit she had gone through the past couple days, she felt like she could take on the entire world. Not even just the last two days, either, but her entire life had been a constant battle. Tomorrow would only be the escape she’d been dreaming of since she was a little girl.
She had fought Del. She had fought the monster in the woods. She had fought Loathsome. And when she woke up, she would continue to fight.
Tomorrow, she would win the life she deserved.
DAY
ONE
IMAGO
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Perpetual Itch
Hovering above the toilet, looking at his own shameful reflection in the bowel, Johnny waited for the Fly’s next order. He had been standing there for several hours now, and so far absolutely nothing had happened.
The zoo had been
infiltrated. The prisoners had been set free. The city was a wreck with wild animals roaming the streets. So why wasn’t the Fly out here praising him for his good work? Why wasn’t he being rewarded for following his directions? Why was he standing here looking at a goddamn toilet?
“Where are you?” he said out loud, his own voice startling him. He felt so tired, yet knew sleep would be impossible right now. Overgrown dirty fingernails dug into his palms. Eyelids clamped shut to block away frustrated tears.
“SHOW YOURSELF!” he screamed at the empty room.
But It did not show Itself.
He sighed. Maybe the time just wasn’t right; maybe the Fly was busy and would appear as soon as It got the chance. It was, after all, almost Judgment Day. He could feel the anticipation in the air. All around him, the smell was much more complex than he was used to. His nostrils did not lie; they detected the End.
And, according to the Fly, the Beginning.
It was going to be oh-so wonderful. He couldn’t wait. When the time came, he wanted to be resting on top of the biggest hill, spying down at the world as it burned, people so small they’d look like little pitiful ants, screaming and running away as fast as they could. And then, once the Fly’s justice finally struck their cowardly souls, they would crumble to nothing but a pile of hellacious ashes.
Johnny grinned. Why couldn’t it happen now? He was sick of waiting. What else could there possibly be left to fulfill? What other trials were there to complete?
He turned away from the toilet, intending on checking Facebook again, when he caught his reflection in the mirror. He froze, horrified at what he saw.
His skin was completely red, as if he had been swallowed whole by an infectious rash. His cheeks were scarred with deep gashes from long nights of digging his fingers into them, itching and scratching away at unceasing irritations. His entire body was covered in them, all over—those bumps, those sores, like mini volcanoes erupting seas of pus and blood. It came to no surprise that the blood held a strange purple glow to it. Hell, by now his whole aura was probably purple. He bled what he breathed, breathed what he bled.
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