Garden of Fiends

by Matthews, Mark

  Someone had busted open the lock on his apartment door. He stopped in front of it, studying the shattered mechanism on the ground. He debated calling the police, but considering what he had in his pocket, decided against it. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Anybody tried messing with him and he’d murder them without hesitation, although it was doubtful any thief had stuck around long enough to get caught. He walked into the apartment expecting to find it stripped of what few valuable belongings he possessed, but nothing seemed missing or damaged. Then he spotted Nick Malerman sitting on the couch with an aluminum baseball bat laid out across his lap, and everything made sense.

  Not a thief, after all. At least, not in this instance. Today, Nick was a murderer, and Jeremy was his victim.

  The word victim flashed through his head and he struggled not to laugh. He failed.

  “You got a joke you care to share, brother?”

  “Not one you’d possibly understand.” Jeremy kicked the door shut behind him and sat down on the couch next to Nick. Despite the baseball bat, he didn’t feel threatened. The blood soaked into his pants had numbed him of fear. All he gave a shit about right then was the China white in his pocket.

  “Did you piss yourself, man?” Nick lowered his head next to his crotch, inspecting the damage.

  “Just been bleeding, is all.”

  “Oh.” He sat up straight, curling and uncurling his fingers about the bat. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I still can’t fuckin’ believe you’re even alive. How long has it been?”

  “An eternity. Five minutes. Who knows.”

  “Were you ever planning on paying me back?”

  “No.”

  “What about now?”

  “I don’t have any money even if I wanted to.”

  “You know we go way back. I don’t want to do this.”

  “Sure you do.” Jeremy sighed, annoyed. “You can’t wait to bash my skull in. And I don’t blame you. If you’d done the same to me, I would have murdered your entire family and made you watch. Junkies live by different rules. But right now, I got something to do, so either get to killing me or back the fuck off.”

  Nick laughed, taking in his appearance again. “What could you possibly got going on?” He flexed his nostrils and grimaced. “Besides a shower.”

  Jeremy opened his mouth to deliver a smartass comment about Nick’s own hygiene, then it dawned on him that he no longer owned any of his old equipment. When he was getting clean, he’d thrown all that shit away before moving into the new apartment. He wouldn’t even allow booze through the front door. Anything that could possibly stoke temptation was forbidden. Which included syringes. Fuck.

  He could always just snort it, but it wasn’t the same, at least not to him. Of course, after going so long without, maybe it wouldn’t matter.

  He needed it inside him now.

  Jeremy turned to Nick, who sat staring at him, licking his lips, preparing to smash his face in with the baseball bat. “You got a needle, right?”

  Nick cocked his head, puzzled. “Of course.”

  “You want to get high with me?”

  An abrupt laugh escaped him. “I thought you was clean, fool.”

  “Looking to get unclean.” Jeremy pulled out the bag from his pocket. Wasn’t exactly as white as he hoped. A little tan. Stupid fucking amateurs had cut it with other shit. It would still work. Next time he’d find somebody else to score from. Nick would surely know the current primo dope dealers.

  His old friend grinned ear to ear. “You fuckin’ dog. This whole time you’ve been holding back. Clean my ass.”

  “Your ass has never been clean.”

  “Wait. So, you want to do this right now?”

  “Right now is better than later, ain’t it?” Jeremy asked, repeating a favorite quote they’d often used once upon a time.

  “I got a needle in the car. You good on the rest?”

  Jeremy nodded. “Hurry, goddammit.”

  Nick rushed out of the apartment like a kid taking two stairs at a time on Christmas morning. Jeremy stood and stared at the baseball bat on the ground. It would be easy enough to pick it up and wait inside the doorway for Nick to return, then knock him out. But Jeremy didn’t really want to be alone. Nick had shot up with him more times than he could count. There was a special bond in place. With him in the room, Jeremy was convinced the incoming high would be twice as powerful. Superstition, maybe, but it didn’t hurt any.

  Jeremy left the baseball bat alone and stumbled into the kitchen. He glanced down at his crotch and gagged. An alien force convinced him to reach down his pants and feel his junk. No longer wet, but crusty, sticky. Nothing down there belonged to him anymore. When he pulled his hand back out, a dead spider hung from his fingertips. He flung it into the sink and turned on the faucet, washing the tiny corpse down the drain. He paced back and forth in the kitchen, digging into his memories for what to do next, squeezing his left hand into a fist over and over. Exercising that vein. Waking it up and letting it know the hibernation had officially gone on hiatus.

  His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. About a dozen text messages from Eliza sent over the last couple hours. All of them he ignored and planned on continuing to leave unanswered.

  Anything special you want for dinner?

  I can’t wait to feel you inside me.

  All I do is think about you.

  I want you so bad.

  When are you coming???

  I NEED YOU!!!!!

  Have you left yet?!?

  Why aren’t you answering??? I tried calling!!

  JEREMY WHERE ARE YOU

  JEREMY

  PLEASE ANSWER

  WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME

  PLEASE

  He powered the phone off and tossed it on the kitchen counter, then gathered supplies. A spoon. A Q-tip. A lighter. He picked the cotton off both ends of the Q-tip and tossed the now naked stick on the floor as Nick returned from outside.

  “I can’t believe we’re really fucking doing this,” he said. “I was really bummed out thinking I’d have to beat the shit out of you tonight.”

  “Who knows. That might still happen.”

  “Good point.”

  Jeremy opened the baggie and stuck his nose inside, inhaling a harsh vinegar scent he’d been smelling every day since he first started using. Even when he was clean, he’d still wake up with a phantom odor of the real thing infiltrating his senses. Addicts were scarred for life regardless of how long they stayed clean afterward. The shit would keep finding ways to fuck with you one way or another until the reaper finally came around to collect what belonged to him.

  The strength of the vinegar scent only confirmed his suspicions that whoever handled the product didn’t know what the fuck they were doing. Pure China white shouldn’t even have an odor, at least not one remarkably noticeable. This is what you get when you are impatient and settle for the first thing you can get your hands on, which defined ninety-nine percent of dope fiends, especially dope fiends coming off a long stretch of useless sobriety.

  Nick placed a syringe and rubber tourniquet on the table with the rest of the supplies. His eyes seemed stuck on Jeremy’s crotch. “You ever gonna change your pants?”

  “Won’t do any good. Just gonna keep bleeding.” Jeremy loaded a chunk of dope on the spoon, hands trembling.

  “Uh...what’s wrong with you, anyway? That don’t seem too normal, brother.”

  “We’re born bleeding and we’ll die bleeding.”

  Nick laughed. “That’s some crazy shit, man, but I dig it.”

  Jeremy ignored him and splashed some water on the spoon, soaking it into the heroin. He held his lighter underneath the silver and flicked the wheel down, igniting a small, beautiful flame. He shook the spoon in quick motions as it heated and once the water began bubbling, he dipped a section of balled-up cotton from the dismembered Q-tip into the delicious substance.

  Nick rubbed his han
ds together, grinding his teeth. “Yeah, bro, you go first. I’ll supervise. Get what’s yours, bro, get what’s yours.”

  Jeremy penetrated the tip of the needle into the top of the cotton, the bevel lightly pressed down, sucking up the liquid. Nick guided him to the couch and helped him tie the tourniquet around his left arm.

  “You ready for this shit, brother? Are you fucking ready?” Nick tapped Jeremy’s forearm hard and fast, grinning demonically as long forgotten veins sprung back to life.

  Jeremy closed his eyes and leaned back. “Do it.”

  The needle entered his vein and a moment passed as Nick drew the plunger up, sending a slight shiver through Jeremy’s body, a chill, then he slid the needle back down into his flesh and—

  9.

  —and a tingling hits his mouth and there’s a vague taste of coffee present on his tongue as the elixir prepares for the main event, stretching its tired limbs after waking from such a long slumber, and Jeremy keeps his eyes closed as his heart seems to skip a beat and he forgets how to breathe, stunned, brain unable to process the next thought, the kind of total shock you experience after leaping into an unfamiliar lake, only here it’s the opposite of cold, here it’s the opposite of everything anybody has ever experienced, there is no comparison, no description apt enough as clouds replace what little ideas he once possessed in his skull, swirling in surreal poetic motions and spinning the universe with euphoric grace as a cosmic warmness washes over his body, a warmness that can only be described as “home,” because if this isn’t home then he’s never had one, if this isn’t home then home has never existed, and the pain in his cock and the pain in his brain disappear like they were never there to begin with, every worry and dark thought he’s conjured the past week dissipates like rain puddles under the sun, and everything suddenly is fine, more than fine, absent is the fear, the depression, the anxiety, the paranoia, and in its place there is only euphoria, pure motherfucking perfection, because he’s no longer in his apartment, he’s ascended to a better place where his soul glows and the world is constructed of marshmallows, and he never wants to leave, knows now he would rather die than return to reality, would rather kill than go another day sober, would rather—

  —the initial rush slows down and the dope settles comfortably into his system and everything is okay, as long as it remains inside him everything will be okay—

  —succumb to the—

  —forever—

  —and his body floats off the couch, sitting on air now, and he opens his eyes and he’s back in the apartment, only the apartment has never looked so welcoming, so clean, so paradoxical, and if he never leaves this place again he will be content, everything is vivid and bright like the most beautiful dream—

  —NOW IN TECHNICOLOR!—

  —and his senses sharpened and his vision focused ahead, at the woman standing in the middle of the living room, a woman he recognized, a woman he thought he might love, a woman he thought he might hate. He stared at Eliza and there was nothing vague about her presence. This was no hallucination. This was no make-believe.

  “I’m not making you up.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t want to meet the devil who made me up, honey.”

  He laughed, cheeks numb as he exercised his jaw.

  Her gaze sizzled. “You promised you’d come over tonight.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I had everything prepared.”

  “Something’s happening to me.”

  “Something’s happening to everybody.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She pointed beside him, at Nick strung out on the couch. “So who’s this?”

  “He was going to kill me, but then he passed out.”

  She didn’t seem alarmed by his answer. Accepted it like he was telling her the weather. “And why was he going to kill you?”

  “I robbed him when we were kids.” Jeremy licked his lips. “We were living on the streets, homeless, nowhere to go. We used to whore ourselves out for dope money.” He chuckled. “It wasn’t really that bad, to be honest. Sometimes I miss it. Better than fucking Walmart.”

  “Why did you rob him?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Don’t remember anymore. He was asleep. I was awake. He had cash. I didn’t. It made sense at the time.”

  “And now he’s going to kill you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “Okay.”

  A knife materialized in her hand and she held it out to him, a curved blade connected to a black stone handle decorated with a dozen small rubies. “Take it.”

  He accepted the knife without question. The handle felt nice gripped against his palm. He wanted to hold it for the rest of his life, wanted to be buried with it.

  Eliza nodded at Nick, hands on her hips. “Put an end to it.”

  Jeremy glanced at the knife, then at Nick, then back at the knife. The command made sense. Logical. To the point. Put an end to it. Sure.

  He lifted up Nick’s T-shirt and studied the hairs around his bellybutton. Dirt stained his stomach. Jeremy doubted he’d showered within the last month. He pressed the tip of the blade into Nick’s bellybutton and paused, letting the cold steel caress his flesh.

  Nick groaned in his stupor, drool spilling down his chin. “Hey, bro, that’s cold...”

  Jeremy pushed the blade into his stomach and jerked his arm up, slicing a clean cut up Nick’s abdomen. Flaps of tissue unfolded on either side of the cut, revealing bright red layering that vomited out a river of blood. Jeremy continued pushing the blade up, past his stomach, past his chest, into his throat. Nick remained seated, giggling as the blade tickled his innards.

  “Quit messin’, bro, quit messin’.”

  Jeremy ignored him and dug the blade deeper into Nick’s throat until he could no longer talk. He left the knife sticking in him and sat back down on his own cushion. He leaned back and wiped his bloody hands on the armrest. It seemed permanently stained on his skin, and that was okay. Jeremy felt comfortable living in a world of blood. He felt welcomed.

  Eliza still stood in front of him, now sans clothing.

  He pointed a heavy finger at her. “You’re naked.”

  “I give myself to you.” She stepped closer and bent down, lips against his ear. “Do you give yourself to me?”

  “I should have told you the truth.” Absent was the shame that’d been gnawing at him all week. “I have hepatitis—I’ve had it since I was a teenager—and the other day when I bled into your mouth, I think I infected you.”

  She kissed his earlobe. “All your secrets glow in the dark. All your thoughts are fireflies in a jar. I see all.”

  “You knew?”

  “I give myself to you. Do you give yourself to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say it.”

  “I give myself to you.”

  She kissed around his cheek to his mouth and opened her lips, prying open his own in the process. The tips of their tongues danced together as he ran his wet hands through her hair and her own hand unzipped his jeans and snaked through the opening, curling around his cock. Her tongue flicked against his with a faster speed and when he tried to recoil to catch his breath, she pushed her face closer, digging deeper. Her tongue seemed to split in multiple sections, scraping at the insides of his cheeks and the roof of his mouth. She pulled away from him, hand stroking his hardening cock, and smiled as he realized her tongue had never left his mouth, that it was still inside him, tickling his tonsils. He gagged and reached inside and pulled the tongue out. A large black spider squirmed between his fingers.

  “I give myself to you.” Eliza squeezed his cock hard and violent. “Do you accept me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then show me.”

  Jeremy returned the spider to his mouth and sealed his lips.

  “And now, you give yourself to me.”

  As the spider crawled down his throat and into his stomach, Eliza knelt down and swallowed his e
rection. Her teeth nibbled on the head, sucking up the blood and pus and cum that poured out of his urethra.

  He closed his eyes as the clouds in his head drifted him into beautiful oblivion.

  10.

  He woke in the bathtub, naked and clean. The water had long gone cold and he fell into a fit of shivers almost immediately. He pulled the plug and remained sprawled out on the porcelain as it drained. The noise convinced him it was also sucking his own soul down into the pipes below, which would have been just fine. He didn’t need a goddamn soul. He didn’t want one, either. His had long spoiled, anyway.

  Hesitant, he glanced down at his cock. He exhaled deeply when he didn’t see any blood. Maybe the curse had passed. Maybe the bleeding had merely been an elaborate withdrawal symptom. Shit, who knew?

  Nick remained inside-out on the couch. The knife had vanished from his throat. It belonged to Eliza, so it made sense she’d take it with her.

  Eliza...

  Jeremy powered his cell phone back on. He’d missed a couple calls from work, two from Amy. She’d also sent a few text messages asking what’d happened to him.

  Ron says u can still save ur job if u come in TODAY n talk 2 him

  He closed out of the text box and called Eliza.

  It rang once then stopped. It didn’t go to voice message, but she didn’t say anything, either. He thought he heard her breathing on the other end.

  “What happened?” he asked, but received no response. “What are you?”

  “I am yours—”

  “What?”

  “—and you are mine.”

  “Where are you? We need to talk.”

  Her voice remained a whisper. “Come home and be with me, baby.”

  “You’re at your apartment?”