by Egon Grimes
Alice sighed after a few moments. “You saved my life, I guess I owe you something.” She stood up and let the cover fall away. She wanted to cry, she wanted a father to hold her, but she’d settle with the next logical step if she had to.
She climbed onto Maurice’s bed.
“Whoa, little lady,” he said, holding his hands out.
She leaned in to kiss him.
“No, no, no,” he said jumping up and crossing over to the wall.
Alice began to cry and covered her face with one of the hard pillows.
It was all fucked up. Maurice sat down next to her and rubbed her spine. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he said, despite thinking otherwise.
Alice didn’t respond and curled up to Maurice, bringing her face to his lap, innocently, and closed her wet eyes. He continued to run his hand down her back. Gradually, Alice and Maurice slid down the bed and both fell asleep in a heap of exhaustion.
34
After the shots, amidst a cacophony of screams, Ivan dropped the rifle and moved toward a parked Toyota Matrix, deftly, but without running. The keys dangled from the ignition and his body drove while his mind sat in blank terror. He’d killed so many. It wasn’t anguish or regret he felt, he didn’t have control. It was wonderment. Only four blocks away from the carnage, he pulled over and picked up a decrepit old man with a duffle bag.
The man didn’t speak. The man didn’t look at Ivan and they made their way out of town and east on the highway. Ivan pulled the car off the highway and toward the airport. Fear. The sensation was abundant. Ivan understood that his face would be all over the television. And blood speckled him like a red-spotted Dalmatian.
The airport was tiny, a stop station for people going elsewhere. Rows of leather-padded seats ran in three lines of twenty. Ivan took a seat and the old man walked to the counter. While the man was gone, a small girl sat wide-eyed, gazing at Ivan. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve repeatedly to get her attention. The woman was deep into a Camilla Gibb novel, but once she raised her head, her eyes become flirty and wanton.
The girl whispered to her mother, “Why isn’t he at the North Pole, Mommy?”
The mother ignored her daughter and stood. Ivan rose, helpless against her urges and they stared into one another’s eyes. The old man returned and upon seeing him, both the mother and daughter turned away in disgust, finding seats elsewhere in the terminal.
“Wanted something?” The old man grinned a set of cruddy teeth.
Ivan’s mouth untied and he let out a gasp. “Who are you?”
“Nobody,” Dhaksa replied through Vadrossa’s mouth.
“Are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Don’t play stupid.”
The man turned to Ivan. “You are part of something great.”
“Who are you?” Ivan attempted to rise and raise his voice, but found both glued.
“Enough talking.”
“What are we doing here?” Ivan managed.
“Enough.”
“Do you know who the,” beautiful “man from my dreams is?”
Vadrossa grunted.
The situation was ridiculous, unfathomable, but there he was, owned and used and dragged along by a mysterious man. Ivan attempted to speak further, but zipped closed internally. A family sat in the seats across from him. None wanted to raise their eyes, but Ivan felt the pulls. They all saw him how that wanted to see him and nipped inside. Something within him wanted, need, to please.
He could also feel their disgust at his unwanted companion. Yin to Yang.
Hours passed and Vadrossa glazed, almost motionless aside from his light breathing. Ivan pushed to inch, but the more he fought, the stronger the pain in his head grew. People filed in and out of the airport, all looking with intrigue and then revulsion.
Without instruction, Ivan followed Vadrossa to baggage. Nobody wanted to come near Vadrossa. His duffle bag cleared the x-ray without issue. The call finally came. “Now boarding flight AC-18, gate four to Timmins.” Ivan looked down at the ticket in his hand, he didn’t recall how he came to possess the it. A short, but solid woman looked after Ivan. He didn’t remember bringing his bag from the motel, but it was there gliding unattended on the conveyor belt.
What else occurred against his will, removed from his knowledge?
“Just the one bag, handsome?”
Ivan nodded and winked.
The woman leaned close to Ivan and whispered, “Just before you get to the departure’s lounge, there’s a storage closet. Meet me in five minutes.”
It reeked of pine cleaner and bleach.
Naked, the little woman was ugly and fleshier than expected. Ivan ran his hands in all the ways she appreciated. A tiny gold crucifix dangled between her fatty breasts, a pendulum of faith. Her chubby little fingers jabbed into his sides and Ivan, although he couldn’t control or foresee the next step, he met the met the fingers as instructed by her urges. She took his right hand, keeping her left digging, and snuggled her body tight to him. Ivan swayed, his throat vibrated a tune and she dropped her head to his chest. For the next fifteen-minutes, they danced. The woman told Ivan that she loved him and would never leave him again. The tune never ceased: The Righteous Brothers’ Unchained Melody looped over and over in Ivan’s throat.
What is this song?
The handle of the door jingled back and forth, tears dripped down Ivan’s bare chest and the little woman lifted her face. “I knew you weren’t dead forever.”
Ivan groaned in an unfamiliar voice, “I love you, for always.”
The handle stopped moving and the little woman dressed, kissed Ivan on the lips gently, and left, tears flowing at his words. Ivan dressed, departed the closet, and stood in the crowd of horny eyes. After a few more minutes, a line formed, the tugs on his being were coming hard and fast from only two sources. There was a teenage girl directly in front of Ivan, feverishly his hand and hungry fingers wriggle down the back of her pants. The man behind Ivan rubbed his belt roughly against Ivan’s ass.
Does nobody see this?
Ivan looked around and another teenage girl had a camera phone in her hand, catching the action. The girl with the finger in her moaned. The camera girl shrieked, tugging on her clothing crazily, attempting to strip in a furious joy. Her eyes never losing Ivan’s face.
Fingers in exploration. The girl in front of Ivan began to shake and then stood stiff, clamping the busy hand between her legs. With effort, Ivan removed his hand and placed it on the girl’s shoulder, holding her close, standing spoon. The man continued his dry hump him from behind. He was like a lap dog on the neighbor’s leg. The man grunted and groaned until his load was spent on the interior of his dress pants. Droplets of white travelled through the silk and onto Ivan’s rear pockets.
No more.
A sound stole his attention.
The sound was of the young teen with the camera phone, she’d come closer and exposed a piece of her lunacy for the video, screaming, crying, flailing her arms, pulling her hair. She’d lost her mind. “Justin! Justin!”
God, make it stop.
Finally, something had brought the crowd to reality. The girl tilted her head and lowered her phone. Ivan’s hand fell from the other girl’s shoulder. The man behind him lost contact.
“Not God, just me. I am the ugliness of dreams, you are the ugliness of reality,” Vadrossa said as he approached Ivan. “When this is all over you will be your ugly self again, but until then, you are mine.”
Turning around, the humping man’s face was red and his eyes shot quickly to his shoes, almost as quickly as the load shot through his pants.
How does he know everything?
Ivan leaned into Vadrossa. “It’s you isn’t it?”
“If it was me that gave you the beauty of every vision, do you think that would be the limit of my ability? You are nothing more than the limits of your fears and dreams. Your weakness is my handle.”
You are doing this. I will end you.
&n
bsp; “I don’t think so.”
Dead.
“Empty threats mean nothing. You fear people’s dreams, but soon I’ll show you your fears and you’ll pray for more horny men, women, and children,” Vadrossa whispered, the words belonging to his brother.
A slamming heat inside his head toppled Ivan. He gagged and gasped, but climbed to his feet and stumbled on. The line continued and Ivan moved forward against his will.
The flight to Timmins had two legs: the first from London to Toronto, then Toronto to Timmins. Vadrossa watched Ivan and Ivan watched the other passengers, watched their greedy and hungry eyes.
35
At first, Rhoda refreshed her phone’s browser every few seconds, but began to watch out the window as the results remained steady. Blackness flying by the rural areas, orange glows in and around towns and cities, and then back to blackness. Refresh. Nothing. More trees. More road. Refresh. Nothing.
“Anything?” Lou asked.
She didn’t answer, was furious, but equally, if not more, furious with Maurice. How could he do this to his family?
Lou wondered if Moe made it away from the action, he wasn’t answering his phone, and they’d seen what happened at the fairgrounds. The I love you spoken dreamily by Denise was the only silver lining on the clusterfuck of a situation. He wanted to be home, in her arms, talking things through. He’d suggest therapy as if she hadn’t done so a million times before. He could almost feel her arms around him. The mental hoops had almost resolved the truth into the beautiful lie.
The tires of his little car ground over the rumble strip, he swung out of his fantasies and back into his lane. The lights of Toledo blasted an ugly glow over the dark skyline.
Rhoda refreshed. “How did we live before these things?” she said shaking her phone, “Come on you—London!”
“What?”
“He rented a room at a motel in London, Ontario.” He damn well better be alone, she thought and almost laughed at the absurdity. “I should call VISA and have them cancel our cards, tell the cops up there that someone stole the card. Make them hold on to him.”
“Whoa, cool it. He’s alive and that is good, but you can’t have him arrested. He almost certainly has weapons with him, which means he crossed the border with concealed no-nos. He’d likely lose his job, might lose his passport. He’s at a motel, which means he is likely sleeping and we’ll catch up in the next few hours. Try to talk him home.”
“He’ll come home. Like hell we won’t. He’ll listen if he ever wants to see Ruby again.”
Lou looked over at Rhoda, am I ever lucky to have Denise.
36
Alice felt safe around this man who came to rescue her. The pull was dormant, no pain, but it was still lingering deep inside her head. Invasive was the word that finally came to her.
Nature called. She got up as gently as she could to keep from rocking the bed. The door creaked when she closed it. She sat, pissed, unwrapped a tampon from the box on the counter, and finished. She and looked into the face in the mirror beneath the yellow overhead lights. “What a mess,” she said. Her eyes were blood shot and her cheeks were pale. “A real looker Ali.” She pinched a bit of fat she’d grown over the last year and a wave hit her. She suddenly felt very drowsy, even dizzy. She sat back down on the can and waited. “What’s next?”
The feeling flooded and she thought she might vomit and then it stopped, all traces gone. She stood, glanced in the mirror. Her arm raised and with a quick swipe of her right fist, the mirror smashed. The little pieces fell quietly behind the sink and onto the carpeted floor.
Alice cried on the inside, she came out of the washroom and her will was no longer in control. She had a piece of glass behind her back.
Maurice opened his eyes a crack and then wider. “How the fuck…?”
“No, no, no,” she mumbled and he placed his hands to his temples, trying to rub the image of his wife’s college body from his head.
Like an RC car without a master to convey signal, Alice sat in wait. She watched Maurice and wished she could help him, drop the charade, but it was above her. Appearing as Rhoda took a mind of imagination she didn’t have. It was a familiar feel, she knew how it all worked and her mind swayed in the knowledge that if she got the chance, the puppet-master would work her hands to end the man’s life.
Maurice dropped his hands and in front of his eyes, Rhoda shrank and melted into an image of Rosalind. Blinded by grief he took a few hopeful steps toward her, but caught his footing as his toe slammed into a locked caster beneath the bed.
It’s a trick. It’s that man.
Again, the body on the bed changed, growing into a man. The man. Alice fought to scream, but not a peep. Desire was stronger now than before. She shook.
Maurice lunged forward, taking Alice by the throat. She swung the piece of mirror, lodging it into her attacker’s side. He fell back, the pain bringing clarity.
Alice.
“Stop whatever you’re doing.”
She stood and ran toward Maurice, swinging wildly and wishing she were already dead. After taking a few punches in his chest, he pulled and half-cocked. Alice fell and cracked her face off a nightstand, the TV remote stayed firm—glued to avoid theft or loss.
—
The lot light came through the drapes of the motel room. When Maurice flicked the switch on, it did very little beyond centralizing the glow. The man lied on the floor out cold, looking like a dead body. The pulse against his fingers proved his eyes wrong.
She might just kill you yet.
He pulled the telephone cord from the wall and then the phone itself. The next proof that his eyes showed lies was how many times the cord wrapped around what should have been thick wrists.
“Magic.”
Maurice watched the girl—still looking like the man. His instincts told him that she wasn’t bad. The body began to shake, the eyes shot open, bulging and searching, blood wanted to pool and she blinked against the sights.
Inside the body, Alice screamed in agony. The pull attempted to drag her along and her brain pulsed and throbbed. It finally happened; she won over if only briefly. “Help me.” Her words came out as if she gargled marbles.
Alice was an innocent. He’d punched her and tied her. “What can I do?” he shouted, feeling all of the sudden great pain for the body on the floor.
“Drive,” she gasped.
He lifted Alice to her feet, grabbed his wallet, gun, and keys and jetted from the room. The suitcase was of no consequence. Although at that moment, Maurice couldn’t see it, Alice was again stark naked.
He decided to keep on his way east. From the corner of his eye, he saw the body shifting again. From the man, to Rosalind, to a mystery girl, to Rhoda and finally back to Alice. She’d fought off the control and won. The pain fuelled her passion for control and needed to exclaim the seriousness of her pain.
She writhed wordlessly for an hour, the pain began a slow decrease, but she still couldn’t communicate beyond a carnal reaction to pain. Something changed then and she wailed as he drove.
“Tell me what to do!” he shouted, eyes on the woman he’d only manage to partially untie as he drove. “Which way?”
She didn’t answer with words, but continued screaming.
37
Ivan learned a new lesson in degradation. Vadrossa exited Pearson International just as Ivan climbed aboard the plane. As soon as the seatbelt sign dimmed, Ivan jumped up out of his seat and walked to the small washroom, the plane was to hide and save himself. Eyes followed him the entire way. He locked the door and felt a dizzy wave. He unlocked the door and fell to the seat, the voice entered his head. “You will learn obedience of thought,” the voice said and one at a time the passengers joined him in the soaring lavatory. For the entire hour-long flight, he sucked, licked, pounded, was pounded, and drank. He was a sweaty mess after only minutes, his hair locked from the fluids of the other passengers and the flight attendants. There was an eerie silence beyond the usual mo
vement of air, everyone sat awaiting their turns; legs shaking, constant looks to back, hoping for faster completion of those who got to go before them.
The plane began its decent and Ivan fell forward in the toilet, sticky and soiled and disgusted. The plane rocked and he bounced back, striking the toilet seat with his ear. You will die! You motherfucker! You hear me?
“Enough,” Vadrossa’s voice whispered from hundreds of miles away.
Ivan got to his feet and stumbled out of the can as the plane came to a stop. A woman sneered at him. At least that had changed.
Will these people remember this?
38
Please, let him be here, Lou thought.
Rhoda fumed, the closer they got to the motel, the further she boiled. The Jeep wasn’t in the lot. If nothing else, Lou was certain Maurice would take his wife home; no more passenger, no more babysitting the bitchy woman, and no more of the craziness. Maurice would have to face reality. All that wild stuff about séances and visions was done.
“Just stay put,” Rhoda said as she jumped out of the little car and slammed the door.
Lou cringed, but obeyed. Be the bigger man.
In the motel’s office, Rhoda found a middle aged woman who understood a man’s cheating heart and had zero qualms about opening the door to Maurice’s room.
“I hope you catch him,” the frumpy woman said and turned away.
Lou waited in the car. After a brief search of the room, Rhoda popped back out the door, calling for Lou to join her. He sighed.
The room was a mess, the mirror was broken, and Maurice’s clothing was still there.
“He might come back, he left shit.”
“He has a girl.” Rhoda squatted like a baseball catcher where she leaned over the bikini bottoms.
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“Go check the garbage next to the can. Tampon wrappers. He has a girl and left this slutty bikini.” Rhoda was unnaturally calm. “He has some girl, some whore.”
“You think he came up here to meet some long distance bang buddy? That’s idiotic. Come on. It’s got to be something else.”
