by Tim Meyer
Green vomit spewed, ejecting the remainder of his lunch. Blaze had shared a soup and salad with Tina because he hadn’t wanted to take a full lunch hour. He worried Matt would try to rip him a new one for not giving it his all. Blaze had intended to skip lunch and work through until Tina had asked him to keep her company. He figured he would use the opportunity to talk her out of the porn shoot. But he didn’t have the courage to bring it up, even though Tina went on and on about her dreams of celluloid stardom.
The Sarge shouted at Blaze. He stood over his prone body, unafraid of the deadly battle surrounding them. He had yelled at Blaze for snaking around on his belly like a coward when they needed to return fire on the ambush. Sergeant Polk ripped a heavy pack off a dead infantryman, inspecting it quickly for damage. Satisfied it was still in working order, the Sarge shoved a flame-thrower into Blaze’s hands.
“Burn these fucking gooks out, Match. Don’t stop until you smell fried chicken.”
Blaze swallowed his fear and strapped on the device. Corporal Streeter lit the end, confirming he was good to go with a definitive nod, and Polk pushed Blaze ahead into a wall of hazy grayness. Smoke irritated his eyes and tree limbs scratched his arms. Blaze triggered the handle, letting loose half a gallon of napalm per second. He trekked forward, the heat singeing his eyebrows with each squeeze of the trigger. Bullets screamed past him as he moved the line of flames forward before fanning the fire outward in a semi-circle of death. He could smell the crisp flesh, the stink of instant decay turning his innards raw. Blaze rounded an edge of dirt mounded taller than the height of an average man. He flamed the top of the hill just as two heads peered over with bayonets at the ready. Their faces melted faster than ice cream on a summer day. Eyeballs rolled away from fried sockets. One man clawed at his face to brace himself against the pain. Instead, his hands came away with a soupy mixture of flesh and blood. The dying shrieks overshadowed explosions and machine guns.
Blaze heard a noise coming from the parking lot. He needed to get to the door before Dougie and Tony got antsy. But his body wouldn’t obey his commands. It was too overwhelmed with the bad trip. He croaked out an order for his legs to help him up. The sound, while inaudible in the real world, rammed through his head from one ear to the other like an ice pick.
Something swam in the ether above him. His eyes watered, so he had to blink to clear his vision. What floated along the dirty drop ceiling made no sense to Blaze. It appeared to be a human form, yet it was too fluid to be of real substance.
TINA?
Blaze struggled against gravity. He needed to rise to see what exactly had joined him in the restroom.
TINA?
He swore Tina swam through the air. The face was undoubtedly Tina’s, but everything else was…unfinished? His mind reeled to come to terms with his situation. Blaze slammed his eyes shut, trying to force the bad trip to completion. Madness was nearby and he wanted to stave it off until he could finish what he had set out to do tonight.
Be careful, Frederick.
The voice filled his head. Foreign, yet inside his own mind.
NOBODY CALLS ME FREDERICK ANYMORE.
Danger is all around you, Frederick. You must get away while you can.
Blaze fumbled to rub his eyes, instead poking one with an ungraceful finger. The voice had to be another ghost from his tour of duty. But it was unfamiliar.
They’re all around you.
WHO?
Blaze drooled. He pulled himself up on his elbows. His neck strained to watch the figure drift all around him. He wished he could reach out and touch it, see if it felt as slippery as it looked. The Tina-shape writhed and undulated as it circled above. Blaze suddenly realized he could see the tiles along the wall through her body. He struggled with his confusion.
The images smacked him across the face, blurring his sense of reality.
A pistol pointed at a scared man. The gun fires, a hole exploding through the scared man’s forehead, depositing the milky contents on the wall behind him. A little girl holds a small finger to her lips as if to silence Blaze. Her white dress ruffles in the gentle breeze of a late spring morning. She smiles right before an old sedan speeds into her frail form. A long streak of blood and gore squiggles along the pavement where she had once stood. A woman is brutally carved with a long knife. Her skin is flayed and stripped in long flanks, and then laid atop wax paper stretched along the floor. The woman screams through the gag in her mouth, very much alive while being sliced apart. A dark window with rustic panes of glass. A young man stares out the window as tears roll down his cheeks. He is very depressed; Blaze feels his desperation. Blaze is reminded of the early American Revolution by the attire, a ruffled shirt, stockings and knickers. The young man wipes the tears away with the back of his shirt sleeves. He steps up on a brittle wooden chair, loops a noose around his neck and then kicks away the chair. As he swings and suffocates, the young man watches a young woman in a forest green dress through the window pane. She giggles and holds hands with another young man. She glances up to the window and winks at the hanging man. An oven full of human remains, the meat charred to a blackened crust. An older woman removes the flesh, plating the pieces for a family of strange-looking children. The children dig into their meals with reckless abandon.
Blaze choked on his gorge, the taste of bile thick on the back of his tongue.
WHAT IS THIS YOU SHOW ME?
It is what has been and will always be.
WHERE ARE YOU FROM?
The past and the present and someday, the future.
Blaze hated the riddles. He wished the bad trip would end. The sound of voices in the parking lot outside the bathroom window spurred him on. He climbed to his knees. The apparition ducked into corners, absorbing the darkness, making it more difficult for Blaze to see her.
LEAVE ME ALONE. LEAVE ME ALONE.
The specter dashed into his chest. Blaze felt a fluttering and warmth before an icy chill shot up his spine.
It will be okay. If you walk away.
Blaze gathered enough strength to pull himself up to his feet. His hands rested on his knees to steady his equilibrium. The warning had been clear, but he couldn’t understand what any of it meant. His stomach and head met in a death match of wills. Blaze’s stomach won out.
Blaze threw up in the sink.
***
The storeroom was decked out with drop cloths and chairs. Blaze had been relieved to find that Tina wouldn’t be part of tonight’s film shoot. He settled into his nerves and asked Tony what the drop cloths were for. Tony said it was important to leave as little mess behind as possible. Again, Blaze felt relieved. He figured the arrangement might end up being quite mutually beneficial. Tony was more considerate than he had originally seemed. Blaze had never considered the potential messes left behind from stag films. All the writhing, sweaty bodies and fluid exchanges hadn’t even dawned on him.
Tony had hurried Blaze out of the storeroom as the actors came in. He said the actors were beginners and got nervous if too many people looked on. Tony thought it would be helpful if Blaze could hang around outside, keep watch on the parking lot in case any groupies or fans found out the shoot was taking place at this secret location. Blaze found it odd since the whole operation was clandestine. However, he understood how loose lips could squash the best laid plans. He took his post in the shadows of the overhead lights, while the cameras and equipment were transported from a rental truck into the building.
***
Marcus lingered a moment longer. His fingertip slid along the dried quill ink. The fancy penmanship mirrored the tender message on the parchment.
I’ll love you always, my dear.
He choked back his sorrow. He wondered if it had been a ruse all along. Or had she lost interest? Their time apart had been difficult for them both.
The cause was too important. The colonies had found themselves on the brink of turning the corner. Plans had come together, and Marcus had an opportunity of a lifetime. Delivering m
essages, information vital to the cause, between Philadelphia and New York had increased his visibility among the elite, the true power brokers funding the revolution. Future positions in wealthy organizations had been hinted at, even one offer to apprentice with the esteemed Mr. Franklin at his press. Yet, all the intrigue and danger had kept them apart for nearly a year.
Marcus had longed for her delicate touch, the lilac smell of the fragrance on her kerchief. He had dreamt of his return to her soft kisses for many months. It had never occurred to Marcus that Delilah could have found another. Her letters had sent no such inkling. The words had been as gentle and intimate as if they stood face to face in the dusky shine along the Raritan. The image remained etched upon his memory; their final day together before he had waved goodbye with tears in his eyes.
Now the tears had returned. However, these tears stung where the others had swelled.
Marcus crumpled the parchment in his fist. He pounded his hand on the balsam table.
Future opportunities no longer mattered. Marcus couldn’t see beyond his current melancholy. If Delilah wouldn’t be at his side, then what use would it be to fight on. Political strife and religious freedoms be damned! The new country’s landscape grayed without the rays of sunshine in her precious smile.
The sound of laughter shook Marcus from his depression. The crumpled paper dropped, soundlessly landing on the floorboards. He traced his steps along creaks and knots. As Marcus approached the window, he used tear-dampened fingers to clear aside the burgundy cloth.
Delilah.
His heart pounded with anguish. The beautiful visage had malformed to horror.
Delilah wasn’t alone.
Her new love sat next to her. One hand on her lower back. The other caressing Delilah’s upturned cheek.
***
Something felt wrong. A sudden chill worked its way down Blaze’s spine. He shook the ice from his limbs, pacing through the parking lot. A sensation of being watched kept him moving between the cars. His eyes were drawn to the upstairs window above the brewery. A young man stared at him from behind the dirty pane. Blaze shuddered as he recalled the vision of the person who had hung himself. He rushed into the brewery. Blaze wasn’t sure if he was going to chase the man out or find a real ghost haunting the place. As he ran across the bar toward the stairs, the sound of crying halted Blaze in his tracks.
The storeroom.
Blaze forgot all about the person upstairs. He followed the hushed tones and whispering. Listening at the storeroom door a moment, Blaze picked up an angry voice, too. He twisted the knob gently, hoping to get a peek without stirring anyone’s attention. As the door opened a crack, Blaze felt his tongue dry up.
THIS ISN’T A PORN SHOOT.
To his horror, Blaze stared at the couple. The woman, standing before the seated man, was nude. She cried as she raked a vegetable peeler across the man’s stomach. It sliced ragged strips of skins from his trembling flesh. His eyes were wide with terror and pain. A rag was stuffed in his mouth, so his screams remained muffled.
Blaze swallowed hard.
The woman paused, leaning her elbows on her knees as if she caught her breath from carrying heavy sandbags. One of the camera techs ran into view and sliced across the woman’s back with a small knife. She reached around at the fresh wound, her head tossed back in anguish.
Tony stood off to the right, arms folded. He smirked as the scene unfolded.
The woman returned to her macabre task.
Blaze swung the door wide.
The hinge squeaked, drawing the attention of all eyes.
The man in the chair fought against his restraints. He pleaded for help with a choked scream. The woman dropped the peeler and ran toward Blaze. Several steps later, she was nearly beheaded by a gleaming machete. She sprawled along the drop cloth, spraying blood. Blaze knew she was dead before she landed, but he rushed forward anyway.
Two of the mobsters grabbed a hold of Blaze while Tony stood before him. Blaze didn’t hear Tony threaten him, his eyes drawn to the naked man in the chair. He sobbed. Head sunk down on his chest. Blaze figured the man had given up his fight after watching the actress get slaughtered.
Tony slugged Blaze in the stomach. He bent in half as all the air expelled from his lungs. He wanted to shout at Tony, but his voice found no power. On his knees, the two mobsters beat Blaze. They stomped him with the heels of their fine, leather shoes. Punches split open his mouth and his eye. Blaze quickly lost his ability to cover himself from the punishment. His body faded into oblivion as the blows kept coming.
The last thing Blaze saw before the world went dark was the man in the chair, eyes pleading for help, right before he was executed.
***
The pain was sharp. Blaze awoke to a damp cloth dabbing at his face. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. Blaze found Dougie hovering over him. He attempted to pull himself up but Dougie held him down with a stern hand. Blaze gave in, deciding his head hurt too much to sit upright.
Dougie chastised Blaze for being stupid. He said Blaze had a good thing now and he would only ruin it if he thought about becoming self-righteous.
“You don’t know these people. What do you care what happens to them?”
Blaze wanted to argue but his mouth was pasty with the taste of blood.
“Bad people deserve bad things. You think those folks were innocent?”
He winced away from the damp cloth. Blaze glanced across the storeroom. The place was spotless. The room looked just as it had when his shift had ended. No signs of mobsters or drop cloths or blood.
“Besides, it’s not like this is any different than what your country did to you. Am I right?” Dougie sat back on his haunches. “They sent you to the other side of the world to fight for a cause that had nothing to do with us, man. They just threw good kids into the meatgrinder. And for what?”
Blaze groaned. He’d grown sick of everyone’s political agendas about Vietnam. Both sides of the argument were right…and wrong. Blaze just wanted to shoot up so he could sink into the inky darkness of his mind. Forget all the pain.
The little girl in the white dress shushed him from the corner.
Blaze blinked. Her image remained. He wondered if he had finally lost his mind. Reconciling all the drug-induced trips and the eerie visions became an exercise in futility.
“They’re gonna kill Tina.”
Dougie laughed. “Relax, man. Tina’s doing a skin flick, not a snuff film.”
Blaze pulled himself up on his elbows. “She didn’t sign up for this. You lied to her. And to me.” He watched the little girl skip rope on the other side of the room. She smiled and laughed, lost in her childhood innocence.
Dougie tossed the damp rag on Blaze’s head. He wandered around the storeroom, touching boxes as if he were counting them. “I didn’t lie to you, man. I just didn’t tell you the whole truth.”
“What IS the truth?”
Dougie circled back. “Those people fucked on film. They did a porno.” He shrugged and looked at the ceiling, his long hair cascading over his shoulders. “It finished with a snuff film.”
Blaze rushed to stand. His head swam, forcing him back to his knees. “Is that how it’s gonna end for Tina?” The little girl stifled a laugh. She blew Blaze a kiss.
Dougie smirked. “You got a crush on her, man? You’re acting like a schoolboy.”
Blaze rubbed his temples. Black dots flashed through his peripheral vision. He groaned a negative response, lying to himself as well as Dougie. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”
Dougie fired up a cigarette. He offered one to Blaze. Blaze didn’t smoke, having given up the habit when he had returned from overseas. Dougie tucked the extra cigarette back into his crushed pack. He tucked the smokes into the back pocket of his faded jeans.
“Tina’s not gonna get hurt. Straight sex, man.” Dougie bent to help Blaze to his feet. “It’s not her first rodeo.”
Blaze winced; although, he couldn’t dis
cern if the pain was from his body or his heart. He glared at his dealer. Dougie slapped his shoulder.
“Tina’s been around, brother. She told us she did some stags to pay for school. I wouldn’t force her into anything she wasn’t comfortable with.”
Blaze grunted. “Yeah, you’re a real saint, Dougie.”
Dougie held his arms wide. “I’m a survivor, man. Just like you. Anyway, it’s not for you to make choices for Tina. Or anyone else.”
“What about Tony?”
Dougie exhaled his cigarette smoke. He tapped the ashes on the floor and shook his head. “He’s pissed. He wanted to whack you, but I stuck out my neck for you, man.” Dougie took a long drag. “I’m running out of excuses for you. The only reason he didn’t go through with it is because I reminded him how veterans need time to adjust to regular life again. His Pop went through some…adjustments…when he returned from Normandy. Never underestimate a goombah’s affection for his family.”
Blaze watched the little girl. She danced and laughed. Then exploded into a splash of blood along the walls and floor. He thought he heard tires screech and thud as a vehicle connected with the weight of something. The little girl. He gritted his teeth, searching for the image to come back to life. As he waited for the little girl to return, a set of fingers crept up from the puddle of blood on the floor. A massacred hand followed the fingers up through the floor. Blaze choked back vomit as his gorge rose.
The woman from his dreams, the one who was being flayed apart, piece by piece, climbed through the puddle. The ends of her severed limbs slapped, like dead fishes, for purchase along the bloody floor. She whispered to Blaze but her request was inaudible. Blaze felt her hopelessness permeate his soul. He started toward her when Dougie interrupted him to say goodbye.
***
The next morning, Blaze waited for Tina. He leaned against the brick façade of the brewery, careful to stand within the remaining shadow before noon. He hadn’t slept last night, worried about Tina’s involvement with Tony. Trying to piece together the horrific images of the brewery added to his restlessness. Something about the people he kept seeing led him to believe he needed to solve their problems. He felt drawn to helping them, yet he hadn’t figured out if they were truly ghosts requiring assistance or figments of his imagination. Blaze cursed the heroin in his system for clouding his judgment.
