Support Your Local Monster Hunter

by Dennis Liggio

  I was immediately thrown up and off the trailer, up into the air, probably saving my life.

  I remember being high up watching in a daze as the truck moved under and past me, the trailer flipping side over side and then finally launching itself off the highway toward a gas station on the right side of the road. Then I was heading downward quickly. I landed with a thud, the world not making sense anymore. Not even a second later, I heard a massive explosion and a wave of heat washed over everything.

  The Approaching Curve

  The next thing I remembered was laying against the road. My head throbbed, I hurt everywhere, and my body was sprawled out in an uncomfortable position. I didn't think I was grievously wounded, but I couldn't do anything but stare at the smoking and flickering sky that was bathed in red. My head throbbed over and over, almost endless waves of pain, moving from dull to sharp then back to dull again.

  I gasped in new pain as someone lifted me up. A familiar voice. "I'm sorry for the rough treatment, but no man is going to be left behind. And you do not want to be left behind on this." I was thrown painfully over a shoulder as I was quickly carried off the highway. I was aware of being thrown into a vehicle, probably a familiar SUV.

  There was a long stretch where my head lay against the door of the vehicle and blurs of colors went past the window, half recognized, half acknowledged. We were driving somewhere, that's all I remember.

  I was pulled out of the vehicle and was walked into a building with someone's arms bracing my shoulders and my legs faltering. It was dimmer inside and I think there were more than one person. My clothes were cut from me and I remember vaguely feeling like a chick being cracked out of its egg. I was inspected, after which I was dunked in a bathtub. It was cold, the water shocking. After that I remember someone putting a robe on me. I was sat down and a bandage was taped over my head, which still throbbed, though not as bad as earlier. Someone sat me on a couch.

  Once sitting, I was hazy as I watched the scenes in front of me. I remember watching a heated argument between Mikkel and Meat while Paulie looked on from one of his desks, smoking a cigarette impassively. There was nothing in the conversations I could follow. It's not that I couldn't hear, it's that the sounds didn't make sense as words. Eventually it was time to move again. Mikkel walked me out to the van, my legs and balance better than they were on the way in. Once seated in the van, we were soon going somewhere else. This time the wash of colors out the window was more distinct, and I vaguely recognized the streets we went down.

  I was walked up to my apartment and put on the couch. I think Mikkel stayed around for a while. I think I remember talking to him, but I don't remember what I said. Eventually he left, but there was a lot of concern on his face, which in retrospect makes it seem like he didn't want to leave. I must have somehow convinced him I was fine, even though I had no idea what I said nor did I think I was actually fine.

  I know I sat there for a long time and at some point I became myself again, as if resurfacing from being deep underwater. I think my first conscious thought was that I wanted cheese. I was on the couch watching what seemed to be a rebroadcast of a baseball game, even though I wasn't much of a baseball fan. Without thinking I got up and went into the kitchen. I took a container of leftover mac and cheese from the fridge and reheated it in the microwave. Then I sat down, staring at the baseball game and pushing mac and cheese into my mouth with a fork. I didn't really taste it, but I kept doing it, the movement automatic.

  When there was a knock on the door, I simply put the mac and cheese down and walked to the door, no further thought in my mind. Without looking through the peephole I opened the door.

  On the other side was Yasmin. I remembered that she looked prettier than usual, her straight black hair in a bob cut, complimenting her darker skin. Her face looked like it had more makeup than usual. She was still wearing a hooded jacket, but she didn't feel dressed down. She held a bottle of wine, and she was doing that cute smile where she curled the grin up on one side of her face, like she was smug about something. I think she was trying to surprise me with wine due to our current troubles. She liked wine and I was willing to drink wine, so it fit with us.

  As soon as she saw the bandage on my head and the other scrapes on me, her expression fell. Her self-satisfied expression dropped into one of shock and then concern.

  "Oh my God! Are you okay?" she said, immediately stepping into the apartment and giving me a hug. The embrace was short lived as she suddenly realized that she didn't know how injured I was and whether the hug hurt.

  "Yes...?" I said. I might have been able to think and respond to conversations, but there was still a part of me that was dazed. Dazed and stupid, based on what was coming next.

  "What happened?" she said, the shocked concern still heavy in her voice.

  "I fell off an exploding truck," I said, my voice disappearing into a slur as I turned to look at the apartment, suddenly feeling like I should have cleaned it. I hadn't known I was going to get a guest. "Do you want to sit down? Let me move this blanket."

  Yasmin grabbed me with both arms and gently turned me around to face her. I found myself looking at her arms first, wondering what happened to the wine bottle. Then she finally caught my attention and made me look her in the face. Her dark brown eyes were large with concern.

  "Szandor, what happened to you?"

  Had I been in my right mind, I would have said something different. I admit, I might have lied. Even if I hadn't, I would have found a version of the truth, with or without omissions, that might have been more pleasing to her. Something that perhaps would have painted the truth in a way that wouldn't have made her worry or question my sanity.

  I didn't do that.

  "I fell off a jackknifing truck," I mumbled. "I guess I hit my head on the road. Or maybe it was the shockwave from the gas station exploding. Did it explode? I assume it did. It got all warm and bright. It smelled real interesting."

  "What are you talking about?" she said insistently. Maybe there was some confused panic in her voice.

  "Okay, I don't know for sure that the gas station blew up. But I fell off a truck. After the guy's head exploded. I know that happened."

  "You are not making any sense," she said. "Or none that I want to believe. Let's go over this. Start at the beginning."

  "Can I sit down?" I said. "I really want to sit down."

  "Yes, of course," she said, letting go of my arms.

  Sitting down actually did help. I felt a little less woozy and lightheaded. However, in that new absence, a raging headache moved in. I rubbed my head.

  "Can I have some water?" I said. I wasn't all mumbles now.

  "Sure," said Yasmin, walking the five feet to my tiny kitchen.

  "Okay, so I was out hunting with Meat. Cobalt County somewhere. There was a factory - thank you," I said, taking the glass from her and having a long drink. The cold water felt nice in my throat. "There was a truck. It had a Spider hive in it. I couldn't let it go. So I climbed on top of it." I paused and stared at my glass. The headache was beginning to throb.

  "While it was in the factory?" she prompted.

  "Well, when I first climbed on, yeah. But then it started moving. Wait, no, it was moving when I climbed on."

  "You climbed onto a moving truck?"

  "Well, yeah. It was going to get away otherwise."

  "That's stupid!"

  "Nah, it's not. Walking across the top of it while it was on the highway, that was stupid."

  "What?" her voice was still shocked but now it also had the beginnings of anger. I suddenly became conscious of what I was doing. My mouth was writing checks I would never want to cash.

  "I... was just out on a job. It didn't go as well as planned. I got a little roughed up."

  This seemed to infuriate her more than when I was actually telling her dangerous details. "Is that all this is for you? Just a job? Some immature game? You just told me you got flung from a fast moving truck, maybe a gas station exploded, and yo
u probably got a concussion. Do you not realize how dangerous that is? Do you not realize how careless you are? Do you not realize how foolish you are?"

  "I am not foolish!" I was of course very foolish. But between my throbbing headache and being yelled at, I wasn't ready for any real conversation. So I defaulted back into fighting, because that's what I do. Sometimes Dickie affectionately calls me "Rebel Without a Fight". I counter that it makes it sound like I don't fight at all. He smiles and says that while I am quick to engage in fighting, I almost never actually have an real fight, a real reason, that I do that fighting in. That's generally when I tell him to fuck off. Mikkel pointed out that this was literally what the movie Rebel Without a Cause was about, so Dickie's name for me is not even a good parody of the movie title. Then I tell him to fuck off.

  "How are you not foolish? You go off on these... adventures," she paused, remembering to omit whatever word she didn't want me to hear, "and then afterwards you crawl home wounded, maybe half dead, and all I get to hear is that it just went wrong?"

  "I'm not wounded," I said petulantly.

  "Your head is bandaged up," she countered.

  "It's just a scratch, it's fine," I said, but my body betrayed me. The stress and the clenching of my jaw made the throbbing in my head stronger. Pain flared across my forehead, and I grabbed at where I was bandaged with a hiss.

  "It's not a scratch!" she said. "You're going to get yourself killed! Don't you see where your hobby is leading you?"

  "Hobby? It's not a hobby!"

  "Then what is it?"

  "It's a calling!"

  This time she couldn't censor herself. Yasmin let out a scoffing laugh and decided to go with it. "This? This is a calling? Being all bandaged up after hunting fantastic creatures?"

  Now I was mad. She was going to outright laugh at the one thing in my life that meant something to me? No way. I stood up, my chest heaving. But I still knew this was just another mutation of our age old argument. I had enough presence of mind that I realized I should try something different. I reached into my mind and tried to remember how Mikkel had gotten over this with Carly. He said he had finally gotten her to accept him for who he was. Maybe I should try that.

  "Why - why can't you just accept me for who I am?" I retorted, my voice involuntarily cracking for just a moment. "Rather than always finding something wrong with it!"

  "Because who you are is an idiot!" She was now on her feet too.

  "W-what?"

  Yasmin put her hands up and began walking back what she said. Even she realized it was too strong a blow and she tried softening her tone. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. Szandor, you have to realize how much potential you have. Do you not realize how you could better yourself? You're a great person on the inside, but you spend your time on such stupid things. Don't you realize how you could be better if you just gave up some of these immature pursuits?"

  "That's what this is about, isn't it? You just want to change me! You just want to turn me into someone else! If that's true, why don't you just find that someone else!"

  "That's not what I mean! I want to help you because I lo-"

  I cut her off again before she could invoke the L-word. "Oh no, no no no no, NO! Don't start that, not here, not now! That's not what this is about. You're not using the nuclear option to make this okay or wipe away everything. That is not what we're talking about!"

  Her jaw was tight and I assumed she was holding back various responses that sprang to her lips. "I want to help you because I care about you," Yasmin said tersely. "It means I like a lot about you, and I don't want to see you throw away your life meaninglessly."

  "Oh, I see it, I'm some charity case. 'Look at Szandor, he's too much of an idiot! I'm going to help him change into someone better!'"

  "Maybe you could stand to be a little better!" she said fiercely.

  "Maybe I like myself how I am!" Then I decided to double dip in the argument. "I don't need your meddling!"

  "Meddling?" she scoffed, offended.

  "Yeah!"

  She threw up her hands. "Sorry if I offended you by caring about you!" She turned on her heel, opened the front door, and slammed it behind her.

  In the wake of the argument, the stillness and silence of the room was deafening. I was still angry, but now I had nothing I could do about it. I raged within myself. She was right, but she was also wrong. Yes, I was an idiot, yes, I needed to be better, but she didn't need to treat me like a goddamn child! She needed to understand who I was, not scoff at the things I found important!

  Couldn't she see I was trying to change? For her, for Mikkel, for everyone! After Jack had put me in the hospital, I realized I needed to do better. I need to not let people down. And when Carly came back to Mikkel, I realized there was hope. We could do this with love, we didn't always have to do this job alone.

  Couldn't she see how much I was trying?

  I kicked over my coffee table in anger. It was cheap and wooden, so it just fell over, scratched more than damaged. My glass of water spilled onto the floor and the television remote skidded under the entertainment system.

  Why were things so goddamn complicated?

  I sunk back on the couch. The aftermath of anger is never pretty. You're all filled with ugliness, that false strength you found in rage drained away, your pulse slowing and your heart empty. That combined with both my throbbing headache and possible concussion were too much. I was woozy and lightheaded. I pulled the blanket around me and felt sorry for myself. Not long after that, I fell asleep.

  I'm Not Down

  When I awoke on the couch in the morning, I felt better - physically, that is. Emotionally, I felt the weight of everything that had transpired. I wanted to believe that Yasmin's whole visit was a hallucination from my probable concussion - my brain had just assembled it as a greatest hits album of our previous fights. It was just giving vision to how terrible I felt after the accident. But when I saw the unopened bottle of wine sitting on my counter in the kitchen, I knew it was no hallucination.

  "Well, fuck," I said to no one in particular.

  I wasn't going to call her today. That part was true, no matter the reasons I might suggest why - arrogance, feeling like shit, too soon, it would start another argument, cowardice. However, with that unresolved, I would continue feeling bad and there was no end in sight to that emotion other than ignoring it.

  I checked my texts and found they were remarkably light for the day after a huge accident. Mikkel had texted me to know if I was okay today. I texted him back that I was fine but felt like I had a hangover. The second text was from Dickie who wanted to know if I wanted to hangout and talk about opportunities with Avalon X. I didn't answer that one.

  I had nothing to do today. There was no hunter ride along scheduled. I didn't have any of my odd jobs scheduled, which was unfortunate, because I could use a little extra cash. I originally was supposed to help an old woman in the neighborhood repaint, but that was cancelled two days ago when her grandkids visited unexpectedly. So on a day when I wanted nothing more than to be distracted, I had nothing to do. And what does one do when they feel like crap emotionally and want to be distracted but have no way to do that? Of course they start drinking.

  I was smart enough to not do my drinking at home. I didn't want to be holed up at home, alone with my memories, even if I didn't necessarily want to actually see anyone outside. I walked over to Twin Eagles and settled into a booth, mulling over a pint while I stared off into space considering my poor choices, both recent and long-standing. The bar also slowed my drinking. At home I would have probably finished off my bottle of whiskey and moved onto Yasmin's bottle of wine. Here at the bar I was paying for every drink on an ever lengthening tab I couldn't quite pay back yet, so I drank slower, more pensively, more spendthrift.

  From the television in the corner of the bar that hardly anyone pays attention to, I could see how badly my choices had worked out. The news was talking about the big explosion at the FuelGo station up the highw
ay in Cobalt. No one died, but the gas station attendant suffered third degree burns and was intensive care. That was my fault. Yet another thing to carry on my conscience. I wondered if I could do something for the person. What would even make sense? Is there a bouquet at flower shops for explosion victims? Apology burn cream? It's not like I could show up and apologize. They wouldn't want to see me, and if they even actually believed me, they'd get someone to arrest me. On this I had to be sorry from afar.

  I was still suffering under my dark cloud later in the day when Dickie showed up at Twin Eagles. I didn't know he was coming and wasn't happy about it. Of course it wasn't my bar, he could drink wherever he wanted. Though I knew that when he wasn't with me, he often drank in Southend near his apartment. Twin Eagles was for socializing. As he walked in, he had two people in tow, and I knew by looking at them that they were musicians, probably members of Avalon X.

  One might have been more obviously a musician to other people by his fashion, but I honed in on the other. This was clearly a drummer. His sleeveless shirt revealed his arms, almost marbled with tendons and muscle. These were arms that had spent years hurling sticks at skins with passionate intensity, keeping tempo as well as any metronome. There was a compressed intensity in him that just said "drummer" to me, stronger than his actual features. His skin was light brown, his head shaved down to almost fuzz. Silver rimmed glasses sat on his nose and on the weirdly large ears that had large gauge plugs. Dickie introduced him as Manny Mayhem. Punk musicians love their aliases.

  The second came off like a stereotypical musician. One might even say he looked like a specific famous musician. It was weird, he looked amazingly like Slash from Guns N Roses, but instead of dark hair, he had a lighter blonde hair - like Slash after a bleach job gone wrong. Other than the color of the hair, he looked exactly like Slash looks on the back of Appetite for Destruction. I made a mental note to ask at some point if he liked dudes, chicks, or both - something about his look made me immediately think of Lem. If those two were into each other, they could be a power couple match made in rock heaven. This guy's name was Famous Ray, and he was the bass player of Avalon X.