Bad Parts

by Brandon McNulty

The water-twin wore the same leather jacket. When Ash unzipped, she gawked at a model-caliber rack resting atop a camera-friendly frame. Buh-bye love handles, hello six-pack. Better yet, some of her older, cut-rate tattoos were missing from her neck and shoulders. Everything Ash could’ve wanted, Snare Creek offered.

  Now for the real test.

  Holding her breath, she stretched her hand over the water.

  Through the stream’s rivulets she saw pale, unbroken fingers poking from the cast. Slender, yet sturdy. As a bonus, the fingertips bore calluses for withstanding the friction of guitar strings. Everything she needed.

  Still holding her breath, she lowered her hand and touched her swollen, purple fingers to the cold surface. A chill wrapped her sore flesh. She exhaled nervously.

  “I want to trade,” she said.

  Moisture rose to her face. It tingled over her cheeks. Misted into her mouth. Slathered her tongue. Then, without her consent or control, her lips moved.

  In a strange voice she said, “So do I.”

  “What the fuck!”

  “I can offer you—”

  “Get off, get off!” Ash slapped at her cheeks and spat the moisture away as if it were poison. In her panic, she toppled sideways, rolling frantically in the mud.

  “Ash!” Candace ran to her, phone clutched in her white-knuckled grasp. “What’s wrong?”

  Ash bounced to her feet, chest heaving as she swatted mud off her legs. Still shaken, she got up and paced till her pulse settled. “That thing. It talked. The me in the water—it talked through me.”

  Candace squinted at her. “It doesn’t talk.”

  “Bullshit it doesn’t. My mouth got misty and started moving like I was someone’s puppet.”

  “You need to lay off those pills.” Candace tugged her elbow. “Let’s head back.”

  Ash shrugged her off. “It said it had an offer.”

  “An offer? You’re joking.”

  “I’m not.” Deep breaths, deep breaths. She couldn’t let this chance slide. “Give me another minute.”

  “I’m scared to give you another second.”

  “You want me talking to my father or not?”

  “Fine.” Candace backed away. “Be careful.”

  Alone again, Ash knelt in the slop. Cold overtook her knees as she leaned in. Her watery reflection appeared, the same as before. Stunning. Gorgeous. Ideal. It tempted and spooked her.

  Clearing her throat, she asked, “What offer?”

  The mist rose, sliding between her lips like an unseen tongue. Her vocal cords thrummed while her mouth formed words that weren’t her own.

  “I can offer you a new hand.”

  The moisture left her mouth. She interpreted it as her turn to speak. Trembling, she asked, “Isn’t the left hand taken?”

  “I’ll produce another. Soon as you complete me.”

  “Complete you?”

  “Five parts. Kidneys. Jaw. Skin. Lower leg. Ribcage.”

  “Ribcage?” She touched her side. “You want my ribcage?”

  “Your ribs are too healthy. Bring sick or injured parts. What you might call…Bad Parts.”

  Gooseflesh popped along her neck. “H-how do you know my band’s name?”

  “Our encounter from before.”

  Her hand pulsed at the thought. Earlier, she tried rationalizing yesterday’s encounter as a pill-induced hallucination. Now it appeared to be more. And this…thing could apparently read her mind.

  “Bring those five parts. Afterwards, everyone’s free to leave.”

  “Wait!” She latched onto that final sentence. “Leave? You mean every Trader can leave the ten-mile area?”

  “Yes.”

  “With our parts? We can keep our traded parts?”

  “Yes.”

  She almost didn’t want to ask. “What’s the catch?”

  “Must be done by sunset tomorrow. Before the blizzard.”

  Ash’s heart sputtered. She couldn’t believe it. Tomorrow’s sunset worked perfectly. That would give her enough time to drive to Florida and catch a nap before the Deathgrip show. This was exactly what she needed.

  And for that reason, she hesitated. The music industry had taught her not to trust. She’d been scammed by bogus talent agencies and shifty managers before. They promised exactly what she wanted and burned her after she committed to their offers. Snare appeared to be running the same scheme.

  Yet something prickled within her chest, right under the skin between her tits. She wanted that hand. Needed it. And not just for Friday but for the rest of her life. Refusing a new hand was like refusing a deathbed cure. She couldn’t refuse. But she wouldn’t accept either. Not until she adjusted the terms.

  “Here’s the deal,” Ash said, meeting her reflection’s eyes. “I’ll help you, but not on your terms.”

  The mist thinned from her cheeks. “Do you decline?”

  “What? No! I just need a reason to trust you.”

  “Submerge your hand.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll trust.”

  Her face went numb. Despite how badly she needed to grip a guitar, this demand terrified her. Just yesterday she’d been slammed unconscious in the same scenario.

  But how could she ignore what she wanted most?

  She dipped her broken fingers into the frigid water. They ached brutally. She dunked the entire cast, wincing at the cold. Beneath the surface, something changed. The purple bruises faded from her fingertips. The puffiness drained.

  It had to be a trick.

  Then she flexed her fingers.

  Her normal, unbroken, pain-free fingers.

  “Remember,” Snare said. “Kidneys, jaw, skin, lower leg, ribcage. Then this becomes your permanent reality.”

  Catching her breath, Ash said, “Please. Can I keep this hand?”

  “Five parts.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Tomorrow’s sunset.”

  “Answer me! Otherwise, why should I trust you?”

  After an uncomfortably long pause, Snare responded. “I need you as much as you need me.”

  “How so?”

  “I need to see my son again. I was a mother once, and I’ll be one again after leaving this creek.”

  “You have a son? Who?”

  “Five parts.” The mist faded, grew weak on her tongue. “Tomorrow’s sunset.”

  “Wait!”

  The mist vanished. Her mouth felt dry in its absence.

  Beneath the surface her hand remained unbroken. She flexed her fingers, moving them quickly as if tapping out a solo on the lower frets of her Gibson. The muscle memory remained. Unbelievable. Though the cast limited her range, she felt like she could play right now.

  Eyeing the creek, she wondered if she could pull her hand out in perfect condition. It was worth a try. In one swift, desperate motion, she yanked her hand free with a splash.

  “Fuck!”

  It was like the Dark Diamond parking lot all over again. Bombs went off in each finger, and a firestorm spun inside her palm. Clenching her teeth, she studied her purple fingers. They looked every bit as horrible as they felt.

  Water dripped from her cast onto her pants. She held it over the creek while it drained.

  The splashes on the surface sounded like laughter.

  13

  The sight of the Welcome to Hollow Hills sign sent a cramp to Trent’s leg, a nasty spasm that turned his calf muscles to stone. He couldn’t wait to exit the passenger seat, stretch his leg, and collapse with relief. This cramp was the worst of the month, maybe the year. Not that it surprised him. His hometown never failed to make him feel shittier.

  As his wife’s Subaru Legacy rumbled over the entry bridge, the tightness in his leg worsened. Sweat slicked his brow as he gritted his teeth, begging his nerve-damaged muscles to settle. Sometimes he got lucky, but not now.

  “You okay?” his wife Lauren asked from the driver’s seat.

  “Best I’ve ever been,” Tren
t muttered.

  “Should I pull over?”

  “Screw it,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

  Hoping to distract himself from the pain, he turned toward the backseat, where his eight-year-old son sat in moody silence.

  “Hey, Jake,” Trent said, softening his tone. “Champ, we’re almost there. Ready to see Grampa?”

  If Jake was ready, he didn’t show it. He sat in the middle seat with his sunglasses on, his aluminum baseball bat lying across his lap. Four months ago, Jake hit a game-winning double at his second-grade all-star game with that bat. Nowadays it went everywhere with him, although not for baseball reasons.

  “Jake? You excited?”

  Jake turned away, facing the window. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left New Jersey that morning.

  “Trent, don’t force it,” Lauren whispered. She adjusted her glasses and checked on their son in the rearview. “He’ll warm up eventually.”

  Eventually. Easy for her to say. Jake actually talked to her. Trent, on the other hand, hadn’t got more than a yes or no out of Jake since the lake incident back in August.

  “You’re doing great,” Lauren whispered. With one hand on the wheel, she buttoned her plain-Jane white cardigan and smoothed out a wrinkle in her long turkey-patterned skirt. Though she was only five years older than Trent, she dressed like someone entering retirement. “Jake will cheer up soon. We all will. A nice family weekend will make everything better. You’ll see.”

  Trent wished he had her optimism.

  They passed the hometown eateries. Narducci’s Pizza nabbed his attention. He could almost taste their signature sauce. Soon as the place opened, he would order their chicken-bacon-ranch pie. Jake loved those. And it wasn’t like he lost his sense of taste.

  “Hey, Jake,” Trent said. “Wanna get Narducci’s for lunch?”

  Silence.

  “Oh, Jaaake,” Lauren said, her voice commanding yet sweet. “Your father asked you a question.”

  “I don’t care, Mom.”

  “But it’s Thanksgiving. We’re a family. Don’t you think you should talk to your dad, pumpkin?”

  “I’m not a pumpkin,” he muttered.

  “I’ll stop calling you pumpkin if you answer your dad.”

  No answer came. Apparently, being called pumpkin was more tolerable than talking to Trent.

  They turned onto Winterbrook Ave. The townhouses popped into view. Seeing the surrounding woods triggered fond teenage memories of guzzling Keystone Light with his buddies, as well as that time Brittany Hoyer shagged him beside a campfire to spite her ex-boyfriend. Glorious times. Sadly, those memories clashed with ones of his twatty twin sister Ash. He still hated her for ditching town just weeks after wrecking his leg.

  “We’re here!” Lauren chirped. She parked in the empty spot across from Dad’s place. “Out you go, boys!”

  Trent shoved open the door. Twisting in his seat, he stretched his bad leg outside. He pressed his foot to the pavement, tried putting weight on it, and winced. Times like these, he pictured a clump of steel wool scrubbing vigorously between his calf muscles.

  Shifting his weight onto his good foot, he lurched out of the car. He boosted himself up and pressed his cane to the ground. Standing felt good. He stood there, absorbing the solace of unbent knees.

  “Welcome home, fella!” a voice called out. Dad jogged over, his mustache wide with a smile. When he got close enough, he pulled Trent in for a hearty hug. There were plenty of things Trent hated about Hollow Hills, but Dad wasn’t one of them. “Looks like you three survived the traffic.”

  “Somehow,” Trent said, hugging back with his free arm. “Good seeing you, Dad. Would’ve visited for Labor Day, but…”

  “The little fella. Yeah.” Dad’s good humor faded. “How is he? He talking to you yet?”

  Trent broke the hug. Shook his head.

  Dad frowned. “I know the feeling. In fact, I got a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise?”

  “Yeah, your—”

  “Morning, Karl!” Lauren waved from behind the trunk. “Hope you made your sweet potato casserole. Last year’s was delish.”

  “Made extra,” Dad said. “Figured you’ll take the leftovers home.”

  “Hear that, Jake?” Trent said, opening the back door. “Your grampa—”

  The opposite door opened, and Jake climbed out the other side. A metallic thud was audible as he tapped his bat against the blacktop. A prolonged scrape followed as he guided himself toward the sidewalk. His bat bumped the curb, and he paused before carefully stepping onto it.

  “Morning, little fella.” Dad squatted to hug his grandson. When they broke the hug, he patted the Phillies logo on Jake’s bright red jacket. “Phillies, huh? Still a fan?”

  “Yep.”

  “We gotta do something about that. Think I’ll buy you some Pittsburgh Pirates gear for Christmas. Get you rooting for a real team.”

  Jake shrugged. He used to get defensive about the Phillies, but now he didn’t seem to care.

  Dad forced a laugh. “What say we go inside where it’s warm? You can sit in the den, maybe watch some TV—”

  “I can’t, Grampa!” Jake snapped. “I can’t watch TV! I can’t watch anything!”

  Trent felt his stomach shrivel like a raisin.

  “Jacob!” Lauren hollered. “Don’t yell at your grampa.”

  “It’s all right,” Dad said with a sheepish grin. “Should’ve picked my words better.”

  Lauren took Jake’s hand and pulled him toward the house. He insisted he didn’t need her to guide him, but she dragged him along. Trent followed. Dad carried a suitcase in each hand.

  Someone honked behind them. Trent turned his head and saw Candace’s Jeep. He lifted his hand to wave to her until he saw who was in the passenger’s seat.

  “Ash?” Trent said in disbelief. The mere sight of her intensified his leg cramp. He looked at Dad. “Ash is here?”

  “That was the surprise,” Dad said. “Your sister’s home.”

  14

  The moment Ash saw her brother as they drove up, she froze. She’d been bitching at Candace the whole ride over, but now she stared at Trent’s leg and the cane supporting it. For ten years, her conscience assaulted her because of what she’d done to him. It’d been an accident, sure, but not entirely. That night she knew she was wasted. She’d been in a hurry to get home and feel sorry for herself after losing a stupid band competition. Finishing second crushed her—and the aftermath ended up crushing her brother’s leg.

  Now, however, things could change. Snare needed a bad leg. Trent needed a good one. All Ash had to do was play matchmaker. Then ten years of regret would be flushed down the creek.

  She lowered the window.

  “Trent!”

  He must’ve heard her, because he gimped faster toward the house. By the time Candace stopped the Jeep, he was inside, the door slapping shut behind him.

  Dad hurried to her window. “Ashlee, hold off. He’s…surprised you’re here.”

  “I’ve got a bigger surprise. The lower leg’s available.”

  “He ain’t interested.” Dad shook his head. “Already asked him years back. He doesn’t wanna be stuck here.”

  “He won’t have to be. I talked to Snare and—”

  “No, Ash!” Candace snatched her left arm, yanking Ash toward the driver’s seat. “That stays between us.”

  “What’s going on?” Dad said. “What’s this about Snare?”

  The pressure on Ash’s arm tightened. Her hand throbbed with fresh bursts of agony, but it wasn’t enough to silence her. Straining, she told her father everything, watching him absorb the details with a horrified scowl that soon morphed into an excited smile.

  “Wait, Ashlee. You’re saying everyone can leave? Not just you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Too good to be true,” Candace said. “Think about it. Snare doesn’t make a peep for over thirty years. Then today, a desperate girl reque
sts a part that’s unavailable, and suddenly we got chatty waters.”

  “When you put it that way,” Dad said, scratching behind his ear, “it is kinda fishy.”

  “Maybe Snare genuinely wants to help.” Ash glanced back at Candace. “I mean, for fuck’s sake, she’s kept you Traders alive and healthy.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Ash.” Candace squeezed her elbow harder. “Snare’s parts always came with a catch.”

  “Is it so hard to believe that Snare wants out as bad as you do?” Ash looked to her father for support. “I talked to her. She’s a mother. She wants to see her son again.”

  “She could be lying,” Candace said. “Most likely, she’s out to screw us over. Probably wants to complete her so-called ‘collection’ so she can skip town and take our parts with her.”

  Dad rubbed his chin.

  “Don’t listen to her, Dad,” Ash said. “She’s not the one who talked to Snare.”

  “I heard your conversation,” Candace said. “Every word. And might I remind you, Ash, that you kept asking for more clarification. Did you get any?”

  “No, but—”

  “Don’t make excuses.”

  “I’m not. But you gotta admit, this is huge. This is life changing. You can’t just piss this away.”

  Candace released Ash’s elbow with a slight shove. She gripped the steering wheel and stared into the trees ahead, her wrinkled face taking on a stony grayness. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, stay on my good side. If you breathe a word about what happened to anyone, you’re cut off from the creek. Period.” Candace looked to Dad. “Karl, meet me at the house ASAP. Important business we need to square away.”

  “Of course,” he said, opening the passenger door.

  Ash glanced at Candace, whose expression looked impenetrable enough to deflect gunfire. If Ash had any chance of swaying her, arguing now wouldn’t help.

  Cradling her cast against her stomach, she stepped down from the passenger seat. The moment the door shut, Candace turned the Jeep around and drove off.

  “Dad, this is it,” she said, hoping to stoke his enthusiasm. “It’s everything we need—my hand, Trent’s leg, and your ticket outta town.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what scares me.”