Eidolon Avenue

by Winn, Jonathan

  “She’s got an hour or two before the air runs out.” He said as he stood in the living room that day, his eyes on the bedroom door. “Maybe I should grab some lunch.”

  The room was silent.

  “Yo, Brody!”

  Nothing.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Fucking friend probably already chowing down at Taco King or something.

  Asshole.

  So, alone, he stayed, watching the hulking white of the freezer. Kneeled and pressed his cheek close to the metal. Listened to the low hum as the cold air cycled in. “You hear that?” he said as a series of clinks and pings and clanks rattled through the walls as the freezer turned on and then off and then on again. “That’s so cool. You think she’s still alive?”

  There was no response.

  “She’s just cooling off.”

  Still nothing.

  “You think she hyperventilated herself to death?”

  Silence.

  “I hope she doesn’t have a fear of dead people.”

  Fear of dead people, he thought. Ha! Good one. He laughed thinking of Freckles, battered and bruised and bloodied, huddled up next to Tits.

  His phone buzzed, then. A text.

  From Teeth.

  DINNER? it said.

  He stood and opened the door. “Hey.” Freckles sat, breathing calmly, her back pushed against the end, far from Tits, her knees angled away, her hands clutching her shins. She was alive and shivering. He gave her a quick shake. She was cold. She looked at him. The tears were still there. “Look.” He showed her his phone. “She texted. We have a date.”

  Leaning against the edge, he hit Reply, and then stopped. “What should I say?”

  “What? Who?” Freckles tried to stand. He put his hands on her shoulders, gently holding her down.

  “Hey, wait.” He flashed the phone in front of her again. “Hello? I need to reply, here. What should I say? Thoughts?”

  She sniffled and started to cry. “To who? I don’t—”

  “To my girlfriend.” He held the phone, the blinking cursor in the reply box annoying him. “Yes? Should I just say ‘yes’ or, I don’t know, ‘sure’ or something?”

  A nod from Freckles.

  He giggled and texted

  SURE :)

  “This is so exciting.” He smiled at her.

  She smiled back, the gesture slow, perhaps unsure. “Can I go now?” Rising, she’d started to stand again.

  “Come here,” he said as he helped her up and drawn her into a big hug, squeezing her tight. “I just got so angry she hadn’t texted back and I hadn’t heard from her and I couldn’t find her, so I took it out on you. It’s just that I’ve been left before. By people I trusted. Friends. Good friends. Just dropped and ignored and, you know, it hurts. You know?”

  She nodded, her chin against his shoulder.

  “So, hey, I’m sorry, okay?” he said.

  She pulled away and watched him. “My tutor is—”

  “I know, I know.” He laughed. “He’s waiting.”

  Her hands gripped the edge as she started climbing out. He’d stopped her. “Hey, hey, hey, hold on, wait a second.” She paused. He shook his head. “I’m saying I’m sorry. You get that? It’s important to apologize. To make things right.” He moved to hug her again, bringing her too close and squeezing too tight. “When someone has hurt you, it’s important for them to acknowledge that. Make it right. So you don’t carry that anger with you.”

  “I’m not mad,” she said. Her hand patted his back as he squeezed again.

  He pulled away, his hands on her shoulders. “Why would you be?”

  “I dunno,” she said with a shrug.

  “Right!” He grinned. “So, little froggy, we good?”

  A second nod.

  “Yeah?” He looked at her, his grin growing to a friendly smile.

  A small grin from her.

  “Good! Because I have a date.”

  And then he snapped her neck and let her dead body fall next to Tits, the door dropped and locking with a

  click.

  ***

  Brody still lingered, eating a bag of chips. Unnecessary still sat in the living room. The rain still pelted Eidolon outside.

  And dead Freckles, hips and knees broken and bent, arms bashed and popped from the socket and crossed over her chest, a tuft of hair peeking from the top where he’d pulled the drawstring tight, was finally stuffed in the bag, feet first.

  Taking a breath, he laid down exhausted next to the dead Teeth.

  Brody waited behind him. “Is that the one?”

  He nodded. Thank god her shoulders were loose and her joints bent. “She’s loose, man. She won’t need me to break her.”

  “Damn,” Brody said, disappointment in his voice.

  “No, man, she’s too good for that,” he said, looking at her. “I really didn’t want it to go there, you know. It would’ve felt wrong or something.”

  He pulled Teeth near and snuggled up close. “She was kinda awesome, you know.”

  “They always are in the beginning,” his bro said from behind him.

  He sighed. Her skin was still cold. Thin threads of red and black and purple crept along the white flesh, mere whispers of the decay to come. The finger nails were white, but not yet falling loose, and her lips were no longer the pink he’d dreamt of kissing. “You know, I considered not ending this one like this.”

  His hand snaked below and snuck between her legs. Her secret place, though frigid, was still soft, still welcoming. He pried a finger inside. “But this one,” he said, brushing his nose against her neck as a second finger joined the first, “this is the cat curiosity killed.”

  ***

  He’d handed Teeth a beer, his fifth, her third. Second date, three weeks ago. She’d finally agreed to join him in his apartment for a drink after dinner. He sat next to her on the couch.

  “You’ve got quite the cloud hanging around you,” she’d said.

  “How so?” He took a long swallow.

  “Oh please. Don’t pull that crap with me.” She smiled. “You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

  “But you know me. You know that all that stuff back at the old school, what they said I did, all that stuff, none of it’s true.”

  “But I don’t know that.” Her knees touching his, she turned to him. “Listen, what I do know are the facts and they are what they are. They’re indisputable. Fact: your dad did a dipshit, despicable thing. Fact: there was enough anger over what happened in your dorm room that night, and the emergency room later, before Brody and—

  “Naw, Brody’s good.” He shrugged. “What they said about him, that wasn’t . . . it’s just not right.”

  “Brody’s good? Is that what you just said?” She put her beer on the table. “He was a serial rapist. A disgusting exhibitionist. Hot as hell and hung like a horse, yeah, but he was cruel. He was a pervert. He was dangerous. Every girl, every guy, everyone I knew knew not to get caught alone with him.” She leaned in. “He’d fuck you, then fuck you up, and then trap you in the walk-in freezer. Beat you, tie you up and then leave you. Seriously. People almost froze to death, Colton. All because your boy, Billion Dollar Brody, thought they needed to ‘cool down’ or something.”

  “But you don’t know that, do you?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes!” She sat back. “What about that blonde girl? Second year? Right before classes started? You know about that, right?”

  He shook his head.

  “Gorgeous girl. From the South. Sweetest thing in the world, I’ve been told. Found in sandals and a sun dress in the walk in freezer. Was last seen with good ol’ Brody. She’d been raped. And cut, if you know what I mean. Butchered, actually, in a very delicate place. Or so they said. I don’t know. It was covered up, of course, and never talked about again.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah, ‘for real.’” She sighed, her shoulders falling. “This was your boy, Colton. He was bad. I mea
n, c’mon. Like, legendary bad. He was infamous for making people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. He’d link up with someone weak, maybe even, you know, a little off, if you know what I mean, find their Achilles’ Heel, and then just strum that baby like a banjo until it snapped.”

  “Someone weak.”

  “It was kind of common knowledge.” Lifting her bottle, she took a swig. “It’s also common knowledge that the girl in your dorm that night wasn’t with you. She was with him.”

  “Are you saying she wouldn’t have wanted to be with me?” He could feel his cheeks flush.

  “No—”

  “That they’d want Brody instead of me?”

  “Colton—”

  “Because she was with me, okay? Me. Not him”

  “And she ended up with a broken neck. In your bed. Next to you. Both of you naked.”

  He grew silent.

  “What was the knife for, Colton?” She waited.

  Finally,

  “That was Brody, not me.” He looked at his hands. His finger tips were buzzing, tingling. He made a fist. “I don’t know what he was thinking. He said he was curious or something.”

  “Curious about what?”

  Another shrug from him, his forehead feeling warm.

  She sighed. “Which took the whole thing from some fucked up weird shit to a fucked up weird shit felony. And from there, the dominos fell.”

  The room felt hot. He wanted to open a window. He shifted in his seat. “Listen—”

  “No, you listen: these are the facts: Brody sold you out. Pointed his arrogant finger and put it all on you. He was never really there for you, okay? He was not a friend. He hung you out to dry when the shit hit the fan. Your dad, this nice guy, or at least that’s what you say—”

  “He’s weak. I said he’s weak. Not nice.” He watched her before looking away. “I’m nothing like him, you understand?”

  “Whatever. He played the system, got you a nice Get Out of Jail Free card, got busted, went to jail himself and then called in favors and, they say, spent a shit ton of money, most of it not his, by the way, to get himself out. And right now the whole world thinks the Carryage family makes the Borgias look like frickin’ shit stain wannabes on Amateur Night.”

  She placed her hand on his, the warmth of her touch feeling like a silent apology. “No matter what you say or what you believe, those are the facts as everyone sees them. Okay? And, I don’t know, I kinda think it still bothers you that your dad took the fall and you still ended up losing it all and paying the price, here on glamorous Eidolon.”

  “Is that really what you think?”

  “Does it matter?” She pulled her hand away, her fingers wrapping around the cold beer perched on the table.

  “Yes.” He waited. The seconds ticked by. He could feel her watching him and then felt her look away. Could sense her eyes scanning the small space on Eidolon he called home.

  “How different this must be from what you know. From where you dreamt of ending up.” She stared at one of the many stains creeping from the ceiling to wander down the wall. “Not exactly ‘The Manor,’ is it?” She turned to him with a gentle smile. “And it certainly isn’t the White House.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Another long swallow of cold beer. His stomach rumbled and he swallowed back a belch. “Is that really what you think?”

  “About what?”

  “The girl in the dorm. Brody. My dad.” He felt sick, his face flushed, his skull, the top of his head, warm. “Is that what you think?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m here, aren’t I? That’s something, right?” A long pause. “Do you really want to know?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m trying to like you . . . less than I do.” She turned, her eyes on the closed bedroom door behind them. “But, c’mon, a girl, someone I knew, a classmate, is dead because of you.”

  “Wait, you knew her—”

  “Yeah. She was paralyzed, her neck snapped or something, and, they say, she’d been raped repeatedly over the last twelve hours.” She turned back to him. “The girl you insisted was yours, not Brody’s, by the way. But I already knew that she’d been with you. You want to know why?” She looked at him. The bottle in her hand trembled as it rested on her knee.

  He nodded. His thoughts felt slow, his head thick.

  Too much beer, he thought.

  “Because she blinked twice for yes when they questioned her in the emergency room.” She took another long drink. “Do you want to know what the question was? What they asked? What your thousand dollar an hour lawyers shot down on a thin-as-air technicality as any type of evidence that could be used against you?”

  He counted his breaths. Fought to remain calm. His stomach grumbled again, his guts shifting and dropping.

  “The question was ‘Did Colton Carryage do this?’ and ‘Did he rape you?’ That’s what the question was.” She closed her eyes. “And here I sit, sharing a beer with you. I’m just . . . I’m just trying to understand. For me. And for her, my friend.” A quick shrug. “That’s all, I guess.”

  She pulled another long swallow from the bottle. “I thought for so long it was Brody, not you. But now . . . ” She paused. “I’m drunk. A little.” She lifted her bottle in a toast. “Lucky for you she was found dead in her hospital room hours later, right? Lucky for her, too, I guess. To have to live like that . . . ” She sighed. “But at least you’re alive, right?”

  “What do you mean?” His stomach lurched. His head throbbed.

  “Colton . . . ” She paused, her eyes on him. “It must have been horrible. I’m sorry.”

  “What?” He shifted on the couch, his shirt suddenly tight. “What are you talking about?”

  “Brody. The dorm room? You were there that night. You were there when he fell out the window. Or at least that’s what the official report said.” She leaned in close. Placed her hand on his leg. “But that’s not what they said, Colton.”

  “What do they say?” His heart thumped in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He blinked back tears. “I mean, what . . . what did they say?”

  “That you were arguing with him and you moved toward him. He moved back. You moved forward, he moved back. Then back, back, back until he tumbled out the open window to land fifteen floors below.” She stopped and took a long swallow of her beer. “To have Brody dead, like that, I can’t imagine what . . . ”

  He watched her. Watched her speak. Watched her lips move, the words lost in the rushing in his head, his mind a slow chaos of lazy fireworks popping and snapping in muted bursts of light. His thoughts moving too slow as she talked and then sipped her beer and then, the bottle perched on her knee, talked again, the words circling him, but not hitting his ears.

  “What?” he finally said. He closed his eyes, his forehead feeling warm.

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said, turning to him. “It’s just that what they said . . . ”

  “No. No, no, no, no, no. Not at all. Not true.” He stood. “No.”

  “Colton, I’m sorry.” She started to stand. He held her down.

  “Stay, no, it’s okay.” He took his hands from her shoulders. “My stomach . . . my head . . . I need to . . . would you excuse me? I’ll be right back.”

  A nod from her. “Okay.” The bottle back to her lips.

  “Don’t move.” He forced a smile.

  Her eyes on him. “Why would I?”

  “Curiosity,” he said as he pressed close, snuggling again with the dead Teeth, the laundry bag waiting, his tongue sliding forward to lick the flesh below her ear, his teeth snapping in a gentle bite. “And lies.”

  ***

  Steps away, on the other side of the bathroom door, Teeth sat in the living room with her beer, waiting on the couch, whispering lies. Outside, rain slapped the window.

  Here, in front of the mirror, he counted his breaths and steadied his heart. He felt his forehead. Hot. Too hot. His ears were ringing. The tips of his fingers buzzed and tingled. Th
e dark behind his closed eyes still sparked with bursts of light. And his thoughts, they jumped, leaping and darting, impossible to catch.

  That night Brody left. Yes, the night she’d mentioned. Yes, he’d argued with him. In the dorm. And, yes, yes, yes, he’d approached Brody. Yes. The window was open, he thought. The night was cold and the breeze made him shiver. He wanted to close the window, had asked to have the window closed, but the mountain that is—

  was

  Brody stopped him. The jock with the dangerous temper that is—

  was

  Brody wouldn’t let him. The friend that Brody is—

  was

  despite the lies and the leaving and the window and the

  click.

  Fuck. He put his hand on his forehead, the palm cool against his skin. He fucking hated the

  click

  that robbed him of his thoughts. That painted a ravenous black hole where memory should be. The

  click

  that snapped between his eyes, the warmth stealing in from his temples to snake over his forehead. That crept over his skull like a gentle wave to slide down the back of his neck. The

  click

  as Brody had neared the window. The drop in his gut as he’d closed his eyes, not having the heart to watch Brody slip out the door unseen.

  Or so he thought.

  But the sudden silence of the room followed by the screams far below and the flashing lights and the police standing in front of him with their note pads and questions. The blanket warming his shoulders as the

  click

  crawled down his back and reached around to cradle his heart as someone somewhere spoke of Brody’s blood on the concrete, Brody’s skull caved in, Brody’s brains splattered—

  But not Brody Brody, right?

  No.

  Never.

  Fuck it, man, he thought as he closed his eyes. Bitches lie and Brody, his bro, his friend, his Brody, was hiding in the bedroom with the rest of the corpses.

  Wait.

  He stopped. Shut off his mind. Shut down his thoughts. He gritted his teeth, his forehead warm, the familiar tingle inching down the back of his neck as he swallowed and then swallowed again.

  And, ignoring the obvious, he opened the door.