by J L Aarne
Isaac let go of the flap of plastic he had pulled back and the dog’s body shifted, rolled and fell deeper into the dumpster. Its milky eyes stared up at the sky. Beneath the bag was another bag just like it and he could see the shape of legs and a snout pressing against the thin plastic. He went still and stared.
He remembered the things he had heard about Jason Cobb’s and Mark Tavish’s fathers, how they supplemented their low incomes by holding dog fights out here at night, and he knew that what he was looking at was evidence. This was the trash left behind after the party was over.
Waste disposal site, he thought dully, staring at the exposed face of the dead animal.
The dog had been a loser or else it had been a winner that got injured so badly while fighting that the owner would have been forced to take it to a vet. It hadn’t been killed by another dog; its throat had been cut. When a fighting dog was hurt too seriously to keep going without medical treatment, the owners put them down, but they didn’t shoot them or take them somewhere for a nice, humane injection; they hung them up by their feet like pigs and cut their throats or they hung them by the neck from their collars until they strangled. Injections cost money, guns were too noisy and veterinarians would call the cops. Unless you were Michael Vick, if you got caught fighting dogs, it was a big deal.
There were other bags. A lot of other bags, containing what looked like two bodies each. He counted four bags and thought there might have been one or two more down the side of the mattress where he couldn’t see and wasn’t willing to go. The stench was unbelievable.
Isaac had gone home that day feeling sick to his stomach and angry all over. He didn’t say anything to his mother about what he had found, but he eventually told Ezra because Ezra seemed to know right away that something was wrong. He always knew when something was wrong.
It had been months since that summer day when he found the bodies, but Isaac had been waiting patiently all day for a chance to punish Jason Cobb and Mark Tavish for those dogs, and for all the dead dogs that came before and after. For the sick screams he had wanted to vomit into the dirt when he turned away from that dumpster, but had instead swallowed. For the nightmares he’d had after that day.
Isaac walked over to the microphone lying forgotten at the foot of the bleachers, picked it up and cleared his throat. The amplified sound of it rumbled through the gym. He said the boys’ names, staring right at them as he spoke, and they stared back at him, white with fear and uncomprehending.
“If you don’t come down, we’ll have to come get you,” Isaac said when neither boy moved.
Jason Cobb was nineteen—he had failed the eighth grade—so maybe boys wasn’t really what they were anymore, but they looked much younger than their eighteen and nineteen years pinned there like bugs by Isaac’s blue eyes. Mark was the first of them to move. He jumped to his feet as though propelled upward on a spring, then he stood there looking confused before he began to descend the stairs.
“Stand,” Isaac said when Mark started toward one of the chairs. Mark halted. “Jason Cobb,” Isaac said again. “Come down here, please.”
“I don’t want to,” Jason said miserably. “I don’t… I didn’t do anything to you, man. What the hell?”
“We don’t have time for this bullshit,” Ezra muttered.
He walked by Isaac and took the stairs two at a time. He reached Jason in seconds, grabbed his arm, hauled him up and propelled him down the steps ahead of him in one quick, rough motion. Jason staggered down the steps and almost fell when he reached the floor. Ezra slapped Isaac’s knife, which he had retrieved from his backpack, into one of Isaac’s hands. His own knife, still crusted around the hilt with blood, he pulled from its sheath and also gave to him.
“Hurry up,” Ezra said.
Isaac nodded.
Beth Greene suddenly raised her hand in the air and waved it. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m… I’m really sorry, but… I really need to pee.”
Corey was sitting back on the steps with all the smashed cell phones. He laughed. “Hold it,” he said.
“But… But I have been holding it,” Beth said.
“Jesus Christ,” Ezra said.
Mercy laughed. “It’s okay. Come on, I’ll take you,” she said. To Ezra, she said, “I’ll check the back doors while I’m in there.”
“Fine,” he said. “Be careful.”
“Yeah. Isaac, honey, let’s get on with this, huh?” Mercy went with Beth to the girls’ locker room.
“I’m trying,” Isaac said. He pointed Jason and Mark to the center of the court. The mascot—a bulldog—was painted in the middle of a large circle at center court. “Stand there,” he told them.
“What’s this about?” Mark asked.
“This is a dog fight,” Isaac said. “You’re going to fight each other here in this circle.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” Jason demanded.
Isaac smirked and gestured at the room with a sweep of one hand: The evidence would strongly suggest that the answer to his question was yes.
With no warning all the lights went out. Because Isaac had painted the little windows in the doors black, the darkness was nearly absolute. People stirred restlessly, the dark an exciting change to what was happening.
They had planned for this too. Isaac waited and a couple of minutes after the lights went out, Ezra found a flashlight in one of their bags and a bolt of light cut through the dark and cast a faint reflective glow into the room. He dug around for the rest of them and started placing them around the gym on the floor. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough light to see by.
“Okay, so the rules are pretty much the same as the rules of a dog fight,” Isaac said, continuing his explanation as though he had not been interrupted. “I’m sure you guys know how that works, right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jason said.
“This is sick,” Mark said.
“In case everyone else isn’t as familiar with it as you two are, I’ll explain,” Isaac said. He raised his voice so that he could be heard now that the microphone was useless. “You each get a knife, you both get in the circle, you fight until only one of you is standing. The winner gets to live.”
Mark swallowed and shook his head. “That’s not how—”
“Shut up, Mark,” Jason snapped. “Fuck you, kid, we’re not doing this. You can’t make us do it.”
Isaac dropped the mic and juggled the knives to hold them both in one hand, pulled his gun with the other and put the barrel against Jason’s forehead between his eyes. “You’ve got a choice then, you’re right,” he said. “You can do what I say, take a knife and step into the circle or you forfeit, which is like losing, which means I’ll shoot you in the head and we can forget about the whole thing. It should be obvious at this point, but this is not a fucking democracy, Cobb.”
Mark put his hand out for a knife. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, we’ll do it, just… just don’t shoot us, okay?”
Isaac gave them each a knife and waited, gun in hand, for them to stand in the circle. “A shot in the head would be a more merciful death than a slit throat and more than I think either of you deserve,” he said.
“What the fuck did we ever do to you?” Jason asked. “I barely know you.”
“You don’t know me at all,” Isaac said.
“Okay, so then why—?”
“Dog fighting. It’s fucked up,” Isaac said simply. “I’m going to say go and when I do, you’re going to fight. If you refuse to fight, I’ll shoot you. Both of you. If you step outside the circle before it’s over, I’ll shoot you. Understand?”
“Yeah,” Mark said. He looked grim as he stepped into the circle to stand on the face of their snarling school mascot. “Come on, Jay. We don’t have a choice.”
“But… I… we can’t… I mean… I can’t…” Jason looked around at the silhouettes of people like ghouls in the dark looming over them. They were just shapes, no recognizable faces, which only terrified him
more. He took the offered knife from Isaac and stepped into the circle. “Jesus. Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, this is so fucking crazy. I can’t… I can’t kill you, man. I can’t. I can’t do this.”
Mercy returned from the bathroom with Beth and escorted her back to her seat. She stood with Molina for a minute watching it all, then started to gather up their backpacks. Isaac watched it out the corner of his eyes.
“Don’t make us do this,” Mark said. “Please, man. This is bullshit.”
Isaac regarded him coldly. “Go,” he said.
They both stood there without moving for a while. Isaac thought maybe they hadn’t heard him, but then Jason moved, slashing blindly at his friend’s face. Mark jerked back and nearly fell as he scrambled out of the way and tried not to fall outside the circle.
Isaac stepped back and stood with Ezra to watch it. They stood together silently. Behind them in the bleachers people muttered and exclaimed excitedly. They couldn’t seem to help it. They called encouragement to one or the other of the boys, getting into it despite themselves like they were spectators at a game or a wrestling match. Isaac smiled to himself as he made the comparison, glanced at his brother and caught him smiling, too.
Jason missed Mark again and stumbled. Mark dodged out of his way and Jason was open and vulnerable, staggering and trying to keep his feet and not fall outside the circle, but Mark just stood there, waiting. Jason stood up with tears in his eyes, his face red and blotchy, and wiped the back of his knife hand over his face with a watery sniff.
“I’m not gonna kill you,” Mark said.
“I don’t know what to do,” Jason muttered.
Mark shrugged. He looked over at Isaac. “I’m not going to kill him. I won’t. You can’t make me do this.”
Isaac lifted one hand in a shrug of his own: Then don’t do it and we’ll see what happens.
Mark locked gazes with him and Isaac stared back, unmoved by his dilemma. Jason launched himself at his friend again, the knife held out in front of him, waving his arm and blindly slashing. He caught the sleeve of Mark’s shirt, then sliced open his arm. Mark screamed and twisted away from him. Blood spattered on the glossy floor and ran down onto his hand, making his fingers slippery around the hilt of the knife he was holding. He switched it to his left hand, holding it awkwardly out before him as he circled away from Jason.
“We don’t have to do this,” Mark said.
“Yes, you do,” Isaac said.
Jason glanced his way and his eyes were feverish with the depth of his fear. He wanted to live.
Mark wiped his bloody hand on the thigh of his jeans. Then he did an incredible thing; he threw his knife away. It hit the floor outside the circle. He spread his hands and looked into his friend’s face.
“No, we don’t,” he said.
“I don’t want to hurt you, man,” Jason said. He licked his lips nervously and flicked his eyes to the knife Mark had thrown aside. “Why’d you do that? They’re gonna fucking shoot us, why’d you do that?!”
“Come on, you know why,” Mark said.
“You stupid asshole,” Jason mumbled.
Mark put his hands down then he sat down on the floor.
Jason stared at him, frozen in terrified confusion. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Mark said again.
People around them screamed for Mark to get up, for Jason to kill him, for everyone to stop because this was all madness and too many people had already died. Neither Mark nor Jason seemed to hear any of it. They were, for the moment, alone.
“Pick up the knife,” Jason said, pleading. “Pick up the knife, man. You have to.”
Mark shook his head. “This is fucked up and I’m not doing it.”
“You’ll die.”
Mark just stared at him.
“Pick up the knife! You stupid fuck, pick up the knife!”
“No!”
Isaac raised his gun and pointed it at Jason. A moment later, Ezra took out his handgun and pointed it at Mark. The unspoken message was clear: Do it or die. Jason’s eyes bulged and he looked at the knife in his hand. Mark still didn’t move.
Jason lifted his hands to his head and hit himself. It reminded Isaac of a boxer trying to psych himself up for the next round. He wasn’t looking at any of them anymore, just staring down at the floor, through it at nothing, muttering under his breath to himself. Only every few words came out loud enough to be heard.
“…can’t… crazy… sit there… murder… won’t… have to… it’s not… so… pick it up… can’t… fuck… fuck…”
He hit himself over and over on the side of the head with his fist. When he finally looked up again, he found himself looking into Isaac’s eyes over the site of his gun.
“Stop it!” Miss Tolstad suddenly shrieked. “Stop it right now!”
They all looked her way. She had been mostly silent all day. She wept, but she did it quietly and she had not voiced any objections or tried to reason with them or interfere through all of it. Now she stood at the foot of the bleachers between Coach Kapinski and Mrs. Millay, both of them shot through the leg, and faced Isaac and Ezra, her pointy chin up and her hands fisted at her sides.
Isaac studied her for a moment, but he didn’t lower the gun. He had never really liked Miss Tolstad. She wasn’t a mean woman, but she bleached her teeth and moved her eyebrows when she talked and she wasn’t a very good teacher. Still, she was harmless.
Mercy seemed to agree. She had returned from the locker rooms again, this time without their backpacks and the duffel bag, and now she walked over to Miss Tolstad and asked her to please sit back down.
“I can’t! I can’t just sit here!” she screamed, her voice rising. “This is murder! I can’t let you murder any more of these poor kids! You have to stop! Stop it right now!”
“Miss Tolstad, please,” Mercy said gently. “It’s almost over. Sit down.”
Miss Tolstad collapsed back into her seat, put her face in her hands and sobbed. Her harlequin glasses fell to the floor in a puddle of drying blood. She cried and Mrs. Millay tried to comfort her and she cried harder.
Jason screamed a high, wailing battle cry that jerked everyone’s attention back to the center of the room and startled Isaac so completely that he nearly shot him. In the few minutes they had been distracted by Miss Tolstad’s outburst, Jason finally snapped. He leapt at Mark with the knife raised over his shoulder. Mark tried to get out of the way. No matter what he said or what noble, self-sacrificing gesture he was trying to make, the instinct to live was still strong and he started to scramble across the floor out of Jason’s way. Jason tripped as he changed direction to follow him, came down on Mark’s side with his knee hard enough that a rib snapped with a loud crackle. Mark screamed in pain and tried to twist out from under him, but Jason was on him, had him down on the floor and Mark was hurt.
Mark had an expression of surprise on his face rather than anger and he was trying to get away not fight back when Jason drove the blade of his knife down as hard as he could. It went into Mark’s throat just below his Adam’s apple. It sank in fast and deep with a muffled sound a little like a hatchet chopping wood. Mark’s mouth worked and he gagged, blood bubbling between his lips and welling up around the blade of the knife to spill over.
“Pick it up!” Jason screamed at him. He pulled the knife out of Mark’s throat, clasped it in both hands and drove it down again, into his chest. Then again. The guard made a thock noise, that wood chopping noise as he stabbed him over and over. “Pick it up! Just pick it up! You stupid asshole, pick up the knife! Pick it up, you fucker! You stupid fuck! Pick it up!”
“Holy shit,” Mercy whispered, shocked.
Jason drove the knife into Mark’s chest one more time and collapsed on top of him, sobbing uncontrollably. Mark hacked, blood spraying like water in a broken fountain from his lips. His chest rattled as he tried to breathe with his punctured lungs. Then he died and the only sound in the whole gym was the sou
nd of Jason Cobb weeping and cursing, telling Mark’s corpse over and over to pick up the knife he had thrown away.
Isaac and Ezra lowered their guns. Ezra retrieved the knife that Mark had thrown down and Isaac stepped into the circle to take his back from Jason. Jason didn’t even flinch from him or notice when he took the knife away. He went on crying against his dead friend’s chest like a child. Isaac let him.
There was a deep, moth fluttering sensation in his stomach as he stared at Jason weeping over his friend. It wasn’t fear or grief, but it was a close cousin to them both. The fluttering unease in his belly matched the suddenly rapid beating of his heart and it was all so abruptly real. In that moment, if Isaac could have reversed time by a few minutes and taken it back, he would have. He had been furious and he had wanted them dead for it, but as he watched Jason break down and cry and the reality of what he had made him do crashed down around him, Isaac was staggered by the depth of his regret.
It was too late though. In more than one way, it was much, much too late to turn back. Mercy had said it early on; that they were resolved. Regret was useless.
Isaac forced himself to show none of what he felt on his face. He turned away, wiped the blade of his knife on the thigh of his pants and walked over to Molina. “Your turn,” he said.
Molina was pale and stunned by what she had seen. She nodded but didn’t move or speak.
“Lina, we have to hurry up here,” Mercy said. She took her friend’s hand and gently squeezed it.
“Okay,” Molina said. She looked around, visibly shaken, then nodded. “Okay. Yes. You’re right, yes. Can you…” She hesitated, looking between Ezra, Isaac and Corey thoughtfully. “Um. Can you bring me Angela Kent and John Rehbein?”