by JJ Lamb
“Better not chicken out on me, baby.” He ran a finger slowly down her forehead, along the bridge of her nose, and stopped with it pressed against her lips. “You're not going to, are you, darlin'?” he asked with a forced smile.
She shook her head rapidly back and forth.
“Good girl! And you planted the phony Capello marrow, like I told you?”
Her eyes glowed with fear, like mirrored pools. “Yes,” she said, nodding at the same time.
He snorted. “That'll take care of your nosy nurse friend, or anyone else checking the inventories.” A sudden thought made him roar with laughter: “Can you imagine what would happen if they tried to give that Capello kid the mess we made up. Jesus, I couldn't tell the difference between the real marrow and that water and vegetable coloring mixture you concocted.”
aye bolted upright. “Frankie, please ... Vinnie Capello's only seventeen. Can't we give him a break?”
His laughter disappeared as he clamped his mouth shut, lips tightly compressed. He stared at her for a long time before turning away and starting to pace back and forth.
Let me take back his marrow, Frankie ... please!”
He stopped abruptly, smiled sweetly at her just an instant before his hand folded into a tight fist. With a loud grunt, he punched her solidly in the abdomen. When she screamed, he covered her mouth with his hand. “God damn it!” he exploded. “Don't talk to me about some pampered, little pimply-faced shit. I was only ten when they blew my old man away. Did anybody care what happened to me?”
Faye twisted her face away from his hand. “FRANKIE ... please ... let me ... put it back.”
“Bitches!” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “All of you ... bitches. Supposed to help us, take care of us. But no, all you do is nag. My old man was gunned down robbing a dumb-ass liquor store. Shit! Never would have happened if my mother had stuck around and taken care of him. Not on your fucking life. Ten years old ... ten fucking-years old and left alone with the meanest bastard who ever walked this earth. And I'm supposed to worry about some useless teen punk?”
Faye sobbed loudly; tears and saliva mingled and drooled down her chin. “Frankie, just this once!”
Blue buttons flew in every direction as he ripped off her blouse, shredding the thin material. “Didn't you hear me? Didn't you hear what I said?” He grabbed her shoulders, shook her until her teeth rattled.
“Frankie ... I love you; I'd do anything for you. But please, let me return Vinnie Capello's marrow. He's suffered enough; they all have. Let's stop the whole thing now. Please!” Then she started sobbing. “I can't do it anymore. What if another one dies?”
“There's no reason for any of those assholes to die. All they have to do is cough up the money.”
“But Vinnie's just a boy!”
Frank felt a hot coal slosh around in his stomach, push its way into his chest before splashing into his throat. He fell on her, and with a grunt sank his teeth into her belly. Her piercing scream was choked off as he smashed the heel of one hand tightly up against her lower jaw.
Explosive snorts, flying mucus erupted from her nostrils as she arched her back, bucked up and down. The more she fought, the more the soft, yielding flesh shredded between his teeth, filling his mouth with the metallic taste of blood.
Only when she stopped struggling did he pull away, spitting small pieces of tissue back into the ugly wound. “I won’t kill little Vinnie Capello ... if I get my money, got that?”
He got up from the bed. “Now get your ass out of here and do as you're told, or the next time I'll really hurt you.”
“Frankie,” she whispered, staring down at the oozing mess in her stomach. “Frankie...”
His eyes widened in mock alarm. “Darlin', I don't want to hurt you. If you'd just be my good little girl everything would be fine.”
Faye covered her face with an arm. Her shoulders shook.
“Stop sniveling! This is nothing,” he said, tapping her mutilated belly. “Nothing!”
“It hurts, Frankie,” she whimpered. “It hurts so much.”
“Good! Every time you think of taking that punk's marrow back before we get the money, I want you to remember this.” He pushed his face down close to hers until their noses almost touched. “And remember, there're lots of other soft places I can nibble.”
Faye stared at him with defeated eyes.
“Now don't get me wrong, darlin'. I do love you the way you are.” He reached over and kissed her gently on the chest. “But a woman your size ... well, there's just that much more to work with ... places where ... well, you know, where no one will ever see what it takes to keep you on the right path.” He stared at her for several beats. “And if I were you, I'd think twice before mentioning any of this to that snotty nurse friend of yours. Understand?”
Faye nodded quickly, murmured,” All I've ever done ... all I ever tried to do was make you happy, love you.”
He trailed his fingers through her hair. “Now, darlin', when you do take care of me, I'm sweet as a new born babe. Isn't that so?” He laughed harshly, wiping his bloody mouth on the back of his arm. “But you've got to take the good with the bad. You didn't think it was going to be just one long, continuous roll in the sack, did you?”
She shook her head, looked down at her abdomen and clamped a hand over the torn skin, hiding the ugliness of it.
“You'd better clean up that mess, darlin', and get ready for work. You've got a big day ahead of you.”
As she limped out of the room, he smiled and stretched his hands high above his head. The pain in his gut was gone. He called out to her:
“Oh, darlin'? Don't you forget to bring home the Oldham girl's marrow tonight.”
* * *
The phone rang and rang. Frank counted to fifteen before it was finally picked up. The man at the other end sounded breathless, anxious.
“H-hello.”
“Mister Capello?”
“This is Tony Capello.”
“Yeah, well, this is the guy who wrote the note. Did you get it?”
Silence.
“Pay attention, asshole: if you don't talk to me now, I'm hanging up and dumping your son's marrow down the john. You got that?”
“No! Don't hang up!” The voice choked, coughed several times before continuing. “I got your letter; I got it!”
“That's better, much better. And you have the money?”
“Listen, mister, please, listen to me. I don't have fifty thousand dollars. But I can give you twelve ... twelve thousand. That's every cent we have.”
“Then you’re going to have to get more! Twelve thousand doesn’t make it, asshole. It's fifty. Period!”
“Mister, if we could get it, I'd give it to you right now. I'd do that ... anything to save my son.”His voice cracked as he continued: “My wife and I are only teachers, we don't have that kind of money.”
“Now isn't that a goddam touching story.”
“My God! He's just a boy!”
“You're still not paying attention, Mr. Schoolteacher: I don't care if he's King Kong in drag. You get me that money no later than ten tomorrow morning or you're going to watch him turn into just a dead boy.”
Chapter 24
Vinnie Capello stepped out of the shower, felt his legs start to give way, and had to grab the bathroom sink to keep from falling. He stood there watching helplessly as the room spun around and around.
he nurses had warned him about taking hot showers, but he'd ignored them. He'd opened the hot water faucet all the way for just a moment, pleased with the way his skin immediately colored to a bright red instead of looking its usual pasty white.
His world hung strangely atilt in the steamy mist of the tiny bathroom; he clutched the sides of the small basin and gagged. As he hunched over, dry heaves wracking his body, he knew his insides were being squeezed through a knothole. He forced himself to face the truth.
The torturous exercises, the hot showers were nothing more than childish games, co
ver-up games. He might as well be playing hide-and-seek for all the good they were doing. The bottom line was that he was going to die. And he'd better accept that fact once and for all.
As he allowed the reality of that concept to take shape and grow, all his carefully constructed illusions were boxed up, stored away forever.
The disquieting topsy-turvy sensation lasted only a moment before everything settled into its proper place. A queasy stomach was all that remained of the episode. Then a coldness began to work its way up through his arms and legs, settling in his chest. He started to cough.
Cold air rushed in as he cracked the bathroom door, chilling him further, yet, strangely, it made him feel better at the same time. He dried off thoroughly, deep breathing the last of the dissipating steam as he tried to catch his image in the fogged-over mirror.
Four weeks ago his parents had brought him back to the hospital, all but kicking and screaming. He hadn't wanted to come back, begged to wait until after the senior prom, his graduation. But Dr. Kessler had been adamant, insisted that they had already pushed the time factor to the limit. Said if he lost remission before further treatment, it would make a dramatic difference in his survival chances.
Vinnie was willing to risk it. Begged to risk it. No one else would.
His mind wandered as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. A part of him had realized the truth all along, but he'd refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he'd adopted a tough-guy attitude, trying to bluff his way past the fact he really wasn’t going to make it. Why hadn't he figured that out sooner so he could stop tormenting himself?
Several times he'd overheard hospital staff commenting about his behavior and how difficult he was to be around. They were right. He was obnoxious and childish, like some dumb high school freshman. Gina had been the only one who seemed to accept him, tried to understand. The others? How could he blame them for not liking him? He didn't like himself very much.
What difference does any of it make?
He would continue to strike back if anyone got too close, keep them all at bay, even if it meant acting hateful and stupid.
He dried himself carefully, examining his thin body—the bright pink skin had become mottled as it reverted back to fish-belly white.
Leukemia!
At first, it hadn't seemed that frightening, more surprising than anything else. The weakness, fainting spells, bleeding gums, were upsetting, but the real shock hadn't set in until they told him that he might not live to graduate from high school, especially if he didn't start treatment immediately. He'd never believed he would die, not for a minute ... even though his doctor had always been straight with him. Kessler had given him all the possibilities, best and worst scenarios. He just hadn't listened.
He used his wet towel to clean the steamed mirror, then folded it neatly and hung it on the rack. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the towel would be whisked away to the dirty laundry, but he hung it up carefully anyway.
He saw his bald head in the mirror and remembered his first hospital admission; the chemo had almost finished him. At one point, he'd wanted to die, but in the end the treatments had saved him, put him into remission; and during that year, he'd become stronger both physically and mentally. They'd warned him, though, that this wasn't the end of it: He'd have to go back into the hospital, donate his marrow, and receive high-dose chemotherapy for the best possible cure rate. But those were just a lot of words, words he'd quickly brushed aside.
Those months of remission had been good ones, among the best he could remember. He'd met Angie, and fallen in love.
Just thinking about her made his insides go soft, ache with an emptiness that had grown daily since he'd deliberately broken off with her two months ago, right after he found out he'd have to go back into the hospital. He hadn't wanted her to be tied to someone like him; miss all the excitement of her senior year—the parties, the ceremonies, the prom.
She'd fought him all the way; he'd almost weakened. But in the end, he'd been cruel: refused to see her, refused to talk to her on the phone. And from that experience, he'd learned how to isolate, how to keep himself from caring too much about anyone.
He shrugged at his own thoughts. Angie, his parents, maybe they were right—a dance is just a dance. What's the big deal?
But he couldn't lie to himself. It was a big deal. The senior prom was tonight, and he wasn't going to be there.
He stared back at the face in the bathroom mirror. Looked at the dull eyes, the ears that appeared so strange with no hair to soften their stark angles. He hated looking at himself, felt like a prisoner in his own diseased body. Angie hadn't seen him since he'd come back into the hospital. Could she stand to look at him like this? Would she even know him?
He left the bathroom and walked slowly to his bed, his hospital gown hanging limply around him. He sat down and stared at the floor, thought grimly about whether he should bother with his exercises. Before he could make a decision, Gina Mazzio popped into the room.
“How's it going this morning, kid?”
He gritted his teeth, forced a smile. “Great—”He interrupted himself coughing. “— just great!”
“When did you start coughing?” She whipped the stethoscope from around her neck and listened to his back, then moved his gown aside and listened closely to his chest.
“There's nothing wrong,” he insisted. “I just had something caught in my throat.”
She shook her head. “Vinnie, don't give me that nonsense. You know I have to check anything unusual.” She frowned as she re-tied his hospital gown and patted his shoulder. “It sounds okay to me, but let's see what Dr. Kessler says.”
“I know what he'll say—let's give him a stat dose of krypton, or Preparation X, b-i-d, t-i-d, q-i-d, et cetera, et cetera.”
Gina laughed. “Hey, not bad; sounds better than 'take two aspirins and call me in the morning.' Maybe you're ready to take up the profession.”
“Don't think I have that much time,” he said.
She gave him a long, hard stare before responding. “I really am going to have to talk to Dr. Kessler about checking you. We can't take chances with your coming down with something at this stage.” She winked at him. “Besides, there's a rumor you're going to be getting your marrow in the next day or so.”
“So what!”
He saw her stiffen, turn grim. She sat down next to him and released a long sigh. “Come on, kid, what's bothering you? I mean, something's been bugging you since the day you checked back in.” When he didn't answer, she touched his hand. “This is what all those weeks of treatment were about, Vinnie: your marrow is going to make things all right again.” She held up two crossed fingers.
“It'll be too late; it'll all be over by the time I get out of here, if I get out of here.”
She tilted her head and scowled. “What will be over?”
“High school, graduation, the prom, everything! You don't understand—it's just not fair!”
“No, Vinnie, you're wrong. I do know how you feel, and it is a raw deal. But whoever said fair had anything to do with it?”
He shook his head and stared at the floor, unable to respond.
“Come on, Vinnie. You've been acting like a tough guy ever since you checked in here. So, okay, let's see you be a real tough guy.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is the toughest fight you're ever going to have, kid, so why not put all of that anger and energy into winning it?”
He shook his head, tears smarting his eyes. “What's a senior prom like?”
He felt her shift on the bed. It was several seconds before she answered. “I don't know,” she said softly. “I didn't get to go.”
Vinnie looked up at her. “You didn't? Why not?”
She turned her head away for a moment, then back to look directly into his eyes. “I ran with a crowd who thought proms and things like that were kind of stupid.” She paused. “Besides, nobody asked me.”
“Give me a break, wil
l you? I can't believe you didn't have a date. You're so ... so beautiful.” Suddenly he was embarrassed, felt himself flush. She smiled at him and for the first time he realized she had dark smudges under her eyes. She looked very tired.
“That was sweet, Vinnie,” she said, touching his cheek. “But do you really think being beautiful makes everything okay?”
“No. But beautiful people seem to always get what they want.”
He watched Gina close her eyes, tighten and relax her shoulders, stretch her neck. “And I suppose you think you're ugly?”
He sneered at her. “Hey, I checked the mirror again this morning and the frog was still a frog ... hadn't turned into a prince yet.”
“How come a smart guy like you hasn't figured out some pretty basic things?” She stood, walked over to the window. He could see past her that the morning fog was starting to dissipate and wondered if the Golden Gate Bridge was visible yet. “You've been blasted with chemo for weeks,” she continued, turning to look back at him. “Those aren't exactly beauty treatments, you know. But you're not ugly, Vinnie. Where did you ever get an idea like that? Why can't you try to see yourself as you truly are—important, wonderful?”
“What a bunch of crap!”
“Vinnie, you've really been hammering me with this crap business,” she said, laughing out loud. “Trashing my ego.”
“Yeah, well, thinking I'm wonderful would be just plain egotistical.”
“So you say. But if you can't love or respect yourself, how can you even begin to love anyone else?”
He studied the lines of his palm, straightened his hospital gown, looked down at the floor again. “I don't care about myself anymore, Gina ... but I don't want anyone I love to suffer because of me.”