by Mark Tiro
Almost the instant I had this thought, two cars turned the corner much too fast. I could hear the sound of tires screeching as they made the turn. It looked like they were racing each other.
Instinctively I jumped back from the sidewalk when I heard the screeching, but I tripped and fell backwards. The last thing I heard as I fell down was more screeching. And then my head hit the ground and everything went dark.
13
Thirteen
It didn’t stay dark for long. At least I don’t think it did. I came to in the hospital bed.
“What happened?” I asked when I saw the doctor come in for her rounds to check on me. She was dressed head-to-toe in scrubs, and her face was almost completely covered like she was prepped for surgery. Behind her were more residents than could fit in the room. And all of them—every last one of these residents—they were all men. They were all standing around her, pushing up glasses and staring at tablets and so on. But their glasses all seemed to be stage props, like the kind you’d see a male model wearing in a magazine photo spread. And, unlike the doctor, none of them were dressed in scrubs, or in anything even close to it. As I looked closer, I first started to notice what all these residents were—and weren’t—wearing. Then for some reason, I looked down and noticed the doctor’s hands. As she was reached towards my head to examine me now, even though she was completely covered in surgical scrubs from head to toe, I saw her hands. Unlike the rest of her—they were uncovered.
Those fingernails! I’d recognize those fingernails anywhere. And those… hands, too! To make sure, though, I looked back up towards the doctor’s face, staring at the only part of it that was visible beneath the surgical mask.
Her eyes.
“Angel!” I blurted out.
She pulled down her surgical mask so I could see the rest of her face. Then she shot me a mischievous wink and put a finger to her lips. Is that full-on makeup she’s wearing? I wondered. It looks like an awesome makeover, but… wait? Why would she have gotten a makeover before operating on me? And wait—Angel? What’s she doing here? What’s going on? And then, the most obvious thought occurred to me.
“Wait, Angel. You’re not a doctor! Are you about to operate on me?” I started to panic.
“Doctor?” she answered, cutting me off with another mischievous look. She glanced over her shoulder at the men behind her, then leaned back over to me and whispered, “Yeah—I know. But don’t tell them that. They wanted their doctor fantasy, and this is the most I was willing to do for them.”
“‘Doctor fantasy’? Wait, what?”
“You don’t get it?” Angel interrupted, as if she’d been reading my thoughts. “I can explain. But really—think about it, Maya, and you’ll figure it out. I mean, you always were the smart one between us. You did this. You know that, right?”
“What did I do? I fell and hit my head, I think. I hope those cars didn’t run over me, but honestly, I don’t remember very much after the fall….”
She took one fabulously manicured fingernail and pressed it up against my lips. Not quite a gesture to shush me, but almost. Actually, it seemed almost… what?
“Sensual? Is that what you’re thinking?” she interrupted. “Oh, God no. Not here—though we should get moving. We don’t want to be late,” she said as she reached her hand over to help me up off of the bed.
“But I… I don’t have any clothes on,” I protested. “Just this hospital gown.”
“Where we’re going, you don’t need clothes,” she said.
This is too much, I thought. First Steve, now Angel….
She snapped around with what seemed like the most overdramatic flair. As she did, the whole place dissolved. Then she reached around, grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me into the dark void.
I was spinning now, falling, floating. Everywhere and nowhere. It was all too much, and I closed my eyes. Either that, or I passed out. Either way, whatever this was, I did not want to see it.
At some point, I peeked my eyes open and took a look around.
I was definitely not in the hospital room now. And Angel was definitely not dressed as a doctor now.
The first thing I noticed were the cluster of gaudy but plush chaise lounges scattered about what looked like the kind of nightclub you’d see in movies.
Actually, no. That wasn’t the first thing I’d noticed. The first thing that I noticed was all the men lying around on the chaise lounges. None of them had much of any clothes on, and at least half of them were either glistening with the kind of sweat that also seemed like the kind you’d see in a photo shoot on a model in a magazine. These were the same men who I’d assumed were residents making the medical rounds in the hospital when I’d assumed Angel was a doctor.
I was completely wrong on both counts.
I looked again at Angel.
She was dressed in a low-cut, black and red, skin-tight latex bodysuit.
There was a red glow that seemed to come from behind the bar, reflecting a dancing red glow into the black that spilled out all around.
I’ll admit, it was actually kind of cool looking.
“Hello, Maya!” she burst out, walking towards me with arms wide open and a huge smile on her face.
The way she said it—well, this was Angel, sure enough. She sounded almost giddy. Chipper even. It was a complete contrast to… well—everything.
“See what I mean?” she went on, bubbly. “I told you that you wouldn’t need any clothes here. So do you like it?”
“Angel! What is this?” I stammered. I’m sure I was redder than whatever that thing was she was wearing. “Angel… but, I don’t understand. What… is… all this?”
“You don’t remember? I guess you must have hit your head harder than I thought when you fell back there. Sorry. But seriously, Maya—you don’t remember?”
“Remember what?” I asked, puzzled now.
“You did this,” she said, motioning all around her. Then she pulled out what looked like some super-cool version of a cellphone I’d never seen before. She pushed the screen and then looked up at me, flashing that ‘one grin-to-charm them-all’ look I’d seen earlier.
As soon as she did, five or so of the men got up from the chaises they’d been lounging on and started walking over. A couple were dressed—though just barely—and a couple others were completely… oh, my.
Now I know I turned red.
“You’re embarrassed?” she asked. “Maybe you’d like to see a familiar head?”
I gulped. “Face? You mean a familiar face?”
“Oh yes, sorry. I was saving the head for a decadent desert treat….”
I turned around to look, and there he was. A familiar face indeed.
Steve! Of course! He was laying on one of the chaises. I hadn’t noticed until now. Unlike the others, he was fully clothed. He was wearing a nice sport coat and jeans, actually. And sitting there with him was John. They were both holding hands, almost clinging to each other. I instinctively moved to their familiar faces. When I got closer, though—close enough to see their eyes—I saw something that made my soul shudder.
It was the unmistakable look of—
“Fear?” Angel’s voice rang out, shrill and harsh, now. Then she walked towards the two, wrapping one gloved hand around Steve’s face to caress it and at the same time, reaching with her other hand around to cup John from behind. And from underneath. “There’s nothing to fear, boys,” Her voice was growing harsher now, into something different, something almost… guttural. “Which one of you wants my good friend Maya here? Oh, who am I kidding? We know it’s you Steve, and your boyfriend can watch and enjoy the show. Of course, I’m going to need to demonstrate with you first Steve, before Maya can have her way with you…”
I dug the pad and pen out just as Angel pulled off her latex bodysuit. She tossed it behind her, and it went up in a pyrotechnic flash of color and light, leaving only the vague lingering smell of sulfur.
She was walking towards Steve, but just before
she got to him, she turned to me and looked straight into my eyes.
“Now do you remember?” she said to me, more statement than question. “You did this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Angel. Please stop, though. Can you please stop? Don’t make them do that. You’re torturing them—”
“‘Angel can go to hell,’” she shot back. “That’s what you wrote on that little list of yours! ‘Angel can go to hell.’” She flashed me one more chilling smile. “So now—I’m here. In Hell!” She gave me a coy smirk, then added, “Now, we’re all here.”
Then she turned back towards Steve, whose clothes had somehow come off since I’d last turned my head. Those clothes were now improvised into ropes, knotted up to restrain John. John was tied down and he was struggling now—forced to watch his lover about to be raped by Angel.
I turned my head back towards her. I don’t know if I blinked or not, but when I looked again, Angel had turned into the devil. Just like that.
Steve screamed. It was not a scream of pleasure. She was literally torturing him now. I couldn’t look.
I turned away, putting my head down, starting to feel queasy and ready to throw up. But then I remembered the pad of paper.
My list! I quickly fumbled around and found that I had been holding it in my hand without even noticing. I threw it open.
Then I wrote a #7 as fast as I could, trying to think about what to write. But Angel was almost on top of Steve now, and his screams were so agonized they were haunting me. It was all too much. I screamed now too. I felt ready to pass out, and it took every last ounce of strength I had to bring the pen to the paper.
I wrote just one word.
It was the same word I’d just screamed.
“No.”
As soon as I lifted the pen up, everything dissolved in a whoosh and a pop.
Once I’d felt the change of pressure in my head, I let go, ready to pass out. With my last bit consciousness, I looked up. I don’t know what I’d expected to see, but… not this.
Oh God—not this.
14
Fourteen
I took one look around, though as soon as I did, I knew exactly what—or who—I would see.
David.
Of course.
He was walking toward me with a cartoonishly-oversized notebook of his own thrust under his arm. And he was opening his mouth like he was about to go all erudite on me, explaining some arcane point.
Blah blah blah.
Oh, hell no. I… just… can’t.
Not him.
Not now.
Just… no.
And so I pulled my pad back out, and under the last thing I’d written on the list, which apparently had been enough to get me back here, I started a new line. Very deliberately this time—I put a #8. And then, again very deliberately, I wrote the words.
“Go back home.”
And then—there I was.
Good riddance.
“Sean!”
As soon as I saw my brother, I ran over to him and threw my arms around him in a giant bear hug. After everything, he was the only person I felt like I could maybe talk to.
Hopefully.
Still, he didn’t have a clue what I’d been through with this magic… no—with this stupid—list. I worried a bit, and then I sat back on my bed.
“You have a minute? To talk?”
“Sure do,” he answered, turning back to me. Then he dragged my chair over and sat down in it. “What’s up?”
Such a simple question. Where should I begin?
“I’m not sure where to begin.”
True enough, I thought. Why hadn’t I thought through how to tell Sean, so that he wouldn’t think I was… crazy.
If someone had told me all this stuff—I would think I was crazy.
And so I waited a minute, thinking. But something in my look must’ve worried him because he just leaned forward, hand on his chin, listening intently, giving me that look like people give the family of the dead person when they go to a funeral. But I couldn’t really figure anything out to say. And so I just opened my mouth and started talking.
“Sean—do you know when something is crazy, like I mean—really messed up?”
He sat quietly, like he was considering his answer. Then he gave me a serious look I was definitely not used to from him. And he just sat there, listening. Waiting for me to go on. He didn’t say a word.
“What is it?” I burst out. “Did someone die? Say something, will you? Why are you looking like that?”
“Are you doing okay, Maya?” he asked me, finally, gently… quietly. I felt like someone really did die.
“Huh? Yeah, of course I am.”
“You sure?”
“Well, not really. The strangest things have been happening to me.”
I thought about telling him about the list, but so much was swirling around in my head, and that seemed just too crazy—even though I was dying to do exactly that. I really needed to tell someone—anyone other than David—about all this stuff.
I took a gulp, and I opened my mouth. I started by telling Sean about how I’d walked in on Angel and Steve—in his bedroom… in his bed.
“I’m sorry,” he said after I’d finished with that part of the story. He was quiet a long moment. Then he gave me that gentle, serious look again. “Are you sure that’s everything that’s bothering you, Maya?”
“Bothering me? Of course not.” I couldn’t help myself. I opened my mouth to answer, and it just all came tumbling out.
That’s how I told Sean about the magic list. Whatever else came up, I knew never to let the thing out of my sight now, and so it was the first thing that came to mind. What was a little fuzzier was… my—experience. I still remembered some of it. I still remembered that guy. That guy who’d given it to me. But that was about it. The details seemed to be hovering now, still. But they were somewhere on the outer edge of my consciousness, fading quickly to somewhere just out of reach. It was like when you take a nap in the afternoon, and sleep really well, and you know you were dreaming, but you just can’t remember it, and it fades fast.
“You sure you don’t…” he started to say, gently, but then changed course. “Maya, have you thought about… Tom?”
I opened my mouth to say something like I always did whenever anyone would ask me about him. It was usually some variation of, ‘Well, what about him? He’s a shithead, but he’s still my brother, and I guess I love him for that.’
This time, however, when I opened my mouth, no words would come out.
I think my breakfast almost did, though.
Because when I opened up my mouth—mostly out of habit—to give my usual stock answer, I suddenly felt sick in my stomach. Sick like I wanted to throw up.
I quickly pulled my knees in tight to my chest. And then I held on for dear life.
“What’s wrong?” Sean pleaded. “Are you okay? Maya? You look like you’re turning green.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. After a minute, the feeling passed, but not before the most terrible image flashed into my mind. It was an image of… him.
Of Tom.
It’s… it was… I pushed the thought away, but I felt run over now, somewhere between tired and dead.
Or maybe numb.
“Are you okay?” Sean repeated. “Maya? Are you okay?”
I didn’t move. I just sat there, on my bed, clutching my knees to my chin, curled up in a ball, all of this—whatever this was—would hurry up and pass.
And it did, finally. Well, kind of. I mean, enough, I suppose. As it faded, I looked up at Sean.
“Sean,” I started slowly, sitting up now, “do you… I mean—do you know what happened just there? Did I hit my head or something, or… I don’t know. I think I must be sick.”
“It’s okay. I’m here, I won’t let… I mean, anything you need—I’ll take care of it for you.”
I got angry, all of the sudden. Not at his words, of course—tho
ugh they didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me right now. A wave of… something had overcome me, and I needed to lay back down.
That something felt like a punch in the gut. I was so angry, I wanted to explode. But why was I angry? I didn’t know. I just sat there—not because I didn’t feel practically furious now—but more because I couldn’t figure out what I was angry at. And so I just sat there, racking my brain, trying to remember. Also making sure I wouldn’t throw up.
Nothing more came to me, and after a little while more, the nausea passed completely. Part of me wanted to cry—and this didn’t make any more sense to me than me being angry. And so I sat there some more. Sean waited quietly for me to say something. Anything. After a while, I wasn’t feeling much better, and so I sat up again, figuring I’d talk to Sean to take my mind off whatever this it was that I couldn’t remember anyway.
“Maya, do you remember, I mean… what… I mean, Tom’s—”
“Aaarrrgghhh! Tom!” The thought of just his name made me angry all over again. “Stop! Why do you keep asking me about him? And where is that shithead, anyway? Not like I really care. Oh yeah, I forgot. He’s out of town with his bible retreat or whatever the hell he’s gotten into all of the sudden. Hmmpphhh!”
Sean gulped, looking like he was thinking about his answer. “Well, not exactly. I think he’s out of town, yes. For a while, but not sure it’s with his bible study…” Sean stuttered a second, then stopped talking completely.
And then he asked me softly but very clearly, “Maya, you really don’t remember anything, do you?”
“Remember? What do you mean? Of course I remember! I’ve been through hell! I just don’t want to talk about it.” An image of Tom came into my mind for a second, but I pushed it away. I hated hearing his name when I had so much I had to think about with this list. That’s stupid, I told myself. The word immediately jarred me, immediately reminding me of my stupid list. Which I didn’t really want to talk about with Sean, even if I thought it might be good for me to talk. That stupid list was the problem! Why would I want to remember it?