“So what do you want to tell me about first?” Dawn asked,bringing the butter and syrup to the table. “Samantha? This mysterious markdoctor Zilber found? Where is it, anyway? Imeant to ask. Do you want some tea?”
Aaron sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Which question are you answering?”
“I don’t know.”
Dawn was about to say something, but stopped herself andsniffed the air. Aaron noticed it too. The waffles were now burning.
“Shit!” Dawn sprang toward the waffle iron. Smoke was billowing out the sides of the machine. “Damn it, I always . . .” Shepushed some buttons, unclasped the lid: the waffles were black.Aaron watched her bony shoulders drop.
“I teld ya teh keep an eye on ’em!” Martin called from the living room.
Dawn looked at Aaron and shook her head, a smile creepingat the corners of her lips.
“I’m good with just tea,” Aaron lied.
“Wait,” Dawn said. She poked around in the freezer andcame out with a half-crumpled box of Eggos. “Voilà!”
As they sat eating their stale, gummy, but no less deliciouswaffles, Aaron felt a gush of heartbreak. Delighting in crap foodwas something he did with Samantha. They’d gorge themselveson junk, feel sick, panic, then die laughing about it later. It wasone of their things. Was Sam stuffing her face and cracking upwith Rocky Balboa right now? He slurped down a wad of syrupdrenched waffle and pinched his eyes closed.
Suddenly Dawn’s hand was on his arm.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Airhead.”
He stared at his sister’s twig-like fingers. They were cold asicicles, even over his sleeves.
“Is it Samantha?” she went on. “The appointment? You can talk to me.”
He pulled his arm away. He couldn’t stand her kindness. Hedidn’t deserve it. Besides, what was he supposed to say? I think Imight have cancer. I think I gave YOU cancer. Buzzard Flu started inmy building and it’s only a matter of time before I catch it, beforeSamantha catches it. Oh, and did I mention she fucked another guybehind my back?
He took a deep breath, exhaled loudly, and said, “Can I haveanother waffle?”
Dawn smiled, then stood up and popped two more Eggosinto the toaster. “Are you going to tell me where this mark is, orwhat?”
Aaron stared at his sister’s back. Her jutting shoulder bladesstruck him as an added insult to her misfortune. “It’s, um. It’s onmy . . . you know.”
“Ah.” Dawn brought the buttered Eggos to the table andavoided making eye contact with him.
Aaron wondered if she knew he was talking about his penis.
“What time is the appointment tomorrow?” she asked. “Ican probably drive you there.”
He shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Come on, Airhead. Don’t be like that.”
Instead of sitting across the table, she nudged him andplopped herself down at his side. She was beginning to smell liketheir mother: eau-de-dryer sheets and bug spray.
She said, “I can see you don’t want to talk, so I’d like to getsomething off my chest. Which is a lot easier these days, if youknow what I mean.”
Aaron mustered a chortle, despite his wariness. He had nofucking idea what she was about to say, and frankly, he was t errified.
“Remember that time Mom and Dad went Christmas shopping,” she began, “and they were gone for hours? I was abouttwelve, I think, and you were seven or eight. I guess you must’vebeen eight, since it was December. Anyway. Do you rememberwe started freaking out about where they were? We were making up stories about robberies and car accidents, mall bombingsand hostage situations.”
Aaron took a bite of waffle. “I don’t remember that part. ButI do remember being worried.”
“Do you remember what happened just as they got home?”
He didn’t, and yet, in that very moment, he did. The memorycame dislodged in his brain, like a piece of wreckage floating to thesurface after years of being buried at sea. “We got into a fight.”
“That’s right. Do you remember what I did to you?”
“I remember throwing one of my plastic Hulk Hogan bar bells at you.”
His sister nodded. “Yep. Got me right on the shoulder. Lefta huge bruise. I remember my teacher at school seeing it duringgym class, and asking if everything was okay at home.”
“Jesus, Dawn. I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s not my point,” she said, nudging him. “That wasnothing. I was a tough girl. Still am. But do you remember whatI did to you after that?”
Another memory came at him—his first experience at thehospital’s emergency ward.
“I was like a bull,” his sister went on. “After you threw thatbarbell, I just saw red. I wanted to kill you. I picked up the closestthing to me, which happened to be an Etch-a-Sketch, andsmacked you over the head with it. The screen cracked, and thelead dust went everywhere, covering your hair and face. Youlooked like an antique statue, covered in black dust. Mom andDad walked in the door just moments later. I remember dadgrabbing me by the wrist and yanking me up to my room. I wascrying on the way up the stairs—not because I was being punished, but because I knew I’d done something horrible. Momdrove you to the hospital because your head had been split open,and there was a danger of lead poisoning.”
Aaron put his fork down. He was finished with his waffles.
Just then Dawn put her bony arm around his shoulder. “I’venever forgiven myself for that day. I feel like—this may soundridiculous—but I’ve always felt responsible for . . . I don’t know.I don’t remember you being so paranoid about death and sicknessbefore that.”
He was speechless. The lump in his throat was apple-sized,and jagged as a rock. She tightened her grip on him, and he rested his head on her shoulder.
“You’ll go to the doctor tomorrow, and he’ll tell you themark on your body is nothing to worry about. And if he tells youit might be something else, well . . . then I say fuck that somethingelse! It’s not like these things are unbeatable. Take me for example. I may not have boobs, but guess what? I’m sitting here talking toyou right now, and that means I won. I’m tough. And so are you.”
Just then Martin shuffled into the kitchen in his sweatpantsand slippers. He belched so loudly it echoed through the kitchen.“Aye, Aaron—you gonna finish that waffle, mate?”
STAGE 7A: HUMAN BODIES
A purple sun rose in a smoggy sky on Friday May 21stasDarrell Johnston parked his Escalade on a dead-end streetaround the corner from Milk Grocery. He’d driven up to Torontofrom Windsor overnight, to sort out his brother Odane’s mess.The little fucker had landed himself in hospital somehow, and asa result, his branch of the Johnston/Kudari drug empire had spiraled into a shit storm. It was Darrell’s job to assess the severityof that shit storm.
He stepped out of his vehicle, lit a cigarette, and swoopeddown the empty morning streets. When he hit Coxwell he slowedhis pace, scanning the area for surveillance cameras, parked carswith people inside, undercover cops posing as street sweepers. Hehadn’t come this early by accident. He wanted to remain a ghost.
Satisfied with the nakedness of his surroundings, heapproached the door leading to Odane’s apartment and flickedhis cigarette so that it fell directly into a sewer without even grazing the grille cover. Although he had a key in his pocket, heturned the handle and gave the door a little shove. It opened.Fuck. Not a good sign. He pulled out his Glock and stepped quietly up the stairs.
At the landing, he stopped to look at his watch. It was something he did when he felt he might be about to experience a lifeor-death moment. This one was happening at 6:58 A.M. Hesniffed the air. The apartment smelled bad, but not dead-bodybad. More like a rotten sickness. There was no noise from within. Gangsters, he knew, could keep quiet as fog before busting acap in your temple or slicing your jugular, but pigs were noisyfucks. If he was in any danger now, it wasn�
�t the cops. He grit histeeth and, with his gun hanging at his side, walked chest-out intoOdane’s apartment.
Empty.
The doors to the bedroom and bathroom were both ajar.Someone could be waiting for him to step into their line of firebefore blowing his skull apart, but somehow he doubted it. Afterall these years he’d developed a feel for these things. If anyonewashere, they were a frightened rat, shaking in theirTimberlands, and it was he who was to be feared.
He checked the bathroom first. Nothing but a half-full ashtray by the sink, and on the floor, a pair of sheer white pantieswith a strawberry on the crotch. It seemed his little bro had beendoing well for himself. Or maybe these panties were rife withsome kind of disease . . .
The bedroom was a mess. It had definitely been ransacked.Drawers left open, clothes and boxes spilling out of the closet,posters ripped and hanging off the walls. Only the cops could beso obvious—unless it was a rival, wanting to send some sort ofmessage. But no. His gut told him it had been the cops. He couldsmell their self-righteous funk, even over the stench of sickness.
It was time for Darrell to vanish. He swooped out of theapartment unseen and smoked a cigarette down to the filter bythe time he got to his Escalade. He drove away and, within minutes, was speeding along the Gardiner Expressway.
He’d learned what he needed to know: officials were awareof Odane’s “occupation”, and with him in hospital, he was nowat the mercy of those officials. Darrell hoped the little shit wouldkeep his mouth shut and play the role of the idiot small-timedealer when detectives were grilling his ass. But who knew whatmight come out of his mouth in a state of feverish delirium?
*
Odane Johnston lay in a hospital bed, dreaming about shooting hoops with Kim Kardashian, his skills off the hook, a stadiumfull of cops cheering him on, his face as flawless as Idris Elba’s.
*
Dr. Middleton’s dermatology practice was in a strip mall, ableak little cube jammed between a Money Mart and an all-daybreakfast joint, that looked more like an insurance broker’s hideout than a doctor’s office. This was where Dr. Middleton toldthe fine folks of Guelph, Ontario whether their moles weremarks of beauty or impending death.
Dr. Middleton turned out to be a thin, bow-legged manwith an upside-down heart-shaped chin and long, spidery fingers.
Those fingers, coiling around each other, were the firstthings Aaron noticed when the doctor stepped into the waitingarea from his examination room and said, “Mr. Aaron Cordic?”
Aaron was the only person in the room, not including Dr.Middleton’s yawning secretary. The formality of the doctor’squestion spooked him so much that he was reluctant to admit hisidentity. He was half-tempted to stand up, cry “I’m cured!”, andgo next door for Eggs Benedict.
Instead he stood up, knees cracking, and gave a sort of salute.
Dr. Middleton smiled. “Right this way.”
The office had a large window that offered a depressing viewof the plaza’s back parking lot, in which the only vehicle was ametallic blue Volkswagen with a licence plate that read:
I C SPOTS
Dr. Middleton sat behind his desk and perused Aaron’s file,nodding his head.Aaron wondered if Dr. Zilber had suggestedto his colleague that he was a “problem patient”. He realized hewas holding his breath, and let the air out of his lungs moreemphatically than he’d intended. The noise sounded like a sighof impatience.
“I see, I see,” Dr. Middleton said, nodding.
Aaron’s eyes darted to the Volkswagen’s licence plate beforethe doctor stood up and snapped the blinds shut with gusto.
“So, Mr. Cordic,” he said, half-sitting on the corner of hisdesk. “When did you first notice this mark on your, um . . . private area?”
Those fingers! Aaron couldn’t take his eyes off of them.They looked like crab’s legs with their bony knuckles andchapped, ruddy callouses. You’d think a dermatologist would have smooth hands, what with their expert knowledge of balmsand creams, but these things were downright reptilian!
Aaron swallowed with difficulty, coughed dryly, andcroaked, “Earlier this week.”
Dr. Middleton’s eyes popped. “And here you are, at anappointment with a specialist already! Dr. Zilber must like you.”He smiled.
“I don’t think he does, actually,” Aaron said, stone-faced.
Dr. Middleton chuckled. “Of course he does. But,” heclapped his claws together, “back to business. So, you say younoticed this mark recently. You’re sure you hadn’t seen it before?”
“Very sure.”
“And the shape?”
“Oblong. It looks like Lake Michigan.”
“I see. Well, you’re going to have to undress so I can take alook at it. I’ll leave the room and give you a few minutes. Whenyou’re ready, just lay down on the examination table.” He puton his lab coat, which had been slung over the back of the chairat his desk, and left the room.
The sun blazed against the blinds covering Dr. Middleton’slarge window. Aaron considered escaping into the parking lot,but the thought of a cancerous penis, and the slim chance thatDr. Loch Ness Fingers might be able to do something about it,prompted him to do as instructed and strip.
Once he was naked, he took another look at the mark. Hadit grown? It seemed to have grown. Fucking cancer. There wasno doubt in his mind.
Dr. Middleton returned—Aaron was happy to see he waswearing gloves—and poked, prodded, and measured the spot,while Aaron held his foreskin back.The awkwardness heexpected to feel during the examination didn’t manifest itself,nor did he feel any revulsion at the doctor’s touch. He just keptthinking cancer, cancer, cancer, and remembered the look ofDawn’s bony chest, followed by the fullness of Samantha’sbreasts, and the thought of someone else’s hands on them. Hedeserved this.All of it. He pinched his eyes shut and foughtback the urge to sob.
A noise must have escaped his mouth, because Dr. Middletonmuttered, “Sorry,” and then, “You can get dressed now.”
He did as instructed, while Dr. Middleton looked away andbusied himself at his desk. When he was back in his clothes, he satacross from the doctor once again and waited for the prognosis.
“Well, I suppose the shape is a bit worrying,” Dr. Middletonbegan, cracking his crustacean knuckles, “but I don’t think it’scancerous. We’d have to do a biopsy to know for sure, but thelogical solution, of course, is circumcision.”
Aaron blinked. “What?”
“Circumcision. It’s a simple procedure—”
“You mean, right now?!”
“What? No.” The doctor laughed. “Gracious, no. I’ll haveto refer you to a surgeon, make an appointment, etcetera. It’ll beweeks down the road. Months, even.”
“Oh.” There was a pause. “So you’re saying it’s cancer.”
“I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying that if there is any riskof melanoma, a circumcision is the best course of action.”
Aaron sat in silence for a moment, then said, “Does it hurt?”
The doctor cleared his throat. “It shouldn’t. The area will beanaesthetized. You might be a little sensitive afterwards, but notfor long. There are all kinds of health benefits to it, as well.”
“I’ve heard. I mean, I’ve read about that.”
“Well,” Dr. Middleton said, shuffling papers, “I think we’reabout done here. Don’t worry, Mr. Cordic, you’ll be fine. I’llhave my secretary arrange an appointment for you with a surgeonin Toronto. And as I said, it could be a little while—which isprobably a good thing, considering what the hospitals are goingthrough at the moment with this horrible outbreak. I hope youhaven’t brought the flu to Guelph with you!” He smiled.
If it was a joke, Aaron didn’t laugh.
*
There were cat monsters everywhere. Zack couldn’t escapethem. He burst through the jungle foliage, gun in hand, and tookshelter in a giant, h
ollowed-out tree. It was probably crawling with bugs in here, but that didn’t matter now. The cat monsterswere vicious. They could rip your fucking eyes out with oneswipe of their Freddy Krueger claws.
He heard noises outside the tree hole. Giant feet snappingtwigs, claws scratching at bark, and some strange knocking sound.They were coming for him, the fuckers. If he made it through thisalive he’d smoke the world’s biggest blunt as a reward.
An earwig dropped onto his shoulder and he smacked it off.The movement seemed to get the monsters’ attention. Theywere creeping closer, he could feel it. He could smell them, too.They smelled like ladies’ perfume.
A giant claw punched through the tree and grabbed hisshoulder. He tried to get away, stumbled, and lost his firearm. Hewas lying in the muck now, the gun just out of reach, and a monster was on top of him, shaking him.
He managed to crawl forward and grab the gun. In one swiftmotion he spun and fired.
Now he was at home, sitting in a puddle of his own puke onhis living room floor. Ugbo’s gun was in his hands, and MarthaHaggerty lay slack on the floor in front of him, her face blownhalf off.
*
Samantha’s face was more visible now with all that hairchopped off.
After looking out into the parking lot for the source of thatweird explosion sound, she’d gone to the bathroom to get Lucaa barf bucket, and caught an accidental glimpse of herself in thebathroom mirror. Her cheeks looked puffier (hypothyroidism?),her neck seemed more tendony (she’d have to look that one up),and she could actually see parts of her ears, which made her feellike an elf.
She made a pouty face at her reflection, then pulled on herearlobes, stuck out her tongue, and said, “Blaaaaaaah!”
“Oh no.” Luca’s muffled voice from the bedroom. “Are you sick too?”
“Probably,” she said, padding into the room, stainless steelbucket in hand. “Do you need this?”
“Not right now.”
Samantha sat on the edge of the bed, held the bucketagainst her belly, and stared at the muted TV.A reporter wasinterviewing a doctor in a hospital corridor. Both of them werewearing masks.
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