Dead Souls

by Michael Laimo

  Now how come they aren't in school, like the other kids? Mom had mentioned something once about school being out in the Summer. If this is true, then why were those other kids at school? I wish I could understand all of this!

  At once Daniel saw the comic book rack on the left alongside the window, and he licked his lips with excitement. This was his third trip into town (all to D'Agostino's Drugs), fourth if you counted the first time he came with his mother. Each and every time he'd beelined for the rack with the thin colorful paper magazines that cost twenty-five cents. Now here he was again, spinning it leisurely, checking out the covers and once again wondering if he were allowed to pick them up and scan the insides. Superman. Spiderman. Tarzan. Who were these mysterious characters, and what roles did they play in society? Daniel considered buying one, after all it was only a quarter, and would his mother really notice twenty-five cents missing from the change?

  He backed away from the rack and walked down the aisle with a sign overhead that said First Aid. Here he nosed through a variety of bandages and balms, looking for the specific ointment his mother had asked for: Bacitracin. He eventually located it, taking his time with the very simple task of plucking it off the shelf—he really wanted this journey to last! After all, God knew what fate awaited upon his return home to Benjamin's stewing rage.

  He paced up to the counter. There was an elderly woman there wearing polyester from head-to-toe, with scuffed penny-loafers and gray hair permed into a standing beehive. She was engaged in conversation with the person behind the counter, a middle-aged, nearly overweight man whose name tag said 'Ted'. She was droning on about 'Anna' who was heading off to college in Bangor next week. Probably her daughter. She turned, looked at Daniel, and said, "Well Mr. Pharmacist, you have another customer, so I'll be on my way!" She smiled then marched down the aisle marked 'School Supplies'.

  Ted smiled at Daniel. "You saved the day."

  "Pardon?"

  "Mrs. Darmody talks too much."

  Daniel grinned, unsure if he was supposed to laugh at that revealing little tidbit. He stepped up to the counter and placed the tube of ointment down.

  "Is that all?"

  Daniel hesitated, then asked, "How much is it?"

  Ted turned the tube over and displayed the price tag to Daniel. "Two-forty-nine."

  In a spontaneous move, Daniel said, "No, wait," then paced briskly to the front of the store and grabbed the first comic he saw: Superman's Foes. He ran back to the counter, overcome with excitement, little shivers racing across his jiggling flesh. "I hope this doesn't get me into trouble." He placed the comic on the counter, figuring he had a good deal of punishment cut out for him anyway.

  Ted grinned and raised an eyebrow. "You're the Conroy boy, right?"

  Daniel nodded.

  Ted leaned forward, elbows on the counter. He gripped the comic between his fingers. "It's my suggestion that you don't let either of your parents see this."

  Eyes wide and alert, Daniel nodded again. "Okay." He saw a glimmer of knowledge in Ted's eyes—apparently the pharmacist had heard stories about his family. Did he know about Osiris and his father's obsession?

  Ted slid the comic into a separate bag, then reached down behind the counter and grabbed another one: The Incredible Hulk. He slid that into the bag too. "No charge for these, son." His eyes twinkled dryly, as if unexpectedly caught beneath the sun's rays.

  Daniel was speechless. He'd never received a gift before, except at Christmastime, and even those were something he couldn't make any interesting use of, like a new bible, or a polished cross. Or an incense burner.

  Ted smiled grimly, as though feeling sorry for Daniel, then slid his gold wire-rimmed glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "I've attended your father's services in the past. I've seen you perform altar duties."

  Daniel smiled back, hands gripping the paper bag. His palms left wet irregular patches on the dry brown surface. They resembled the sweat stains on his shirt.

  Ted placed the ointment in another, smaller bag and handed that to Daniel. "Here ya go, young man."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure."

  "Gee, thanks Ted...uh, Mr. Pharmacist." Daniel moved to leave, then turned around and asked, "Sir…can I ask you a question?"

  Grinning, Ted nodded, eyebrows arched. "Sure."

  "My mother told me once that school was always closed for the summer. So…why are those kids up there?" Daniel felt a tightness in his chest, as though he might've just brought up a subject he had no business in.

  Ted smiled, not quite so happily as much pitifully. "Probably summer school for those who didn't make the grade. Although, now that I think about it, school does start next week. Could be that some of the kids are starting a week early to try out for the football team."

  Daniel didn't quite understand all of Ted's explanation. He replied, "Thanks," then quickly retreated down the 'school supplies' aisle. He could sense Ted watching his lumbering departure. Without stopping, he peeked at the turnstile with the comics one last time, then exited the store.

  When he came out onto Main Street with both bags gripped in his right hand, he saw the three big kids from earlier crouched on the curb to the right of the drugstore. They were laughing and smoking cigarettes, something he'd witnessed being performed only by adults in the parking lot outside of his father's church. Common sense told him to retrace his steps back into the cool, comfortable shelter of the store, but he ignored his voice of reason and paced along the curb, gripping the two bags more tightly in his sweaty hand.

  One of the kids looked up and saw Daniel intending to pace by them. He elbowed the biggest kid at the front of the pack, who immediately pinned Daniel with a pair of piercing blue eyes. The third kid, at the rear of the pack, took a few more seconds to realize that the moment they'd been waiting for had finally arrived.

  The kid in the front, the leader it seemed, mocked Daniel with a voice deep in the throes of adolescence: "Hey fatso…watchya got in the bag?"

  "Git 'im, Mack!" the boy in the back yelled. Mack. A suitable name for a fifteen or sixteen year-old boy who was almost as big as the truck it implied. His arms and legs were thick with farmboy muscles. His hair was long and straight and straggly, the unwashed ends reaching down over his shoulders like the vines in the woods behind the barn. His tee-shirt had a large variety of stains on it, and he retained the collective odor of most of them.

  Daniel made a valiant attempt to walk by the trio, pretending not to see them at all (which was kind of silly because as soon as Mack asked about the bag, he hid it behind his hefty midsection).

  A calloused hand grabbed Daniel's arm roughly, and he screamed.

  Immediate laughter followed. Daniel twisted around and shrank back against the hot brick facing of Goodman's Cleaners, next to D'Agostino's Drugs. The three big kids (now looking even bigger) dragged him a few feet into the alley between the two stores. They slammed him against the wall alongside a small green dumpster and formed a impenetrable semi-circle around him.

  Mack, hair hanging in his eyes, said, "You got fat in your ears too? I said…what's in the bag?" His lips thinned and Daniel could see a layer of spit coating them like varnish.

  "Nothing," Daniel replied mousily, tears welling in his eyes. Rapid fear ripped through his body, and his fingers loosened on the bags.

  "You know," Mack said, "If there's one thing I hate, it's a liar." His face contorted into something that matched the insanity in his eyes.

  He looks like my father…

  Mack reached quickly for the bags. Daniel ducked and flinched away.

  "Grab hold of him, guys."

  The two kids in the back, near mirror images of Mack, leaped forward and latched onto Daniel's arms. Daniel howled in fear, and in a bit of pain too, realizing that despite all of Benjamin's punishments and the pain and heartache that came with them, he had always emerged from them safe and sound.

  But here and now? This was something entirely different. These st
range kids were fueled by a different fire, one rife with random detestation, with irrational anger. The outcome of this situation was completely unknown. And highly disconcerting.

  The tears welled even further in Daniel's eyes, and he prayed that the kids didn't see them, despite envisioning that many tears would be shed before this confrontation was over.

  "Hey fatso," Mack said. "You sound just like the puppy we drowned last week." The kid gripping his right arm laughed and gave it a sharp twist. The pain ran all the way to Daniel's shoulder, and he howled again, the bag nearly slipping free of his loosening grasp. He made an attempt to break away. The two kids gripped him even tighter. They pushed him hard against the brick wall and his breath fled his lungs in a painful rush.

  Mack reached forward and grabbed the collar of Daniel's shirt. He pulled downward, ripping the thin cotton tee in half. His belly and chest, white and blinding, fell out in a bloated flop.

  "Holy-moly!" Mack shouted, eyes wide with disbelief. "What in the hell is that?" He pointed to Daniel's chest.

  His two accomplices, keeping Daniel at bay, twisted around to take part in the revelation. Daniel craned his neck and looked out of the alley for help. He saw some people on the sidewalk across the street, but they were at least a hundred feet away (might as well have been a light year away). He shouted, "Leave…me…alone!"

  "What is that, fatboy?"

  "Leave me!"

  "Answer my fucking question!" Mack threw a swift jab into Daniel's stomach. A knifing pain stabbed Daniel's lungs as they again emptied themselves of air. He wondered how Superman or the Incredible Hulk might have handled the situation. Despite his unfamiliarity with the superheroes, he guessed they would have found some way to fix the bad guys real good. They certainly wouldn't have started bawling uncontrollably, which was what he was doing right now.

  The kid holding his right arm teased him in falsetto: "Aw…the baby's got a fucking boo-boo!" He howled in laughter, and the kid on the left joined in.

  But not Mack. He was holding his gaze still and firm on Daniel's scar…which frightened Daniel real bad.

  Mack took his index finger and pressed it against Daniel's scar. "That hurt, fatboy?"

  Daniel shook his head.

  Mack pressed it harder, digging a dirty fingernail into the gnarled skin. "How about now?"

  Daniel grimaced. Despite the thick appearance of his scar, it had a few clusters of nerves that when touched sent a jolt of pain across his chest. Mack had managed to ferret one out, and it nearly made Daniel pass out.

  Mack reached into his back pocket. Brought out what looked like a knife without a handle. When he pressed the small silver button on top, a blade shot out.

  The fear in Daniel erupted. His heart leaped about in his chest like a monkey in a cage. He began to rock frantically back and forth in a fruitless attempt to escape, and at one point almost managed to tear an arm away, but the boys were too big and too strong for him, and in tag-team fashion, slammed him back against the brick wall.

  His spine and skull collided with the hard surface. A hostile blackness filled his sights, and this time it felt as though the air in his lungs had him left for good. His mind sputtered crazily, I'm an animal. I'm snared in a trap! Yes I am! The D'Agostino's Drugs bags fell from his hand to the ground, and were quickly retrieved by Mack.

  "Don't let him do that again!" Mack yelled, rifling through the bigger bag. He removed the comics and hurled them to the floor. He plucked the ointment from the second bag and peered at it like an entomologist might a rare insect.

  Daniel tried to wrestle free. Mack lunged forward. He pressed the blade of the knife against Daniel's scar. It felt hot, like a brand.

  "This hurt?" Mack asked, grinning.

  Daniel froze. He gasped for air, trying to suck his chest away from it. The blood pounded frantically through his veins. A thin line of spit dripped from his mouth like a drawstring.

  "Answer me!" Mack yelled, pressing harder.

  "Ahhh! It hurts!" Daniel shouted, hopefully loud enough so Mr. Ted Pharmacist would come to his rescue. The point of the knife punctured his skin and a thin line of blood trickled down his chest. The rolling blackness in his sights cleared to gray, and filled his head with something almost tangible, as if he really did have fat between his ears.

  "So…answer me fatboy. What is it?"

  "It's…a…birthmark," he cried.

  "Bullshit!" Mack's voice penetrated Daniel like a shot from a spear. The two kids holding him loosened their grips, perhaps fearing that Mack would come after them. Daniel sobbed uncontrollably, belly leaping up and down. He looked down and saw his comics laying on the gritty cement under Mack's feet, and that made him even more distraught.

  Suddenly, two boys riding bicycles turned the corner and rode into the alley. They were about Daniel's age, smiling…until they spotted Mack and his gang. Mack spun toward them. "Get out of here!" The boys hit their brakes, screeched on the gravel, then quickly u-turned in fearful silence and rode off the edge of the curb. Daniel could see them speeding away across the street like contenders eyeing the finish line of some big race. They disappeared behind a large blue car that rolled by, its driver oblivious to the events at hand.

  Daniel managed to work his right arm free. Mack yelled, "Jeezus, Butch! Hold him! And don't let go."

  Butch, seemingly concerned with Mack's crazed demeanor, grabbed Daniel's arm, and said, "Hey, man, I thought we was just gonna give him a scare."

  "You better fuckin' hold im, or I'll cut you up too." Mack's face had evolved into the mask of a demon, red and twisted and maniacal.

  Butch and his partner didn't seem all too intent on continuing this sadistic game—their grips on Daniel were now loose and uninspired. Mack, using one deft hand, popped the top of the bacitracin tube off. He squeezed out half the greasy contents, which purled over his fist like lava from a volcano.

  While Daniel watched the erupting medicine, Mack jerked the switchblade across Daniel's midsection and sliced into him open like a hunter might a fresh kill. Blood sprouted across his skin in a parade of beads that ran from his scar all the way down to his beltline.

  Shocked, Daniel could only stare down at the blood oozing from his massive wound. Oh my God, if I don't get out of here, I'm going to die! In this moment of do-or-die, he realized that both Butch and his accomplice had released him, most likely out of fear and the uncertainty of whether to flee Mack's reckless fury themselves.

  Mack held the knife up like a trophy, admiring the smatter of blood jewelling on the blade. "Got yourself a fuck of a boo-boo, kid," he said. He then took the blob of bacitracin on his other hand and wiped it forcefully over Daniel's oozing wound. "There…that oughtta help."

  Mack leaned back to admire his handiwork, and it was at this moment that Daniel, despite his pain, decided to make a run for it.

  He pitched forward. Mack responded by pushing him back against the wall. With no clear incentive other than to survive the odds, Daniel planted a swift kick into Mack's groin. An unmistakable look of shock appeared on Mack's face—mouth agape, eyes wide and disbelieving—and this brought about a glint of hope to Daniel. He lunged past Mack, who'd dropped the knife in favor of his balls. Butch, staggering after Daniel, tripped over Mack, and his partner in crime slammed into him. They both fell on top of Mack, who howled out not unlike Daniel had only moments earlier.

  Daniel fled out onto the sidewalk, looking back only once as he lumbered across the street. He saw a man and a woman getting out of a parked car. The woman pointed into the alley, and the man, hands on his hips, shouted something. Another man exited the drugstore and looked toward Daniel. He yelled Hey, are you okay?, but Daniel ignored him, running as fast as he could (which wasn't very fast at all) down Main, his torn tee fluttering behind him like a cape.

  Superman's cape!

  When he reached the corner, he turned and looked back one last time, just to confirm that he wasn't being followed, because if Mack and his boys had decided to pursue,
they would be on him faster than bees on yellow—and if this were the case, then he would need to seek refuge inside the corner service station. A cop jogged across the street toward the alley, and that was the last thing he saw before racing up Center Street, his portly legs managing to carry him far away from yet another chapter of hell chronicling his life.

  Chapter 18

  September 7th, 2005

  3:22 PM

  My father is dead…

  It was the first thought to enter Johnny Petrie's mind as he left his life behind, and he quickly followed this harsh reality with a daunting contemplation: And my mother—she is as good as dead too.

  He sat up straight in his seat and used a thumb to loosen the knot of tension in his neck. He'd spent the better part of the last hour falling in and out of sleep, mostly five-minute cat-naps, and during his semi-lucid states his mind tossed about a myriad of taxing thoughts. Like: who was Benjamin Conroy? And: how did this man fit into his life? The eye-opening revelation of his mother sharing a family name with the deceased man bequeathing a two-million dollar estate to Johnny, led him to hypothesize that Benjamin Conroy was either an uncle, or a cousin, or…his mother's first husband? Was it possible that Ed Petrie wasn't really his father? His brain ached as he considered the possibilities, and he struggled to shove them all aside until tomorrow, when Andrew Judson unveiled the truth of the matter to him.

  He cracked one eye open and peered out the window. It was still smattered with raindrops, and the natural environs looked pretty much the same: mountainous and muddy. The bus still crawled along the interstate, hunting for its turn-off, and he could hear the swish of cars as they slowly passed by on the left. The wipers on the front windshield cleared the way to a dismal scene, cool and gray…and yet, so new and inviting. Johnny welcomed it, and he closed his eyes again, thinking of his last waking minutes at 479 East 88th Street in Manhattan…