by Ben English
Hurry, Jack.
There wasn’t really time to think, barely time to merely react, so Jack slipped back inside the dark room. Didn’t even count his steps forward and to the far corner, turning and weaving by memory around the pipes and canisters. The big brown paper bags were back here.
The two men in the doorway were trying for stealth, but didn’t realize they were backlit. Jack waited until they were three steps inside the door, then moved to flank them so their backs would be to the concrete retaining wall. Needed them to hesitate for a second, to fear the half-seen bafflement of ductwork and hoses and smooth grey shapes.
“You think he’s even down here? Thought you said he was afraid of the dark.”
That was all the pause he needed. Jack heaved the hundred-pound bag of soda ash across the room, striking both men in the chest and hammering them back into the wall. Both ends of the bag burst, and a fine, bitter mist boiled out and around them.
Both were down and choking, but Jack followed the first bag with another, hurling it into them with all his strength. He closed his eyes against the white grit filling the air, and stumbled for the entrance. As quickly and quietly as he could, he shut and padlocked the doors. The machinery inside started up in earnest, drowning the sounds made by the two men.
Jack took a clean breath for himself, then headed back the way he’d come, up the hill and over the fence. The door to the lounge was half a pool length away. Voices raised inside.
He was seeing in tunnel vision, acting on instinct. Get to the office.
Stupid, remarked the dry voice, and someone crashed into him from behind.
The attacker was strong, grabbing at his head and slipping an arm around his windpipe.
Jack instinctively hunched his shoulders and tucked his chin to his chest so he couldn’t be choked. He whipped his free right arm over and around the hand holding him, pinned it to his side, and then straight-punched the man in the nose. (Pay attention, the voice warned) There was a short, sharp crack as his fist connected, and his knuckles hurt like hell. (See? Open-hand next time.)
Jack ducked and slipped out of the unsuccessful headlock. He slapped the other man, then pivoted and pushed hard and fast with the heel of his other hand. Wow, that made sense. He felt ribs break. Heard the dry, clean snap, and the other man went down abruptly, keening.
He couldn’t get enough air to scream. Jack saw now it was the other Goatee Brother. The entire exchange hadn’t taken more than a few seconds, and no one in the office seemed to have noticed their struggle in the dark.
Jack thought to breathe, and saw they were near the surge tank and the Coke machine. He lifted the steel lid on the tank—why was it so light? (Adrenalin)—and shove-kicked the Goatee brother over the edge. There was an immediate, flailing splash.
“Tread,” Jack told him,his voice breaking. He shut the door.
The water wasn’t deep enough for permanent damage, anyway. When Goatee gets tired of treading, he can stand up.
Up, thought Jack. He planted a foot carefully in the Coke machine’s can dispenser and pulled himself upward. From there it was an easy reach to the roof of the building, and his rope, coiled neatly next to the skylight.
Bright lights below, and the halogen underwater bulbs were coming up quickly as well.
The hinges of the skylight didn’t even squeak, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Mercedes still stood directly below, hands at her back, clenched. A terrific crash, like sundered wood, came from just outside the frame, and Mercedes was shouting, “At least let me give him some first aid; the kit is right here!”
Kyle moved beside Mercedes. Any second and he’d glance up, see Jack braced there against the sill of the skylight.
Jack dropped the end of the rope directly in front of her, and bless her heart, Mercedes took hold and started climbing. He pulled her to himself, up and out, fast enough to beat the other boy’s belated lunge. He gaped heavenward at them, baffled.
“He’s hurt,” she cried. Mercedes was furious. In the upwash of light, a red shine contoured the side of her face, darker at the edges. Was that a bruise?
Over the shouted obscenities from below, the flat sound of flesh striking flesh. After each impact, a groan.
There weren’t that many ways to get onto the roof; Mercedes was as safe as she was likely to get. Jack gripped the edge of the skylight and dropped through. The floor was hard, and he rolled into the legs of the desk, taking the impact on his shoulder.
Rising, he found himself face-to-face with the brothers. Merrick hadn’t lost track of his baseball bat, and had apparently put it to work on the shelves of swimming awards. Bits of gold-colored plastic, splinters, and symmetrical shapes of marble littered the floor. He swung again, and a plaque exploded across the wall, spraying glass and bits of twisted foil. He panted healthily as he turned to look at Jack, and grinned. Tiny spots and rivulets of blood here and there revealed where his face had been washed by flying bits of trophy. He casually put out his hand and traced the tips of a few fingers through a streak of blood on the wall—no, blood droplets, very fine, which only became a smear under Merrick’s touch.
Thicker drops led to the lounge, to Kyle and the body curled at his feet. They’d worked Alonzo over. Blood pooled near his head. Kyle kicked him in the legs, and Alonzo swore loudly. Jack realized where all the obscenities had been coming from.
“I was going to let you go,” said Merrick. “I was going to let you go, Jack, but now I’ve got a better idea.”
In a direct exchange of strength, he’s going to win. That sounded like something out of Alonzo’s war books. Were those his thoughts, or the voice? Maybe they were the same thing. Merrick wore layer upon layer of muscle, like armor. The years of beer and whatever else were barely starting to soften him. His body mass will only absorb your blows. Aim for the head, Jack thought, but hesitated.
Merrick stood with feet wide apart, the bat lowered until its tip touched the ground.
“There’s a point where eccentric becomes dangerous, Jack. History is tricky.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The End of Summer Bash. The party this year was great. Best ever. The city council even came for the fireworks. We lowered the price this year for refreshments, and there’s enough money in the Bash fund now to rent a space for the kids’ community center.
“People asked about you tonight, you know. Guy who’s about to win big at the state swim meet—that’s big news in a place like Forge, Jack. And didn’t you have a bunch of guys up here this morning from the university? Bunch of engineers, doing experiments with the pool?”
The light from the water behind him, usually dancing with the whorls and patterns of the water, didn’t move. It blazed unwavering, painting the inside of the office in gleaming emerald. Couldn’t quite touch Merrick.
“Everybody notices you these days. You’re going to be a part of our town’s history.” The bigger man continued, admiringly. There was something like affection in his tone, even as it took on a somber note. “They noticed you weren’t around tonight. Your girlfriend’s family was up at the Bash, and they were looking for you. Where’s the boat? Alonzo’s parents are pissed.”
He gestured. “And now, this? This is a hell of a mess, Jack. People are going to think you’ve really flipped out.” Merrick made a sad sound, and his brow furrowed itself. “Everybody knows you spend your time here alone. You even sleep here, don’t you?”
Jack felt his anger ebbing away, and with it a measure of his certainty.
Merrick took a step towards him, his hand almost out. “Help us out, here, Jack.”
Jack didn’t quite ask the question out loud, but Merrick read his expression. “It’s simple. Me and Kyle, we always get what we want. Nothing ever stops us from getting what we want, but we have to bend rules when occasion demands.” His voice was smooth and deep, seamless. “You saw the bat, and you remembered something. Didn’t you, Jack? You remember things; it's what makes you special. You have a
great gift.”
“I remember most things,” Jack repeated, nodding.
Kyle started to speak, but Merrick raised the bat fractionally, and he fell silent.
“You remember all the times you’ve been picked on. You know what it feels like to be by yourself in a crowd of people who look like you but could never be you.” His gestures drove each word home. “The crowd that won’t ever understand that you are extraordinary.
“I’ve watched you race. I know you hold back and I’ve seen you just match the speed of the group.” He made a disparaging noise. “You live by rules they made up. You should be free.”
Jack blinked, confused. Why wasn’t anything making sense?
“You should come with us, Jack. Take your early graduation and come join us at college. I know the swim coach, and one of their full-ride students is flunking out at winter sem.” Merrick practically held out his hand. “Come with us; you don’t need to hold back anymore. You just have to want it.”
Merrick smiled broadly and looked at Kyle. “Me and Kyle, we’re free. Doesn’t it feel great to be free, bro?”
Kyle nodded, a little too quickly. Stoned, Jack realized.
“Now Jack, you remember stuff, and that’s great. I know you remember the Montgomery girl, and the police reports about a murder weapon just like this one.” He set the baseball bat on the floor. “You can have it. Do what you think is right. Go on, take it. Give Kyle and me what we want, and it’s yours.” The smile, the sheer confidence said volumes: I can give you more.
Jack picked up the bat.
Merrick leaned in, conspiratorially. “Always knew you were one of us, Jack. Now, call the girl down. Go on.” Merrick put his arm around Jack’s shoulder, cupped his neck in a huge hand. “We’ll help you clean this place up, get you a foolproof story about where you were tonight. We’ll even take care of Alonzo. He’s always been jealous of you—”
Jack tried to scoff. His tongue felt thick.
The older boy pursed his lips. “You know it’s true. That’s why he acts like he’s your friend.” Merrick put both hands on Jack’s shoulders. “This is the way it’s going to be. Or, we could show everybody what you did here.” He tilted his head towards the bat. “You’re the one holding the weapon, kid. Your fingerprints are on it now. Would be easy to make it look like you did those terrible, terrible things to the Montgomery girl, and even worse things to this girl, too. We’re going to nail her, then nail her to the wall of a barn one county over.” He looked brightly at the bare trophy wall, the shattered and canted shelves. “Or, we could do it right here.”
His eyes roamed the small room. “Foregone. This is going to happen, Jack. It’s almost history. Just hasn’t quite happened yet. You can go first, even. You are in, brother. You just have to want it.” He looked directly at Jack. “Say you want it.”
Standing this close, under the full, intimate brunt of Merrick’s personality, Jack wanted to do anything but contradict. He shifted away, found himself beginning to stammer.
Look at him, said the voice. Really look.
Jack dared a glance up at Merrick, and noticed three things immediately.
The first was the blood speckling Merrick’s face and clothes. It couldn’t be all his own.
Second, he didn’t really have to look up to be at eye-level with the older man. Truth be told, they were just about the same size.
Then he saw the expression in Merrick’s eyes. Barely caught it.
Something had shifted. The charisma, the raw pull was still there, but at the same time, not. Merrick’s confidence and commanding presence was a guise. Forge’s golden boy, the small-town hero, was frightened, and the mask no longer fully covered the creature underneath. Under those terrible eyes Jack felt a fearful weight, an intense hopelessness—but it was nonetheless filtered. Whatever measure of dread Jack felt under the focus of those eyes was merely a weak, distilled version of whatever horrors Merrick constantly tasted, continuously swam in. The fear on the other side of Merrick’s eyes was far, far worse. And it wasn’t a lonely fear. Jack didn’t know the name for what else lived inside there, riding along with Merrick, just that it was something that should have long gone extinct.
The glimpse vanished, and Jack found himself looking at Merrick. Just Merrick.
The older man laughed and shoved Jack hard out the door towards the pool.
He stumbled backwards, falling down the steps, scraping hands and elbows against the grainy deck. Instead of following immediately, Merrick spun and launched the baseball bat like a javelin, straight through the skylight.
Jack couldn’t see the girl, but he heard her cry out. Merrick was on him then, storming down the stairs. Kyle was right behind, but as his face emerged from the shadows of the doorway, he swore in astonishment.
They saw what he’d done to the pool earlier.
The moment both men came fully into the green light, their eyes were drawn past Jack, toward the water. Identical expressions of bewilderment rippled across both faces, made all the more similar by family resemblance. Kyle actually stopped short, while Merrick barreled onward, distracted but committed directionally by virtue of his mass. There was barely time enough for Jack to stand—
—so he didn’t. Jack sprang off his back foot and launched his entire weight behind the first strike, holding nothing back. His open hand struck the apex of Merrick’s wide chin, snapping his mouth shut with a click and throwing his head back. His hair danced up for a moment, shocked into a brief halo, and then Merrick went down hard, the back of his head bouncing off the cement.
Jack winced at the sound, but that was all. Expectant, he turned, ready for Kyle.
Kyle’s wide eyes divided their time between Jack, his brother, and the pool. “Trick! You got him with a trick!” Surprise battled for disappointment in his expression.
Alonzo laughed hoarsely from the doorway. “Yeah, it was a trick. A trick called faster and stronger, dumbass.” He cradled his arm, and his blood still dripped from a split lip. The left side of his face was beginning to swell, and his hair was matted with what might have been mud. Clumps of hair had been torn out. “I’m fine. Fantastic. Feel like a hundred bucks.” he assured Jack. “After seeing you do that, I’m one hell of a lot better.”
Kyle took a tentative step toward his brother’s splayed form, and Jack nodded, then hastened to join him when Merrick gurgled wetly. It took both of them, but they rolled him over far enough for blood to dribble from his mouth. Apparently he’d bitten his tongue.
Alonzo eyed Kyle angrily, but Jack guessed the fight had all but gone out of the younger brother. He sat, dejected, staring out at the pool, his eyes not really focusing. Jack didn’t have to wonder if he was on some kind of drug. He stank.
As he arranged Merrick’s head so the other man wouldn’t drown in his own fluids, Jack reflected on how lucky he’d been to tense up completely at the moment of impact. The heel of his palm hardly hurt. The dry, analytical passenger in his mind observed that he was learning fast.
Merrick groaned, and a bit of blood bubbled from his mouth. It looked like a lot—but then, any amount of blood looked like a lot. “What did you do?” Kyle cried, beside himself. “Is he going to be okay?” Jack had never seen him really scared before. His eyes kept sliding toward the pool. “And what’s wrong with the water?”
“He’s right, Jack. What the hell?” Alonzo had the phone in his hand, but he was looking uncertainly at the utterly calm, even surface of the pool.
“It’s not exactly what you think,” Jack said.
“It’s lime Jell-O,” said Mercedes, from above them.
She stood at the edge of the roof, staring wonderingly at the pool.
Its surface was completely smooth, almost plastic. Kyle crept over and slapped his hand against it, and there was no splash. His hand simply didn’t penetrate the surface tension. A quivering, rubbery wave radiated out from his hand for several feet, and the green glow from the underwater lights wavered a moment, but that was all.
The undulation stopped as quickly as it had begun.
Jack shrugged. “I needed to test out of chemistry early—”
“— so you can take physics this year, right,” finished Alonzo.
Mercedes lowered herself back down through the skylight, deigning to use the rope. She landed with a great deal more grace than Jack, he noticed.
“Jell-O,” repeated Kyle, fascinated. Jack wondered how much he’d had to smoke / drink / whatever.
“It’s not really Jell-O, or even gelatin,” he said. “It’s guar. It’s got the same long-chain proteins that reform into a semisolid colloidal—”
“Jack,” Mercedes said, “Don’t explain it.”
She fit the palm of her hand over his heart. “After everything else tonight, I need to remember this as Jell-O.” She, too, watched Kyle out of the corner of her eye, but couldn’t help but look in awe at the pool. Her hand lingered on his chest. The other, he noticed, gripped the baseball bat.
“You’ve got to tell me, though. Are those really M&M’s?”
He’d spelled her name across the middle of the pool, in cursive candy trickles three feet tall.
“Damn,” she said. “I wish I had a camera.”
But they needed to face up to whatever consequences the evening’s adventures would bring. Thanks to the electricity, the cordless pool phone finally had a dial tone, and Mercedes put in a quick call to her grandparents while Jack bandaged Alonzo as best he could. The cut on his face would require stitches at the very least.
Mercedes was pale by the time she got off the phone. “Everybody’s still awake. They even called my dad and my aunt back home.”
The weight of Jack’s arms and legs suddenly increased six or seven times, and the combined sum of abrasions, minor lacerations, contusions, and blunt-force insults to his well-being were all starting to make themselves known emphatically, without any cooperation between each other whatsoever. He hurt. Clarity of thought was quickly vanishing as well, and his head felt like it had become the main object of contention in an argument between all seven of the Three Stooges.