The Bodies We Wear

by Jeyn Roberts

  As I walk, I consider everything. Part of me thinks that this is a really stupid idea for plenty of good reasons. The police are close by. They’re probably going to be distracted at Paige’s for a while but there is always the chance they’ll decide to circle the area looking for stragglers.

  I’m out of my element too. I’m not familiar with this suburb and it doesn’t help that it’s a very wealthy one. People find dead bodies in the city and don’t even give them a second glance. But here they will. Of course, I could always try to carry his body somewhere no one will find it.

  The big question is—can I do it? I’ve spent the last six years of my life planning for this. I’ve rehearsed it over and over in my mind and downstairs when I’m training with Gazer. But can I actually kill someone?

  To murder someone is to damn your soul. But I’m hell-bound. I have no idea what I did when I was a child but it must have been nasty. Or perhaps I’m being punished for the sins of my parents or their grandparents or some obscure relative who killed the future president of America? Who knows how far these things go back. It’s possible that my own father is looking up at me from his own fiery elevator, the metal poles prodding his liver as the shadow creatures tear out his vocal chords. That’s beside the point because I know I’m damned. God made that very clear when he sent me to hell all those years ago. There is nothing I can do to cleanse myself and change what is meant to be.

  And it’s not like I have a future. The world has made that clear by the stupid Heam laws. The real world holds too much pressure once you’ve seen the great beyond. No wonder people go back. If life on earth has become hell, why not spend what’s left of your time visiting your future residence.

  Men like Trank don’t deserve to live. I can guarantee he’s got his own invite into the great below. His ticket is about to come up. A cursed person like me will be the one to take him out. That way everyone wins.

  I’ve started walking faster; I’m only half a block behind him now. There’s a shopping center on the right, empty and dark. If I can get him behind there, I might be able to take him out by the Dumpsters. If I toss him in the trash, where he’ll be covered in fast-food wrappers and half-eaten pizza, maybe no one will ever find him except the rats and seagulls. I rub my sore shoulder. The nerve is getting better. It’ll probably hurt more tomorrow but right now I’m confident that I can use my arm.

  “I know what you’re doing.”

  That voice.

  Of course he followed me. I should have known better.

  “What am I doing?” Actually, what I really want to do is scream at him but that might give Trank a heads-up.

  “You’re thinking about taking out our little friend over there.”

  “If you say so, then it must be true.” I start walking a little faster, hoping that maybe Chael will see I’m serious and leave me alone.

  “I told you before; you’re wasting your time.”

  “Yes, yes, I recall you saying that. But considering you didn’t give me a logical explanation, I’ve decided to ignore your request.”

  He grabs my arm, spinning me around. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

  “Doing what? Killing someone who deserves to die? You must know who he is. Why do you want to kill him so badly yourself?”

  “To protect you.”

  The answer floors me. I actually stop moving. Protect me? Who the hell does he think he is? I look right at him, trying to figure out if his serious expression is real or this is one big joke. He’s not smiling.

  “I—I don’t need protection,” I stammer. “I’m already going to hell. Might as well take out as many monsters as I can on the way out.”

  “How would you know if you’re going to hell or not?”

  “I just know.”

  “No one knows.”

  “Yeah, well, I do. Now stop talking or he might hear you.”

  I turn and start walking again. Trank has managed to get further away so I move faster to try to regain the distance I lost while arguing with Chael.

  But Chael isn’t going down without a fight. He catches up to me and matches my pace. I wish it were possible to turn my back to him but it’s impossible when I need to watch where I’m going. I at least manage to turn my head to the side so he’s forced to talk to my hair.

  “Why do you think you’re going to hell?”

  “Because I’ve seen it,” I snap. “Okay, satisfied?”

  “No one can foresee their future.”

  Without stopping, I turn toward him and yank down hard on my shirt so that my scars show. I should have done this all along. It’s the most surefire way to turn off a guy. Nothing uglier than an addict. I wait for him to turn around and walk off into the darkness.

  But Chael doesn’t react the way I expect him to. His mouth doesn’t curl up in disgust. He’s not surprised either. He’s sad. His forehead wrinkles and his mouth turns down in sorrow.

  “I already knew about that,” he says. “You’re not showing me a secret or anything.”

  “It’s one thing to talk about it, another to see. This is what I am. Satisfied?” I let go of my shirt and the scars disappear beneath my shirt again. Hidden away like a dark dirty secret.

  “Very, yes.” He shrugs. “Heam doesn’t show you your future.”

  “You know that for a fact?”

  Chael gives me a sad smile. “It’s not fair what they put you through.”

  “How do you know I didn’t do this to myself?”

  “Why else would you be so hell-bent on revenge? No pun intended.”

  “Yeah, well, then leave me alone while I get revenge on the asshole who did this to me.”

  “This is hardly the best location. There are cops everywhere.”

  “They’ll be at the party for at least another hour,” I say. “There’s all that paperwork to fill out.”

  “And what will you do with the body?”

  “I’ll figure it out. Maybe I can have a bonfire. If not, I’ll dump it in the bushes. I’ll drag him all the way down to the river if I have to.”

  “You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “Don’t you try and suggest I’m crazy. Killing Trank will be my first step toward—”

  I don’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Something blocks my path and I trip, my legs spreading out in different directions as I fall on something hard.

  Irony is so sweet.

  Somehow, during all our arguing, we were oblivious to Trank pausing to tie his shoelace. And now I’ve walked right into him.

  By the time I manage to scramble back to my feet, Trank pulls himself up too. There’s a fresh cut on his cheek from where his face hit the concrete. He stares at both Chael and me, and although it’s dark, there’s no mistaking the fear and puzzlement on his face.

  “Who the hell are you?” Trank asks. I see him slowly moving his hand toward his jacket. He’s going for a weapon.

  I don’t give him the chance. I’m on him in seconds, kicking at his hand. He screams and drops down to his knees, pressing his wounded fingers against his chest. I shove him backward, reaching into his jacket, finding the gun hidden in the inner pocket.

  “Yeah, you don’t get to use this,” I say to him. I turn and throw the gun as far as I can. It disappears about thirty feet away in a pile of bushes. It’s not until the metal leaves my fingertips that I realize I’ve made my first major error. I’ve tossed a violent weapon into a not-so-violent suburb. Hopefully, it won’t be found by some grade-school kids who think it might be fun to try to fire at some bottles. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s almost like I’m trying to make life worse.

  It’s not like I’m an expert at doing this sort of thing. Sure, I’ve rehearsed it in my mind over and over for six years. Every time I’ve thrown a knife or punched the dummy, I’ve pictured the faces of my enemies. I won’t even
lie and pretend I haven’t spent many a night thinking of catchy phrases to say as I kill them.

  But things never turn out the way you expect them.

  “You’re that girlie from the party,” Trank says. He looks between Chael and me, trying to figure out what to say next. “The one those idiots wanted to pound on. I ain’t got nothing against you. I wasn’t involved. Trevor’s a sore loser, man. I don’t do that sort of thing.”

  “No, you just like to do other things,” I say. “Like torture children.”

  “What?” Trank brushes his hair out of his eyes. His face is turning slightly pink; the grease on his forehead shines under the moonlight. “I don’t do nothing. I’m clean.”

  “Liar,” I say. I’m starting to feel my groove. I look down the street and there’s no one within a close distance. No more panicked teenagers. No little old people walking sweater- covered dogs. A traffic light flashes in the distance, blinking green. A car turns down the street, heading in the other direction.

  “You’re stalling,” Chael says.

  I pause. “I’m what?”

  “Stalling,” Chael repeats. He moves closer toward Trank and kneels down beside him. “You know the term. Taking one’s time. Refusing to take action.”

  “I know what that means,” I snap. “And I’m not doing it.”

  “Then why haven’t you killed him already? I wouldn’t take my bloody time about it. The longer you wait, the better the odds of getting caught. Remember, there are cops all over the place. Just do it.”

  “Huh?” Trank is obviously confused by the conversation but he’s starting to figure out the gist of it.

  “Don’t rush me,” I say.

  “But it’s so simple.”

  “Stop it.”

  Trank starts to climb to his feet but Chael clamps an arm around his shoulder, forcing him back down. I raise my fists in defense, so Trank doesn’t try a second time. He’s still trying to fully get a grasp on the conversation.

  “I know what you’re doing and it won’t work,” I say to Chael.

  “What am I doing?”

  “Trying to guilt me.”

  “Never. I’m simply pointing out that killing someone isn’t as easy as you seem to think.”

  “Hey,” Trank says. “Why do you want to kill me? What did I ever do to you?”

  “You stole my life,” I say. “Six years ago.”

  “You can’t kill him. Look at him.” Chael continues to try. “Look how pathetic he is. Can you really take his life? It’s not as easy as you first thought.”

  “You got the wrong dude,” Trank says. “It wasn’t me.”

  “Shut up,” I say to both of them.

  “Maybe he is the wrong guy,” Chael says.

  “He’s not the wrong guy,” I snap. My hands are shaking. I can’t decide who I want to punch more at this moment. If Chael would just stop talking, I’d be able to concentrate more. Trank is looking at me, and I’ll be damned if he isn’t putting on the big puppy-dog eyes. Who would have thought a drug dealer and pedophile could look so innocent.

  “I didn’t do nothing,” Trank repeats.

  “You took two lives!” I scream. Mistake number two. I shouldn’t be so loud. Someone might come to investigate. “You killed me and you killed my friend,” I say in a lower voice. “I’m the ghost that’s come back to haunt you.”

  I pull back my arm and punch Trank as hard as I can. He screeches as my fist meets his mouth and he flies back and out of Chael’s grasp. He lands hard on his backside, both palms scraping the ground as he looks up at me. The confusion is replaced with fear. He saw me fight earlier. He knows what I’m capable of.

  Chael refuses to give up. He stands up beside me and grabs my arm. “You can’t do this. Think about it for a second. This isn’t as easy as you want it to be. Revenge is great when you’re plotting it, but can you really do this? There’s no turning back. You can’t undo it once you start.”

  “I want him dead,” I say. “I’m not confused about this. Stop trying to mess with my head.”

  “If I can mess with your head, you’re not ready.”

  “Stop it!”

  “Let me kill him for you.”

  “No!”

  Trank has gotten up off the ground and is stepping backward toward the street. He keeps looking between Chael and me and it isn’t until he moves between two parked cars that I realize he’s about to bolt.

  “You people are crazy,” he says with a shaky voice.

  “Hey!” I say, reaching out to grab him by the jacket and pull him back in.

  Trank turns and runs out into the street. The sound of tires squealing invades my ears.

  The van hits him.

  Nine

  Trank’s body flies through the air and slams into a parked car several feet away. He might be screaming; it’s hard to tell over the sound of the van’s engine and my yelp of surprise. His body rolls several times before coming to a stop in the middle of the intersection.

  The van doesn’t pull over. It fishtails briefly and then the taillights disappear around the corner and out of sight. I didn’t even get a chance to see the driver. Whoever it is must be doing something bad themselves, considering they never even hit the brakes.

  Trank’s body is twenty feet away, facedown on the concrete. I close the distance, pausing above him. He’s not moving but I can’t tell if he’s alive; it’s hard since he’s wearing a heavy leather jacket.

  Chael catches up beside me. He’s breathing heavily, although I’m not sure why. So am I. I think the shock of what just happened has made me lose my breath. I inhale deeply, trying to calm my heartbeat, which slams against my chest. I look around but there isn’t a soul in sight. The mall across the street is deathly quiet. The few residential houses remain dark. No porch lights turn on. No one comes outside with phones or weapons in their hands. No cars turn down the street. No sirens flash. No shouts.

  Nothing.

  Quiet.

  “Is he dead?” I finally ask. My voice barely breaks a whisper.

  “Not sure,” Chael says. He kneels down and his fingers wrap around Trank’s filthy jacket. Nothing. Chael gives him a slight shove. Finally, he turns him over, and when I see Trank’s sightless eyes staring back at the sky, I know the answer.

  “Holy crap,” I say.

  There is a strange-looking indent on Trank’s forehead from where his skull met the pavement. Dark red liquid pools on the ground. His eyelashes are bloody.

  “I think it’s a good idea to get out of here,” Chael says. He stands up and brushes the gravel off his jeans.

  “What about the body?” I ask. “Shouldn’t we hide it?”

  “Why? We didn’t kill him.”

  Good point.

  “Shouldn’t we at least move him over to the curb? This seems wrong.” I look around again to see if anyone’s watching but the area is still clear. It’s almost spooky. Don’t rich people ever go out at night?

  “Why? Because things didn’t go according to your plan?”

  “Stop that,” I snap. “Quit making it sound like I’m doing something wrong.”

  “Last time I checked, murder isn’t exactly legal.”

  “You should talk.”

  “I am talking.”

  “Fine.” I turn and start walking away. “I’ve had enough of you and your weird obsessive behavior. I’ve got a train to catch.”

  It’s strange to think that I can walk away from all that but I do. It turns out to be crazy simple. There’s no one to stop me. Eventually I hear footsteps as Chael catches up to me. He gets into step beside me but doesn’t say anything. Fine by me. I don’t really want to talk to him either.

  I should be happy. I just got the first step of my revenge. Trank is dead. He’s lying on the ground in his own blood and he died knowing that I was goi
ng to kill him. I even got to see the fear in his eyes when he looked at me. Okay, so I didn’t exactly get to twist the knife, but the deed is still done. He knew I wanted him dead.

  Is it possible that he was telling the truth? He looked right at me and there was no recognition in his eyes, even when I told him he’d killed Christian and me many years ago. It bothers me that he claimed he knew nothing about it. If there had been more time, I might have been able to go into more detail. I would have made him remember.

  Right?

  Or maybe his brain was so muddled up from years of drug and alcohol abuse that he really didn’t remember. Or what if giving children Heam was something he did on a regular basis. If so, how many others had he killed?

  I won’t lie and say I haven’t fantasized about this moment for six years. However, I must admit that in my daydreams, Trank always had that moment of clarity, the look of surprise and horror as he recognized me for who I was. That poor little gutter rat with the skinny arms and barely enough meat to keep her warm under her secondhand jacket. I wanted him to look at my dark hair and remember how he once grabbed hold of it and sniffed at my eleven-year-old neck, licking and tasting the terror on my skin.

  I wanted him to feel that terror. I’m entitled to it.

  How very selfish of me to complain about not getting that.

  We reach the train station without incident. There are a few people around; I even see a couple of kids from the party. When they notice me, they head over to the other end of the platform. That makes me smile.

  We catch the first train and start the long ride back to gutter-rat territory. The compartment is empty; everyone else goes out of their way to take a seat several cars over. The forty-minute ride seems to take forever. Sitting next to Chael, I decide it’s in my best interest to think about nothing. I stare at the window, seeing only my reflection as the train moves underground.

  We spend the entire ride in silence. Chael looks straight ahead, deep in thought, his leg and shoulder pressing against mine. For a while, I watch his silent figure through the reflection in the glass. When the train pulls into each new station and stops, his body moves slightly forward and then back into the seat. He might blink a few times; it’s hard to tell. Other than that, he’s a statue.