Jack and Mr. Grin

by Andersen Prunty

  It was hard to think beyond his need to find Gina and take her to safety. To bring her back home.

  He quickened his pace. On his way to Sam’s house.

  Fifteen

  It was like the more things that happened to him, the more confused he became. Was he any closer to Gina now than he was when he had received his first call from Mr. Grin? He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. It just didn’t seem possible. Of course, none of this seemed possible. It was like it was happening to someone else. He nearly resigned himself to the fact Mr. Grin was just toying with him. Like maybe they were states away by now. Maybe there really wasn’t any hope at all of Jack finding them.

  Then what happened?

  Would tomorrow morning roll around and then... would that be it? Would that be the last he would ever hear of Gina?

  No. He was going to find her. He had to find her.

  As he walked at his now customary brisk pace through the neighborhood, maybe only a mile from Sam’s house, his thoughts returned to the marks.

  They had to mean something.

  What did they mean?

  Were they given to those people as a warning? As some way to dissuade them from helping Jack? If Mr. Grin were capable of somehow telepathically inflicting these marks on people then he was a lot more powerful than Jack could have ever imagined. That was something bordering on the supernatural and, thus far in his life, Jack had never seen anything even remotely resembling the supernatural. Growing up in Glowers Hook, there had been rumors but, even there, he had not seen so much as a ghost. Not even something fleeting past the corner of his eye. What he had witnessed so far, both the good and the bad, could be explained through science or human nature.

  On the other hand, maybe the marks were put there to help guide Jack. To show him he was on the right path. Admittedly, that was no less supernatural but he liked thinking Mr. Grin didn’t hold all of the cards.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. He couldn’t remember turning it to the vibrate setting.

  He pulled it out, holding it in the palm of his hand. There was a moment of dread before he flipped it open. But there was also a moment of joy. Because, as long as Mr. Grin was calling him, that meant the game was still being played. It was entirely possible, Jack thought, some third party would be onto Mr. Grin, stepping in to interrupt him from torturing Gina. What would happen then?

  Finally flipping it open, he stared at it like it was some magical instrument.

  He put the phone to his ear, not saying anything, continuing to walk, his legs moving in a rhythm they had established long ago.

  A strange sloshy sound came from the other end. But no voices yet. This continued for nearly a minute, Jack’s breath and heartbeat sounding just as loud in his ears.

  Then: “Hear that?”

  He didn’t say anything. He did not want to play this psycho’s game.

  “I said, ‘Hear that!’” Mr. Grin shouted.

  “Yeah, yeah. I heard it. What the fuck was it?”

  “That was the sound of my dick in Gina’s mouth.”

  Jack felt his gorge rise. But what could he do?

  Nothing.

  The only thing he could do was try to find her. Anything he said to Mr. Grin could only set him more off balance than he already clearly was.

  “You like that sound?” Mr. Grin said. “Remember when she used to suck your dick? Let me tell you, you were lucky if it felt anything at all like this. Don’t worry though, she’s not going to bite it off or injure me in any way. I know you would be disappointed if the game couldn’t continue. But, like I said, don’t worry. She ain’t gonna do nothin with this gun at her head.”

  The sloshing sounds filled Jack’s ear again. He heard Gina gag and then cough and then Mr. Grin’s voice, not into the phone, saying, “Come on, you can take it. Suck it down in there.” The picture came to Jack, unwanted, of Gina down on her knees, Mr. Grin holding the phone down near her mouth with his left hand, his right hand gripping a gun, pressing it to Gina’s temple.

  Maybe he could use this unwanted scene, though. Think about the background. Where are they?

  In his imagination, the room was dim. Not dark, because it was light outside and maybe there were curtains or blinds drawn but it was never enough to keep out all the light. He saw a room that was not filthy but not clean and a little out of date. In the background, he saw a bland nightstand, bland lamp, and bland painting hanging up on the wall.

  He realized he was picturing a hotel room. It had to be. Not that his imagination was the truth. But it was something that was so much greater than the nothing he had received so far.

  The spitty sloshing sounds continued. He tried his hardest not to picture Gina.

  He wanted to hang up. He didn’t want to hear this. He looked forward to meeting Mr. Grin. No amount of physical pain the man could inflict on him would come even remotely close to this. This was degradation. It hurt his soul and he couldn’t even imagine what it was doing to her.

  “Now Jack,” Mr. Grin said. “I’m gonna give you a choice. I can either come in her mouth, on her face, or on her tits. Which do you prefer?”

  “What kind of choice is that?” he asked before he could even catch himself. The easiest thing, he knew, was to play his game but he couldn’t let go that much. He couldn’t give that much to this man.

  “There is, of course, a fourth choice. If you choose to answer none of the above then I can ram this gun up her asshole and unload. Then I can unload myself into one of the hot exit wounds. Answer me, you little fuck!”

  “On her chest,” Jack whispered into the phone, looking to his left at the row of sane little houses, wondering if anyone who saw him could possibly imagine what kind of conversation he was having.

  “On her what? I couldn’t hear you so well. Kind of hard to concentrate.”

  “On her chest.”

  “Chest. Well, you got a chest and I got a chest but Gina here, she got tits. I can’t hold it much longer, shitcrawler.”

  “On her tits, okay, fucking come all over her tits. Is that what you want me to say?”

  “That’s exactly what I wanted you to say. But I changed my mind. I want to come in her mouth. Make her suck it all down. That way if you do find me and kill me, the next time you kiss her, you can imagine all my little sperms down there in her stomach.”

  Mr. Grin’s voice was hitching and Jack knew he was doing exactly what he said he was doing.

  The phone went back to the sloshing/gagging sounds.

  Mr. Grin’s voice, from far away again, “Jacky here wanted me to go on your tits but you’re swallowin it, baby.”

  There was another gag and then some slapping type of sounds.

  Jack learned the art of walking with his eyes closed. If he had to keep them open, if he had to see all the sane lives around him he might be forced to go up to one of their doors and see if they could help him make his life sane too.

  He heard a final gag, more slapping, and then something that could have been vomiting.

  “I certainly feel better now,” Mr. Grin said.

  Jack, for lack of anything better to say, said, “I know where you are,” and flipped the phone shut, sliding it back into his pocket like the more quickly he put it away the more quickly he put that horrible image out of his head. His eyes still closed, he pictured the scene. Mr. Grin and Gina slowly faded from the room and he tried to think about all the hotels in Alton.

  He opened his eyes as the phone vibrated in his pocket. He wasn’t going to answer it this time. For now, he had surpassed all he could take. In his head, he apologized to Gina if Mr. Grin was going to take this out on her. But, Jack knew, if he had to hear that man right now, he was going to do something that just might spoil everything.

  The rain started up again and made everything even colder.

  He put his hands in his pockets, drawing into himself, and continued walking.

  Sixteen

  Sam Black lived on the edge of the suburbs, where it be
came just a little bit seedy. Apartments and duplexes mostly, mixed in with fly-by-night storefronts— check cashing places, tanning salons, restaurants. All likely to be out of business this time next year, leaving the space vacant or occupied with some other evanescent business.

  Sam lived in a two-story split level. He lived on the first floor. Jack had hung out with Sam a few times and had heard a lot about him from Gina. As far as she knew, he had not had sex since he was sixteen. He worked in a video store a few days a week and, when not working, spent most of his time smoking pot in front of the television and watching porn, movies most people had never heard of, playing video games or reading comic books . Sam was sloth personified. Jack liked him quite a bit.

  Jack tapped on his living room window. Sam’s blinds were drawn and Jack hoped he was home. He had to knock on the window because if he knocked on the front door then one of the residents from upstairs would undoubtedly come down and open it. He didn’t want to disturb them. It was easier and more immediate to just knock on the window.

  He slid his phone out of his pocket.

  2:46.

  He had wasted a lot of time walking here. And he didn’t really know how Sam could possibly help him.

  A bloodshot eye peered out between two parted slats of the blind. Then a hand appeared, holding up the index finger. One second. Then the index pointed to the left. Front door. He had become accustomed to these hand signals.

  He walked up the porch steps and stood at the front door.

  Sam pulled the door open. He wore an old Cincinnati Bengals shirt and baggy, dirty pajama pants. His salt and pepper hair was pulled back into a thin, greasy-looking ponytail.

  “Jack,” he said, opening the door. Jack was greeted as much by the smell of smoke and sweat and possibly old semen as he was by his name.

  “Sam.”

  “Come in. Come in.” Sam ushered him inside.

  The door to his apartment was to the left. Jack followed him into the smelly pit.

  If he told Sam Gina was missing, could he trust him not to tell anyone else?

  He thought he could trust Sam.

  And Sam couldn’t tell anyone else if he came along with Jack. This was what he was hoping for. He didn’t know if he was putting him in danger or not. He didn’t feel any sense of pressing danger. And if he sent Sam away before they came to Mr. Grin, if they came to Mr. Grin, then there wouldn’t be any harm done.

  “Sit down.” Sam tossed a blanket from the couch and gestured for Jack to sit down. Jack did, feeling a little dirty as he nestled into the once-off-white-now-more-brown cushions. The television was paused. A woman was in between two men, one of them fucking her mouth, the other fucking her from behind. A band of static ran through the middle of the screen. Jack found that he did not want to look at it. Thankfully, Sam grabbed the remote and turned the power off.

  “Sorry ‘bout that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I just get so used to being alone I forget what I’m doing sometimes. Everything okay?”

  “Not really.”

  “You’re soaked,” he observed. “You walk here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened to the car?”

  “It’s a long story. It’s all a pretty long story.”

  “Gina okay?”

  “No, Sam, I don’t think she’s okay at all.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I am. Things are... well, they’re really fucked. That’s what they are. They just haven’t been right since this morning.”

  “You going to tell me what happened?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell you. Although I don’t think I’m supposed to. Before I start though, let me give you a warning. In a few minutes, you’re going to feel a very intense pain in your left arm. No, you’re not going to have a heart attack. But you will be left with some kind of brand. And when you’re having these pains, you’re going to see a picture of me in your head. I want you to remember what I’m doing in this picture. I think the pain will go away. But I’m not sure.”

  Sam stared at him, digesting everything. Jack knew Sam was a smart guy, it just took a moment for reality to penetrate through the layers of chemicals usually surging through his body.

  “If you say you’re serious,” he said. “I believe you. I should probably start numbing the pain then, huh?”

  He sat down beside Jack and grabbed a water bong from a table beside the couch. It must have been packed and ready to go. He put his lips to it and held a lighter to the bowl on the other side. Once he had sucked a good lungful, he offered it to Jack.

  “No, thanks.”

  “That’s right. I forgot. You don’t do this, do you?”

  “Not in a while.”

  “You’re missing out.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “So,” he hissed as he exhaled a plume of smoke. “Where’s Gina?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? She run off or something?”

  “Has she done that before? Run off?”

  He inhaled again. “Not that I know of. Not when she was living at home anyway. I think when she was dating Tim Fox, she might have ran off a couple of times. Came here to just chill out after a fight or something or...”

  “Or what?”

  “Well, there were a couple times I know of— like after she knew that shit was fucking around on her— when she would go out with some friends and pick up a guy. Just to, you know, fuck him out of spite or something.”

  Jack was kind of surprised. If this had happened, she hadn’t told him anything about it.

  “She did this a lot?” he asked.

  “No. Not a lot. Like I said, just a couple times maybe. I told her she shouldn’t do that. A lot of girls end up getting hurt that way. Hurt or catching some kind of disease.” Sam shook his head, inhaled again.

  “Do you know if she had any stalkers or anything like that?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Gina didn’t really let guys down easy. Once she was finished with them, they didn’t really have any interest in her.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She just doesn’t let them down easy, that’s all.”

  Jack wondered if that’s what this was. Could it be? Could she have grown tired of him and concocted this whole thing just to make him want absolutely nothing to do with her? It was possible, he guessed. Hell, anything was possible. But this was Gina, his Gina. They loved each other. He didn’t think she would do anything like that to him.

  “So what’s been goin on?” Sam asked.

  Jack told him. He told him as quickly as possible but tried not to leave anything out. Even the smallest detail that meant nothing to him might mean something to Sam. All the while, he was conscious of the time, slipping through his fingers.

  Sam sat back on the couch, completely stoned, his eyes barely opened, listening to it all.

  When Jack was finished, Sam said, “That is fucked up!”

  Then he screamed. Threw himself off the couch and onto the floor, his right hand wrapped around his left wrist, his girth covering both of his arms like he was trying to put out some kind of fire.

  Jack went to him, kneeling down beside him as Sam flopped on the cluttered floor. Jack put his arm across Sam’s shoulders.

  “It’s okay,” he said, trying to comfort him. “Just hang on.”

  “Oh Jesus fuck!” he shouted. He was now doubled up, his forehead resting on the floor, his knees pulled up into his ample stomach.

  Jack held him tighter.

  Sam suddenly uncoiled himself, pushing against Jack, forcing him onto the couch.

  Sam’s eyes were full of rage. Jack saw the brand on his arm. This one was bloody, as though they had gained intensity. Or maybe it was because pain was the object of the mark and since Sam had undergone efforts to dull the coming pain, the mark had to be a little fiercer, a little more violent.

  “Get the fuck out of here!” he roared.

  “It’s okay, Sam.
It’s just me, Jack.”

  “What did you do to her! What did you do to her you sick fuck!”

  “Nothing!” Jack shouted, feeling defensive. Sam had it all wrong. Jack was trying to help Gina. He would never hurt her.

  Sam grabbed the heavy bong from the table. Jack stood up, backing away toward the door.

  “Don’t,” Jack said.

  “You’re not getting away.” Sam raised the bong over his head.

  Before Jack could even attempt to leave the apartment or get out of the way, the bong was hurling at him, shattering against his shoulder, cutting through his shirt.

  “Fuck!”

  Maybe he should run. Just get the hell away from the suddenly raging Sam as fast as he could. But he was tired of running. If he just left it at this then he wouldn’t have got what he came here for, which was Sam’s help.

  “Help me!” he shouted. “Help me find her, Sam!”

  “I’m not helping you do anything.”

  Sam crossed the room toward Jack, dragging comic books beneath his feet. He clasped his large hands around Jack’s shoulders.

  “Get away from the fucking door. You’re not going anywhere.”

  He threw Jack into the middle of the room, into the coffee table.

  That one hurt. The wood dug into his back.

  Sam stood over him, kicking at him. Jack rose up and lunged at Sam’s knees. He put everything into it and managed to force him back and then down onto the floor. It probably helped that Sam was so stoned. Otherwise, Jack didn’t see how he could possibly take him down.

  Sam landed a punch to the side of Jack’s head. Everything washed red and black before he landed his own punch in the middle of Sam’s face. He didn’t like the way Sam’s nose felt under his knuckles. Popping and spewing forth blood.

  Jack stood up. Sam quickly stood up right behind him. He swung his meaty left arm at Jack. Jack grabbed the wrist and yanked downward, catching Sam off balance.

  Again Sam was on the floor.

  And Jack was on top of him again. This time he went for the left arm. He held it extended against the floor.