by Travis, Todd
“Toward the end she was asking, why is this happening to me, why not you, why not my dad? She was so mad, wanted to know, why did it have to happen to her? I couldn’t say anything, I was … I just didn’t recognize her anymore. Then she had some sort of seizure, because of her kidney failure, they said, and she couldn’t talk anymore, she couldn’t … she just lay there, looking at us. Something went haywire in her head.
“She could hold my hand for a while, and when she looked at me I could tell she recognized me, but that didn’t last long either. She couldn’t eat or drink, she’d lost her ability to swallow, they took her off fluids, too. Both my dad and I stayed at the hospital all day and night, but there was one morning when the doctors finally told us there was no hope, and by that night, she was gone. I remember she was sweating, for some reason. I was wiping her brow with a wet cloth when it happened. She just stopped breathing.”
“That must have been rough.”
“The thing is, when she got sick, I was telling myself, like, okay, so I want her to get better but if she isn’t, then I got to get ready for it, and I had all this stuff in my head that I was running through, things I wanted to tell her, the kinda bullshit stuff you see in those cancer movies, you know? Tell her how much she means to me, all that happy horseshit. But then once we got into it, the chemo and the room and all that … it was so horrible that I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t say anything, and she was so angry and scared I felt I couldn’t say anything, because she didn’t want to die and if I suggested that she might I was afraid she’d be even more mad. And by the time … she had the seizures and she couldn’t talk and couldn’t even understand me, it was too late. It was way too late. I was there the whole time and I never got to tell her any of the stuff I’d planned on it. And later, when I thought about it, maybe that’s a good thing, because it was all my own self-absorbed teenaged bullshit anyway.”
Darin heard the shower shut off and Valerie step out of it.
“So she died. And they didn’t do anything to save her, because there was no point, I guess they’d discussed it with her and my dad when she checked in, that if things went bad she didn’t want to be on a machine or whatever. They just gave her morphine until it was time to die. I didn’t know that, my dad never told me, he couldn’t. He wasn’t really dealing with it any better than I was.
“I couldn’t even cry when she died. I couldn’t, it was like, one minute she was breathing, the next minute she wasn’t. I just went … fucking numb. Everything just got sucked out of me when she died. This minister or whatever they have at the hospital, he came after she passed away and started spouting on and on about God’s will and I just told him to get the fuck away from me. I’ve been empty inside ever since then, even at the funeral, I didn’t cry, couldn’t. My dad, too, though he won’t admit it. But I can see it in his eyes. I know that look. There’s nothing worse than feeling nothing. Nothing. That’s why I tried to kill myself, twice. I’d rather feel bad than nothing at all, even.”
Valerie came out of the bathroom in a big puffy white robe with a towel around her head. She went to the bag and pulled out a package of pajamas. Tossed the package into the bathroom, undid the towel from her head and dried her hair.
“I’ve never told anyone any of that, not even my shrink. She’d have a field day with that shit.”
“And charge you big bucks for it, too. So … how do you, if that’s how you feel … how do you keep going, keep from completely losing it?”
“I finally found a way to manage it. So. Okay, enough of my shit. Let’s talk about your shit. You do this a lot, bring girls to a motel room?”
“Never done it before.”
“But you’ve been with a girl before, right?”
“By been with, you mean …”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“Yeah, I’ve been with a girl before.”
“How many?”
“Four girls, if we’re talking, you know, sex. I’ve fooled around with a few more than that, but I’ve only had … actual sex … with four girls.”
“Actual sex. As opposed to pretend sex. That’s funny.”
“There are people who have pretend sex. Trust me.”
“I believe you. Were they girlfriends, the ones you had actual sex with?”
“No, just girls that … wanted to hook up with me. At a party or whatever.”
“Never wanted a girlfriend?”
“Not … no, I didn’t. I didn’t really like most of the girls I met, and I bounced around different places and it was tough to really get to know anyone. What about you, never had a boyfriend?”
“Never. No boyfriend, no actual or pretend sex.”
“Why not?”
She stopped drying her hair and looked at him, amused at the question.
“Let me ask you something. You have money saved up, fake ID, fake credit cards, you’re a lot smarter than you pretend to be. Why have you even stuck around Radford?”
“Came close to bailing a few times, but figured it was better to turn eighteen and then walk away clean. I got into a lot of shit, right when I turned thirteen, and it was nothing but a pain in the ass, the foster care system had their nose up in everything I was doing. It got even worse once I stole the car to track my old man down. They didn’t throw me in juvie for that, extenuating circumstances it was argued, due to my background and where I went, but they were all up in my shit for the next couple years. I hated it. Once I turn eighteen, the slate’s clean, so they say, and I walk away without the state looking over my shoulder or any strings attached.”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know. I want to buy a car and drive. Just drive. I saw this movie once, when I was a kid, it was set in a prison about these two guys and they were friends for years. One of them finally escaped and later the other got paroled and went looking for him. He found him on a beach in Mexico, working on a boat. They got back together. I saw that when I was, like, ten or something and that was my dream for a long time. I’d get out of school, find my brother and get him and we’d both live together, near a beach, like the end of that movie. That was my fantasy, that’s what kept me going, right up until my old man told me my brother was … dead. Now I’m just hoping to … get away … and I’ll figure it out then.”
“Clean slate at eighteen?”
“That’s what they say.”
“You believe it?”
“I believe that they, the courts, judges, adults, who-the-fuck-ever, I believe they believe it. I wish I could. But … but I don’t. No one gets away clean, I think. No one. Especially someone like me.”
“What do you mean?”
Darin looked away from her, stuffing his emotions back inside as best he could. He swallowed, he hadn’t expected this turn of events, his entire life had been turned upside down in the space of only a week.
“What do you mean, someone like you?”
“I didn’t tell the entire story, when we logged into the site. About my father, my brother. Before he walked out and away from me at the bar, I grabbed him and tried to get him to tell me how my little brother died. What happened? He just stared at me, this weird look in his eye, and said ‘you don’t want to know, trust me.’ I said to him, what the fuck does that even mean? I want to know, what happened? ‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘Why do you think we couldn’t look at you anymore?’ And then he walked out.” Darin choked up. “I think that means, whatever happened … it was because of me. That I did something, something I don’t even remember, that … killed or caused my brother’s death. I mean, I was five or something, he was less than two … I don’t know. I did searches online, I’ve racked my fucking brain and can’t remember a goddamn thing, but … I’m pretty sure he wasn’t lying to me, that whatever happened to my brother was my fault, and … that I somehow fucked up and the sole reason I’m in foster care is because of that. That’s the other reason I’ve stuck around and haven’t left … because once I’m out of the system and
on my own, sooner or later I’m gonna have to try and find out what happened and it … will probably kill me.”
Valerie stared at him, unblinking. “It might not have been you, he may have been fucking with you.”
“He wasn’t.”
“Even if he wasn’t, and it’s true, you were five. Just a little kid, nobody knows anything at five, it’s … it wasn’t your fault. It’s theirs for leaving you alone with him. It’s not your fault.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling myself. But I don’t believe it. And ever since I found my dad and he told me that, every time I think about it, it’s like someone stabbing me in the head.”
He wiped his eyes, got up from the chair and walked over to the bed. “But fuck it all, anyway. I’m burned out from all that driving. I’m gonna hit the sack.”
He slid into the bed and turned out the light on his side, not looking at her. He heard her go into the bathroom and pick up her package of pajamas. She turned out the light in there and opened the package as she returned to the room.
“You really want know how I’ve stayed, well, a little bit sane, sane enough not to kill myself?”
“How?”
“You have to turn over and look at me if you really want to know.”
Darin rolled over. She stood by the bed, still in the puffy robe. She opened it, slightly. She wore a bra and panties underneath but nothing else.
“It’s also why I’ve not been with anyone, ever. I didn’t want to have to explain it. I’ve never shown anyone.”
Her arms and legs were decorated with small scars from apparent cuts. Extensive self-created cuts.
“This is how I deal with the numbness inside. I don’t do it every day, but I do it enough I have to keep covered up. It’s kept me sane. Because while pain sucks, not feeling anything is a whole lot fucking worse.”
She turned off the light on her side of the bed and slid in under the covers next to him. He didn’t move at first, worried about scaring her, but she took him in her arms. She guided his hands over her markings and scars, tracing each and every one with his fingertips until they both fell asleep.
Chapter Forty-Seven
They didn’t talk much when they both woke up, but neither felt the need to. They each showered, separately, dressed and packed their few possessions together to go. Valerie got dressed and surprised herself in that she did so without a shred of self-consciousness about her body, even with Darin right there. She caught him watching her as she buttoned up her shirt, smiled at him and he smiled back.
“I’m gonna go pay for the room and check out. Meet you at the car,” he said.
Darin opened the door but before he could step out, Valerie grabbed his hand and stopped him. She pulled him close and, after a moment’s hesitation, brought him close for a kiss. It was a real kiss, one that gained momentum fast. She stopped it before it got too far and stepped back.
“That was my first kiss,” she said.
“It won’t be your last,” Darin said. He left the room.
Chapter Forty-Eight
They had breakfast at Denny’s, lingered over it and enjoyed each other’s company. Darin didn’t comment on the kiss, and neither did she, but it hung in the air between them. Their phones both buzzed with messages throughout the meal.
“Jesus, what the hell is Shakes doing back there?” Darin finally said. “I’ve got twenty texts from him, ten from Faye, a couple from Ed.”
“Me, too,” Valerie said. “I guess he’s still playing the game without us.”
“And Ed’s freaking out. We’d better hit the road.”
Darin paid up and they left the diner. On the way out to the car, he found Valerie’s hand in his. He held it tight, as did she.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Waukee was a very small town rife with what Darin referred to as trailer-trash: poor white people living in house trailers with overgrown lawns, beat-up trucks and old couches outside. He knew it well, this environment, and had no love for it. There was a business strip, so to speak, of just a couple blocks with a few stores and bars. No one they approached anywhere would speak to them about Herman Gurvitz.
People would talk to them, would start off friendly and cheerful, in very small-town fashion, but shut down the conversation once Herman’s name came up. At least two storeowners ordered them out immediately. They stood on the sidewalk, stumped.
Then they both turned and noticed the church at the end of the road.
“I knew Herman Gurvitz,” the pastor said. He was old, very old, and didn’t move too quickly. Valerie stayed outside, she wanted nothing to do with churches, she said.
“Knew?” Darin asked.
“Yes. When he was a boy. He was a sad little boy. I knew him and his parents. They died in a bad car crash. It was a terrible thing. He was still in high school.”
“Where … wait. Where did his parents live, when they were alive?”
“End of Bolton Road, old yellow trailer, still there, I imagine. Why do you ask?”
“I’m looking for Herman Gurvitz and nobody will talk to me about him.”
“For good reason. He doesn’t exist anymore.”
“He does, I met him in Portland, just last week. I found his condo. His doorman said he moved back to his hometown. I met him.”
“I don’t doubt your word. But whoever you met, that wasn’t Herman Gurvitz, at least, it wasn’t the boy I knew. But if the man you met was here, he’d most likely be at the old trailer at the end of Bolton. No one bought it or moved in, it’s been empty and untouched since … well, since.”
“Since what?
The old pastor shook his head and shuffled away.
Chapter Fifty
“STOP FUCKING IGNORING US! YOU CAN’T IGNORE THE CIRCLE, YOU HAVE AN OBLIGATION TO US, YOU MUST HONOR THAT OR ELSE!” text from Shakes.
Chapter Fifty-One
Darin found the yellow trailer at the end of Bolton easily enough. They got out and knocked on the screen door. Knocked again, even harder. They heard the floor squeak as someone approached, and then the door opened.
“Oh. Hey,” Herman said. “It’s you. Ah … come in, come on in.”
Herman didn’t look anything at all like before, the makeup and outfits were gone, replaced by a T-shirt, pajamas and a ratty bathrobe. His face was lined and pale, his hair the only remnant of who he once was, still dyed with a red streak, but that seemed old and faded as well. He looked a million years older and moved like it.
He sat down with a sigh at a kitchen table as Darin and Valerie entered the trailer. It was cluttered and dusty, with an old television and faded pictures on the wall.
“Where are your fancy clothes, the goth makeup and your girlfriends?” Darin asked.
“Gone. It’s all gone. And they weren’t my girlfriends, there were just … pets, I guess. It’s a terrible thing, but it’s true. Now they’re gone. Everything’s gone.”
“What the hell did you do to us?” Valerie asked.
“I didn’t do anything, you did. You played the game.”
“You somehow hypnotized us with it, did something to our heads, made us think that we … I don’t know, but you did something to us with the game.”
“No, I didn’t do it. The game did. That’s how it works. You get almost everything you want, you get almost unbelievable power, but at a price.”
“What price?”
“Your sanity and your soul, of course,” he took a drink from a grubby ceramic mug, his hands shaking. “It chews you up, piece by piece, bit by bit, until there’s next to nothing left. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, we don’t want any fucking coffee,” Darin said. “How do we get it to stop?”
“You don’t,” Herman said. “You just keep going until there’s no one left, and then you have to get someone else to play.”
“That’s why you approached us? To get us to play so you could get out?”
“Yes, of course,” Herman sighed. “I’m sorry, but I had to.
I’d told myself if I did nothing else, the very least I’d die as I came into this world, as Herman Gurvitz, not the monster I’d become. And I am dying, you know.”
“You’re dying? From what?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can feel it,” he coughed. “I’m not going to a hospital or a doctor, either. I’m just going to wait here until it’s my time. It’s what I deserve, after everything I’ve done.”
“Did the game do it to you?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s a black magic game, after all. All darkness comes with great cost.”
“Black magic?” Valerie asked.
“You’re trying to tell us that this game is black magic?” Darin said.
“Oh yes. That’s exactly what it is, I assure you. It began in the early eighties, I was told. Five outcast kids into goth and heavy metal, computer geeks, in fact, beaten and taunted by the popular ones, who bonded together and decided to do something to empower themselves. They dabbled in black magic and cast a spell together and that spell became the game Sex, Marry, Kill.”
“Why the bridge, why do we always hear this damn crying bridge?”
“The technical term for it is crybaby bridge. The bridge comes up on the website because … it’s black magic, you understand?”
“No man, I don’t understand because I don’t believe in any of that shit.”
“Believe it now, because you’re right in the middle of it. Black magic is real. In black magic, for a spell to work, requires a sacrifice. That bridge is where the first circle of five made their sacrifice. That’s where it all began.”
“What kind of sacrifice?”