Your Turn to Suffer

by Tim Waggoner

  I guess I still love her after all, she thought.

  They had almost reached the door in the back, the one with the sign that said Employees Only, when Darlene screamed. Sharilyn knew she shouldn’t turn and look, but she couldn’t stop herself. She saw a wall of blackness rushing toward them, and she had just enough time to tighten her grip on Darlene’s hand before it engulfed them.

  * * *

  The Shadowkin continue spreading throughout Oakmont, causing havoc in different ways depending on the situation. Their choices aren’t conscious ones, but rather reactions to stimuli in the environment around them. Sometimes they cause damage solely with their claws, tearing chunks out of physical objects or inflicting terrible wounds on their victims. Other times, they loosen molecular bonds, attack on a mental or spiritual level, or dissolve pieces of reality itself. The Shadowkin have a single function – to break everything down, and that’s exactly what they do, in one fashion or another.

  Oakmont and its residents die haphazardly, incrementally, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. Anyone currently in our reality, that is.

  Chapter Eight

  Justin Nguyen sat at a table in front of a window, watching the rain come down as he sipped his second double scotch. It was lunchtime, but he hadn’t eaten anything. When he’d first gotten to the bar, he’d intended to order food – something greasy, carby, and artery-clogging. What did eating healthy matter now? Besides, he could use some comfort food. But when a server came over to take his order, he realized something. By eating, he was providing nourishment for his body. All of it, his tumors included. He lost his appetite after this realization, and all he ordered was a double scotch. He’d meant it to be the only drink he had, but it had gone down fast and easy, and it felt so good, he’d ordered another. Why not? He needed to live it up while he could, right?

  He let out a bitter bark of a laugh, then took another sip of his drink.

  One nice thing about being diagnosed with cancer – it made his relationship problems seem like not so big a deal. For weeks, he’d been frustrated by Lori’s inability to commit fully to their relationship, as well as her blindness when it came to the issue of Larry. He’d tried to explain to her that keeping her ex-boyfriend as a roommate was just a way for her to maintain a buffer between them. He felt she was keeping Larry in her life on purpose, as an excuse for not completely committing to him. To them.

  He’d almost decided not to call her today and tell her about his diagnosis out of spite over last night’s disastrous phone conversation. But he was scared – fucking terrified – and he’d needed to talk to someone. And did part of him hope that his diagnosis would make Lori feel sorry for him, prompt her to direct more of her emotional energy toward him? Probably. He supposed even cancer had a silver lining, tarnished and thin though it might be. The truth was, he was still in shock after receiving the news that his own body was in the process of trying to kill him. He kept finding himself breathing shallowly, as if he was afraid that taking full breaths would agitate the cancer cells that had invaded his lungs, causing them to reproduce even faster.

  He wore a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, navy-blue slacks, and black shoes. Normally he wore a tie to work, but today’s tie was lying on the passenger seat of his silver Corolla. He hadn’t bothered to put it on before his doctor’s appointment, and he hadn’t felt like doing it afterward. He might just let the fucking thing sit in his car all day. He hadn’t decided yet.

  His doctor had done his best to reassure him, to tell him not to give up hope. He would be referred to an oncologist, of course, and the doctor spoke of treatment options such as chemotherapy, immunotherapy, radiation therapy, pulmonary lobectomy, pneumonectomy…. All of it sounded horrible to Justin, and after a bit he’d stopped listening.

  He’d never been to the Curious Keg before. The bar was located halfway between his doctor’s office and BioChem Diagnostics. He’d taken a half-day off for his doctor’s appointment, and he was trying to decide if he should call off for the rest of the day or if he should go in and hope work kept his mind off his cancer. They both seemed like shitty choices to him right now. Maybe more scotch would clarify matters. He drained the rest of his drink and held up the empty glass to signal his server. When she came over, he said, “One more of the same, please.”

  She looked doubtful, like maybe she thought he’d had enough for now. He was ready to argue with her, but she smiled, nodded once, took his empty glass and headed for the bar. Justin wondered if she’d seen something in his expression that had told her to keep her damn mouth shut and go get his drink. If so, good. Cancer Man didn’t need any lip from the waitstaff.

  The Curious Keg was only a step or two above a dive bar, the kind of place with grimy windows, sticky floors, graffiti carved into tabletops, and an omnipresent odor of cleaning chemicals that didn’t quite mask the faint smell of urine. He imagined his lungs were like this. Not a complete wreck yet, but well on their way. The place was only half full, and Justin didn’t know if that was due to it being too early for a full crowd, or if the place was always like this. Most of the customers looked like blue-collar workers drinking their lunch the same as he was, while some looked as if they might be unemployed or homeless. Shabby clothes, unkempt appearances. He knew he was stereotyping, but he didn’t care. As an Asian man, he’d been stereotyped plenty in his life. People who thought English was his second language even though he’d been born and raised in the United States, people who thought he possessed a genius-level intellect simply because of his race, women who expected him to be emotionally reserved and have a small penis. After a lifetime of that shit, he figured he’d earned the right to stereotype others a little.

  The server brought his third drink, and he thanked her without taking his gaze from the window. The rain was coming down heavier now, and he could hear the sound of it striking the pavement outside, a muted ssssssshhhhhhh. Cars drove by on the street outside, and Justin wondered how many of their occupants were dealing with their own small tragedies today. Maybe all of them, he thought.

  He sometimes wondered why he kept trying with Lori. She was smart and extremely empathetic – which made her perfect for her career – but she lacked a capacity for introspection. She remained focused on the present while still looking toward the future, but when it came to examining the past, forget it. It was like she had some kind of mental block, almost as if the past didn’t exist for her. If he hadn’t gotten his CT scan results back today, if he’d called her solely to discuss last night’s conversation, she would’ve acted like it was no big deal, almost as if it had never happened at all. It was one of the qualities about her that he found most inexplicable – and maddening. He was a big believer in looking back at one’s past, to try to learn from one’s mistakes in order to become a better person. Without introspection, people continued to follow the same destructive patterns of behavior they always fell into. How was that any way to live a life?

  He’d contemplated breaking up with Lori from time to time. Logically, she wasn’t a good match for him and vice versa, but despite this – or maybe in a weird way because of it – he felt a powerful draw to her that he couldn’t explain or deny. He supposed logic didn’t mean dick when it came to matters of the heart. A cliché, maybe, but that didn’t make it any less true.

  He wished Lori were here with him now. Even if they only sat quietly and watched the rain fall, her presence would be a great comfort to him.

  He found it ironic that at work he’d run hundreds of medical tests for physicians. Nothing on the level of CT scans, of course. Just basic blood panels mostly. He wondered how many people had gotten bad news from their doctors because of test results he’d sent over. Had some of those results basically been a death sentence? He didn’t know, but he thought it likely.

  Still gazing out of the window, he watched a white Jeep Cherokee SUV enter the parking lot and pull into an empty space nex
t to his vehicle. A pair of women got out, the driver swinging her door open so violently that it smacked hard into the Corolla’s passenger-side door.

  “Goddamnit!”

  Justin jumped up from his seat and rushed toward the door. His server called out to him – Probably thinks I’m trying to skip out on the check, he thought – but he ignored her. He was in the grip of a white-hot rage that had come upon him suddenly and without warning. Some of it was due to the amount of alcohol he’d had on an empty stomach, but much of it was a reaction to the news he’d received from his doctor. He’d lost control of his body, control of his life. He was not going to sit by and watch some careless stranger put a dent in his goddamned car and not do something about it. He had to prove there were still some things in this world that he could stand up to, that he didn’t have to roll over and accept like a whipped dog.

  He was already shouting when he plunged out into the rain.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t just—”

  His words died in his throat and he stopped and stared at the two women. He hadn’t fully registered their appearances when they’d first gotten out of the SUV, but now he did, and he had no idea what to make of them. Both women had been dry when they’d gotten out of their vehicle, but neither carried an umbrella, and they were quickly getting soaked. But that wasn’t what he found so strange about them. Their clothes were covered with dark reddish-brown stains that looked like blood – a lot of it. They looked like they’d gotten caught in a slaughterhouse explosion. The rain, heavy as it was, wasn’t doing much to wash the stains from their clothes. The older woman wore her long gray hair in a braid, which hung down her back. The braid swayed back and forth idly, and it made Justin think of the way a horse’s tail swishes lazily as it fends off flies. The younger woman had tufts of fur growing in scattered patches on her skin, her eyes were amber and shaped like a cat’s, and when she opened her mouth, she revealed upper and lower incisors, the teeth long and sharp.

  “Meow,” she said, then grinned.

  Justin forgot about the dent in his car door. All he wanted was to go back into the bar, find a table where he couldn’t see the window, and hope these two women wouldn’t follow him inside. He started to back away from them, but before he could get very far, the younger woman rushed toward him and grabbed hold of his left arm. He felt claws extend from her fingers and sink into his flesh. Not deep, but far enough to hurt. He reflexively tried to pull away, and she pressed the claws in deeper. He cried out in pain, and he looked at his arm, saw blood welling from the points where her claws were embedded in him, the rain washing it away even as it left his body.

  The woman gave him a lazy, contented smile and made a fluttering thrum in her throat. Was she purring?

  The older woman stepped closer to him. He saw no sign of sanity in her eyes, only glittering madness. That complete lack of rationality was more terrifying to him than the younger woman’s catlike features. Even though his arm would become little more than shredded meat if he yanked it free from the younger woman’s cat claws, he almost did it, so afraid was he of the insanity that peered at him through the older woman’s eyes.

  “It’s nice to meet you.”

  The older woman’s voice held no indication of insanity, though. It was calm, almost soothing. “I’m Melinda, and my friend with the extremely sharp claws is Katie. We’ve been sent to collect you.”

  Justin had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

  “Sent by who?”

  Melinda frowned as if the question had caught her off guard.

  “I’m…not sure,” she admitted. Her smile faltered for a moment, but returned full force. “I just know we were supposed to come here and fetch you.”

  “I don’t want to go with you.” He’d meant this to come out as a strong statement of defiance, but instead it came out as a frightened, pleading whine.

  “She’s not talking to you,” Katie said.

  Katie, he thought. Katie-Cat. Here, Katie-Katie-Katie!

  With her free hand, Katie tapped a clawed index finger to his chest. “She’s talking to them.”

  He didn’t know what she meant at first, but then it came to him. She was referring to his cancerous cells.

  Melinda leaned her head close to his chest. Rainwater streamed down her face, and she blinked periodically to clear it from her eyes.

  “Hello in there, little friends.” She spoke in a raised voice, as if she wanted to make sure the cancer heard her. “Ready to come out and play?”

  He looked down at his chest, almost as if he expected the malignant cells to answer, their tiny voices speaking in unison from inside his lungs. He heard nothing, of course, but that didn’t mean there was no reaction to Melinda’s question. Fire erupted in his chest, and he gasped and doubled over. He tried to breathe, but he couldn’t draw in any air. It was as if his lungs had ceased working.

  I’m going to die, he thought frantically. I’m going to suffocate right here because my goddamned lungs have betrayed me.

  The pain intensified. Now it felt as if dozens of worms were trying to chew their way out of him, burrowing through muscle and skin. So great was his agony that he would’ve screamed and screamed…. Screamed until his vocal cords tore apart and blood bubbled past his lips. But his lungs still refused to take in air, and the only screaming he could do was in his mind.

  When the pain reached its zenith, he expected his chest to explode outward in a spray of splintered bone, shredded lung tissue, and bright red blood. Sparkles danced in his vision, and his ears were filled with a roaring sound. He swayed on his feet, dizzy, and he knew he was close to passing out. But the pain stopped then, and his lungs began working once more. He drew in a deep, gasping breath. His vision cleared and his dizziness began to recede. He took several more breaths, and when he felt strong enough, he intended to pull away from Katie – to hell with the damage he’d do to his arm by yanking it free of her claws – and run back into the bar for help. But when he tried, his body refused to obey him. His chest felt strange, the skin thick and tight. Even before Melinda’s braid whipped around and lashed open the front of his shirt, he knew what he would see. His chest was covered by a mass of swollen dark-red tumors. His cancer had come out to play.

  Words came out of his mouth then, but they weren’t his.

  “Rain feels good. Cool. Wet. We like.”

  Katie retracted her claws and removed her hand from his arm. The wounds she’d created hurt like hell, the pain made worse by the rain striking them, but these injuries were of no concern to him now.

  Melinda spoke, but not to him. Her gaze was fixed on the swollen crop of tumors spread across his chest. “Would you like to go for a ride with us?” she asked.

  “We’re going to see Lori,” Katie said, baring her sharp feline teeth.

  “We like much,” the tumors said with his voice. “Much-much.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Melinda turned and walked back to the SUV, her braid wagging like a happy puppy dog’s tail. Katie headed for the vehicle’s passenger door, and Justin’s body began following her, limbs moving stiffly, the tumors unaccustomed to operating him yet. He tried to exert control, force his body to stop moving. But when he tried, his lungs seized up and he was once more unable to draw in air. The message was clear. He did as the tumors wanted, or they would cut off his breath. And if they cut it off long enough, he would die. He stopped resisting, his lungs relaxed, and he was able to breathe normally again. His consciousness was now merely a passenger in his body, an ineffectual observer, and he was surprised by how little this alarmed him. In many ways, it wasn’t all that different from how he’d walked through the world all his life.

  Once the two women were in the vehicle, Justin – or rather his body – climbed into the back seat. The tumors didn’t put a seat belt on. Perhaps they didn’t want to feel restricted by
it, or maybe they didn’t know what it was. An image passed through Justin’s mind, the SUV colliding with something – another vehicle, a tree, a light pole – the force of the impact slamming him into the back of the seat in front of him.

  His body reached for the seat belt, pulled it across his chest, and clicked it into place.

  Maybe he and the tumors didn’t have to be enemies after all. Maybe they could work together. After all, they were part of him – and he part of them. Instead of adversaries, they could be a team.

  He heard many voices in his mind then, speaking as one.

  Team. Yes.

  Justin smiled and settled in for the ride.

  * * *

  How are you doing? Let me know soon as you can.

  Larry sent the text, and although he knew Lori was likely too busy with a client to text him back right away, he held his phone for several moments, hoping a message from her would appear. It didn’t, and he put the phone down on the table.

  After his interpreting gig had finished, he’d decided to stop in at a funky little coffee shop called Grinders. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so he just got a large latte and a blueberry muffin. Back when they’d been dating, Lori used to get after him about his irregular eating habits. He didn’t keep to a regular meal schedule. He ate whenever he was hungry, and he ate whatever he felt like at the time. He listened to what his body told him, and today it had told him blueberry muffin. It had been a long time since he’d visited a doctor, but he felt healthy and he kept his weight down, so he figured he was doing something right.

  Grinders was a small place located in a strip mall only a couple miles from the clinic where Lori worked. There were six tables, each large enough to accommodate four customers, and an old couch with red velour upholstery was positioned near the front window. Only half of the seats were filled. A couple of people wore suits and worked on laptops, while the remaining customers were dressed more casually. They also had laptops, along with open textbooks and notebooks. College students, Larry guessed. He looked like one of the business types in his gray suit, wine-colored shirt, and gray-and-red-striped tie, but he felt he had more in common with the college kids. He was in his thirties, though, and he doubted the students saw any difference between him and the other ‘older’ customers. The thought depressed him.