Ionic Resurgence

by Howard Hachey

  In one hard swoop, Wayne ripped the still clinging cat away from the cage and slammed it hard on the top of the bench. The overhand toss rattled wrenches and screwdrivers hanging on the pegboard in front of them. Stunned, the cat let out a garbled squeak upon impact, its body momentarily flattening out like a furry pancake. The cat fell into depthless black sleep still screeching and crying in its head. Its instincts told it that this was the end. Death had come.

  If only it had.

  When the cat came to, the first thing it noticed was its body hanging, unsupported from the neck down. Muscles stretched; soft, orange belly uncomfortably exposed to the world. Its head was locked in place by a gigantic force on all sides. Slowly getting the feeling back in its muscles, the cat started to claw and pull at the jaws around its head, but they didn’t move. The cat, even in its state of confused panic, realized what had happened.

  The man. He’s done this.

  Sharp padded claws picked and slapped futilely at the locked tension around its skull. Its silken orange ears bled against the gritted teeth pressed inside, each nervous twitch shaving off more and more of its cute little face.

  Suddenly, the cat felt hard hands wrap around its legs, pulling its body down flat like a window shade. Arms too short to reach the new vice below, the cat hissed and flapped its paws uselessly like a baby chicken, fresh blood now starting to drip down its matted shoulders and chest.

  Eyes spinning and jaw snapping, the cat felt a sudden explosion of immense, piercing pain stab into its chest. Hot blood spurted up and out as the burning pressure started to slowly slide down across its belly. Lower and lower, the pressure moved in agonizing slowness as the cat heard its insides falling in wet plops to the slab below. The razorlike sharpness of whatever was inside the defenseless animal was cutting to the bone with ease. A knife. The cat could feel the pointed tip of the blade pop fresh veins, slide between bone and muscle, as the unseen hand sawed back and forth. Back and forth. Copper misted air jumped up through the cat’s exposed lungs; its legs now hung on by a single, gristly cord. Feet dangling on a string.

  Wayne pulled the hunting knife out as soon as he hit the tail and stood back. Kicking a cigarette out of the new pack of Pall Malls in his front pocket, he lit up his smoke. And waited.

  The cat—now three quarters unstuffed—seemed to be losing steam. Its legs and arms slowly started to sag, joining the tangled mess of spaghetti dinner that hung out of its broken barrel of a torso. Eyes drooping and tongue lagging, the slow acceptance of death overcame it. Wayne watched as the cat’s body grew longer, muscles fully relaxing.

  Suddenly, the cat screeched back to life, all paws flying to the tangled guts steaming under the cold halogen light. Its sharp claws started ripping and pulling at the exposed tangle of organs, shredding them as it shrieked like a broken siren through the jaws of the metal vice. Like a ball of wet string, the cat’s talons laid waste to the pulsing threads of living tissue. The sound of the cat's death cry was so loud that, for a second, Wayne considered closing the grips to crush the thing’s puny head. There was no sense in getting any unwanted attention over a useless cat, and besides, they were in constant supply. This cat would most definitely not be the last to meet Wayne. Much practice was needed for the real show. On the downside, it would make the whole ritual obsolete if he flattened its brain to scrapple. Luckily, the screaming ended once the spinal cord broke, intestine and feet a sloping pile on the floor.

  In a bizarre twist, the cat took its own life. Wayne had killed plenty of things but never one with such dignity. Most fight back in some way, but never had he seen one finish the job on its own like that. From where he stood, it looked as if the cat had committed the most noble of acts: Seppuku, or, Hara-kiri. A ritual of self-mutilation carried out by only the noblest of creatures. It proved, in a way, some animals are aware of good and evil.

  How else could that cat have known what Wayne had in store would have been much worse?

  When it was over, Wayne looked down at the hanging mess and felt a little better. It wasn’t what They wanted, but it would suffice for now. By the time full contact is made, Wayne will have already gotten a head start on Their demands, giving him plenty of time to get back into the swing of things. Domesticated animals like dogs and cats had tiny amounts of plasmid: a fraction of what a healthy child would. But, when doing interdimensional mining for almost unobtainable plasmid energy, beggars can’t be choosers. They would take whatever was on the menu.

  Pulling off the blood-speckled smock, gloves, and glasses, Wayne put his jacket back on and re-baited the trap. Loosening the clamp and letting the empty cat flop to the ground, Wayne stepped over the still steaming pile of innards and headed for the door. Walking slowly back out to the woods, he soon found himself standing in the same spot as before. Without thinking, he set down the reloaded trap and kicked some wet leaves up around its frame.

  Once back at the gazebo, he sat down, facing the trees.

  Only nine more to go. Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch a dog. A puppy even. Puppies have the best animal plasmid. Not a great chance of that, but the day is young. And if not, oh well, I’ll still have time to figure out what to do next.

  Not just what, but WHO.

  The thought made Wayne happy. But, the twisted smile did not show.

  Chapter 3

  April 10, 2006

  12:18 p.m.

  Hampden, Maine

  At their usual lunch table at the far end of the cafeteria, Kieffer waited nervously for Ashley. The lunch period was already halfway over, and so far, he’d seen no sign of her since first period. Still unsure of how to confront her, Kieffer bolted out the door of Mr. Adler’s class at the sound of the period two bell and never looked back. The rest of his day up until this point was spent sorting out the facts. Preparing statements and answers to obvious questions that she would ask. By lunchtime, he had a working plan for how to approach her with the truth.

  Only now, it was Ashley who was in hiding.

  Kieffer was about to get up and check the spot by the front lobby where they sometimes met after school when Ashley stepped into the cafeteria. He looked up from the crowd with an awkward smile, unsure of how to present himself. The forced smile ceased as she drew closer.

  Something was wrong.

  Ashley’s usually fine ovals of eyeliner were dark and smudged against the puffy redness around her face. Her pearl white teeth chewed on the soft pink of her bottom lip as she blindly weaved past crowded tables, head cast down. Her shiny blond hair spilled forward around her brow, creating a silken curtain for her swollen cheeks. At no point during her slow walk to the table did she look up.

  When she finally reached Kieffer and sat down across from him, the answer was clear.

  Ashley had been crying.

  Scorched in an explosion of guilt, Kieffer couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He was so many things at once. Scared. Heart sick. Ashamed. All completely his fault. He had done so much wrong to her, what could he possibly say now?

  Oh, Ashley, silly girl, don't cry. Really, it’s okay. Turns out your step-dad is a serial killer and that’s why I treated you like a crusty tube sock. But now that you know, we cool, right? Chill girl, chill.

  In all his research and planning, digging and snooping on how to present all this evidence to her, he didn’t think of how his discovery would affect Ashley personally. If Kieffer was right and Wayne was The Doll Man, then that meant Ashley’s house would be swarming with cops, reporters, forensic analysts, and fanboys as soon as the news came out. If convicted, they would probably take Wayne to prison, and if not, then at least ruin his professional identity. No doubt every paper in the Northeast would cover the story, regardless of its credibility or source. People get wrongly accused of things all the time, and it’s usually the local papers who help the most in spreading “popular opinion.” Anyone still in the newspaper business will tell you that it isn’t the facts that sell the paper these days—it’s the stories.

&nbs
p; And no paper in the world could resist a story like this.

  It just now dawned on him that the relationship he wanted so desperately to save would be sacrificed in unraveling the truth. Even if he was wrong about his theory, and he very well could be, Ashley would never see him again. He could try to play it off as a joke, but it wouldn’t work. Looking at her now from across the table, so sad and angry, even Kieffer could see that he had burned the candle of trust from both ends.

  Officially down to the middle.

  Plans demolished in one moment of rationality, Kieffer too lowered his head, knowing he had once again ruined everything.

  Together they sat, silent, both staring at the scratched-up table in front of them. Minutes later, it was Ashley's frail voice that broke the tension. “You said you wanted to talk, so talk.” The words were hoarse, crackling under her strained throat. She talked down to the table, her slim arms folded neatly on its surface.

  Kieffer sat silent. He felt Ashley’s eyes on him, narrow and cold with hate. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. He had no idea if it was the right thing, but it was his only option left. Sitting straight, he forced his chin up and met her gaze. Taking a deep breath, he moistened his lips and spoke.

  “I don’t know how to say…I mean, I’ve never—”

  “Never what? Never told the truth? What? What’s so fucking important that you had to wait two days to even acknowledge me?!”

  Kieffer could see the fungal black hate visibly building up behind every word she spoke. Her cheeks flared warning signs of scarlet as she stared intently into his face waiting for a response.

  Knowing he had to be honest, Kieffer let go.

  “I’ve… never had a girlfriend. I mean… I’ve had friends who were girls but never … it’s...” His voice trailed off into nothing. The simple explanation proved to be impossible for him to describe. He barely understood it himself; how was making her see how much of a loser he really was going to help his cause? Embarrassed, he let his words deflate.

  Ashley just stared at Kieffer, her face still clenched into a fist. He was about to make another stab at explaining when she cleared her throat and laughed. The short audible burst was more of a cackle, a crow's call from the tombs of an abandoned cemetery. “Oh, bullshit. Is that the best you can do? I can’t believe you’d say something that fuckin’ stupid and expect me to believe it. You're still too much of a pussy to fess up. Just admit you don’t like me, you fuckin’ coward.” Her fists slammed on the top of the table, drawing in the people around them as heads turned towards the noise. “All you had to do was say, ‘No thanks, Ashley, I’m good,’ from the start. Would that’ve been so fuckin’ hard?!”

  The rows of watching eyes grew as table after table turned towards their corner. Soon, a cage of bodies surrounded them. Sensing all the prying eyes, Ashley lowered her voice to a hiss, “I liked you Kieffer, I really did.” She brushed the loose hair out of her face and pushed back her chair to leave.

  “Ashley, please,” Kieffer pleaded quietly, his voice barely audible above the scuffle of moving feet. Eyes grew and voices grumbled as the crowd around them got tighter. “I know ignoring you was wrong but I’m telling the truth. I like—no—I love you, Ashley. I love you and I’m sorry for how I treated you, but you’ve gotta believe me. I was just so nervous that I would do or say something to fuck up what we had. So much for that, huh?” Totally unaware of the wall of hungry mouths, ears and eyes around them, Kieffer locked onto the wave of emotion rolling through the room and held on for dear life.

  Rising fast on the wave, Ashley was just about to crash over the top when she sees the look of lonesome desperation in Kieffer’s eyes and is taken aback. For several seconds, she remained standing over him, visually peeling away his face for any signs of deceit. Finding none, she turned to the small crowd at her side, fists raised. “The hell you all starin’ at?! Mind your own business if you don’t want my foot in your collective asses!”

  The cage mumbled, hearing the threat, and gradually dissipated back to their cold lunches.

  Kieffer waited until they were once again alone and spoke up to Ashley.

  “I’ve had such shitty luck with girls for so long… I knew I’d fuck this up—” His hands went to his face and rubbed at his watering eyes. He watched this from outside, disgusted with his own ability of deception. But, deception was all he had left now. Lying would bide him more time to make things right. Or at least until he could figure out a better way to deal with all this information at once. Choking back the tears, he asked, “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but can we at least stay friends? Please, Ashley.” That part was true, at least.

  Still standing, Ashley looked down: a beautiful, young queen judging the fate of a dirty, disloyal peasant. She searched herself, finding one last kernel of sympathy; flattened by the heavy boots of Kieffer’s lies. Still holding the cards, she slowly sat back down. Her eyes took on a vibrant sparkle. A once hardened stare completely liquified; two soft ponds of rippling blue.

  Completely ignorant of the ground he was gaining, Kieffer held his place in those waters and paddled forward. “You must hate me. I don’t blame you, who could honestly like a worthless piece of–” The words stopped coming once the feeling of Ashley’s tiny hand in his finally registered. He looked up, found the angry face replaced by one of hurt. A single tear rolled down her cheek as her palm rubbed smoothly against his own.

  “You swear you aren’t lying to me? This isn’t just some bullshit joke–”

  “I swear,” Kieffer said as he clung desperately to the feeling of her soft skin against his, “I’m done lying to you. I would’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t know how. I was afraid you’d think I was a–”

  In one sudden movement, Ashley shot back up from her chair and leaped across the table at Kieffer. She smacked a hard kiss on his lips, pulling him up out of his seat and into her arms. Cheers and whistles sounded off across the cafeteria. The cheers got louder until Ashley and Kieffer were shamed by a lunch monitor to sit down. The school had a strict policy on P.D.A. for its students and staff. Used to be just for students until a kid caught the old graphic arts teacher and a college T.A. using the darkroom for more than developing film.

  “What a cuntface.” Ashley gestured at the lunch monitor as she waddled off to confront two kids catapulting spoonfuls of coleslaw at a passing group of theater nerds.

  They shared a short laugh before both fell silent. Now that she knew one of his deepest shames—well, the easiest to explain, anyway—it was on Ashley to make the next move.

  “This isn’t a good place to talk. Would you come to my house after school today?” Her hand again found his. “Please Kieffer, I’m not mad at you. I know you're a good person. I see you’re really sorry. I want this to work out.”

  Just after Kieffer agreed to see Ashley after school the bell rang, and everyone rose to their feet. Joining the crowd, they walked hand-in-hand through the thick tangles of moving bodies.

  And for the first time since hearing his name, Kieffer forgot all about Wayne. The Doll Man. He was letting himself do what most normal teenagers do. Act in the moment. Feelings of acceptance and love replaced everything else.

  For now.

  Chapter 4

  April 10, 2006

  2:32 p.m.

  Hampden, Maine

  After lunch, the second half of the school day went by in a complete blur. Kieffer's thoughts were whitewashed by eloquent fantasies. Endless dances with her. A perfect life with the perfect girl. The one that he singlehandedly pulled out of the flames. None of the usual babble of hypersensitive anxieties could break through the wall of pride and self-confidence that he felt in his heart. Those static whispers of doubt were trapped for now; a forgotten resonance tucked away behind fifty-foot walls of psychic rubber cement. And along with those voices, the secret suspicion of Wayne’s true identity ranted its concerns to no one.

  For the first time in a long time, Kieffer felt a special kind of way.


  He felt complacent. Ignorant. Unaware.

  Normal.

  The vital connection of purpose and understanding that had just recently established was stronger than anything Kieffer had felt before in his life. Repetitive thoughts of dying alone, never being happy, and the constant scrutinizing of his own self-worth no longer muddled up the works upstairs. The tingly boast of optimism still felt unnatural to him, but he thought he could get used to it. Its soothing tones of confidence filled the swelling cracks in those long colorless walls quite nicely; holding back the dark to make room for the light. It was starting to look as if Kieffer might actually beat this thing. His father’s destiny no longer his own. And best of all, he wouldn’t have to make the journey alone. Ashley would be his Sherpa.

  When his phone buzzed through his pocket during his seventh period study hall, he quickly fumbled it out, knowing full well who was on the other end.

  :( miss you

  Kieffer's heart dripped with love as he returned the message in kind. Within seconds, his phone blinked to life again.

  Wanna skip? Just gettin out of P.E. Said I had lady cramps. ;)

  Kieffer stared at the words. He read the text at least five times, absorbing every letter and secret word in between. With the voices of fathomless doubt still walled up tight, Kieffer decided with little effort.

  Let’s do it.

  He hit send, immediately hating his choice of wording. No worries. This dating stuff would take time. And Kieffer knew that. He only hoped Ashley was willing to wait it out with him.