Tara knew the next offering was a large one before she saw the man wrestle the deer’s corpse through her door. The Mouth’s wanting was a hook in her brain, and she felt its greed tugging harder and harder. All through her living room, the others gasped and grumbled, both jealous and dismissive of the man’s offering. Her eyes met Marco’s and she saw worry in them. She knew why. If violence broke out among the people gathered in their apartment, they’d never be able to stop it. The crowd would tear apart both of them in their frenzy to please The Mouth.
Jesus, she wished she had the courage to do something.
Panting, the man dragged the dead animal around the corner and into the kitchen. He had a chain around its limp neck, and she saw the links dig into the corpse’s flesh as well as that of his hands.
A thought wedged in her brain, but she couldn’t understand it. Something about the man’s hands. Was there something wrong with them? She found herself staring as the man grunted and struggled to maneuver the dead animal into the narrow space. Could they even fit the deer down the hole? Maybe they’d need to cut it into pieces. Without thinking, she opened a drawer and retrieved a butcher knife, one of the many kitchen utensils they never bothered to use anymore. Surely, it could slice through the meat.
Behind her, The Mouth demanded the man move faster. Tara felt this more than heard it, The Mouth’s hunger like a charge traveling the length of her spine. She moved to help the man, to start cutting pieces off the deer, and he pushed her away, his hand strong against her shoulder. For a moment, their eyes locked, and what she saw stunned her. Clarity. This man wasn’t like the rest. He knew what he was doing, and he was in charge of his actions.
In the next instant, the smell struck her. Bleach and other chemicals raced up her nostrils, not the rotting scent of dead meat. Terror filled her. This man meant to hurt The Mouth, maybe kill it. He could free all of them, but what if he didn’t succeed? What would The Mouth do to them if he angered it? The questions whipped through her head like leaves on an October wind, and the man was standing at the hole, peering into it with a smirk on his face, and she knew she had to do something, but she didn’t know which action was right until she made up her mind and plunged the knife deep into his back.
He didn’t scream or shout or make any noise but a small gasp. Slowly, he turned to face her, but she couldn’t see his expression through the tears that filled her eyes. Already, she thought she’d made the wrong choice, that she should have helped him instead.
With one groping hand, the man tried to grab hold of the knife she’d buried in him. His knees buckled, and he fell. Tara dove, trying to catch him, but she was too slow, too tired. The man’s body hit the ground and then tumbled into the hole. A scream erupted from Tara’s mouth, but it disappeared beneath the crunching and tearing noises. It had tasted a person now. She felt The Mouth’s pleasure through every piece of her, a riptide of enjoyment that made her want to die.
More!
Somewhere in the distance, she heard shouts, violence. Marco called to her, but she couldn’t answer, could do nothing but curl into a ball beside the deer carcass and sob. Too late. They’d lost.
Cali watched the boy. He lay in the grass, naked and filthy. His thumb filled his mouth. A grin stretched Cali’s lips because the boy didn’t know yet. In his exhausted dreams, he probably thought The Mouth still wanted animals. Cats and dogs and mice. Squirrels. Her grin widened to a smile.
A heavy rock occupied her hands. Cali lifted it and giggled.
BOTTLE. PAPER. SAMURAI.
First fold. Easy.
Second fold. Third fold. Easy.
Fourth fold is hard. Have to be careful, or could tear paper. Ruin everything.
Making gorilla. Gorilla fast, strong. Pound on chest and then rip off your head. Tear to pieces. Other, not paper. Gorilla tear other apart. Kill anybody try to hurt me.
Fourth fold done. Perfect.
Fifth fold.
Not gorilla yet, but soon. Shape beginning to be real.
I need protection. They close. All around.
Hiding.
Waiting.
They want the bottle. Bottle is important.
I protect bottle. Me.
Samurai.
I keep bottle in different places. Move it when they get close. Under dumpster. Behind loose brick. Inside storm drain. I know lot of places. Smart. Have to be. Samurai not dumb. Can’t be dumb. Job too important.
Been guarding bottle long time. Can’t remember. Months? Years? Important bottle. Bottle is important. Angel told me.
Angel woke me late night. Sleeping in cold alley. Head aching. Aching bad. Strong hand shake me. Wake up. Almost scream, but angel put hand on mouth. I know she angel. Wings. Burned feathers and blood. Blood on her face. She look scared. Hand on mouth was strong. Eyes were bright.
Hole in her chest. Bleeding bad.
“Here.” Pushed bottle at me. “Important. Other angel come. Keep safe until then. Watch for demons. Protect.”
Took hand off mouth. Put on heart. I feel warm. Strong.
Samurai.
Angel kiss me. Bloody lips on forehead. She run. Think maybe imagine, but then hear screaming.
I take bottle and hide.
Bottle is whiskey. Cold night, but bottle warm. Bottle hot. When look, something inside glow. Angel right. Important.
Spent first night inside dumpster. Bottle tight against chest. Put garbage bags over me. Someone in alley. Look for me. Look for bottle. They laugh. Bad laugh. Mean. Sound weird. Different than normal laugh. Like bad record.
Used to have records. Had lots of things. More than now. Head got jumbled. Worse and worse, forget things. Lose things a lot. Lost job. Lost things. And lost people. Lost my people.
Man throw bag in dumpster. See me. Yell at me. Say leave. I say no. Samurai. Protect. He yell again. I make fist. Swing. He run. I dig under bags. Hide. Hide important. Make me invisible.
Two days in dumpster. Afraid. Laughing man go away, but could come back. Record-scratch laugh make me cold. Bottle warm. Hot. Important.
Get hungry. Try ignore, but too bad. Too hungry. Tear bags. Find food. Food cold. Smell bad. Tight stomach. Hurt. Have to eat.
Forget how long since laughing man. Bad record not around. Not come back. He gone.
Scared. So scared, but have to leave. Lift dumpster lid. Bright sky, and light hurt eyes.
Peek down alley. Look for bad-record man. He demon. I know this, but not sure why. Maybe angel tell me. Why bad-record man-demon not find me? Angel find me. Man with garbage find. Maybe angel protect me. Why I protect bottle. Bottle important. Angel master. Samurai need master. Or samurai ronin.
Ronin. I remember word. Fun word. Mean samurai no master.
I smile. Remembering feel good.
Had bottle for week. Saw first demon. He was across street, looking around. Watched his head turn back and forth. Face was weird. Gone. Black with white scratches. Look like bad film, damaged with key or knife. Wondered if seeing things, but then whiskey got real hot. Felt it against my hip. Almost burning.
Demon look at me. Bad-record laugh. Start across street.
I ran. Ran fast as can. Crowded street. Push people out of way. They yell. One push back. Don’t slow. No apology. Just ran. Feet on sidewalk. Everything hard. Shouting around me. Behind me laughing. Bad record.
Felt it then. Fingers almost touch me. Inches. Closer. Cold. Fingers like snow. Like ice. Hair on neck up. Shiver down entire back. Breath on neck. Stuck.
Hit something. Fell to ground. Hard. Tried to run, but hands on me. Grabbing. Holding. Screamed. Thrashed. Hands stayed. Stronger. Held me tight.
“Stop!” Angry voice. Loud. Right in ear. Hands became arms. Pin me down. Roll me over.
Police. Glare down. Angry. Pissed off.
Went still beneath him. Please don’t arrest. Please don’t take whiskey. Protecting it. Samurai. Hand told me bottle not break. Whiskey still there. Good. Protect.
Angry cop. Angry words. Don�
�t remember all. Can’t.
Held up hands. Said sorry. So sorry. Very sorry.
Please don’t arrest. Please don’t take whiskey.
Police lifted me. Put on feet. Finger in my face. More angry words. Angry voice. Finger fill vision.
Looked past finger. Demon. Demon walked behind police, face black with white scratches. Wore suit. Nobody saw real face with scratches. Just face he showed. Turned to look. I felt smile. Heard voice in brain.
Soon.
I cried. Police let me go. Good. Didn’t take to shelter. Would take whiskey. Me protect whiskey. Samurai.
Scared. Very scared.
Gorilla done. Lot of folds. Over four hundred. Mean newsprint gorilla face. Big chest. Big arms. Knuckles drag ground. Powerful. Strong. Gorilla will protect me when I protect bottle. Gorilla not first protector. Others spread through city. As many protectors as are demons. Need them. Fair. Safe.
Tuck gorilla in alley. Two old newspaper machines there. Rusted metal. Cracked glass. Gorilla goes behind. Make me feel safer.
After, visit storm drain on Lavaca Street. Bottle where I left it. On small ledge. Just out of sight. Bottle safe another day. Good. If angel return, I tell where bottle is. Only then.
Wonder where angels are. Why they no return. They need bottle. I have bottle. Can’t protect forever. Won’t live forever.
Might forget bottle.
No. Not forget. Not ever. Never.
Will protect. Always protect. Samurai. Not ronin. Angel is my master. I promised. Swore.
I don’t remember promise. But feel it. Deep in chest. Beside heart. I live there. All of me that I know live there. All that left.
Sad. Want to sleep.
Go find bed.
Sometimes dream a scene.
Walking down street. Late. Nighttime. Man hold my hand. We smile. Talk. Everything feel good, and dream is very real. He is handsome. He like me, and I like him. It feel like…love? Can’t remember. Everything strange and soft. Real, but not real. Slip away.
We walk down sidewalk. In city. This city. Lots of people. I hear voices and see faces. A shoulder brush mine. Lights everywhere: red and blue and green and yellow and blinking white. I smell something. Pizza, I think. Or maybe tacos. No, both. Food carts in street. We move from one to next. Man pull me close. Hug me. My arms tighten around him. Everything feel good. Safe. Happy.
Something squeal. Familiar sound, but don’t place right away. Another squeal, louder, and I look over his shoulder. Car. Swerve in street. Back and forth. Headlights sweep, look angry.
Other sound. People scream. Somebody push. I try to run, but feet tangle. He lift, keep me up. We start moving.
Car closer. Hear engine. So loud. So close.
Another squeal. Scream. Hand in mine. Run.
Something hurt. Everything disappear.
Want bed, so go to shelter. Shelter dangerous. Have to hide bottle first. Put in cubby hole. Alley half block over. Four paper beetles stand guard. One centipede. I made them. They’re strong.
At shelter, they search for weapons. Sharp things. And bottles. Drugs. None allowed. But shelter still crowded. Still dangerous. Must stay aware.
Room full of cots. Big room. Dozens of cots. People walk around. Mingle. Sit. Loiter.
Smell is terrible. I smell, too.
Loud. Hushed talking, but so many people. Woman stand near middle. Yell. Over and over, she yell.
“Nobody look at me! Nobody! I didn’t say you could look at me!”
Some stare. Others ignore. I try to, but I watch from corner of my eye. Pat scorpion in my pocket. Made from yesterday’s paper. Not too strong. Strong enough.
Shelter worker comfort yelling woman. Take a minute. She settle. Pout. Sit on edge of cot and stare at floor. Mouth a sour knot. Sad face make me sad. Make me think of something. Someone. A hand in mine. Handsome face. He had a name, but I can’t remember. Pretty name. Pretty man. He belonged with me.
Gone now. Gone, and I can’t remember where. Can’t remember name.
Mouth become a sour knot. I sit on cot and stare at floor. Something in my chest feel heavy.
Hear footsteps. They shuffle behind me, stop. Someone stand over my shoulder. Cold on neck. I feel eyes. Someone watching me. I search nearby, look for weapon. Nothing.
I turn. Look up. Give person samurai stare.
Face of static scratches look back at me. Demon. She just stand there. Watch me. Voice in my head. Hollow and sweet and mean and making fun.
Found you.
Don’t wait. Waiting get you killed. Can’t die, not when bottle is mine. I leap from cot, hand a fist. Hit demon’s jaw, and entire arm burn. Feel it all through me. Demon’s head snap back, and then she fall. Victory.
I crouch. Knee on demon’s chest. Static-scratch face look up at me. Arms and legs thrash. But I’m heavy. I’m samurai. One hand on demon’s throat. Reach into pocket with other. Grab scorpion. Place paper monster on demon’s chest.
“Kill,” I say.
But scorpion won’t move. No twitch or shudder or anything. Just paper on demon’s chest. I feet hot.
“Kill. Now.”
Scorpion still. Not right. Supposed to sting. Blind. Kill. Protect me. Protect the bottle. But scorpion just there. Just paper.
Everything feel hot. Panic. Things not right. A sound in my mouth. Screeching bird. Electricity in my head. My hand tighten. Choking demon. My other hand back. A fist. Forward. More fire through all of me, but I punch demon. Me. Samurai.
Punch again. Again. Weight and movement beneath me. Thrashing. Hissing.
More punches. Bang. Bang. Bang. Arm on fire. Feel it in my heart. My brain. World is raw and burning, and demon is laughing. Ha ha ha, in the center of my head.
And then I’m flying. Arms around me, pulling me up. I kick, twist. I am a fist of snakes. The arms grow tighter. Boa constrictor. Someone yell. Angry words.
I try to tell them about demon. Point and explain. Look.
But demon isn’t a demon anymore. Woman lie on floor. She cover her head with one arm. See her face, though. Not static and scratches. Just a face. Bloody nose, bloody lip. Bruises rising on her eyes. Rubs her throat with one hand. She looks scared. I scared her.
“How…?” The word drop from my mouth. Nothing make sense. Even more than normal, nothing make sense.
Sit in alley. Cold, and I’m tired. Exhausted. Everything hurt, and my brain is a rattle. Not allowed at shelter. Thrown out. Banished. Alone. Still alone. No pretty man on my arm. He gone. Dead. Screaming car destroyed him. I remember that sometimes. It hurt.
I’m scared. No bed. No crowds. Alone in alley, and I can hear them all. Demons whispering to my brain, looking for me.
Come out, come out, wherever you are…
I have the bottle. In garbage can I lean against. Everything smell, but bottle is safe. Bottle important. But I wonder why. Why is it important?
Don’t like the bottle. Not anymore. Stupid bottle, stupid job. Don’t want. Hate the bottle and the angel and the job. Just want to live. Not be scared. Not run. Don’t want to be samurai anymore. Want to be happy. Whole. Want to walk down the street and hold hands.
I start crying, and I’m not sure why. Everything feel too big. Too much dark, and the dark is heavy. And I’m alone in it. I think about the scorpion that didn’t sting, and I think maybe the other animals aren’t real. Maybe just paper. That make me dumb. Make me crazy. I don’t want to be crazy. Hate being crazy. Sadness shows up. Frustration. Anger. I cry big, ugly tears and scream into my hands and blow snot all over.
I’m alone. I’m lonely. Just want to be normal. Whole. I think I was before, but can’t remember much. Most things jumbled and hazy. But I remember his smile. And his hand. And the screaming car.
There’s anger. Big and hot. Fill my chest and spill into my brain. Burn. Mad fire. Mad because I’m broken and crazy, and I hate it. Hate the angels and the demons, and I just don’t care. Didn’t want this. Not at all.
The bottle. It’s the bottl
e’s fault. Have to blame the bottle. Angel is gone. Dead. Can’t hit the angel or scream or tell her I don’t want it. Not fair!
I kick over garbage can. Bottle roll across alley. Little rumble on concrete. I pick it up, look at it. Just a bottle. Nothing special or important. Something inside that could be whiskey. Look like whiskey. I tilt the bottle and feel dumb. Just whiskey. Crazy woman gave me whiskey. I thought she was an angel.
My face is an ugly face. All anger and sad and frown. I stare at bottle and hate myself. Hate the bottle. Hate the crazy woman I thought was an angel.
I want a drink. Grab the bottle cap and twist. Try to twist. It doesn’t move. Won’t budge. Try again, try harder, but it’s stuck. Anger blazes. I’m on fire, and my teeth grind, and there’s a growl in me. It crawls past my teeth. Fills alley. Keep trying, but bottle won’t open. Growl becomes scream.
I throw bottle. Take it by neck and hurl. It fly, tumble. I stare as it hit brick. Think it will break, crack, shatter. It doesn’t. Fall to ground. Still together. Intact.
Slowly, I walk to bottle. Pick it up and look. Something in there. Deep. Golden light. It grow bright then dim then bright. I feel warm. Calm.
Footsteps at alley’s mouth. I look up. Figure standing there, watching me. Wipe tears from my eyes. See better. Man. He wear good clothes. Nice. But face is blackness and scratches. Demon.
I don’t know what to do. No bodyguards here. Think about woman I hit. No static-scratch face on her. Maybe not demon. Maybe just person. I wonder again…am I crazy?
I look at the bottle. No. Not crazy.
Demon’s voice fill my head. Give it here.
“What?”
Don’t play dumb. You know what I want. Demon step closer. Inside alley now. Something smell bad. Dead fish. Gun powder. Disease.
I hold bottle by its neck. Hold it at my hip. Step backward. Retreat.
Demon man get closer. Smell get stronger. Push into my head. Fill my lungs. Squeeze gut. Everything feel weak. Knees become water. I almost collapse. Put free hand on wall to stay on my feet.
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