Paradox: On the Sharp Edge of the Blade

by E. S. Martell

  “Did you like digging?” his father asked.

  “Not any more than I like carrying shingles or stripping a roof,” he answered with a grin.

  His father laughed. “Point taken. I'll go easy for a bit, but I really need your help to get caught up, so be ready to go in the morning. Truck leaves at six sharp.”

  Logan got settled in the spare room. He didn't have much to unpack. By the time he'd arranged his sparse belongings and some textbooks, Larry had shown up with a couple of women in tow.

  The group had opened a case of beer, and gone out into the backyard to get the grill started. Their loud conversation carried through the open windows.

  Logan's father had never favored air-conditioning. He worked in the direct sun and heat so much that simply having a roof over his head seemed good enough. He maintained that the cold air just made it harder for him to adapt to the heat.

  Logan missed the a/c from his apartment, but he'd been living in a tent for weeks. The heat didn't bother him much as a result.

  He left his room, walked through the kitchen, grabbing a beer out of the fridge as he passed. Might as well go out and see what was cooking.

  “Oh. Wow! Who's this?” one of the women asked. She was reclining with Larry in a hammock strung between two cabbage palms. The other woman was clinging to his dad's arm, watching as he fiddled with the charcoal grill.

  Larry glanced at him, said, “Hi, Lo! Good to see ya. Ya gonna be helping us?”

  Same old Larry. His dad's best friend, and long-time helper. “Yeah. I'll be up on the roof with you for a while. I'm taking the next session off, so I'll be here for six weeks or so,” he answered.

  “Great! That's what we need, someone we don't have to break in. I'm tired of newbies who don't know which end of a nail to hit,” he said loudly, slapping his hand on his knee and laughing.

  Logan took a sip of beer, grinned as he remembered a joke, then asked, “Did you hear about the siding installer who threw half his nails on the ground?”

  Larry looked puzzled, so Logan continued, “He said the head was on the wrong end. The on-site supervisor told him to pick 'em up and use them on the other side of the house.”

  Larry threw his head back and roared with laughter. Both women looked puzzled for a moment, then the one sitting with Larry said, “Oh. I get it. If the heads were on the wrong end, they'd be on the right end on the other side...” She trailed off sheepishly, looking embarrassed.

  Larry rubbed his hand on the inside of her thigh. “You don't need to worry about that kinda stuff. Just leave the nailin' to me,” he smirked.

  She giggled momentarily, and then looked at Logan appraisingly out of the corner of her eyes.

  He turned to look at the grill, pretending to be interested in the food. The way she'd looked at him was like he was on the main course, rather than the burgers. They were now starting to smell good, and he was hungry.

  His dad had gone in for another beer, followed by the other woman. He could hear them carrying on inside, apparently making out while getting the beer. He glanced at the other two. Larry was finishing his beer, but the woman was still watching him. He decided to flip the burgers, just to have something to do. She was probably only a few years older than him, but she looked like she'd lived them hard. Well, it wasn't any of his business.

  After the beer and burgers, Larry and Cheryl left, heading for some bar where there was a blues band that Larry liked. Logan's dad and Chelle retired to the master bedroom, leaving Logan sitting in the great room watching an old movie.

  It was one that he'd seen before, but he persisted. He figured he wouldn't be able to sleep for a while due to the intermittent noises that filtered through the bedroom door. Maybe they'd quiet down eventually, then he could slip down the hall into the far bedroom.

  The movie was long over when he awakened on the couch. The house was quiet except for the TV. He switched it off, walked down the hall and climbed into bed.

  The next three weeks seemed to go by in a blur. There was a constant round of hard work on crazily hot roofs, followed by beer-fueled drives home. They sometimes stopped for food, but often grilled in the backyard. There was never a day for a break, his dad worked seven days a week, only taking off when they were between jobs, and that didn't happen often.

  The work was mind-numbing, but some good things did come from it. Logan's muscles had first complained even more than they had from shoveling, but then he'd began to bulk up, and now he felt far stronger than he ever had while living a student's life. In addition, he was putting away some cash, and that made him feel self-sufficient. He liked the feeling.

  Larry and the two women came over on Friday and Saturday nights.

  Logan took to going out on his motorcycle in order to avoid Cheryl. Larry didn't seem to notice, but each time she had an opportunity, she made her interest in Logan more obvious.

  The last time she'd been over, she trapped him in the hall, standing close enough so that he could feel the tips of her breasts. He sensed that she was going to try to kiss him, but then Larry called her from the kitchen and she reluctantly pulled away. He turned and ducked into the bathroom before Larry looked around the corner and said, “Hey, Cher. What ya' doin' in here?”

  She replied, “Waiting on Logan to get out of the toilet. What's it look like?”

  Logan took that as a signal to walk out, saying, “Sorry. Had to go.”

  He squeezed past the two, stopped at the refrigerator for another long-neck, then walked out onto the front porch to stare through the palm fronds at the dim street light.

  He sipped at the beer and considered. He was uncomfortable here at his dad's, but there was no going back to school yet. The best thing was the pay, and he couldn't fault the free room and food, but the weekend partying and hard grind of roofing work was becoming unpleasant.

  His dad was okay. Maybe he was just kind of... Logan paused. Maybe immature was the best way to describe the old man. His father tried to act more like Logan's friend rather than his parent. The nightly drinking was starting to bother him, too. His dad drank some every night, and more on weekends.

  Logan had never been one for getting staggeringly drunk, it interfered with game playing for one thing. He sighed and said to himself, “Oh, well. It won't be forever. If I can get reinstated and graduate, things will be okay.”

  If not – well, that could wait, but he resolved that he'd get a job somewhere else, and it would be sure to be one that involved working in an air-conditioned environment.

  He belatedly reminded himself that he'd didn't want to lose his newly gained muscles. “I'll work out, too,” he muttered.

  Chapter 7: HIGH AND FAR AWAY

  Logan was glad that it was Saturday. They had finished a roofing job that afternoon, and they weren't due to start the next one until Monday. For the first time since he'd started helping, he'd have a day off.

  His dad parked the work truck at the liquor store, entered, and came out carrying two cases of beer. He stopped on the sidewalk and yelled, “Hey boy, get out of the truck and get one of these. Make yourself useful.”

  Logan jumped out, took a case, and transported it to the truck bed where he placed it carefully behind some half empty cans of roofing tar. His dad put the other in the front seat, climbed in, and immediately ripped the cardboard to get at a can.

  By the time Logan had climbed in, his father had finished the first can. He tossed that one out the window into the pickup bed, then pulled another out and popped the top. After a long drink, he glanced at Logan and said, “Help yourself. Working in the sun really makes you build up a thirst, huh, Lo?”

  Logan got his own beer and sipped at it as they wound through back streets on their way home. By the time they'd arrived, Larry and the two women were already sitting on the front porch.

  It was going to be another long night, Logan decided. Maybe he'd get cleaned up and head out for a ride along A1A. He could find a stretch of beach somewhere and watch the waves. At least it w
ould be quiet.

  He'd eaten some barbecued chicken. If nothing else, his dad was a good backyard cook. The first case of beer was gone. The older people had practically absorbed it.

  Now he was thinking about his bike when Larry came by with something in his hand.

  “Hey, Lo. Y'all been good help. I want ya to know I really am glad ya came home for a while to help us catch up.”

  “No problem, Lar. Glad to have the work, ya know,” he answered, slipping into a more southern dialect.

  Larry was feeling the beer and wasn't too steady on his feet as a result. He wavered back and forth for a moment, and then extended his hand to Logan. “Here. Got ya something. I was playing poker last night and I won this offn' some guy. He was pretty pissed, but I took it anyway. It's a knife. He said it was cold steel or something like that. Anyways, I want ya to have it. A gift from me to you for your help. Look here, I gotta alphabet die set. I tapped your initials on the blade.”

  Logan looked. Larry had stamped “LW” on the blade. The letters weren't quite in alignment.

  Logan suddenly remembered that Larry's last name was Wilson. That took some of the sentiment away from the gift.

  Looking at the blade, Logan shuddered. Larry didn't know that he didn't like knives. He considered refusing, but it seemed like the best thing to do was to take the thing.

  The instant he held it in his hand, a shock of recognition struck him like a thunderbolt. It was exactly like what he'd pulled out of the dig. New... but exactly like the knife that had gotten him in trouble. He wonderingly unhooked the Velcro retaining strap and pulled the blade out of the leather sheaf.

  It was thick and heavy with a tanto-style point. It looked sharp and he was afraid to touch the edge, but he ran his thumb along the spine of the blade. As he did, the backyard seemed to fade.

  He was unable to move, paralyzed by the vision. The grill disappeared and there were more palm trees in his vision. Something large, like a huge, animated football trundled slowly towards him from behind some bushes.

  Larry put his hand on Logan's shoulder, shaking him a little. “Hey, don't get all choked up over it, kid.”

  Logan shook his head. The vision had flicked out. He was standing in the back yard. His dad was kissing Chele. Cheryl was looking over her beer at him, an evaluating expression on her face.

  He shook his head again, trying to clear it. “Thanks, Larry. You're a good friend. I'm proud to be working with you,” he said. To show that he meant it, he unbuckled his belt and slid the sheath on it, placing the knife on his left side.

  Larry laughed, turned to the others, and said, “See why I love this kid! He's one in a million. That knife makes him look like Tarzan.”

  Cheryl raised her beer in a toast. “To our Tarzan! One in a million.”

  The others joined in.

  Logan suddenly realized that his beer had worked its way through his system. He muttered, “Thanks, Larry. I gotta go.”

  He walked through the kitchen. Someone had put some brownies on the counter and he grabbed one on his way to the bathroom. He shoved it in his mouth and headed down the hall. When he was done, he went into the great room and turned on the TV.

  About thirty minutes later, he realized that the TV show was extremely colorful. The colors were brighter than any he'd previously seen from the cheap screen. He watched fascinated. The people on the screen were moving slowly. It must be some sort of comedy, they were moving so slowly. He laughed.

  His laugh was echoed by a low, throaty, feminine laugh. Cheryl had entered the room. He looked at her as she sat down beside him. She was pretty good looking, he decided.

  “Where's Larry?” he asked.

  She scooted over against his side. “He's mostly asleep out there in the hammock. He drinks too much and isn't good for much once he's drunk,” she said quietly.

  Her face seemed to get larger in his vision, and he found himself somehow kissing her. It wasn't really what he wanted to do, but he felt out of control. She slid her hand over his leg, moving it upwards slowly.

  There was a long moment of quiet, then she said, “I've been wanting to get you alone for along time. Larry is drunk. Let's – ”

  He interrupted her. “Why are you talking so slow? It's funny.” He laughed again.

  Cheryl pulled back, staring at him in surprise. Then her eyes narrowed. “Did you eat one of those brownies?”

  He nodded, solemnly, and giggled. He put his hand over his mouth. He'd sounded silly and childish.

  She looked alarmed and said, “You didn't eat the whole thing did you? You're only supposed to take a bite. They're really strong.”

  He shrugged uncomprehendingly and said, “It was good.”

  She looked at the door, then said, “No matter, that doesn't change what I want to do.”

  She straightened, grabbing his hand, pulling him up.

  “C'mon. Let's go in your bedroom.” She yanked his arm. “C'mon! It'll be fun.”

  He started to go with her, but then a wave of revulsion and nausea washed over him. Her face suddenly looked distorted and garish, as if it'd been painted on an egg. He shook her grip off, and staggered towards the screen door, wondering if he'd belatedly discovered some common sense, or if he'd been poisoned. What had been in that brownie, anyway?

  Logan was in the front yard. He didn't remember going there, but he was looking at the streetlight. It had entrancing colored rays.

  Someone was yelling at him. It was Cheryl. He turned. She was standing on the porch, no, she was walking towards him, her arm outstretched. Her face was distorted and frightening.

  He turned and ran. She shouted, “Hey! Get back here! Logan...”

  The ground fell out from below his feet. He was falling into the ditch by the road. He relaxed, enjoying the floating sensation. The grass looked soft. Then he struck. There was a bright flash, and he grunted. It was harder than it looked.

  Logan rolled over. The sun was shining in his eyes. Things were odd looking, and he felt sick. He turned his head to the side and vomited. He felt a little better after some time had passed.

  He looked around. The house wasn't there. In fact nothing was there. He felt too disoriented to think. There was a palm nearby, so he crawled across the sandy ground and collapsed in the shade. The surroundings wavered and his head felt as if it were expanding and contracting, throbbing. He shut his eyes in the shade, moving until he found a position that was more comfortable, and slept.

  Logan gradually became aware that he was awake. The sun's rays were longer, slanting in through the palm fronds from the west. He'd been keeping his eyes shut, but now the light was directly shining on his eyelids. He could still tell that the source was low in the sky.

  Something nearby made a loud, breathy grunt. A few seconds later some vegetation rustled, followed by the sound of breaking branches.

  Logan sat upright, looking towards the noise. His vision seemed blurry, but gradually things became clearer.

  There was a thicket of palmettos between him and the source of the sound. The tough little palms stood several feet high, forming an impassible barrier. Something heaved at the far side of the thicket, making the fronds jerk and sway.

  A large snake, disturbed by the commotion, squirmed out of the thicket, heading directly towards Logan's feet. He jumped up, and backed away. There was no sense fooling with it. He knew a diamond-back rattler when he saw one. This one was huge, a giant of its kind, nearly ten feet in length and correspondingly heavy through its body.

  As he moved, the snake became aware of him. It coiled in defense, and started to rattle, its tail making a deep buzzing noise. Logan backed away diagonally. The snake probably held enough venom to kill him several times over.

  His movement convinced the rattler that he was no threat. It uncoiled and continued moving towards another thicket. He watched it until its tail disappeared.

  “I've never seen one so large,” he said, aloud. At the sound of his voice, a loud grunt came from the other si
de of the palmettos. Logan jerked around and saw something indefinable moving towards him.

  He passed his hand over his eyes in amazement. The thing looked sort of like an armadillo on steroids, although there were some differences. He wondered if he was still under the brownie's influence.

  The huge creature seemed to have poor vision. It moved towards him, then stopped short, staring nearsightedly. He stepped back a short step. The animal snorted, startled. It lowered its head and turned sideways, giving him a view of a distinctly menacing, clubbed tail. The powerful appendage swung back and forth, leaving no doubt that it was preparing to defend itself against an attack.