My thoughts scatter when Kin says, “Is your boyfriend always so quiet, Abby?”
“I’m not her boyfriend,” I say.
“He’s my friend,” Abby says.
I didn’t know I was her friend.
“You’d make a beautiful couple,” Kin says, and turns to Cicely. “Wouldn’t they?”
“They are beautiful,” Cicely says.
I stare at my burrito.
“So, what is it you do, Nicholas?” Kin says.
“I make stuffed animals,” I say.
“Isn’t that wonderful? Bringing joy to children’s hearts.”
“Actually, most of my customers are adults. I shouldn’t say stuffed animals, because I make stuffed whatever-my-customers-want. Baseballs, presidents, eggplants.”
“Oh! Crafting toys for the children in all of us. The world would be a much better place if there were more people like you. No doubt about that.”
I can’t think of anything else to say but, “Thanks.”
“Could you make me a stuffed ant?” Abby says. “I’ll pay for it and everything.”
The truth is, I:
1. Don’t want to make a plush for Abby before I make one for Cicely.
2. Still haven’t thought of the perfect plush for Cicely, though the stuffed Terry Gilliam sitting on a stuffed director’s chair might be the best I can come up with.
Still, I say, “Alright.”
“You don’t have to make it look cute,” Abby says. “I mean, sometimes people change how animals look when they make them into toys, so that they’re cuter, but I already think ants are cute on their own. I don’t mean the toy has to be ant-sized or anything. Just the details can stay the same, you know?”
“Got it.”
Abby grins. “Thanks, Nick.”
I wince. “You’re welcome.”
“Leave it to Abby to find the beauty in bugs,” Kin says, and laughs. “You’re a darling girl, do you know that?”
Abby looks down at her plate, blushing.
“How did you two meet?” Cicely says, to Kin.
“It must have been 2 years ago,” Kin says. “We met at the pet store where Abby worked. I was buying a rabbit. We talked, and of course I realized she was the sweetest young lady in the world, so I left her with my phone number. We’ve been friends ever since.”
Cicely:
1. Smiles at Kin.
2. Gives Abby the signal, by scratching her nose.
Hours ago, Cicely told Abby exactly what to say. When Abby asked why, Cicely said, “It might help.” And Abby didn’t ask any more questions.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you all,” Abby says. “My parents are coming to visit me next week.”
Of course, Cicely’s staring at Kin to catch her reaction.
I’m watching Kin too, and I see her eyes and mouth crinkle with a big grin.
“It would be great if we could all get together sometime next week,” Abby says.
“I’d love to meet them,” Kin says. “They must be lovely people, to raise such a lovely daughter.”
I hear Cicely sigh.
Then Kin turns to Cicely and says, “I wouldn’t usually say this, but I can see how important this is to you. I’m not the person you’re looking for, Cicely.”
Cicely’s eyes widen.
“But I may be able to help you find him,” Kin says. “I believe it’s a him anyway.”
“What’re you talking about?” Abby says.
“Cicely thought I may have been the one who hurt all of you,” Kin says. “I’m sure she had good reason. She’s a very smart woman.”
Abby bites her fingernails.
“How do you know all this?” Cicely says, with more than a little grim passion in her eyes.
“Your feelings are so strong,” Kin says. “I couldn’t help but know.”
“You read her mind?” Abby says. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“I’m sorry I never told you,” Kin says. “I have a difficult time not feeling responsible for the people I share this with. It’s the mother in me, I suppose. So I try to keep the skill to myself, if I can help it. But I couldn’t ignore what’s happening here. If there’s a chance I can help you find this man, I have to try.”
“How?” Cicely says.
“I need to touch something that he’s touched,” Kin says.
After a few moments of silence, Cicely:
1. Lifts her hand up from under the table.
2. Looks at the tennis ball.
And I’m sure she knows, Kin could be:
1. Acting.
2. The one responsible for our curses.
Then again, Kin could have kept quiet about knowing anything, and she would have seemed a lot less suspicious.
Maybe this is what Cicely’s thinking.
Maybe not.
What matters is, Cicely:
1. Stands.
2. Walks over to Kin’s side.
3. Says, “You can touch it, but don’t take it out of my hand.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Kin says, and smiles.
I make my way over to Cicely’s side.
Cicely holds out the tennis ball. “OK,” she says.
“You have beautiful fingernails,” Kin says.
“Thank you,” Cicely says.
Kin:
1. Reaches out.
2. Touches the tennis ball.
3. Closes her eyes.
The only sound I can hear is Abby tapping her fingers against the table.
Finally, Kin opens her eyes and says, “No. No. No!”
Cicely pulls the tennis ball away.
Kin stands. “No!” she says.
Cicely backs away, holding the tennis ball against her chest.
I just stand there.
Kin:
1. Looks me in the face.
2. Says, “No!”
And I’m afraid somehow she’s seen everything I’ve ever done.
3. Slaps me.
4. Vomits burrito all over my shirt.
5. Collapses to the floor.
“Kin!” Abby says.
For some reason, I lift Kin back to her chair.
“I need to sit down,” Kin says.
“You are sitting,” Abby says.
“Should I call an ambulance?” Cicely says.
“I’ll be fine,” Kin says. “I just need to rest here a minute.”
“I’ll get you a washcloth,” Cicely says, and leaves the room.
“Your poor shirt,” Kin says, looking at me. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
“It’s alright,” I say. “I’m sure it’ll wash out.”
“No, I feel terrible,” Kin says. “Tell me where you bought it, and I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow.”
“I bought it from a thrift store for a few dollars,” I say. “I don’t even like this shirt.”
Kin smiles. “You’re a sweet boy.”
Cicely returns with:
1. A washcloth.
2. Two t-shirts.
She gives the washcloth to Kin, and holds out the shirts to me. “This one’s John’s,” she says, lifting up the plain white one. “But I wasn’t sure if you’d want to wear one of his, so I brought one of mine too.”
“Thanks,” I say, and change into the t-shirt with the dancing cactuses on the front.
Cicely and me, we return to our seats.
“What did you see?” Abby says.
“I saw a little girl with her mouth filled with maggots,” Kin says.
“We have to help her,” Abby says. “Where is she?”
“There is no little girl,” Kin says. “I always see her and the maggots when I connect with a situation like this. The feeling I got was a lot stronger than I’ve ever felt before.”
“Do you know where he is?” Cicely says.
“I don’t know where he is, or what he is,” Kin says.
“Do you know why he did this to us?” Cicely says.
“I only know what he’s capa
ble of.” Kin places the washcloth on her plate, and looks Cicely in the eyes. “You’re a strong and caring woman, Cicely. That’s a blessing, certainly, but God knows it’s not always easy. I spent most of my life trying to save everyone around me. I failed, of course, and I was miserable and lonely. That only changed when I learned when to stop fighting and let go.”
Cicely gives Kin a look that says I’m-not-going-to-let-go.
“This isn’t a fight you can win,” Kin says. “The closer you get to the truth, the more you’re going to suffer. I wish I had better news. I’m sorry.”
“Do you know what this man did to us?” Cicely says.
Kin shakes her head.
“He took Abby’s family away,” Cicely says.
“I thought they were visiting next week,” Kin says.
“That was a lie. We don’t know where they are. Can you help us look for them?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t have anything they touched,” Abby says. “I don’t know what they touched.”
“They’ve given you plenty of affection, I’m sure,” Kin says. “Give me your hands, and I’ll take a look.”
Abby and Kin, they join hands.
“You don’t have to squeeze so tight, dear,” Kin says.
“Sorry,” Abby says.
Then Kin:
1. Closes her eyes.
2. Takes a deep breath.
3. Opens her eyes.
4. Says, “I’m sorry. I can’t see them.”
“What does that mean?” Abby says, pulling her hands away.
“They’re hidden from me,” Kin says. “It doesn’t mean that they’re gone. They could be alive and well somewhere. I’m sure they are.”
“I hope so,” Abby says.
Kin looks at her watch. “Where has the time gone?” She stands. “Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Cicely. It was a pleasure to meet you. And you too, Nicholas. Such a handsome young man.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“I’ll drive you home,” Abby says.
“Thank you for the help,” Cicely says.
“I only wish I could do more,” Kin says.
“I’ll be back soon,” Abby says.
Abby and Kin, they head for the door.
But I can’t let go.
“Wait,” I say, and approach Kin. “My mom went missing years ago. We don’t know what happened to her. Could you…”
Kin holds out her hands.
I take them.
Then Kin:
1. Closes her eyes.
2. Takes a deep breath.
3. Removes her hands.
4. Says, “I’m sorry. I only see the girl.”
I imagine my mom gagging, her throat packed with squirming maggots.
“It doesn’t mean she’s passed on,” Kin says. “It only means that your separation from her is out of your control. I’m sure she’s fine.”
I don’t say, “How could you possibly know that?”
I don’t say, “I’m sure she’s dead.”
Instead, I say, “Thank you.”
After Abby and Kin leave, I take my spot on the couch.
Cicely, hers.
She:
1. Touches my arm, soft.
2. Says, “I’m so sorry about your mother.”
And she doesn’t say, with fury in her forehead:
1. “We’ll find her.”
2. “We’ll save her.”
3. “We’ll bring her home.”
“Do you think Kin’s the one who cursed us?” I say.
“The Magic 8-Ball in my gut says ‘don’t count on it,’” Cicely says. “Then again, I asked it about John years ago, and it said ‘outlook good.’”
I smile a little.
“In any case, Kin’s probably right about how dangerous this fight is,” Cicely says, and her gaze touches mine. “But I’m going to keep fighting.”
“I know,” I say.
“Of course, this may be the stupidest decision of my life, and I’d understand if you wanted to make a different one.”
“Nah, I wouldn’t want to give up the benefits of being in the Cicely army. There’s great food, great movies, great company. A lot of greats.”
“I didn’t know I had an army.”
“Well, an army of yard gnomes.”
“You mean they let you join? I’m surprised. The last time I checked they were extremely xenophobic.”
“They still are, I think. I just happen to be a gnome.”
“A giant gnome?”
“There are more of us than you think.”
Our conversation surges on, fast and easy.
And maybe this is a mistake, trying to discover the identity of a sick and powerful bastard who gets off on fucking with people’s lives, so that we can:
1. Find him.
2. Face him.
3. Bring him down.
I can’t see that turning out well, but it doesn’t matter.
This is still the best mistake I’ve ever made.
By far.
#23
In my dream, Kin’s a psychopathic bride. I’m trying to tell her how sorry I am that I didn’t listen to her, but she can’t hear me. Or maybe she’s ignoring me.
I notice a head outside the window. It’s watching us. It’s ugly, with blood erupting from its mouth, but it’s still mine.
Then the bride’s body contorts. Her head sinks into her chest and she yanks at her hair and screams for help. But it’s no use.
I can’t even save myself.
Outside of this nightmare, awake, I escape to my workstation on the floor.
And the happy couple in the photograph becomes:
1. A gag gift.
Or:
2. Part of a morbid toy collection.
Or:
3. Revenge.
It doesn’t really matter what it’s for.
What matters is that I:
1. Finish it.
2. Seal it.
3. Mail it.
And that’s exactly what I do.
Then I join Gordon and Meta on the couch.
“So, you want to know more about killers,” Gordon says.
“How do you know that?” I say, thinking back to Kin.
“You fart when you’re nervous.”
“No I don’t.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Nick. The mind-body connection is a beautiful thing.”
“Shut up.”
“Alright. Let’s talk about killers then. What do you want to know?”
“I’m not sure. You decide.”
“Well.” Gordon runs his hand through his hair. “If you really want to understand the mind of a serial killer, you should know most of them don’t wake up one morning and decide, ‘Hey, I think murder is my cup of tea.’ They don’t suddenly snap, I mean. Many of them start fantasizing about killing people when they’re teenagers, or even before that. And when these behaviors of dominance cross over to reality, many aspects of the fantasy tend to cross over with them. Like the killer may fantasize about gagging women with their underwear, so that’s what he does in real life. Of course, fantasy and reality are very different animals. He’ll feel powerful and in control in his fantasy world, but then when he actually kills for the first time, he’ll probably feel ashamed, disgusted, afraid, you name it.”
“If that’s true, then why does he keep doing it?”
“I told you before. This is about power. He’ll feel powerful terrifying his victim and getting away with murder. Afterward, he’ll relive these feelings by revisiting the crime scene, or looking at the trophy he took from his victim, or watching the videotape of the actual murder, or just fantasizing about what happened. For the serial killer, fantasy bleeds into reality, and reality bleeds into fantasy. But no matter how much bleeding goes on, he’ll never become the god he imagines himself to be. More and more, he’ll become a slave to his own impulses. It’d be poetic, if it wasn’t so tragic and fucked up.”
“Yeah.”
“I smell another fart. Do you want me to stop?”
“No. Keep going. Some of this might help.”
Gordon touches his chin, the way he does when he’s nervous. “What do you mean help?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“Why are you asking me about killers, Nick? I thought this was a bonding thing. Showing an interest in my passion. But that’s not it, is it?”
“Fine, you caught me. I’m looking to murder somebody and I’m trying to learn the ins and outs.”
Gordon snorts. “Right. Weren’t you the guy last night who was saying, ‘Sorry, Mr. Spider, but I have to take you outside. I’m sure you’ll find a nice Mrs. Spider to settle down with. Everything’s gonna be alright.’”
“What’s your point?”
“I want to know what this is really about.”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. What I do know is that I’ll try my damnedest to understand you. That’s what’s really important, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
“Alright then. What’s this all about?”
Part of me wants to:
1. Lie to Gordon.
2. Pretend that I live a boring, unexceptional life.
Then again, I want Gordon to be more than my best friend right now. I want him to be my doorway out of this nightmare.
So I say, “Someone’s been fucking with my life. I don’t know who he is, or how he’s doing what he’s doing. I don’t know how to find him, and I don’t know how to stop him if I do.”
“And you think this guy is a serial killer?” Gordon says.
“Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”
“Have you gone to the police?”
“I don’t think they’re taking on many curse cases these days.”
“Curse? Is this connected with that slapping thing you told me about?”
“Yeah.”
“Nick,” Gordon says, soft, and rubs his chin. “I know this guy seems real, but there’s no one after you. You’re gonna have to trust me about that. This is about you and your fear.”
“Yeah. I’m afraid he’s gonna turn me into a rabbit and stomp me to death.”
“Nick, you’re afraid that you deserve to be punished. You haven’t dealt with these feelings, and they’re powerful, so they’ve built up over the years and manifested as a powerful figure. But he only exists in your head.”
“He’s real.”
Cursed Page 7