Wade looked down at the ghastly, asymmetrical bulge he had inserted into her and opined that he had done all that he could do. It wouldn’t be as noticeable beneath her clothes, but as of now it looked like an ugly tumor growing inside of her.
How long could he keep this up, he wondered. Would a point ever come when carving up kidnapped women to insert foreign bodies into them seemed routine? Just another day at the office. No. In order to continue, he would have to remove the part of his brain where his conscience dwelled, and he wasn’t that good of a surgeon, he thought, looking at the hard lump swelling in the girl’s breast.
He took a moment to concentrate, to steady his hands before picking up the scalpel and starting in on the other breast.
THIRTY FOUR
Neesha didn’t know how much more she could stand. They had been at it all night and now the sun hung high and blazing. The morning was slipping away into afternoon. There was no end in sight. Neesha searched herself for the one word, an explanation, anything that would end this misery.
The card table in front of them was filled with empty bottles pushed to the sides forming a perimeter around the center of the table. Within that perimeter of brown glass lay a Stratego board, the little plastic pieces set up like tombstones in a graveyard. It was their fourth game in a row in a long night of tedious contests initially designed to quiet children on rainy days. A stack of rectangular boxes was on the floor beside them. They had already made their way through the majority of the games: Mouse Trap, Trouble, something called the Settlers of Catan, which Neesha still didn’t understand and seemed to require more than two players. The unease she felt regarding her safety had been diluted by the sheer absurdity of circumstance, although Gusano had threatened to cut her throat open earlier when she asked if he had Monopoly.
He was drunk and weaving in his seat, one eye open, one hand wavering above the game pieces. He studied her with his single open eye, trying to read her expression. Gusano smiled then, picking up his Spy. He moved it to a space occupied by one of Neesha’s Bombs. Without looking at her piece, he sat back with his arms folded over his chest, still grinning.
“How do you like that? Your offense is crippled now. You have no mind for military strategy, it’s like you are playing chess with nothing but pawns.”
“A superb move. I think that makes you the winner,” Neesha said, long past the point of feigning interest. If Gusano noticed he didn’t seem to mind.
“The game is not over yet, although it’s hardly worth playing with someone who moves all their scouts to the front lines. I mean, who does that?” Gusano shook his head. “Hand me the game piece I’ve just conquered. You should have to hand it to me yourself, feel the weight of your humiliation and the loss of your Marshal.”
Neesha handed him the piece with the picture of an old-timey round bomb with a fuse on it.
Gusano’s smile dropped as he examined the piece. He turned it around to show Neesha. “What the fuck is this?”
“It’s my Admiral or whatever you just said. You just killed him. You won.”
“No,” said Gusano. “No it’s not. It’s a fucking bomb. You know how I can tell? Because it’s the only one with a picture of a fucking bomb on it!”
“I thought it was a cherry.”
“What the fuck is it doing in the space that your Marshal was just in?”
“I don’t know. I guess I moved it.”
Gusano was livid. “You moved it? You guess you just fucking moved it? It’s a fucking bomb, you can’t move it. Is this how you’ve been playing the whole time? Have you been moving your flag?”
“If that’s the one with the flag on it, then, yes, I moved it. Does it matter? I mean, you still beat me every time.”
“I beat you every time,” said Gusano, “because I utilize strategy and abide by the rules, your flagrant disregard of which sends the whole game into chaos and renders it meaningless.”
Neesha, perhaps too exhausted to act in her best interest said, “Well, it’s a board game. How much meaning can it really have in the first place?”
Gusano grabbed an end of the table and overturned it, the crash of beer bottles on the floor and little plastic game pieces became a sonic representation of his rage. Gusano stood over her as she remained seated. He put his face next to hers, blowing stale beer breath into her face and nearly screamed, “The game matters. The rules matter. It’s just like life: if you don’t follow the rules, then you’re fucked. You can’t survive without rules. People can’t just go around doing whatever they want. The only rule is that you follow the fucking rules. Do you understand me?”
Neesha shrank back from the lunatic anger in his eyes. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’ll try to follow the rules better.”
“ORDER!” he screamed at her. “We all have to follow a certain order. Now pick this shit up. Reset the pieces. Pick the table back up, you fucking simpleton. Eighty fucking pieces. They better all be there, cause we’re playing again.”
“Okay,” said Neesha, getting to her knees and gathering the plastic game pieces.
Gusano walked to the refrigerator and opened another beer. He sipped it, fuming, watching Neesha dump the little Colonels, Lieutenants and Scouts into the white cardboard box. She was beginning to understand the game now, and her odds of winning were slight.
THIRTY FIVE
Deep within the petal of an aster, through the tall pink grass and over the rolling hills and under a bright shining sun, they ran. Els led them through her pink blooming world: Neesha, Seve, Karlstad and the Mantis butler. She crested one of the gentle hills and Els turned her face up to the sky. Warm beams of sunlight washed over her.
Karlstad followed her to the top, and Neesha and Seve came after, the butler far behind.
Neesha turned her black, empty, eyeless gaze up toward the sky to join Els. She pointed a rotting finger at something far away flying in the infinite blue. “What cruel form has the hunter taken? A worm that arcs across unblemished heavens.”
“It’s a ship,” said Seve, a single yellow tooth fell from his mouth and tumbled to the grass below. “A ship full of shit and piss and seagulls. Burning, crashing, it will fall on us. We must have umbrellas, I think.”
“It’s none of that,” said Els. “Ships and worms and potty mouth. None of those silly things. It’s a surprise.”
“They ate my eyes,” said Neesha, “that was also a surprise.”
Els bent down to gather flowers: zinnias, and poppies, and ranunculus. She stood with pink bouquets in each hand. “Come here, Neesha.” Neesha stood still while Els filled her eye sockets with flowers and arranged them. “There,” Els said when she was done, “that’s much nicer to look at, don’t you think, Seve?”
“I certainly hope there are no ants in those flowers. They might march into her cavities and eat the spiders. That would be such a shame,” said Seve.
“I’m dead and I’m in Hell,” said Neesha.
“No, you’re not,” said Els. “You might be dead, but this isn’t Hell. Would you have such pretty pretty eyes that I just made for you in Hell?”
“Yes,” said Neesha.
“You’re just being difficult,” said Els.
“Would you care to shove some flowers into my holes?” said Seve.
“I like you fine the way you are,” said Els.
Karlstad barked.
“You too.” Els looked off into the distance, shading her eyes with the edge of her hand. “Oh, goodie, they’ll be here any minute.”
And just then the Mantis butler came up the hill, panting and looking quiet peaked.
“Mantis, why has it taken you so long to join us?” asked Els
“Apologies, Mum,” said the mantis, doubling over with his front legs crossed over his thorax. “I believe I have eaten something that disagrees with me.”
“Have arguments with your meals on your own time. You need to be here in case we need anything.”
“Yes, Mum, it’s just that-” and suddenly the mantis ret
ched and heaved something solid up from his stomach and out through his pincered maw. Els’ father’s head lay in the pink grass, covered with mucus and the digestive juices of the mantis.
“Elizabeth,” the head shouted, “this has gone on long enough. The time has come to rise up and kill. Kill. Kill. Your friends are dead and you’re the only one left. Are you gonna play around in the pink pussy kingdom while they tear your corpse apart? Or are you going to show them what happens when they fuck around with the St Caire squadron?”
In the distance a mountain crumbled into rocks, leaving a triangular patch of blackness where it stood.
“But, daddy, I’m still in the cage. I can’t get out. They like to keep us in cages up there.”
The pink earth shook as another mountain turned to dust behind them.
“That’s a negatory, soldier. You’ll just have to find a way out. And playing Candyland isn’t going to save jack shit.”
“But I’m scared, daddy.”
“So was Elvis, but he still served his country in Dubya Dubya one, praise the lord . Killed a whole battalion of VC’s with a rusty bayonet in one hand and Old Glory in the other.”
Another mountain tumbled into darkness. And in the sky, swarms of dragons came. Els had been waiting for them to come and dance, twist in the sky as smoke drifted from their mouths. But they would not dance now. They charged at each other, beating their furious wings and ejecting pillars of fire from deep within the furnace of their throats.
Els turned to her corpse friends. “Goodbye, Seve. Goodbye Neesha. Goodbye, Karlstad. I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again. It was good here, and fun. But I have to go now. I have to be like Elvis”
Neesha looked at her with the pink flowers erupting from her sockets. “Put them in the ground to live with us.”
“Yes,” said Seve, “let them live with the dead from now on.”
“I will, guys.”
Karlstad barked.
“I will.”
Els bent down and picked up her father’s head. “I’m ready now. It’s time.”
And in the sky, the swarms of dragons collided together and exploded, bursting into a million tiny sparks that fell down on the land and ignited it. The pink world burned from a million places at once, and soon it was a massive inferno.
She stood in the center of the flames, holding the head, her friends melting like wax around her.
She closed her eyes as they filled with smoke.
When she opened them again she was back in the cage. She was alone except for a skeleton on the floor, bent over a dry brown husk that had once been an aster. She kicked the skeleton and it became a pile of bones, falling on the dead aster and crushing it.
She looked out through those cruel and hateful bars.
Els’ eyes opened on a small room, faint light trying to seep in though a window with a shade drawn over it.
She was in a bed with the covers pulled up around her body. Pain hummed like a current, cycling through her breasts. It hurt to breathe and every time she inhaled, the throbbing intensified.
Her chest was bound tight with an elastic bandage over a sports bra. Slowly she pulled the covers and sheets down and saw that she had been dressed in jeans and a gray sweatshirt, easily two sizes too big for her.
“Try not to move around so much,” said a voice. Eliana. Els had almost forgotten about her. She came to the side of the bed, “Here, take these,” she said handing Els two white pills. “I know you must be in pain.”
Els took the pills from her but she did not swallow them, she just held them in her hand. “How long?” she asked.
“You’ve been unconscious for two days.”
Two days, thought Els. Could Neesha have survived that long? Would they let her live that long? She already had their drugs in her, Els could feel them inside her, could feel the weight and shape of them under her skin. She wanted to tear them out, just rip them away from her body.
“My friend. Neesha. They took her somewhere else. Have they told you anything?”
“No. I’m sorry. They don’t tell me anything.” Eliana looked down at Els’ fist, clenched around the pills. “Are you going to take those?”
“No.” Els opened her hand and gave the pills to Eliana. She turned her back to Els when she swallowed them like she was ashamed.
“I have to know about my friend. I have to know she’s all right.”
“I think she’s okay. I don’t think they would hurt her. At least not while they need you,” said Eliana, doing her best to disguise the doubt in her voice.
“I hope so. She’s all I have. If they hurt her, or killed her. . .” Els trailed off. “I don’t know what I’d do. But it would be bad.”
“For you?” asked Eliana.
“For everybody,” said Els.
They heard the lock rattle outside the door and watched as it swung in. Two men Els had never seen before came into the room. How many of you are there? she wondered.
Eliana backed up against a wall and pushed herself flat against it when they came in. Els watched her and could feel a little extra strain in her chest.
One of the men started to speak to Els in Spanish.
“I can’t understand,” Els told him.
“He wants to know if you can walk,” said Eliana.
Gingerly, Els swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood. She had to move slowly, even that careful motion sent waves of pain through her body.
“Yes, I can walk,” she said. Eliana didn’t translate that for the man.
He spoke to her again and Els turned to look at Eliana. She looked terrified.
“He says to go. He says we’re leaving.”
“No,” said Els. Eliana didn’t have to translate that either.
One of the men came toward her, ready to force her out the door. Els stood defiantly. “Stop!” she turned to Eliana. “Tell him I need to know my friend’s okay. Tell him I won’t cooperate unless I know she’s alive and unharmed. Tell him that I’ll do everything I can to ruin this operation if she’s not okay. Even if it means going to prison for smuggling. Even if they kill me. If she’s hurt, these drugs will never see the other side of the border, and that’s a promise.”
“I can’t tell him that. I can’t threaten him like that.”
“Say it,” said Els.
Eliana began speaking to the man. She must have translated pretty accurately, because the man’s expression was rewritten with anger.
He said something to the other guy, speaking quick and angry. Els braced herself. If they weren’t willing to reassure her about Neesha, she was prepared to end it all right here. She didn’t know how exactly -she felt so weak- but if they couldn’t prove she was alive then it would all be over, the drugs, her life, anyone else’s she could get near. All of it.
But they didn’t come at her, they didn’t try and force her out of the room. The one closest to the door pulled out a cell phone and punched in a number. He let it ring for a second and then began speaking into the phone. The conversation was brief and he hung up.
They waited, the man with the phone half in the doorway, the other standing in the middle of the room, Els just out of bed, Eliana against the wall, nobody said a word or even breathed hard.
And then the silence was broken by a little digital chime coming from the man’s phone. He touched the screen and turned it to show Els. He pulled it back when she reached for it, but he let her look again.
On the screen was Neesha, looking haggard, scared, lines under her eyes like she hadn’t slept in days, hair frazzled and greasy, but it was her, and she was alive. The relief that came flooding over Els was almost enough to cause her to sit down. She wiped at her eyes which had just started to get misty. She was alive. Neesha was alive.
And then a curious thing happened. In Els’ mind, the bars of her cage seemed to grow a little stronger, a little thicker, and the cage got a little smaller.
THIRTY SIX
Els allowed herself to be led ou
t of the room. She followed one of the men and another flanked her while Eliana, apparently not a liability to break away, walked behind them. As she walked through the house Els felt carpet under her bare feet, then linoleum, and then they left through the kitchen door and entered the garage where she stood on smooth concrete.
There was a small white truck parked inside the garage, early nineties model Ford, dusty and ridden hard, the paint starting to fade to the yellowish color of uncared-for teeth.
A white man leaned against it, dressed in jeans and a denim jacket, unkempt snowy hair, pale flecks of stubble on a face that had no profile, just one continuous curve of skin. A view from deep space of the beginning of sunrise on an alien planet.
Eliana and the two thugs looked away when he turned to face them, but Els peered directly into his blue, arctic eyes and held his gaze, not looking down at the mass of scar tissue leading into the gaping hole of his sinus cavity or the gnarled ring of shining, puckered, flesh exposing tilted slivers of yellow teeth and black gums.
A string of saliva dribbled out of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and wiped his hand on his jeans, glaring at her.
He held open the driver’s side door and pointed at Eliana. “Get in.”
His voice was surprising because it wasn’t the garbled intonation of a disfigured monster, but only slightly muffled like someone talking behind a mask. He had years of practice, replicating sounds his mouth was no longer able to produce by substituting similar sounds, not unlike how a ventriloquist makes his dummy speak without moving his lips.
Eliana climbed into the cab carefully, trying to navigate her bulk around the steering column. Her hand slipped on the vinyl seat and she rammed the tender swell of flesh against the gear shifter, hard. She winced as a sharp pain blazed through her. She rolled into the far side of the seat against the passenger window and sat down, feeling her side to see if she had burst any stitches. She didn’t know if she had or not. What she did know was that she had a dozen or so white pain pills in her pocket for the trip and now seemed like a good time to take a few.
Mules:: A Novel Page 19