Stories About Things

by Aelius Blythe

  FIVE

  THE BEAR WOULD STARVE

  The unwashed underwear won't leave him along. The unwashed underwear and the dirt under his nails and the tangles in his hair and the blisters on his feet. The tiny discomforts chafe his sensibilities. Even now.

  Ten feet away the grizzly sits up.

  Whoooeeeee... whooooeeee.

  The bear stares. Its mouth is frozen open, motionless. But the whine continues, falling over the dangling tongue.

  If only there had been a place to wash up! But there hasn't been a sink or a pump or even a stream for miles. There hasn't been much of anything. Only fields.

  The bear stares.

  Whoooeeeee... whoooeeeee.

  Spit drips off its tongue. The unnatural keening continues.

  One nail picks at the dirt under another.

  They're too long.

  There hasn't been a pair of nail clippers in miles either.

  While one hand distracts itself with dirty nails, the other holds a gun. His fingers clutch at it like a child hiding under the bed clutching a comfort blanket. A cold metal comfort blanket. His hand hangs, the weapon pointing at the ground, useless, empty.

  But it doesn't matter.

  If it were loaded, he would be killed by a dead bear.

  The blank eyes don't recognize the sound forcing its way out of their own mouth. More spit drips, unsatisfied.

  The bear won't eat him.

  "You too, huh?"

  "Eat, Sean."

  "No."

  "Just a few bites, come on, be a good boy."

  "No."

  "Sean--"

  "--Mommy--"

  A man stands at a counter. He reads a newspaper, oblivious to the woman tapping ten manicured nails against a polished table pleading with a little blond boy.

  "Sean--"

  "I don't need to."

  "Of course you do."

  "No."

  "Come on, eat your dinner."

  "I don't have to."

  "You do if you want dessert."

  "I don't."

  "Well if you want to see the outside of your room before next week you will. Eat your dinner or your grounded."

  "I don't have to."

  "Yes, you do."

  "But I don't need to."

  "Come on."

  "I don't have to."

  "Yes you do! I just told you, now do what mommy says okay?"

  "No, you're wrong. I don't need to. I don't need to because--"

  "No, don't, honey--"

  "--because he says so."

  "Please... don't say that."

  "It's true. He told me."

  "I'm sure he did, but you still have to--"

  "I don't have to eat dinner. He says so."

  "Don't you want to?"

  "I... I don't know."

  "Look, okay don't eat the vegetables. Okay? Eat--just eat the macaroni. How about that?"

  "I don't know... maybe, okay."

  "Good, good."

  "No, I don't think so."

  "Please?"

  "No."

  "Just one more bite?"

  "He says I don't--"

  "Okay, okay. Just, go... go to your room, honey."

  "Okay."

  The child disappears. One red fingernail scratches at a lone forehead wrinkle. Then it rests on the table. The fingers don't tap now. They tremble.

  "What's wrong with our boy?"

  The man at the counter doesn't look up from the newspaper to answer the shaking voice of his wife. "He's a picky eater."

  "But he's hearing things."

  "No. He's imagining things. All kids do at that age."

  "I don't know if it's that simple."

  The man's eyes snap up from the paper.

  "Why do you always do that?"

  "Wha--"

  "Why do you try to make things more than what they are? Do you want it to be something else? Do you want there to be something wrong with him?"

  "No, but--"

  "Do you want a child that's different?"

  "No."

  "He has an imaginary friend. All kids do. Most of them aren't dietitians, but at least he's not jumping off the roof in a cape and a mask."

  "But I don't think it's the same."

  "Don't worry. He'll grow out of it."

  "But what if he doesn't?"

  "He will."

  "But--"

  "I told you not to worry, didn't I?"

  "Yes... yes."

  The bear whistles.

  Whoooeeeee... whoooeeee.

  The unnatural, impossible, open mouthed whine rushes over the flat fields. The gun hits the ground.

  There's dirt under Sean's nails. His underwear's dirty. He's pretty sure he'd smell it if it weren't for the pesticide from the crops. There's an itch down there too. Could be his imagination trying to distract him, but it's bothersome. Everything seems bothersome now.

  Everything except the gaping predator dead ahead and the thing howling inside it.

  The bear stares.

  Then it grunts. Then grunts again, an animal sound. A sound from the bear itself, not the thing wearing it. Confusion. Frustration. It shakes itself, spiky fur shivering, blubber rolling--an animal twitch. It's tongue drips, mouth still open. It grunts.

  "I know, teddy. I know"

  The bear stares.

  "He's lost so much weight."

  "Thirty five pounds. Dangerous for a child his size."

  "But my husband doesn't want... he doesn't want to--"

  "The weight's not the biggest problem."

  "I know.

  "How long has he been hearing voices?"

  "Voice. Just one, I think. Since he was very little--eight, I think... at least that's when we noticed."

  "Two years?"

  "Yes."

  "And you can't get him to eat?"

  "Not often enough. And only little bits when he does. I try to get him to eat. But I can't--I can't... I've tried, I've really, really--"

  "It's not your fault. It is difficult to reason with the mentally ill."

  "Is he... is-is he ill?"

  "Maybe."

  "My husband thinks it's just imagination."

  "It's not."

  "He doesn't think, or want to think there's anything wrong."

  "What do you think?"

  "I don't know. I don't know about these things. That's why I came here. I don't think it's just imagination though..."

  "It isn't."

  "But how do you know? He's still young."

  "He's ten. Besides I've seen children with imaginary friends, and I've seen kids with voices in their heads. The ones with imaginary friends don't starve themselves."

  "So you've seen this before?"

  "Well, no, not this particular symptom, but mental illnesses often manifest in self-harm."

  "Can you help?"

  "Yes. There are medications to suppress the delusions."

  "Is there any way you could... leave this off the record?"

  "I have to record all treatment."

  "But he's just a child. Can't we just... just keep it between you and me?"

  "I am a fully licensed doctor, Ma'am, not a back ally quack. I cannot alter his records. Especially if I am to prescribe medication--"

  "Please! This will affect his whole life, won't it?"

  "Schizophrenia can be managed."

  "But background checks for jobs and things--people could find out. He'll lose opportunities, or-or people will be biased. He wants to work in security, you know."

  "I can't--"

  "But you're a doctor! Can't you just get him the medication somehow? Leave it off the record? Couldn't you do that if you wanted to?"

  "Yes, but I will not--"

  "Please. I can pay you more. I have my own account. My husband won't know about it. I can pay you whatever you ask."

  "I can't--"

  "Please? Name your price."

  "He would have to get his medicine from m
e. He would have to check in regularly..."

  "He can, he can. Will... will you?"

  "What can you pay?"

  The bear yawns, snout wrinkling, eyes scrunching up. The massive head shakes. It groans, then it growls. Then the growl rises to a screeching pitch and repeats the sound that can't come from a bear.

  Whoooeeeee... whoooeeeee...

  Another grunt cuts it off. One giant paw bats the open muzzle, as if to bat away the alien sound coming from it's own mouth. A nail slashes its face. Blood drips over the spikes of fur.

  The bear howls.

  "Sorry, teddy. I don't think you can get it out like that."

  It groans. The great head dips for a second. The paw swats it again. The blood smears. Another howl turns into a whimper. It's hard not to feel sad for the crying grizzly.

  Whoooeeeee... whoooeeeee...

  And the eyes are blank again, the paws still.

  "Come on. Come on."

  "Black belt?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "For how long?"

  "Since I was sixteen. Took karate since I was a child. My mother didn't want me to get bullied."

  "Why would you be bullied?"

  "No particular reason. Quiet, smart, allergies. And I was little. Kids are cruel."

  "Of course."

  "Sir?"

  "Yes?"

  "What exactly do you need me to do?"

  "Protect my daughter."

  "From what?"

  "Oh nothing in particular. Herself mostly. She's out to college now and a bit wild. I just worry, you know, as a father does."

  "I see."

  "Her mother bought her a very sheltered life you know--not like yours I guess. Doesn't really know how to handle herself. Doesn't know her limits."

  "I understand."

  "She's out at all hours of the night, and I don't doubt doing things she shouldn't be."

  "College is like that."

  "She's a pretty girl, too. Attracts attention, you know what I mean? And she wants it, too."

  "She's young."

  "Yes, yes. And I want to look over her shoulder, keep her out of trouble."

  "Of course."

  "But she's an adult now, just turned eighteen. She's got to break out on her own. Learn to live and make mistakes and all that."

  "Right."

  "I don't want to smother her, you know. That'll just make it worse. But I need someone who can keep an eye on her."

  "I can do that sir."

  "You're young, you'll blend in with her crowd. Just watch out for her."

  "I will."

  "You've been doing this a while you said, right? Private security?"

  "Five years."

  "Good, good."

  "Daddy?"

  "She's here--hey, sweetie. What are you doing home?"

  "I'm going out. Just stopped by for an outfit."

  "Okay, but I want you to take your new security."

  "Daddy, I don't need--"

  "I'm not stopping you am I? No--don't protest. You want to have fun, fine, but you'll take some protection."

  "Just give me some mace or something."

  "This is better. This is Sean, he's just going to make sure you're okay. Sean, this is my daughter Emma."

  She smiles.

  "Okay."

  He nods.

  "Hey."

  "Bring her back safe."

  "I will."

  "Bye, Daddy."

  The little red convertible drives too fast, but somehow he knows pointing that out won't slow it down.

  "So where are you going?"

  "It's just on the other side of town."

  She hums over the sound of the wind and the car. Ten minutes later they screech to a halt on a side street a few inches behind a parked van.

  "We're here!"

  Weeds grow in the burnt out shell of a house. Across the street shreds of yellow police tape flutter on a peeling porch. She skips ahead.

  "This is a terrible neighborhood."

  "Don't worry. You're here to protect me, anyway, right?"

  "Yes."

  She sticks out her hand, a couple white tablets in the palm.

  "Want one?"

  "No."

  She smiles and sticks out her tongue as the tablet dissolves. Out of the car, Sean watches the shadows closely.

  "Why do you do this?"

  She laughs. "Do what?"

  "Dangerous shit."

  "You sound like my father. But he doesn't say 'shit.'"

  "I'm serious. You trying to get yourself killed?"

  "Maybe."

  She smiles, teasing him. She spins around on the sidewalk. One finger twirls in her hair.

  "Seriously. Why do you do it?"

  "You know."

  "Not really. I didn't go to college, and I don't get the whole party-till-you-drop thing."

  "Not that, but you get it, though."

  "No I don't."

  "He told me you do."

  "Who? Your father? Told you what?"

  "No, dummy. He told me."

  "What?"

  "He told me."

  "You're so high. Why do you do this?" He's talking to himself now. The girl on E is not going to tell him anything.

  "Because he tells me to."

  "Who?"

  "You know who. He told me."

  He looks into the vapid eyes, wiped blank by something other than drugs.

  He tells me to.

  "No."

  "He tells me to."

  "No--"

  "Yup."

  "Stop, Emma--don't listen."

  He's stopped dead in the street now. The girl spins ahead of him. He catches her shoulders.

  "He tells me, he tells me, he tells me to!"

  "No, no, no, no."

  She laughs.

  Some of the shadows move.

  "We should go back."

  "No."

  "It's late and this is not a good place to be."

  "Don't worry about that."

  "It's my job to worry about that."

  She laughs. "You don't need to."

  "Emma--"

  "Besides, they're not the dangerous ones."

  The shadows come closer. There are four of them, black hoodies pulled up, looking like trouble.

  "Hey there!"

  "Emma, stop."

  "Whaddaya doing in these parts?" One of the shadows talks.

  Emma giggles. "We're just walking to a party. What are you doing?"

  He's between her and the shadows now. "Back off."

  The shadow talks again. "Hey, we're just getting friendly. Welcome to the neighborhood."

  "We're not staying. Come on Emma."

  "No, you come on! We don't want to leave our friends so soon, do we?" She giggles.

  "Hey she doesn't want to go," says the shadow. "Stay with us baby."

  She giggles.

  The bodyguard grabs her arm. "Come on, Emma."

  "I don't think so." The shadow moves closer. "This is our street. She wants to stay, she's welcome to it. You're the one who needs to back the fuck off."

  "I want to stay. I want to stay. And so does he... so does he! Come on let's stay, Sean. Seany! You, me and him, let's stay."

  "That's right babe. You got to the party already."

  Another shadow moves in.

  She giggles.

  "Get the fuck away from her."

  There's a gun in the shadow's hand. The bodyguard moves.

  Bang!

  The shot goes over their head. The hand holding the gun is twisted, broken, bent in the wrong direction. It drops the weapon. The bodyguard's hand snatches it up before it hits the ground. One of the shadows runs. The injured one follows. Emma giggles. But the third shadow, slow to follow, has another gun in his hands.

  Bang!

  A bullet hits the shadow's leg. He falls, but the arm with the weapon lifts from the ground. But the bodyguard's a
rm is raised too.

  Click--click.

  Damn.

  Sean swipes at the shadow on the ground, once, twice, then it lies still.

  Sirens wail. A patrol in the area must have heard the shots. The shadow on the ground rolls over, groans. The fourth hesitates, then runs.

  They'll get him. He grabs Emma's arm. "Come on."

  She smiles and pulls back. Twirls her hair. "Told you, they're not the dangerous ones." She laughs.

  Stop it. "Let's get out of here."

  "Told you it's not dangerous."

  "Are you blind?"

  "They're not the danger." Twirl. Giggle.

  The cop car pulls around the corner.

  "Shit. Now we have to talk to the--"

  Thunk.

  "Emma--Emma!"

  She's on the sidewalk, eyes open, not moving. Then her eyes lock on his and she smiles.

  Not her.

  Her lips quiver and she croons something and giggles and croons. "Nice ride. Nice ride."

  "Stop. Stop!"

  "Nice ride... nice ride..."

  "Get out!"

  "Nice ride."

  "Get out of her!"

  Then the lips still.

  "No--shit!"

  No pulse...

  Chest compressions.

  Now breathe in the mouth. No. No. Not with that thing... I can't. I can't.

  "What's going on here?"

  It killed her. "Officer, she collapsed. She's on something."

  "Yeah, I can see that."

  He's looking at a little bag of tablets laying beside the dead hand. He reaches down and feels her wrist, shakes his head.

  "She's dead."

  "I know."

  "Who are you?"

  "Bodyguard."

  It was in her... how many are there?

  The guy's partner kneeling over by the guy with the bullet in his leg looks up.

  "What is it?" he calls over.

  "No signs of struggle. Looks like she OD-ed."

  "Too bad. Hey you, you shoot this guy?"

  "Yeah, he pulled a gun. See it, there, next to him? There were four of them."

  "Okay. Ambulance is headed here. Then we'll need you to come down to the station with us, answer some questions."

  "Right." Like hell.

  His hand reaches into his right pocket, a reflex when he's nervous. It pulls out an orange bottle. He opens it.

  One pill falls out.

  No!

  He backs away from the ambulance. They're leaning over the body on a stretcher now. Out of the flashing circle of red and blue lights, he turns and runs. Dark streets pass until there are only trees.

  How many? How many are there? How many!

  The big dipper shines over head. Polaris winks.

  "Okay," as if answering the stars. "Okay."

  The doctor's office is tucked away in a town to the north a distant innocuous place where rich people go to hide their problems. A few hour drive but a few days on foot.

  He can last a few days. Especially in the wild.

  No people. Avoid the people. That's where they live. Can't go anywhere there's people.

  It's only woods and fields between here and there, and he is strong.