Inflictions

by John McIlveen

  She accompanied Max in his memory. Behind some hedges, the ground rises to her in an odd way, and she knew a transformation was in progress.

  “So you changed yourself into a dog,” Kelly said.

  “Yup, a one-hundred-and-eighty-pound Boston Terrier with buck teeth.”

  “That’s preferable to a warthog?”

  “Hmm. Well, it floated like a lead parachute. I can change my appearance, but not my mass. I imagine every kid in that park still has nightmares about me.”

  People in the park immediately respond with horror, fear, and disgust as the mammoth Pug emerges from behind the bushes. Before long, blue uniforms are chasing her around the park with choke poles and ropes. They dash through shrubbery, around corners, and quickly down a sidewalk. Countless stricken expressions flash by as people seek shelter from the bizarre, snorting and panting creature. The ground zips beneath them and Kelly feels the dog’s heart pounding, as if it would eject from her chest.

  “Why didn’t you think yourself out of there?” she asked, hearing panic in her voice.

  “It’s not that easy. It takes single-minded concentration. At the time, the only thing on my mind was to get my highly exposed ass out of there. It’s precarious, being one hundred and eighty pounds and running on corncob legs. I was scared shitless!”

  Kelly felt the heat of his breath on the back of her neck. It raised goose flesh and brought her to the present. She pictured the beastly bug-eyed Boston Terrier being pursued by five animal control officers. The image was Keystone Copish at best. She giggled.

  “You enjoy my misery, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Tremendously,” agreed Kelly. She trailed her fingernail down his chest to his navel and noticed a stirring even lower. “Hello,” she said to the waking beast and patted it like a loyal subject. “How did you get away?” she asked Max.

  Max’s hand returned to her head and he again pushed her into the past.

  Darting down an alleyway, they sweep around a corner and everything flips, spins, and stops upside down.

  “Awww!” Kelly said sadly.

  “Sorry, first day on my new legs.”

  Quickly moving again, around another corner, a moving van comes into view.

  “In the moving van!” yelled Kelly, forgetting the events had already happened.

  Closing on the van, they vault up the ramp and frantically wedge in between a couch and the van’s wall.

  “And that’s where I stayed. When the door opened again, I was in New Hampshire, though I smelled the change long before. It was the second major relief of the trip. The first one I left behind the couch. It was a long ride.”

  “Charming.”

  “Hardly,” he said. “I wasn’t too happy about sharing quarters with it, and even less thrilled when they opened the doors and I made my escape. I figured I’d just book out of there when they opened the door.”

  “What happened?”

  “I quickly learned what winter and a snowbank was. Headfirst, like a giant tick. I scared the holy bejesus out of the riggers, though. They thought I was a giant hamster.” Max took a glass of water from the night table and drained it. “I wandered around for about two weeks in my pork-stuffed rodent guise, eating what I could steal from local homes while people left for work or school. It’s amazing how few people lock their doors up here. It’s free reign. I also found the answer to my dilemma in one of these open houses. I had no idea dogs came that big.”

  “You saw a Saint Bernard.”

  “No. The problem was he saw me. At first he wanted something I didn’t have.”

  Kelly giggled again.

  “Yeah, go ahead and laugh. At least you would have had what he wanted. When he found out I had the wrong apparatus, he beat the broth out of me. I started to dislike it here; such a violent place! It was no different than home … jerks everywhere!”

  Kelly rolled on top of him and kissed his chest playfully.

  “Well, you’re safe now. I’ll protect you from the jerks if you protect me.” She slid up and kissed him on the nose. “We’ll do the only ass-whipping now,” she promised. Max seemed pleased with that.

  “Let me guess,” she said. “You took on the fat-assed, bucked-toothed, goofy …”

  “That’ll be enough,” said Max.

  “… Wise-ass Saint Bernard guise and found yourself a family?”

  “Yeah, I saw two kids playing in their front yard and I got all snugly with them and buried them both in snot and drool. I sat on their doorstep, whining and looking miserable for three days. Their parents finally had enough of me and the kids begging and let me in. Fortunately for me, mama was a junk-food-absorbing couch potato who spent almost every waking hour in front of the TV. I played foot-warmer to her big, grimy feet for five months, watching sitcom reruns, soap operas, Wheel of Fortune, and Jeopardy.”

  “And that’s how you learned our language,” Kelly concluded.

  “You’re right. Vanna, show our contestant what she’s won. It was okay there, but the food sucked. They fed me like I was a Pomeranian. I kept sneaking in their refrigerator at night, but papa got suspicious and hid, waiting in the shadows.”

  “And that ended that.”

  “Yeah. The jerk kicked me in the ass! Talk about insulting!”

  “The nerve! I would have peed on his carpet.”

  “I wish I’d have thought of it,” Max said. “He threw me out like a bad back. Then, some truck-driving, dizzy, bleached-blonde …”

  “That’ll be enough.”

  “… big-boobed bimbo tried to execute me.”

  “Awww,” Kelly purred and rubbed her cheek to his. “Did the mean ol’ lady hurt the poor widdle doggie?”

  “Yeah,” Max pouted miserably.

  “Do you want Kelly to make poor Max all better?” She nipped his earlobe, causing a reaction much lower.

  Yup, he was hooked.

  “Yeah,” Max whined. Kelly noticed him breathing more rapidly than usual. “Can you do that mouth thing again?”

  Hooked like a halibut.

  “Hmmm. Later,” she whispered in his ear. “I have other things to show you first. Like … this.”

  “Oh my god!”

  10

  Two weeks passed too quickly. Kelly and Max became quick friends. They experienced life—went for walks, climbed mountains, and perused old book shops. Kelly had always governed herself, concerned what others may think of her, or slowed by an internal sense of guilt she had inherited from some source unknown to her. She was not brought up in an overtly religious atmosphere, nor had her parents unloaded guilt trips on her, at least no more than common with parenting, like the ever-popular you’ll be the death of me yet. Kelly wondered how many kids carried elephantine guilt, caused by untimely death right after a timely comment such as that one.

  For those two weeks she felt no guilt. She didn’t once hesitate when Peter’s face invaded her thoughts, but only increased her resolve to exorcise the Peters and Jakes from her life. Free of outside influence, free of time constraints, free of the people who grounded her.

  Free of the jerks.

  Max seemed content to spend eternity where they were, as well. He was as happy as a clam to be human again. Money issues would soon be a reality they would have to face, although reality had recently been radically altered. She and Max had returned to the here and now and they had to find work. Max needed a way to fit into society. The truth would be devastating. They’d probably stick him in a lab or a loony bin for the rest of his life. He could easily escape, but who needed a life on the lam? They could claim he was a mountain man, stranded as a child and left to fend for himself—possibly reared by wolves. That had potential, but was more the stuff of tabloids. Had anyone ever truly been raised by wolves, apes, or the like? He could easily grow sufficient hair and whiskers in minutes, but it could have a similar outcome to the alien prospect … disastrous. The most practical excuse they had was amnesia. These were all things they had to consider, but most impor
tant was Kelly getting employment.

  After packing the Bronco, they headed for Taylor’s Falls. Kelly saw Max’s expression as they left the cabin and she knew the he too left a small but sentimental part of himself there. They would have to come back soon.

  11

  Kelly invited Max into her home. At first, it felt a little odd, but it quickly faded when she thought of Peter brandishing the MEGA-DONG 2000 like King Arthur, straddling the maiden Julie. She was surprised to find she felt little regret. Betrayed, yes, but relieved. She had even upgraded to the MEGA-DONG 2500.

  Peter had busted through the basement window to get back in, and had yet to repair it. It didn’t matter; Kelly decided Peter wasn’t going to live there any longer. Max being here was her way of avenging the betrayal.

  Peter showed up from work at 5:00 PM, right on schedule. Kelly watched him through the living room window as he walked up the driveway. He looked at the Bronco and a smug smile illuminated his face. It elevated Kelly’s giddiness, knowing how his smile would change. She waited in the living room. She heard the doorknob jiggle and heard the click of the keys as he tried to persuade it into the newly installed cylinder. He knocked and Kelly walked into the kitchen. The sound was therapeutic; it finalized Peter’s alienation from her life.

  “Why, Peter!” Kelly said, opening the door approximately three inches. “The garbage truck went by two hours ago. You missed your ride.”

  “You changed the locks. Why?”

  “Very observant, moron,” Kelly said. “I did it to keep the scumbags out. Oh, I mean scumbag … singular.”

  “Let me in. I live here, too.”

  “Not anymore. Remember, I’m the one who signed the loan?” she reminded him. “I’m the one who paid the mortgage. I’ve even reserved a U-Haul in your name for tomorrow.”

  “Let me in. I want to talk this over,” Peter said, pushing against the door.

  “I can hear you fine from here.”

  “I have nowhere to go,” he said, obviously trying to work on her sympathy.

  “You’re pathetic, save it for the soap operas. Go to Julie.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Now that she knows I’m alive?” Kelly asked. The shock and embarrassment that reddened Peter’s face pleased her. “She contacted my parents and told them everything. You told her I had died! You used her. You probably ruined her life.”

  Peter was speechless.

  “You are lower than slime. You’d have to tiptoe to blow a worm. You are a JERK! Replacing you was easy,” she said.

  Peter’s face darkened with anger and jealousy. “There’s another man?”

  “No. There’s a man. You are no longer part of my life.”

  Peter pushed against the door and Kelly pushed back. “Let me in!” he sneered.

  “Okay,” Kelly said and jumped backward.

  “Oh, Max?” She called as Peter stumbled across the floor and crashed into the cabinets. “Could you come here for a moment?”

  Max came into the kitchen, one hundred and eighty-five pounds of spittle-spraying insanity in the form of a Pit Bull. He looked at Peter.

  “Grrrrrrrr,” he said.

  Peter emitted a barely audible hiss. “Ssssshhhit.”

  A scramble ensued with flurry of feet, both canine and human, as both figures bolted out the door.

  Kelly was doubled over with laughter when Max returned, a generous chunk of Levi’s in his jaws.

  “Jerk—jerk—jerk?” she asked.

  Max returned to his more desirable form, sending Argyle into a hissing, twirling feline frenzy no amount of kitty psychiatry could ever hope to correct.

  “I thought it was appropriate,” he said pulling her into his arms.

  “Most dogs go ‘woof-woof’,” she said and kissed his neck, his ear.

  “I’m not most dogs.” He kissed her forehead. “Wanna teach an old dog some new tricks?”

  “How about doggie-style?”

  “Yeah, I like the sound of that,” said Max.

  Make a Choice

  “I have to wizz,” Christopher Seth said, squirming as if a particularly large flea were chewing at his ass.

  “That’s not humanly possible,” said Joseph Seth, eyeing him in the rearview mirror. Matthew, the other of the Seth twins, gave a quick eye roll and returned his attention to the drop-down video screen.

  “It’s a long ride, but worth it,” Joseph explained. “You’ll see.”

  Nestled in Provincetown Harbor, Mayflower Heights is about three miles from the tip of the Massachusetts panhandle, a butt-numbing one-hundred-ten miles from Boston by highway, though merely fifty as the seagull flies. Christopher released an irritated groan. For him, it felt like cross-country by horse and buggy.

  Julie Seth watched her son writhe. “I think he really has to go,” she said. “Maybe we can make a quick stop.”

  “We stopped for him not fifteen minutes ago,” Joseph practically whined. “There’s no such thing as a quick stop.”

  “That’s what happens when you get the short straw,” Matthew said, holding his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

  “That so?” Joseph asked, smirking.

  “Yeah,” Matthew said. “My pipeline’s fine.” He wrapped Christopher in a firm headlock.

  “Get your peter-beaters off of me.” Christopher said. He tried wrestling free, but Matthew lathered his forehead with an animated spittle-laden lap.

  “Oh god … residual penis!” Christopher bellowed, wiping his forehead across the back of his father’s headrest.

  “They’re not our children,” said Julia. “Some kind of alien intervention occurred in utero fifteen years ago.”

  “Still up for two weeks of family bonding?” Joseph asked. He turned the Yukon into a Burger King and found an empty spot. Christopher was out and barreling for the entrance before they even stopped.

  “Wouldn’t trade it for the world,” she assured him. “I still can’t believe it’s the same cottage!”

  Five months earlier a flyer had appeared on the community board where Julie worked. FOR RENT: $1800 per week - Call Ed Henry - ext. 4147, the ad read. The resolution was grainy, but she recognized the Mayflower Heights cottage immediately. Her grandparents had once owned it, and she spent most of her childhood summers there. Ed seemed pleased by the coincidence.

  Matthew’s head appeared over his father’s right shoulder. “Can we get some food, dude?”

  “Dude?”

  “Dad doesn’t rhyme with food, don’t be ludriculous!” Matthew said. “Come on, I know you’re aching to fossilize your arteries with fat-laden gobs of death served under the guise of meat and potatoes.”

  “Well, since you put it that way,” said Joseph.

  The line was staggering. Julie suggested trying someplace else, but Christopher turned doleful brown eyes on her and with a philosopher’s air said, “Mother, would you truly deprive your own flesh and blood—not to mention twins of the highest order—the right to indulge in mass-processed, pre-formed, deep-fried onion rings?”

  “Bacon double cheeseburgers,” corrected Matthew.

  “Onion rings.”

  “They give you rot ass,” Matthew said.

  Julie hushed them, appalled. “We’re in public,” she said under her breath.

  “It’s true. He could gag a crap-eating dog!”

  “That’s enough,” Joseph said, mortified.

  A deep, hearty laugh erupted from behind them causing them all to turn. Julie, not vertically blessed, felt like a child as she looked up to see the man’s face. He was about six-foot-five, at least sixteen inches taller than her, and ruddily handsome with untamed shoulder-length hair. He wore Levi’s and a sleeveless Ghillie shirt over a well-toned body. He smelled musky, herbal, and under it, earthy, yet thoroughly pleasing. Julie wanted to ask which cologne he wore, but considered her humiliation should he answer none.

  “Hey, it’s Braveheart,” Matthew said, nudging Christopher.

  “Bring me Wa
llace. Alive if possible, dead … just as good,” said Christopher in a passable Scottish accent.

  Joseph glared at his sons, paid for the meal, and humbly led his family to an open table. Julie settled into one of the formed plastic chairs, bothered by how close they were mounted to the table.

  “I’m too fat for these chairs,” she said.

  “Matronly,” Joseph corrected.

  Christopher grabbed a few fries from Matthew’s carton as they doled out the food.

  “Hey, scrotum, stop filching my fries!”

  “Just a couple. I only have rings.”

  “That’s the price you pay if you want to stink, you cesspool.”

  Julie rolled her eyes and Joseph grinned sheepishly.

  The man who had been standing behind them in line laughed again with gusto. He seated himself at the neighboring table.

  “Pardon my following you, but open tables are scarce,” his voice poured rich and smooth like melted chocolate.

  “Deep voice there, Darth,” Matthew said.

  “Twins, right?” he asked.

  “He’s my clone … asexual, though.”

  “Christopher!” scolded Julie.

  “No offense,” said the man, his smile genuine and disarming. “They have spirit. There’s no foul in that.”

  “They have plenty of that,” Joseph agreed.

  “Where you headed?” he asked. Julie glanced at Joseph, and the stranger said, “I apologize, too many hours behind the wheel makes one eager for conversation.”

  “I hear that,” Joseph agreed. “We’ve rented a cottage in P-town for two weeks, on Mayflower Heights.”

  “From Boston?” he asked.

  “That obvious?” said Joseph.

  “Mayflowah’s,” Matthew said.

  “Drive the cah to the bah, it ain’t fah,” added Christopher.