Damage

by Shea, Stephen

  There was a soft noise—a quick step—and the other eyes were right before him. Colors swirled around a shadowy head and a thin, smiling face was momentarily revealed.

  Boris froze, staring at the colors, the smile. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak he felt a burning pain in the centre of his stomach that sliced it way to the bottom of his throat. He died, the words still in his mouth, his hands clutching bloody entrails that twirled with glowing light.

  2.

  A shadow entered the forest, moving quietly as shadows should. It ran like a weightless, restless stag through the trees, laughing at its glorious speed, at the lightning in its veins. Tireless and naked, filled with new wonderful power, it ran for many hours. The moon edged across the sky.

  Finally, on command, the shadow stopped its revels and travelled to a place with a hut, an oak tree, and a grave. It stood over the grave and looked down. An invisible hand touched its head and out came the shadow's memories of the night's events. But it was more than just memories, it was Boris's pain, the shadow's joy, all these things piled out and became bright swirling lights that spiraled downward into the ground. Once again Boris jittered and danced, holding his guts in crimson, spattered hands. But this time he was dancing for a different audience.

  And beneath that ground—fed by the pain and hate—flesh grew, bones creaked and something almost human stirred and groaned in a

  3.

  Saturday morning, Tyler drove into Kinniwaw in his blue 65 Mustang. It was a cloudy day, a day that mirrored the guilt he felt. He realized now, and the realization had come slowly, that he'd betrayed Conn: he had betrayed their old friendship. And Tyler wasn't a betrayer. He had to make amends.

  When he woke up the morning after he and Conn had argued, all his anger had been directed towards his friend. Conn had baited him, had knowingly goaded him until he could no longer hold back his anger. Anything that happened or was said was Conn's fault because he had forced it all.

  Tyler decided to think no more about it, but all that morning, even at work, Conn's face drifted behind Tyler's eyes. He never thought of Conn directly but he found his mind betraying his promise and drifting towards thinking of Conn.

  Then, when Tyler was having a fifteen minute break, sitting on a dirty wooden chair at the garage, he realized he was acting just like his father. Because his father, when something went wrong, would place the blame on whoever he was mad at, would make up his mind and become immovable as a stone in his convictions.

  As soon as Tyler understood he was only echoing his father's stubbornness, he knew he would have to go to Kinniwaw and apologize. To make amends. No matter what the price was to his pride. He would not be the same man as his father.

  He had phoned Conn twice, but there was no answer.

  And so now he was turning down Kinniwaw's main street, hoping to find Conn. He parked the car in front of the Kinniwaw hotel. When he got out, Tyler looked up to Conn's window. The curtain was drawn. Tyler then glanced around the street to see who he knew.

  A red GMC truck was pulling up in front of the grocery store. He couldn't place the driver, a middle aged man. The man got out, nodded to him. Tyler nodded back and the man walked into the grocery store. The town seemed more quiet than usual, solemn. There were a few kids playing outside on the steps of the hall, two boys and a girl that he should know, but Tyler was cursed by the small town disease of partial remembrance. He had grown up around these people, they had orbited his life as distant bodies that were always familiar but never familiar enough to remember their names.

  An RCMP car slowly drove by and its driver, a grim faced officer with sunglasses, glanced over at Tyler. Tyler watched as the car stopped at the STOP sign at the end of main street then turned left. That's weird, Tyler thought realizing he had never seen a cop car in Kinniwaw this early in the morning. The P.A. detachment cops usually only wandered out to Kinniwaw at night to check up on the local drunks and wild teens.

  Tyler walked ahead and pulled open the door to the Kinniwaw hotel. Before him was a set of stairs, to the left an empty check-in desk with an old newspaper lying across it. Even from the door Tyler could see the dust on the little bell. Few travelers stopped this close to Prince Albert. Tyler went up the stairs, the wood below the grey carpet creaked with every step.

  When he reached the top he went a short way down the hall and halted before the first door on his left. Room 201, Conn's room. Tyler knocked on the door, a hollow sound echoed in the hallway. He thought for a moment that he heard movement inside and for some irrational reason his heart skipped a beat. He breathed in and knocked again.

  No one answered .

  Tyler shrugged and walked down the steps. When he got to his car, he looked up at the window but the curtain was still drawn. He got into his car, backed up onto the street and headed west towards Rand's place.

  When he got there Rand was outside on the driveway washing his car. He turned around as Tyler parked his Mustang by the curb.

  "Tyler! What are you doing here?" Rand said, holding the green hose away from the car. Water rushed out, spattering on the cement in front of him.

  Tyler walked towards Rand. "Lookin' for Conn."

  "Yeah? Why—just a second I'll turn this thing off." He set down the hose and walked over to the side of the house and twirled off the tap. The hose at Tyler's feet sputtered, fell to a dribble, and finally stopped. Rand walked back, picked up a blue rag and began wiping his hands. "Why are you looking for Conn?"

  "I just want to talk to him." Tyler felt his shoulder muscles tighten. He concentrated on relaxing them. "You haven't seen him lately, have you?"

  "Not since we went camping. Did you check the hotel?"

  "He's not there."

  Rand shrugged. "I don't know where he is then, but if you want to go looking for him I've got nothing better to do. My car or yours?"

  "Let's take mine."

  Rand nodded and they walked back down to Tyler's car. When they were heading onto the street, Rand asked: "Did you try the bar?"

  "No. Bar doesn't open 'til eleven and I was there at quarter to."

  "Well, we can try there now, but chances are he got wasted last night and he's still sleeping like a stone. Pogi will know where he is, he keeps tabs on everybody who comes in and out of his hotel."

  They stopped in front of the Kinniwaw hotel just as the barmaid was opening the door to the bar. They got out of Tyler's car. "Hi, Tricia," Rand said. "How are you?"

  "Fine, Rand," Tricia answered. She was middle aged, her hair was frizzy from being permed too often and the skin below her eyes was dark. She had never been married. As Tyler looked at her he remembered being at the bar and sitting with a table of men who all bragged bravely that they had screwed her.

  "How are you two?" Tricia asked, interrupting Tyler's thoughts.

  "Good," Rand answered. "Have you seen Conn?"

  She shook her head, a curl unfolded on her forehead. "Not for a few days. He's never up and around while I'm here."

  "Thanks," Rand said then he and Tyler went through the door that led into the hotel. They walked up the stairs and knocked on Conn's door but again there was no answer. They went back downstairs.

  Tyler rang the bell on the front desk twice. They waited for a moment. Nothing happened, so Tyler rang it again. "I'm coming! I'm coming!" a voice boomed from somewhere in the back. A few moments later a door opened behind the desk and a big, partially bald, beer-gutted man stepped out buttoning up a white shirt.

  "Oh, it's just you two," Pogi said, leaving the last few buttons undone, displaying a patch of black and grey chest hairs. "I thought I had guests. What do you want?"

  "Have you seen Conn?"

  Pogi shook his head. "Not for awhile. I hear him on the stairs sometimes at night. But I haven't seen him for a week." He glanced back through the open door. "Look my breakfast is getting cold."

  "Sorry," Rand apologized, "we just haven't seen him for awhile."

  "Well, if I see him I'll
tell him that you're looking for him, O.K.? And if you see him, tell him not to leave mud on my stairs anymore, eh?"

  "Will do, Pogi," Rand said. "See you later."

  He and Tyler turned away and headed back outside.

  "Looks like he's not around," Rand said. Tyler nodded. On their way back to Rand's house they passed another RCMP car.

  They sat in the living room. Rand pressed a switch on the remote and the t.v. came to life. Looney Tunes was playing. Another of Wile E. Coyote's plans to catch the Roadrunner had just failed and Wile E. was falling from a precipice with a umbrella in his hand. He landed safely, smiled, and was crushed under a huge stone. Rand laughed. Tyler didn't.

  The Road Runner Meep Meeped and a commercial cut in. Rand looked away from the t.v. "So why are you looking for Conn?"

  "No reason. Just to talk."

  "About what? Something I should know?"

  Tyler was about to shake his head then he changed his mind. "We had a fight. I said some things I shouldn't have."

  "When was this?"

  "Last night, he came into George's when I was there. I was in a real pissy mood and he started to talk on and on about how bad he had it. You know how I hate that shit. And I just kinda blew up at him."

  "What'd he do?"

  Tyler shrugged. "He got really pissed, but then he just kinda laughed and left. It was all a bit weird." Like anytime he talked about something emotional, Tyler felt a shroud slip over the meaning in his words. "I don't really know what went on."

  Rand nodded. "He's changed a lot hasn't he?"

  "Yeah," Tyler said, wondering if Rand too had been infected with the same feelings of dislike for Conn. "Yeah, he has."

  "He used to be a lot of fun, but now all his humor has a mean edge to it. And he's always turning it inward. He really hates himself." Rand shook his head. "It's not a good way to be."

  Tyler shrugged. Rand always got worked up over little things. "Life goes on," he said.

  "Yeah, it does doesn't it?"

  Tyler glanced over at Rand. Rand was looking down at the floor and seeing the way he tilted his head, the way his shoulders slumped, Tyler knew that there would always be sides of Rand he utterly hated. Though Rand could be bubbly and fun, he was also too fragile, too easily depressed by the world. Sometimes Tyler had the urge to pick him up by his collar and shout at him not to be so weak, so easily defeated. Once you realized it was only natural for the universe to betray you, then you were safe. Then it was only a matter of getting back on your feet every time you were hit. And no matter what happens you always get back up.

  On the t.v. Porky Pig stuttered, "T-t-that's all folks," and was swallowed by a circle. A commercial came on.

  "Do you want to play some pool?" Rand asked. "We haven't played for ages."

  "Yeah, sure," Tyler said. Rand used the remote to shut off the t.v. then they got up and headed downstairs.

  They went into the pool room. Rand flicked a switch and a fluorescent light that hung from the roof slowly filled with light. In the center of the room was a parlor-sized table. On the wall was a cue rack and chalk and a chalk board. In one corner was a small stereo, speakers hung from the roof on either side of the room. The pool table was large but the room was much larger, designed so that you never had to worry about the walls being too close when you took a shot.

  Rand walked over to the stereo, pressed a button. There was a moment of hissing then Streetheart began to sing Under my Thumb. Rand turned back to the table.

  The balls were already racked up. "Company first," Rand said. Tyler nodded, chose a cue, then went back to the table and lined up the cue ball. He shot and with a crack the balls scattered across the table. None of them sank.

  "Nice leave," Rand said as he lined up a shot and sank the three ball.

  Tyler, waiting for his shot, glanced around the room. On the far wall was a huge black and white picture of Marilyn Monroe, her lips provocatively open, her eyes partly closed. Next to Marilyn was a table with a black plastic container on it packed with snooker balls. It was a pool player's paradise. Tyler knew that Rand's father had been an avid player and he wondered if Rand was thinking about him. The place was like a shrine.

  Neither Rand nor Tyler spoke as they played, except to say "nice shot"or to call the eight ball. With the clicking of balls and the soft thud of pool cues the morning shifted into late afternoon. An empty feeling grew in the pit of Tyler's stomach but he refused any of the food that Rand offered. It seemed right to stay hungry. They phoned Conn's place periodically, but no one answered.

  They were evenly matched, trading wins back and forth. Then Rand got on a hot streak and won three games in a row. Tyler watched, his fingers tightly encircling the cue. Rand sank the eight ball for the the fourth win in a row and Tyler involuntarily flexed his muscles. The cue snapped a third of the way from the top.

  Rand looked up at him. Tyler stared at the piece of the cue in his hand. "Sorry," he said.

  "No problem." A long moment of silence passed.

  Tyler set down the pool cue, picked up his jean jacket. "I've gotta go."

  "Yeah?" Rand said, sounding surprised. He set his cue on the pool table. "Going out to the farm?"

  Tyler shook his head. "No. Back home."

  Rand nodded and it looked like he was going to say something. Tyler turned away, walked towards the stairs. Just as he reached the steps the phone rang. Rand answered it and Tyler started up the stairs thinking he could put his shoes on while Rand was talking. He stopped when he heard the tone of Rand's voice.

  "Bad news?" Rand asked. There was a pause as the person on the other end of the line spoke. "He's dead! How?" Tyler stayed frozen at the top of the steps. Irrationally a lifeless image of his father entered his mind. Tyler saw his father's face, his eyes open and angry even in death. His father was dead. Gone. Tyler stepped backwards, leaned against the wall. He felt drained and tired. Time rippled strangely by.

  Rand had hung up the phone without Tyler noticing. "That was Kari," he said, his face looking confused as if someone had given him an impossible puzzle to solve. "Boris Jacobs is dead. Somebody killed him last night. At a party. Isn't that weird?"

  Tyler resisted the urge to sit down. He leaned away from the wall, stood straight. "Who killed him?"

  "They don't know, no one knows. Some kids found him out in the yard. They said his stomach was slit open." Rand shook his head. "This can't be real man, it's just too weird."

  Tyler nodded but he felt detached from the scene, from the news, everything. He walked the rest of the way up the stairs then stopped and leaned against the wall. He heard Rand's footsteps behind him, so he stood straight again and walked towards the front door.

  "I gotta go," he said when he guessed Rand had reached the top of the stairs. He leaned down and pulled on his shoes. The day had become disjointed and the only way to right it was to be alone. In his car, alone. Driving. He turned, opened the screen door.

  "You have to go?" Rand asked. He still had a confused look. "You have to go?" he repeated.

  Tyler nodded then turned and walked down the sidewalk towards his car. It wasn't until he was in his car and pulling away from Rand's house that he began to feel a sense of ease, as if he had avoided something bad.

  He breathed in, feeling cowardly. He should have stayed with Rand in that house instead of leaving him alone with the news of a death. Then Tyler remembered Conn and thought, perhaps that somehow he could right at least something this night if he talked to Conn. He stopped at the Kinniwaw hotel. When he got out of the car he looked up. A pale yellow light lit the window to Conn's room.

  When he got to the door there was no light. He knocked, but no one answered. He knocked twice more. Nothing.

  He went back to his car, looked up and the window was dark. He shook his head, but decided against trying again. If Conn was in there it was obvious he didn't want visitors. Tyler decided to call when he got home.

  Tyler got into his car, turned the ignition. The car turne
d over twice then caught. Just as his car fired up, the door to the bar, which was directly in front of Tyler, burst open casting yellow light over the car. Tyler looked up.

  His father was standing in the door frame, a case of beer clutched in his hand. His angry eyes, embedded in sun dried skin, stared into the night. He leaned against the frame for a moment, blinked, and got a better grip on the case of beer.

  He couldn't see Tyler, though he was only a few feet away. His eyes were unfocused. Tyler had seen this look before, he knew his father's eyes were staring inward at whatever bitter wasteland was inside. Tyler felt afraid, a fear that those eyes would swivel downwards and see him.

  Charles lurched away from the door and it closed of its own accord. He stepped awkwardly left, like a statue attempting its first step. He stepped again, then staggered down the sidewalk, veering towards Tyler's car. Tyler's heart quickened, but Charles stumbled away and disappeared out of Tyler's line of vision, heading towards his truck.

  Tyler waited with his eyes closed until he was sure his father had got into his truck and left and that there was no chance they would meet somewhere on the streets.

  Finally, he put his car into reverse, backed onto the street. Within minutes he was heading south down the highway towards Prince Albert.

  4.

  After Tyler left, Rand turned on the radio, laid back on the couch, and closed his eyes. He couldn't believe that the pimply faced Jacobs kid was dead. It just didn't make any sense. He had only seen him a few weeks ago in town. He remembered asking him how his father was doing, who was in the hospital with cancer. And now Boris was lying in a morgue.

  The fact that his mind kept returning to the grotesque details of the murder, started to bother Rand. He had a vision of Boris lying on the grass, his stomach split open. And the more Rand tried to erase the image, the stronger it became. He could see the beginning of a smile on Boris's lips. The blood that painted his shirt crimson. The exposed flesh.