Blister

by Strand, Jeff

  "I didn't ask for your opinion," said Malcolm.

  "Well, you didn't ask for his opinion, either, and I figured that if unsolicited opinions are being thrown around, I might as well offer mine."

  "Shut up."

  "Now, c'mon, Malcolm, we're friends and all, but when I'm in uniform you can't go telling me to shut up."

  "We're veering off the subject," I said.

  "Listen, Jason, I appreciate your concern for my daughter," said Malcolm. "I really do. But it's easy for you to tell me how and how not to protect her, because you don't have to deal with any of the fallout. You're just here on vacation. Any day now you'll be heading back home to work on the funny pages and whatever happens to Rachel won't be any of your concern."

  "That's not true."

  "Are you moving here?"

  "No," I admitted.

  "Are you taking her back with you?"

  "No."

  "So you see my point."

  "Yes. I mean, no. I see your point but I don't agree with it." I needed a better angle for my argument. "There's this thing the Amish do. I don't remember what it's called; it's some sort of Amish name. But basically, when the kids reach a certain age, they go off into the world for a while and experience life outside of their own society so they can decide for themselves if they want to come back and be Amish forever. And don't quote me on this, but I think most of them decide, yeah, sin is overrated, it's the Amish life for me."

  "You want Rachel to become Amish?" asked Malcolm.

  "No. Not my point at all. What I'm saying is, let her go out and get a burger at a restaurant. Yeah, people will stare. Maybe they'll say some shit. So what? If Rachel decides that being locked in a shed is the way to go, fine, but it should be her decision, not yours. Don't be ruled by fear. Somebody who bashes a teenaged psychopath to death with a shovel should not be ruled by fear."

  Malcolm just sat there for a while, staring at me. It was unclear from his expression if he was considering the wisdom of my idea, or if he was trying to remember where he'd left his shovel.

  "I agree with him," said Sheriff Baker.

  Malcolm glared at him. "Did I ask you?"

  "Seriously, Malcolm, you can't keep lipping off to me like that, not while I'm on duty. It's disrespectful."

  Malcolm ignored him and looked at me. "I like you, Jason. Even though you don't have a real job, I think you're all right. So I'm going to take your advice. And if my daughter gets hurt..." He trailed off, leaving me to decide for myself what might occur if his daughter were to get hurt. I could think of one pretty obvious possibility right away, and several more occurred to me quickly after that, none of which involved me remaining in a state of good health.

  "She won't," I promised.

  Malcolm reached into his pocket, took out a key, and tossed it to me. I caught it, which was good because it would've ended this whole conversation on a really lame note to have the key clatter to the floor.

  I thanked him and walked out of the house.

  Why the hell had I promised him that Rachel wouldn't get hurt? This whole thing had started because a couple of drunken hooligans had taken me out to peep at the town legend, so of course she'd take some crap if she tried to just wander around town as if there was nothing unusual about her.

  That was no reason for her not to try to have a normal life, though. She was a charming, witty person. Once people got to know her, they'd say, "Wow, we should've started hanging out with Rachel Kramer long ago."

  What about her old friends? Surely they hadn't all purposely abandoned her. Malcolm had probably just scared them off. Or they moved away from home, which I suppose is what kids tended to do after high school, especially if they lived in a small town like this. If Rachel gave me some names, I'd try to track them down.

  Sure, it probably wasn't my place to barge into town and tell Malcolm and Rachel how to live their lives, but I didn't care. If Rachel truly wanted to stay hidden away from the rest of the world, fine. I couldn't grab her by the leg and drag her kicking and screaming into society. (Mostly because she'd break free and then kick my ass.) But talking to Malcolm had set the foundation for fixing a really screwed up situation, and maybe they'd just needed an outsider's perspective.

  I walked over to the shed and knocked on the door.

  "Dad?" asked Rachel.

  "Nope. It's me."

  "I'm glad he didn't shoot you."

  "Me too."

  "Did you come back to say goodbye?"

  "Nope." I reached out and rattled the padlock with my index finger. "I've got the key."

  "You stole it?"

  "No. He gave it to me willingly."

  "Are you serious?"

  "Yes indeed."

  "Are you a Jedi?"

  "I'm just persuasive. Is it okay if I unlock it?"

  "Yes, of course."

  I unlocked the padlock and removed it. I wanted to fling it into the woods, but decided that was a little too extreme. Rachel opened the door, not wearing her mask. "Are you sure you haven't come to burn my place down?"

  "Nope. Got that out of my system."

  "Then, please, come in."

  I followed her inside, and we both sat down at her table.

  "I'm sorry about all of this," said Rachel. "I know it's weird. I hope you don't think less of my dad for locking me in here. He's just trying to keep me safe."

  "In the spirit of true honesty, yeah, I do kind of think less of him. Locking you in here is a dick move."

  "He knows that if I really wanted to, I could bash the door down. It's not a high-tech security system."

  I set the padlock on the table. "You should throw this away. Just fling it as far as you can."

  "He could buy another one pretty easily. Lots of places sell padlocks. They're not an obscure item."

  "I know, but it's symbolic."

  "Jason, though you're being very sweet, I think you're making this into a bigger deal than it is."

  I shrugged. "Maybe I am. Let's both make this into a bigger deal than it is. Just go on outside and hurl that thing like it was an Olympic event. Not through your dad's window or anything, but as far as you can in the other direction."

  Rachel smiled. "I'll think about it."

  "Would you like to get lunch?" I asked.

  "Peanut butter sandwiches?"

  "No, I mean go out for lunch. Can I take you out to lunch?"

  Rachel's smile disappeared. "No, you may not."

  "Why not?"

  "Don't be naïve."

  "I'm not worried if you're not."

  "Oh, well, I'm so relieved to hear that you're not worried. Because this will be so much more difficult for you."

  "That's not what I meant. I just think we should go out for a burger."

  "I don't like to go out."

  "You don't like to go out, or your father doesn't like you to go out?"

  "I don't like to have people gape at me."

  "What if I wear a really, really stupid hat? Everybody will be saying 'Who's that dipshit with the hat?' Nobody will be looking at you."

  "Do you really think the solution to my self-esteem issues is to be seen with an older man in a dumb hat?"

  "C'mon. A delicious burger. If you're not enjoying yourself, we'll leave, I promise."

  "I don't know."

  "Do it for me. My agent has probably put a hit out on me, so this may be my last meal. Won't you grant a poor cartoonist the favor of bringing some joy to the final burger he'll ever eat? You don't want me to die alone, do you? Nobody should have to die alone."

  "You won't be alone," said Rachel. "The assassin will be there with you."

  "Fair enough. But what if it's a distance kill?"

  "If it's a distance kill, then you're recklessly endangering my life by asking me to go out with you, and you deserve to die alone."

  "That's sound logic. What if there was no hit man, and I'd just made it up because I was trying to be cute? Let's pretend that you weren't responding to my sincere tone,
so I'd switched gears and gone for silliness. If I switched back to sincerity, would you go get a burger with me?"

  "Probably not."

  "I'd really like you to let me take you out to lunch."

  Rachel shook her head.

  "I'd really, really like you to let me take you out to lunch."

  "Why don't you go get the burgers, and we'll eat them here?"

  "I'd really, really, really like you to let me take you out to lunch."

  "Are you just going to keep adding 'reallys' until I cave?"

  "Possibly."

  "What peer pressure is next? Drugs?"

  "No."

  "Sex?"

  "I'm just trying to buy you a hamburger and fries."

  "Do you promise we can leave whenever I want?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Even if we haven't gotten our burgers yet?"

  "Yes."

  I felt bad for being so damned pushy, but this was important, right? Friends make friends do things they don't want to do if it's in their best interest. When I was in college, my roommate didn't want to call this girl he'd met at a party, and I put the phone in his hand and dialed for him. That night, I had to listen while they had clumsy, unsatisfying sex, but it was still sex, and my roommate thanked me in the morning. Sometimes we just need a little push.

  "Okay," said Rachel.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rachel and I sat in a booth in the same restaurant where Chuck had stated his disapproval of my recent behavior. There weren't many dining choices in Lake Gladys. A few other people were in the restaurant, including a couple of teenagers, but it still felt like we had a decent amount of privacy. Rachel wasn't wearing a mask.

  "See?" I said. "This isn't so bad."

  "Every single person in this restaurant is avoiding looking at me."

  "So what if they are?"

  "I'm making people want to puke."

  "No, you're not."

  "I'm not enjoying myself. You said we could go."

  "You don't want to at least try the burger?"

  "I've had their burgers many times," said Rachel. "In the comfort of my own home."

  "All right, let's get out of here."

  Rachel glanced around the restaurant, then sighed. "Hot fries would be nice."

  The server, a blonde woman in her thirties with gratuity-enhancing cleavage, walked over to our booth. I was prepared to give her crap if she stared at Rachel ("Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer," but wittier) but instead she smiled at both of us, took our orders, and said she'd be right back with our drinks.

  "I freaked her out," said Rachel.

  "No, you didn't."

  "Did you see her face?"

  "You ordered the Double Belly Burster Bacon Cheeseburger. She was reacting to that."

  "If I'm going to be this uncomfortable, I'm going to have the biggest burger on the menu."

  "I'm all for it, but you have to understand how ordering a cheeseburger of that size is going to affect some people."

  "Maybe if I increase my ass size enough, nobody will look at my face."

  "It's possible."

  "I wish I'd brought my mask."

  "No, you don't."

  "Yes, I do."

  "The mask is creepy."

  "But it doesn't mess with people's appetite."

  "You're not messing with anybody's appetite."

  "I'm going out to the car to get my mask."

  "I'll get it for you," I offered.

  The server set down our drinks, smiled, and left.

  "You're lucky I'm distracted," said Rachel, before taking a sip of her chocolate milkshake. "Oh, yeah, this is good stuff. I forgot what they're like when they're not melted."

  "See, you could have one of these every day," I said. "And it would help with your ass-expansion strategy."

  "Did you just think of that?"

  "No, I've been waiting for years to use my 'ass-expansion strategy' line. Every time I start a conversation I think, this could be the one, but it's never worked out for me. You can imagine my frustration."

  "You poor thing." Rachel took another long sip of her shake. She was downing that thing at an alarming rate, but I didn't say anything, because despite the light teasing, I knew there was an invisible line that should not be crossed in reference to the quantity of calories consumed by a woman during a particular meal.

  "I made it up on the spot," I told her. "I'm very clever."

  "You should put it in a strip."

  "I really should. I haven't had a good controversy since I broke that kid's arm earlier this month."

  We chatted for a while longer, and Rachel didn't talk about her mask anymore. Her eyes lit up as the server brought out her burger, which didn't look like it could be eaten without the restaurant patron unhinging their jaw. We told the server that no, we didn't need anything else, everything looked wonderful, and then we took our first bites, chewing silently in bliss.

  I finally spoke. "Good stuff, huh?"

  "Best burger I've had in five years."

  "I agree."

  "So why do you like me?"

  "Because you're cool."

  "Okay, that's really, really lame. I'm serious. I don't feel like this is just a pity party."

  "It's not."

  "Then what is it?"

  "Friends going out for a burger. That's what friends do."

  "Let's say we were in your hometown, where everybody knows you. Would you still go out for a burger with me?"

  I didn't even have to think about it. "Yes."

  "What if Entertainment Tonight came to your house to do a feature on you? Would you let them interview me as one of your friends?"

  "Sure. And it could happen, because Entertainment Tonight does sooooo very many cartoonist spotlights."

  "I'm sorry. I guess you're not the only one who can be needy."

  One of the teenagers, looking at us, whispered something to his friend, who snickered. I tried to ignore it and returned my attention to Rachel.

  "I've dated far needier women."

  "Are we dating now?" She popped a french fry into her mouth, then smiled at my startled expression. "I was kidding."

  "I know."

  "You looked terrified."

  "I didn't look terrified."

  "You were stricken with horror, as if Satan himself had said 'Be my eternal bitch.'"

  "You're right. I'm a commitment-phobe. My last twelve relationships ended with me jumping out of third-story windows to escape."

  "Does it spook you out when I joke about us having a relationship? I'll stop doing it if it does."

  "Nope. Doesn't spook me out."

  "Liar."

  "I'm serious!"

  "It's not some kind of...I don't know, burn victim fetish or anything, is it?"

  "Does that fetish even exist?"

  "If it does, you can send them my way."

  "You are a weird, weird person," I informed her.

  "I've developed a lot of defense mechanisms."

  "Well, all I have to say is: stop questioning my motives, or you're paying for your own burger."

  Rachel smiled. "Okay, I'll stop. I don't know how to behave anymore. My conversations these days are either with my dad or my owls, and they both suck at talking."

  The teenagers walked toward our booth on their way out of the restaurant. As they passed, one of them muttered something that I'm pretty sure was "No wonder they keep her locked up."

  "Hey!" I said.

  The teenager stopped.

  "Apologize for that."

  "It's okay," Rachel assured me.

  "No, it's not." I looked the teenager in the eye to make sure he knew I was serious. "Tell my friend you're sorry."

  "Hey, I paid for my lunch, too. I shouldn't have to look at that while I'm eating."

  "I'm only going to—"

  "No, Jason, it's okay," said Rachel. "I understand. I know how difficult it is to eat when you're watching—" She contorted her face and spoke in a
mock-demonic voice. "—a horrible deformed creature, who lurks under your bed at night and wants to devour your flesh and suck out your eyebaaaaaaallllllls!"

  She roared like a hideous monster.

  The teenagers ran for the exit as fast as they could. It was a wonderful, glorious thing to witness. I hoped that neither of them would trip and break an arm. (Although I'll admit that this was not a passionate hope.) The one who got to the door first pulled it open and accidentally smacked his friend with it, adding to my delight.

  I was laughing so hard that I suddenly had a very real concern that I was going to choke on my bite of hamburger. I began to cough yet couldn't stop laughing. The sight of those creeps running away would almost be worth having my windpipe explode through my throat, but I hoped to stave off death this afternoon.

  I took a drink of water, coughed a few more times, and decided that I was not going to choke to death. I wiped my eyes. "That was brilliant. You're a mad genius. I can't believe you didn't want to go out today!"

  Then I noticed that Rachel was crying.

  "Aw, shit, I'm sorry," I told her. I pulled a napkin from the dispenser and handed it to her. She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. "Do you want to leave?"

  "Yes."

  The server walked over to our table. "Hey, I apologize for that. They aren't bad kids; just a little obnoxious sometimes. Can I get you anything?"

  "Nah, just the check," I said.

  "Do you want to-go containers?"

  I looked over at Rachel. She shook her head.

  "No, thank you," I said.

  The server left. Every time kids ran screaming in terror, it worked out badly for me. I was sure that Rachel would find this hilarious in retrospect, but I hoped that "retrospect" wasn't a ninety-year-old Rachel cackling over the memory in her nursing home.

  Rachel blew her nose into the napkin. "I ruined lunch," she said.

  "No, you didn't."

  "I'm sitting here crying. I think lunch is ruined."

  "It's not. Not for me, anyway."

  Rachel pulled several more napkins out of the dispenser. "This is why I don't go anywhere."

  "Do you cry when you're sitting all alone?"

  "Sometimes."

  "So, you might as well be enjoying an un-melted milkshake while you're doing it."