The Extinct

by Victor Methos

  He decided it was better not to sleep at home and rode a bus down to his mother’s house and used his own key on the front door. All the lights were off and the house was quiet as he went through the front room and into the kitchen. He took a bottle of wine from a cupboard and a glass out the dishwasher and sat at the dining table. The wine was a good red, much better quality than he thought Jeff or his mom would have. It was silky going down his throat and warmed his belly.

  Footsteps coming down the stairwell and seconds later Jeff was standing in the kitchen. He was wearing a tank top and boxer shorts and stared at Eric without saying anything. He went to the fridge and took out a plate of leftovers, removing the tinfoil and shoving it into the microwave. “You’re drunk,” he said, turning to Eric and folding his arms. “I don’t like you coming to my house drunk.”

  “It’s not your house, Jeff.”

  They sat staring at each other, the only thing between them silence and hatred. Jeff was bigger and had seen a lot of fights since he spent some time in prison, but Eric knew he wasn’t very fast. The microwave sounded and beeped three times but they didn’t move.

  “Your mom’s asleep,” Jeff said. “I know you want a piece a me, so,” he held out his arms, “here I am. Come take it.”

  Eric’s fingers tightened around the glass and his stomach fluttered, but he didn’t budge from his chair. Attacking him was what Jeff wanted. And he wasn’t sure he’d come out on top.

  Jeff took a couple steps toward him, a sardonic smile across his face. “You know what your dad’s problem was? He wasn’t a real man. A real man knows how to fuck his wife. That was why they got divorced, did you know that? Your dad couldn’t fuck her right. But me, hell, I fuck the shit out of her every night in your dad’s bed and she loves it. And you know what else she likes? She likes when I smack her around. I mean, sometimes, when I’m loaded, I go too far and we gotta go to the hospital, but that bitch loves takin’ a punch when it comes from me.”

  Eric was on his feet. He swung at Jeff with a right and Jeff tried to duck but it caught him on the cheek. Eric threw another punch, landing on Jeff’s skull as he ducked down. Jeff came up with a punch that landed squarely on Eric’s jaw and dazed him. He took a step back as Jeff stood up straight and started jab after jab into Eric’s face, his nose and lips instantly starting to bleed and swell. Jeff grabbed him with one hand around his collar and pinned him against the counter, punching his face with his free hand. Eric felt lightheaded and knew he’d go out soon. He reached back into the sink and grabbed a dirty glass, swinging it into Jeff’s temple.

  The glass shattered cutting both men as Jeff shouted “Fuck!” and covered his eye with his hand. Eric’s vision was spinning and his face throbbed; his eye was starting to swell shut. He turned to leave the house and felt an impact on the back of his head and saw a bright white light as he hit the ground.

  Jeff was on top of him, punching and swearing, foamy spit spewing from his mouth. He wrapped his hands around Eric’s throat and began to squeeze. Eric’s breathing was instantly stopped and his lungs felt like they’d explode. Blood rushed to his face as he gasped and wheezed, trying to slip in air. He clawed at Jeff’s hands but he was too angry to let go. In his eyes, Eric could see he was going to kill him.

  The blood was rushing and the world was going black so Eric didn’t hear the scream that echoed in the kitchen. But he did see the silhouette of his mom grabbing Jeff. She wrapped her hands softly around his face and was sobbing. She was saying, “Look at me darling, look at me Jeff, look at me” and trying to bring Jeff’s eyes up to hers. Tears were streaming down her face but she kept speaking in a soft voice and held Jeff’s face gently. His eyes, bloodshot and full of hate, came up to hers. Her almond eyes soothed him.

  “Let him go,” she said softly, “let him go my darling, let him go.”

  Jeff squeezed harder, gritting his teeth, nearly crushing Eric’s throat, and then let go. He stood up, knocking the table over as he stormed out. The red wine flowed over the ground as Eric felt his mother’s hands caressing his face. He began to violently cough and his throat burned as he took in a deep breath.

  “It’s okay,” his mother was saying, wiping at the tears that were dropping down onto his face. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

  Once he was able to breathe regularly, Eric stood up, his head pounding, and walked out of the house, saying nothing to his mother who he was sure just saved his life.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Concord New Hampshire was warm but the cool mountain breeze helped. There were few cars out; it was Sunday and people either went to church or stayed home watching sports. There were only two gyms in town and both were going bankrupt; it wasn’t a city that focused on fitness or outward appearance. Though the tourism boards liked to say so, the outdoors didn’t hold any fascination for the people that lived here. Only the tourists packed the ski slopes and the hiking trails. Most natives held some resentment for the tourists. They all stayed in areas the natives couldn’t afford, and enjoyed things natives didn’t have time for. The tourists were the elite and only interacted with locals when they were waiters or pumping gas or cleaning hotel rooms.

  Eric Holden was a local but he didn’t hate the tourists. In a way, he never really felt at home here and identified more with the tourists anyway.

  He sat on top of a grassy knoll outside the dorms, reading an old copy of A Farewell to Arms and sipping a vodka and orange juice. The bruises and cuts on his face were nearly healed but he was convinced they’d been slowed by the alcohol; he’d been drunk every day since his father’s death.

  Wendy left messages for awhile but those had stopped. He had no intention of calling her back; suddenly, everyone seemed dull. It was like something was weighing him down, making it harder and harder to do anything. Worse he had no desire to do anything, except drink.

  A car pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the curb. Wendy got out wearing her tennis outfit and walked over, casually sitting next to him.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.”

  “Jason told me. I’m sorry Eric,” she said.

  “I’ll be fine. I just need some time.”

  “How much time?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t feel right, you know? I’m just kind of always uncomfortable.”

  “My mom’s flying out to Switzerland in a couple weeks and I’m going with her. Would you want to come?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I think it would help.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be here when you need. Just call me, even if it’s like three in morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  She kissed him once more and then rose to leave. She blew him a kiss as she pulled away and he forced a smile and turned back to his drink.

  He wasn’t sure what love was but he thought maybe he loved her. She understood him in a way few others did. When he said he wanted to be left alone, she left him alone and didn’t keep urging him to talk.

  The front entrance to the dorms opened and Jason came out in a sweat-suit. He sat on the grass next to Eric but didn’t say anything; just took a sip of his drink, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of a breeze against his face. “I haven’t seen you in biology for awhile,” Jason said.

  “I haven’t gone to any classes for a couple weeks.”

  “It’s not even 10 in the morning and you’re already drunk, I can tell by the way you talk.”

  “So?”

  “For me that’d be normal. Fuck Eric, I know where I’m goin’. I barely got into college and I’m barely gonna get out. I’ll work some shitty job, probably be in some shitty marriage and have a ton of affairs. That’s me. That’s what God gave me so that’s what I’m gonna do. But that’s not you man. You’re smart. You can do whatever you want.”

  Eric exhaled loudly through his nose and put the drink down, raising his eyes to watch the leaves tumble on the pavement. “I have dreams about it almost every
night,” he said. “I see my dad in some hole with maggots eating what’s left of him. When I drink and black out, I don’t dream.” He picked up his drink and took a long pull. “I think you and him were the only friends I had.”

  “You still got me.”

  “I know.”

  Jason looked to some girls that were walking by and waved. One of them said, “Hi Jason.” He turned to Eric. “Come out with me tonight.”

  “I don’t feel like it,” Eric said.

  “So? Who feels like doing anything we do? Just come out.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Jason said, happy. “I’m goin’ to Donna’s house right now but we’ll swing by around seven to pick you up.” He rose and watched his friend awhile in silence before walking out to the parking lot.

  Eric finished his drink and lay down on the warm grass, squinting at the sun and bright blue sky above him. A few clouds drifted lazily by, slow moving giants that gave him a little shade now and again. He took a deep breath and got up. He had no desire to be here when Jason came to pick him up.

  Most bars were closed but there was one that doubled as a grill that would be open for breakfast this early. As Eric drove down the empty streets heading toward the bar, he realized for the first time that he hated this place. He could see why his father wanted to leave it so badly. James and his mother had fought once about moving to California. James thought there was more opportunity there and no winters. He said it would give Eric more options when college time comes around. His mother refused to go, saying all her friends and social clubs were here. At the time, Eric thought his dad just wanted to be somewhere more exciting. But now, he could see that James was trying to get out. A small town could make someone feel like a noose was around their neck and the thought of moving might help them wiggle free. But the noose just gets tighter over the years, like it did with his father.

  The bar was dim and filled with cigarette smoke as Eric walked in. A good place to get drunk. He ordered three beers and a Long Island iced tea, taking a table so that he wouldn’t have to talk to the bartender. The few people here were getting drunk too; after all, who eats breakfast at a bar? Their faces looked sad. Gray and lifeless. They looked like dying men, and there was silence between them.

  Eric finished his drinks and stood up to leave. By now he was thoroughly drunk; right at the point between feeling outgoing and feeling sick. His face was hot and he was sweating as he stepped outside into the sunlight. There was something odd about being drunk during the day; like it just wasn’t meant to be. The body seemed to have a hard time adjusting.

  He climbed into the car, fumbling a little with his keys, and drove away. He could tell he was swerving because the lines in the road kept going underneath the car, but other than that he felt like he was doing all right. Besides, the roads were nearly empty.

  He got all the way to the Safeway by the dorms before he saw red and blue flashing lights in his mirrors.

  CHAPTER

  12

  After being processed, Eric was taken to a large holding cell at the precinct the officers called the “Pit.” It was essentially a large concrete room with a toilet and sink used to pack in drunks until they sobered up. It stunk of vomit, feces, piss and sweat. The officer gave him a slight push as he walked in and the door slammed behind him. All manner of people were crammed in; Blacks, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Whites, Asians, Indians. Some sat on the concrete benches that circled the room, some sat on the floor and still others were lying on the ground, too drunk to sit up.

  Eric walked across the room and noticed a familiar face. It was Charles. He was leaning against the wall, his head back and his eyes closed.

  “Chuck,” Eric said as went over to him and sat down.

  Charles opened his eyes. He didn’t recognize him at first but then his eyes grew wide and he smiled.

  “Youngblood,” Charles said, “what in Christ you doin’ here?”

  Eric shrugged. “DUI. It’s bullshit, I was barely over the limit.”

  Charles shook his head. “This ain’t no place for you.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “No, I ain’t just talkin’. Young kid like you’s as good as a woman in here.”

  Eric began looking around the room at the faces staring at him. They were hard, and scarred from the hardness and they were looking at him as if he wasn’t human. Charles erupted in laughter, exposing his yellowed teeth.

  “Just fuckin’ with you youngblood. The guards come by every few minutes.” Charles looked through the bars to see if a guard was near and then pulled out two cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He gave one to Eric and took out some matches, lighting the cigarettes and looking through the bars again. “They let you smoke,” he said. “But you gotta pay the guards if they catch you.” He blew the gray smoke out in small rings. “So why you in here, boy? It ain’t like you to be such a fool.”

  The concern in Charles’ voice disarmed Eric and he found he couldn’t put on a macho façade like he wanted to. He looked around at the dirty walls and the piss stained floors and the small dirty toilet and emotion began flowing out of him as tears started to seep from his eyes. “My dad was killed a couple weeks ago and I can’t get it out of my head. I see his face in my dreams; I see his dead body. It just won’t go away.”

  Charles nodded as if he understood exactly what Eric was going through. “You said killed, not died.”

  Eric didn’t respond and Charles kept talking.

  “Well, you only got two choices youngblood; revenge or forgiveness. Forgiveness ain’t never worked for me. Sometimes, the pain runs so deep only revenge can reach it, you know what I’m talkin’ about?”

  “Yeah.” Eric took a puff of the cigarette; it was wet and the smoke tasted like rusted metal. “How’d you get like this, Chuck?”

  “Homeless?”

  Eric nodded.

  “Same choice as you got youngblood; revenge or forgiveness.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was married when I was in Nam. Beautiful girl I met at church up in Portland where my grandma was livin’. She used to make me think I could do anything. You’re too young for a woman like that, but if you’re lucky, you’ll find one in your lifetime.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I got leave to go home on account a my mama goin’ in for surgery. I thought I’d surprise my wife by showin’ up.” Charles began playing with his cigarette, absentmindedly twirling it in his fingers. “Came home and she was fuckin’ our neighbor.” Charles smirked. “I loaned that motherfucker my lawnmower once.” He flicked his ashes on the ground and leaned his head back against the wall. “I didn’t catch ‘em fuckin’ you know. But when she opened the door, I could tell. Somethin’ in her face. But it didn’t matter cause that cocksucker was sittin’ on the couch in my bathrobe smokin’ my cigars. You believe that?”

  Charles stopped talking and stared off into space. “So,” Eric said, “what’d you do?”

  Charles looked him in the eyes and blew a waft of smoke out of his nose. “What you think I did?”

  Eric turned away, staring at the cold ground and the little cracks that were starting to appear in the cement. “Both?”

  “Both.”

  “Then you ran?”

  “Then I ran,” Charles said, putting the cigarette out on the floor and stuffing the butt into his pocket. “That’s the choice you got; revenge or forgiveness. I regret my choice; but that was just who I was then. You just gotta make sure you don’t regret yours.”

  Eric spent the night at the jail and was given a breakfast of cold ham and stale toast in the morning. The other inmates inhaled the food without much reservation; most of them didn’t look at what they were eating. Charles was pickier; he scraped off a layer of the ham with his fork before putting it on the toast and eating.

  “You’ll be outta here today,” Charles said.

  “How long do you have to be here?”

  “Not muc
h longer. Caught me sleepin’ in the Grocery Mart downtown. They’ll give me a ticket and maybe keep me here a little longer.” He finished off his toast and had a sip of some cold coffee that had been brought in. “Thinkin’ bout leavin’ the East Coast though. Winters are rough.”

  “Where you gonna go?”

  “California. Maybe Hawaii if I can find a ride.”

  The locations seemed exciting to Eric at first, until he realized Charles would be doing the exact same thing there, probably ending up in jails just like this one. He thought it incredibly sad that no matter where he went it didn’t make a difference.

  Eric was released before noon and said good bye to Charles, promising to stop and say hello if he sees him again. Eric’s mother was waiting outside in her Sedan to drive him home and she didn’t say anything as he climbed in.

  They drove in silence before Eric looked over to her; she was wearing a scarf and dark sunglasses. The sun was out but it wasn’t that bright yet and it certainly wasn’t cold.

  “Why’re you wearing a scarf?”

  “Thought it might be cold,” she said softly.

  Eric looked closely and could see the red marks and dark purple bruises poking out from underneath the scarf. He reached over and pulled it off her. She said “No” but didn’t make any movements to stop him.

  There were finger marks embedded on her neck, a rainbow of colors going across her throat and just under her jaw line. Eric took off her sunglasses, revealing an eye that was swollen shut, pus glistening around it.

  Eric punched at the dashboard and his mother jumped.

  “I’ll fucking kill him!”

  “No, Eric don’t do anything,” his mother said pleadingly. “It was my fault. I deserved it.”

  “Mom—”

  “No please Eric, he’ll kill us both. Please, you don’t know him like I do; he’ll kill us both,” she said as she started to sob. She pulled the car over and began to cry into her hands. “He’ll kill us both.”