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Twisted Reunion

Page 22

by Tullius, Mark


  That was the fantasy, so far from the truth. Gina was way too beautiful and glamorous for a bumbling dipshit like Raymond. Still, he kept snapping pictures, actually getting a few decent angles of the city skyline and an action shot of two homeless guys racing shopping carts in an alley.

  Raymond kept the photos in a manila folder, which he carried everywhere, waiting for the perfect opportunity to accidentally let them fall out in front of Gina. She’d help him pick them up and he’d ask her opinion.

  Finally, one afternoon, he mustered the courage to follow her into the break room. As he prepared the coffee he didn’t really want, Gina started frantically swatting at a fly. It landed on the wall, and Raymond, panicked and amped with adrenaline, squished it with his manila folder. When he pulled away, the splattered bits of fly on the wall looked like a burst of fireworks.

  Gina screamed. “No! Oh my God, why did you do that?”

  “What? I thought…”

  “I was trying to shoo it.”

  “What?”

  “Shoooooo it.”

  Raymond noticed the open window, and he was suddenly the little kid who disgusted his poor, old mother.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s a living creature.” She walked up to the stain. “Awwww.” She said it like she’d just watched a fluffy puppy’s eyeball fall out.

  Raymond mumbled an apology and slunk back to his desk, where he berated himself until the shame started to turn him on, which made him feel even more like a freak.

  He looked for a new job, even went on an interview, but no one was looking to hire an old dog with no tricks. So he tried to avoid thoughts of Gina at all costs. He’d turn up his headphones when he heard her in the office. He no longer stood by the water cooler at that awkward angle so he could watch her wait for the bus. He didn’t drive anywhere near her apartment.

  The photography was all that remained of his infatuation. Raymond spent every second of free time taking pictures. Maybe his talent would one day outshine his dumb face. It wasn’t impossible. This was a woman whose heart was so big she even loved a filthy little fly.

  But time was running out. Raymond hadn’t snapped anything good enough to even hang on a refrigerator, and Gina wasn’t going to be here forever.

  Raymond jabbed his thumb into the meat. He dug until a little pocket of pink flesh was exposed. Then he sat back on the stool and watched as one of the flies took notice. “There you go,” he said.

  But the fly swooped back and headed towards the corner. Raymond wondered if he should just get a can of Raid. He could arrange their lifeless bodies on the meat precisely the way he wanted. But that wouldn’t be fair to Gina. She deserved more than some cheap lie.

  Chuckles let out a low growl behind the bedroom door. Raymond realized he hadn’t fed him dinner. The smell of meat had to be driving him crazy. Raymond had locked him in the bedroom because Gina had a thing about dogs licking her. He’d considered letting Gina in the studio with him, but he couldn’t work with someone watching, judging every move. Gina probably wouldn’t be critical, but it was better this way. He was already panicking and sweating. He just hoped she would stick around a little longer. If she left before he finished, he didn’t know what he would do.

  Maybe he should check on her? He needed a fresh piece of meat anyway. This was the third piece he’d had to toss out, and of course, the flies swarmed the moment it thunked in the bin. Raymond wiped his hands on his shirt and opened the door. Chuckles jumped against it, his claws scratching.

  “Cut that out or you’re not getting dinner.” Raymond tried to sound tough, but he couldn’t help smiling as Chuckles wagged his tail across the carpet.

  Raymond knelt down and let Chuckles lick his fingers. A tiny sliver of bone fell off Raymond’s shirt and Chuckles snarfed it down in one bite. “Be careful. You don’t want to choke, silly.”

  Chuckles’ mouth was stained red with meat juice. Raymond shook his head and told Chuckles to stay. He didn’t need Gina freaking out from the dog bounding in and slobbering all over her.

  Raymond slipped into the kitchen where Gina sat at the table. Chuckles’ whimpers seeped under the door as Raymond headed for the fridge. “Hey there, beautiful.” He brought out two energy drinks and said, “I think this will be my best work yet. Trust me, you are going to love it.”

  He popped the tab on one of the cans and took a long pull. “I know you’re upset I’m not finished yet, but there’s no reason to cry. I’ll be done soon. I promise.” Raymond downed the rest of his drink and opened the second one. “But…I do need a new piece.”

  Gina tried to scream, but the dirty dishtowel muffled her cries. Raymond reached down and grabbed the power saw under the table. Her open stumps were beginning to fester. A few flies dipped in the soft, gooey tendrils. They must have snuck in through the vent.

  Raymond grabbed her remaining arm. Gina tried to pull away, but the restraints kept her in place. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “I promise, fourth time’s a charm.”

  Surviving the Holidays

  At twelve years old, Paul began to suspect he was jaded. He wasn’t entirely certain he knew what it meant, but that’s the word that popped into his head and it felt right. What other explanation could there be for a kid hating Christmas? Paul just couldn’t wait for this day to be over, the squeals of his brothers and sisters rummaging through presents only making it worse. He didn’t want to be this way. In fact, he envied his younger siblings. He wished he could feel their joy. But in the Harrison household, when you reached a certain age, Christmas lost its innocence, presents no longer mattered. That time had come for Paul and his older brother, Ron, who was slumped next to him on the couch. They had both seen too much and remembered too well.

  Jonathan and Francis, the blue-eyed twins, rattled boxes to their ears, trying to guess what was inside. Emily fluffed a bow that had gotten smashed in the stacking. And Tina, who’d just turned five, was begging for help. She’d somehow gotten herself tangled in a string of garland.

  Mother let out a little snort from the kitchen. “Ron, help your sister.”

  Ron grabbed an end of the garland and twirled little Tina around and around until she was finally free. From the laughter and cheer, you’d never know the family had lost five children on this very day. There were reminders though: their stockings still hung above the chimney; their homemade ornaments dangled on branches; the slips of paper with everyone’s names, and Tommy’s misshapen star on top of the humungous fake pine. But these reminders were nothing compared to Emily’s missing index finger or Jonathan’s wheelchair. Ron wore a long-sleeve t-shirt to hide his scars, but Paul had seen them all before. The fifteen-year-old looked like he’d run naked through a field of barbed wire. And finally, there was Tina and the puckered pink skin around her little glass eye. She was the only one who didn’t remember how she’d gotten hurt. Paul envied her the most.

  Only five minutes to midnight and Christmas would officially begin. Then they’d vote and open presents. Paul wondered if other families had stupid rituals like theirs.

  Francis stood up. Paul had seen his mangled face a thousand times, but it always looked worse at night in the shadows. Francis said, “I’m going to clean up this year. Who wants to bet?”

  Jonathan said, “It’s a little hard to tell. Yours are pretty heavy, but I bet you anything Emily’s are worth more.” He whispered, “She asked for jewelry.”

  Emily pushed Jonathan’s wheelchair. “You can’t tell people what I asked for! You know the rules!”

  Jonathan stuck out his foot to keep from crashing into the wall.

  Francis dragged a box out from behind the tree. “Check this one out. It’s the biggest one. It must weigh over fifty pounds.”

  “No way.” Jonathan spun back and said, “Maybe Mom got me the weights I wanted.”

  Francis said, “It’s Paul’s.”

  Paul ran over and read the tag. “It’s a mistake,” he said. “That’s not mine.”
/>   “It has your name on it,” Emily said.

  “It’s not mine. I only asked for clothes.”

  Francis tried to shake the present but it barely budged. “These are some heavy clothes.”

  “Only clothes. That’s all I asked for. I swear.”

  Ron said, “Why would we believe you?”

  “’Cause I’m telling you. It’s not mine.”

  Jonathan did a quick count. “It is yours.” He pointed at a pile of boxes by the ottoman. “And these are your others.”

  Paul told himself weight didn’t mean anything. Two years ago, the wrapping on one of Brian’s gifts had been torn, revealing a new computer box. But inside were only rock-filled socks.

  Less than a minute to midnight and Paul still hadn’t made up his mind. Sometimes it was better not to, just go with instinct, but this year he felt he should give his decision a little more thought. Now that Tina was old enough, things could get interesting.

  A loud ‘ho-ho-ho’ bellowed from the hallway and out came Paul’s mother and father, both dressed as Mr. and Mrs. Claus. His dad adjusted his fake beard and grabbed his gut.

  “Merry Christmas, children!” He slung a red velvet sack over his shoulder. It sounded like metal clanging inside.

  Mrs. Claus handed everyone a pencil and piece of paper. The kids scattered and started scribbling. Paul looked over at Emily, who covered her slip.

  Tina asked, “Why do I have to vote? I don’t want to.”

  In a deep Santa voice, Dad asked, “Do you want presents?”

  She shuffled her feet and nodded. Mom guided her to the table and helped her hold the pencil.

  “Do you want two extra presents?” Mom whispered.

  Tina’s eyes brightened. She nodded even faster.

  “Then vote for whose presents you want.”

  She eagerly looked around the room. “Anyone’s?”

  “That’s the rule,” Mom said.

  “But that’s not fair,” Jonathan whined. “She doesn’t even know what her vote means.”

  “I do too,” Tina said.

  “She’s five now. Those are the rules and it’s already after midnight,” Mom said.

  Dad took off his Santa hat and bopped Tina’s head with the fluffy white ball. “Hurry up,” he said. Tina plopped to her knees and scribbled a name. The other kids dropped their slips into the hat. Emily dropped hers as if it were on fire. Ron tossed his in. Paul still hadn’t decided.

  “Tick tock, Paul,” his mother said.

  Francis threw down his pencil. “You do this every fucking year. Just write down a name.”

  Mom smacked the back of Francis’ head. “Language.”

  “Ow!”

  Paul felt everyone’s eyes. Could they have actually picked him this time? He’d figured he’d had another year, at least. He’d always sworn if his name was called, he wouldn’t be like the others. He’d go out with a fight. But now his legs began to shake. Paul remembered he was the one who cried because he’d only gotten one Christmas present. It’s how this all started.

  Dad shoved the hat into Paul’s chest. Paul finally dropped the name. It seemed to fall in slow motion.

  Mom took the hat and stepped into the middle of the room. “Okay, listen up,” she said. “We’re only counting this once, unless there’s a tie.” She pulled out a handful of the slips and read the first. “We have one for Paul.” She held it up for everyone to see. She turned the next paper over and sounded fairly surprised when she read Paul’s name again. “That’s two.”

  Paul’s name was called a third time. He sunk back into the couch. One more vote and that was it, but he still had the chance for a tie.

  His mom looked at the next slip and turned to Paul. “Aw, I’m sorry, honey,” she said.

  “Can you read the rest?” Paul asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jonathan said.

  “I just want to know,” Paul said.

  “He’s stalling,” Emily said.

  Mom looked at the last two slips. “Wow. Six votes.”

  “That’s unanimous,” Francis said.

  Dad grabbed Paul’s arm. “You voted for yourself?!”

  Paul stared at the slips covering the table. He always voted for himself because he didn’t want to feel responsible. He just never thought it’d actually come back to hurt him. He’d assumed he was the likable one.

  Paul’s mother picked up the red velvet sack and dropped it on the table. His father continued to berate him for not being man enough to write down someone else’s name. Paul just stood there watching his mother dump out the gleaming contents of the sack.

  “Okay,” she said, “who wants Paul’s presents?”

  Tina and Emily dove for the table. Jonathan rolled over Francis’ foot.

  Francis punched his brother’s neck. “Are you stupid?”

  Paul leapt toward the table, knocking both of them out of the way. He reached for the wooden handle of the jagged bread knife.

  “Hey, he’s supposed to wait!” Tina said.

  Paul’s father grabbed his shoulder and dug his big, meaty fingers deep into Paul’s clavicle. Instinctively Paul spun, bringing the knife up, and slicing through the Santa suit. The sound of the blade carving through his father’s stomach was muffled under the padded costume, but he was no longer the invincible titan of Paul’s childhood. His father took hold of the knife, tried to stop Paul from twisting it, but Paul dropped a little lower and drove the blade against the bottom rib bone. His father began to falter.

  Paul pulled the knife out, slicing through his father’s palm. He went to stab his old man again, but a blinding white pain ripped through his lower back. Paul whipped around, his knife tearing through the air until it met Francis’ cheek.

  Francis cried out and dropped his butcher knife. Paul turned back to his father, who was now on his knees. Another blade tore through Paul’s arm, but he concentrated on his father. He stood over him, stabbing in and out of the soft, bulging skin at the back of his father’s skull. The blood poured and dripped through the fake beard.

  Paul’s Achilles snapped and he fell. He saw the bubbled flesh of his forearm as he raised his knife to all five of his brothers and sisters. He didn’t want to hurt them. He knew they felt the same, or at least that’s what he wanted to believe as Ron plunged the wooden skewer into Paul’s chest. Francis drove his knife into Paul’s left arm. Emily stabbed his right. No longer able to keep his grip, Paul’s knife clanged to the ground.

  Tina stepped forward and dragged her tiny steak knife across his throat. Paul smiled and took the weapon from her trembling hands. Gently, he made Tina turn and face his pile of presents.

  Book of Revelation

  Professor John Warrington stood in the middle of the driveway, an eight-foot-high gate towering before him. To his right was an intercom console. Its red button had faded considerably since he’d last been to this house more than five years ago. That was a day he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried.

  Not yet ready to announce himself, not sure if he’d ever be, and thinking that maybe it would be best to just turn around and go home, John tried to peer through the wrought iron gate to glimpse what awaited him. But the once-immaculate gate was now an impenetrable wall of ivy and brambles. The only metal showing was the sharp, rusted points that begged for blood, taunting the foolish to climb over them, hoping they’d slip and impale themselves on the menacing spikes.

  John wondered again what he was doing here, why he had agreed to the old man’s invitation. They hadn’t spoken since that day five years before, when Hazelwood, John’s former professor, mentor, and friend, had let John know exactly what he thought of him. Not only had Hazelwood kicked John out of his house and out of his life, but he’d threatened John with far worse. The old man had been seventy years old then, and appeared physically incapable of carrying out the vengeance he’d threatened, but his words still echoed in John’s mind.

  People change, John told himself. They get older. The
y calm down and realize they had jumped to conclusions and overreacted. Hazelwood had probably decided to forgive John and didn’t want to take his grudge to the grave.

  At least that’s what John tried to believe. The old man’s threats replayed in his mind as John glanced over his shoulder to the car he’d left at the bottom of the winding driveway.

  He should be at home, sitting next to the phone. Even though he had his cell phone with him, and the police had promised they would alert him immediately if there were any new developments, it didn’t feel right to be away from home while Susan was missing. She’d been gone since January. John had come home one afternoon to find their front door wide open. There was one suitcase missing and some of her clothes, but John had never believed she’d packed it herself. There hadn’t been a note, and Susan would never have walked out without saying goodbye. She was many things, but not someone who just ran.

  John rarely left his house since she’d vanished. He’d done nothing but pace the halls of their home, barely eating, sleeping less than a few hours at a time. The police, along with his friends and family, had encouraged John to go on living his life as best as he could. They said sitting at home wouldn’t bring Susan home any faster, and the last two months had proved their case. He knew that everyone believed Susan had left him. She was half John’s age, gorgeous and intelligent. But Susan loved him; of that much John was certain. They were going to be married in the fall.

  Hazelwood’s invitation was the first John had considered since Susan disappeard. His old mentor had sounded so excited on the phone that John had agreed immediately, despite his better judgement.

  Truthfully, John needed the distraction. There was still the nagging feeling this wasn’t a good idea; but John was out of the house now, and if he didn’t go through with the visit, he would never find out what Hazelwood had to tell him. Maybe the old man wanted to apologize after all these years, or maybe he expected one from John?

  Perhaps Hazelwood needed John’s advice on a book. The old man would be reluctant to turn to John for assistance, especially after the so-called betrayal, but Hazelwood was getting on in years and might be desperate enough to ask for John’s help. Word on campus was that Hazelwood had been living as a recluse for the past few years, rarely venturing from his property. Rumor was he’d finally given up his search for the mysterious books he once dedicated his entire life to finding.

 

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