by Diane Strong
The spindly guy walks to the coffee table and begins to open a package of tin foil. The girl turns her focus to him, lets go of her grasp on the puppy at her face and it drops with a squeal. Unconcerned for the puppy, she walks over to sit next to the man.
“Hey baby, you sharing’? Are you, Pyro? You’re lovin’ me, aren’t you, baby?” She rubs her body against him and sucks on his ear lobe.
Still feeling stoned, Luke sways back and forth watching the puppy sniff the ground. He rubs his hands up and down his upper arms as if cold, but he isn’t cold, just a little restless. The puppy has absorbed Luke’s full attention. He wants to pet the puppy and hold the puppy. Why did the puppy move so far away? The puppy walks from one stain on the carpet to the next, sniffing.
The puppy barely loses stride as it squats and pees on the carpet, then runs off to pounce on an old sock. It takes the sock, holds it between its front paws and tears at it, then swiftly tosses the sock up into the air and runs after it. Luke stares trance-like, in awe of what he sees.
As Luke smiles in response to the carefree puppy, a throbbing headache takes hold of his head without warning. The throbbing consumes him, steals his focus then quickly turns to anger. I don’t want to feel like this, I need to get away from the feeling. Maybe I should move. He feels anxious now and needs to get up for a minute. Clumsily, he rocks forward onto his knees but before he can hoist his weight up, a separate weight slams him back to the ground.
“Hey!” Sit down! You’re not going anywhere! Sit down!”
“I’m leaving...”
Luke throws his arm back in protest, knocking a pipe out of Pyro’s hand. Stunned by Lukes audacity, Pyro turns yelling and kicks him in the head with his heavy booted foot. Without comprehending what had happened, Luke falls back, confused; his eyes roll back in his head and he loses consciousness for the second time.
“Watch him, make sure he doesn’t move!”
Pyro yells at Shelly, she tries to stand, loses her balance and catches herself before walking to Luke’s body to stand guard. Luke lays motionless, his chest rises and falls calmly, still breathing. His eyes open lazily, roll back in his head, and close again.
“Get something to tie him with!”
Pyro falls over himself trying to find anything that might work to tie the intruder. In desperation he grabs an old pair of ripped jeans and tosses them at Luke’s body. “Here.” The plastic bag in the hallway produces a turtle neck and tosses that at Luke too. The clothing confuses Shelly, she fumbles trying to tie them to Luke.
“I need that hit, Pyro. I can’t concentrate.” She releases the turtle neck and slumps in protest.
“I’m not wasting any more shit on him so you better tie him up. He’ll be ready to bolt when he comes down. I don’t need his asshole running to the cops, complaining about squatters trying to rape him.” Pulling out drawers one at a time in the kitchen, Pyro slams them shut when he finds them empty or filled with useless items.
“You shoulda never wasted it on him anyway. That’s my shit too! Look in that end cabinet, I saw something in there.” Shelly points at a tall broom closet. After an unnecessary struggle with the door, Pyro finds a brand new bundle of clothes line on the floor next to a dust pan. He tears at the plastic wrap with his teeth and unrolls the bundle.
“Hold his hands together.”
I want to be, happy and free… like a soda pop can sitting atop the world…. Luke wakes with a song in his head. He opens his eyes and sees a large stained wall with brown patches. Water. They had a leak in the roof and it dripped down the wall. They need to fix that. It’s okay, it’s not leaking now. There is pressure on the side of his face. It’s his weight- the weight of his head. He lies on his side, gazing at the far wall. Why?
Moisture on his face distracts him, something licks his nose. It’s a Fuck Head. …Why did I call this sweet puppy Fuck Head? When he turns his head to look at the puppy it gets excited and tries to climb onto Luke’s Face. He smells puppy pee and feels wet puppy penis hairs on his lips. “Blaaah. Go away, Fuck Head.”
“Hey! Don’t call her that! Her name is Sugar, because she’s so sweet. Aren’t you, baby?” Shelly yells as she sits in the corner holding her knees to her chest, rocking.
For the first time since waking, Luke tries to move his legs, they won’t budge. Still lying on his side, he can feel his wrists tied together. His arms are shoved between his upper thighs, tucked into his crotch, his knees drawn to his chest. Rope loops around him a dozen times wrapping him like a mummy, leaving no room for movement.
“What is this? What is going on?” He says, still confused, nothing makes sense to him. His poisoned brain cannot explain his situation.
“Hi Jock.” Pyro elbows Shelly’s body, she has her head down on her knees. “Your boy-toy’s awake, Shell.”
She yanks her head up from her knees and glances at Luke.
“I’m not Jock. I’m Lukas. Lukas…Randal.” Luke tries to rub his face on his shoulder attempting to satisfy an unattainable itch. “I have to pee.”
“Too bad, fucker, we just got you tied, we ain’t untying you.” Pyro glances over at Shelly and elbows her hard in the ribs again. As if in slow motion, she peeks up from her knees and lowers her head back down, humming.
“What is this?” Luke struggles. Examining his surroundings, he lifts his head from the carpet. “Where the hell am I?” The restraints don’t budge no matter how hard he pulls against them. “You know, my wife is probably searching for me.” As he says this, his brain remembers his wife is dead. His heart sinks and lands with a thud at the pit of his gut.
“Chill out, Jock. You’re in good company.” He belts out a laugh and elbows Shelly again. She doesn’t bother to look up.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“With who?” Pyro twists around surprised as if just realizing he isn’t alone.
“The girl. What’s wrong with the girl? She isn’t responding to you.” Using his nose, Luke points at Shelly who still sits in the corner with her knees drawn to her chest, head down.
“She’s in dreamland. She’ll be back in a bit.”
Luke’s head pounds as blood rushes in his ears, his hips burn from being folded like an accordion. Now that His brain has cleared, he obsesses over his pounding head and how generally disgusting he feels. The irritation gnaws at him as he tries to reach an itch on his neck.
“Hey. Hey, Pyro, is that your name?”
Pyro’s head pops up and stares though Luke.
“Can you help me with these ropes, buddy? They’re kind of tight and I need to pee.”
Pyro thinks about it for a minute, his brains not sure what to do. “Screw you.” He spits his words toward Luke, then lights a cigarette.
Shelly’s rises her head from her knees and contemplates the situation for a moment before extending her arms out and beginning a slow crawl across the floor toward Luke.
“Don’t you fuckin’ touch him, Shelly. Leave him alone.”
She pauses, glances back briefly at Pyro, then continues to crawl toward Luke. “I’m just playin’ Pyro, don’t worry, I won’t untie him.”
She gets to Luke and puts her face in his. Her blackened teeth peak out from behind her chapped lips as she speaks to him. “You have to pee? Do you?” Her wretched breath reeks of stale smoke and chemicals. She climbs on top of his body and straddles him. “Does this help?” She says, jumping up and down, laughing. A sharp pain shoots through his back and he holds his breath waiting for her to stop.
Shelly grabs her head with both hands, trying to stop the sudden rush of dizziness, “Awe, my head.” She walks back over to Pyro, grabs a bag of licorice from the table and yanks out a string to chew. “Give me some crystal, baby. Let’s hit the crystal. I need to move.” Bits of Licorice spit from her mouth.
Pyro uses a shaky hand to pull a small plastic bag filled with white rocks from his shirt pocket. They huddle around the coffee table. Luke can’t see what’s happening, but he
hears a lighter, an acrid smell burns his nostrils.
“Hey! Come on, untie me. Please. I won’t tell anyone, just let me go and I’ll pretend like I never saw either of you, okay? I’ve got money, you need money?” Luke rambles in a panic.
They ignore his pleas, focusing on their arms instead. Luke sees the flash of a syringe. Shelly pauses for a second then yanks a black rubber tube off of her upper arm and looks up to the ceiling. Her head falls backward and she rolls it from one side to the other, taking a deep breath, sighing loudly. “Mm, yeah.”
She turns her gaze on Luke. “What the hell are you staring at? He’s staring at us, Pyro. Make him stop.”
Pyro jumps up and strides over to Luke; he swings his right leg back then forward kicking Luke in the back with a sharp thud.
“Ouch. Stop. I’m not staring at you.” Luke can barely speak, his breath taken by the blow.
The puppy runs over to him and licks his chin. Luke tries to shake it off but the puppy keeps licking. Pyro walks over and tries to kick at the puppy, missing, Luke’s head flies backward and everything goes dark.
Luke wakes to the pain of the puppy gnawing on his nose. “Stop it. Oh, stop it, stupid dog.” Swollen shut, Luke’s eye refuses to open, but he can see from his left eye. A paranoid Shelly stands at the window and turns when she hears Luke’s voice.
“Leave her alone, you stupid meanie.” She storms over and scoops up the puppy.
“She’s a he.” Luke says casually.
Shelly pauses to think about what Luke said, then tilts her head. “No she’s not. Her name is Sugar…and I love her! Don’t I, Sugar?” Shelly squeezes the puppy protectively, talking at Luke.
“Yes he is. Turn him over and look. Sugar is a he. If you loved him, you would take him to the shelter.” Luke talks with his eyes closed, trying to relax the pain that radiates from his swollen head through his restrained body.
“He’s a rescue. I rescued her…him …from a place that had him tied to a toilet in the back yard. Now he’s free like a wolf.” Shelly gets mad, lets the puppy fall from her hands and starts picking at a sore on her cheek. She walks back over to the window then startles dramatically throwing her hands into the air. “There’s somebody here. There’s somebody here, Pyro!” Dropping to the ground, she begins a soldier-like crawl to the coffee table.
“What the hell? Shit, man. Get over here.” Pyro pulls on her arm and drags her the remainder of the way across the floor to him.
“What do they want, baby? What do they want?” Shelly whines.
“Shush. Be quiet.” Pyro tries to cover her mouth but she complains through his fingers.
“Help! Help me, please someone help me.” Luke hollers with every ounce of voice he can muster.
In a rage, Pyro lets go of Shelly, strides over to him and kicks him in the head.
“Ugh” The kick makes him pause but he shouts again. “Help, please…”
“Stop hurting him, Pyro. Stop it, Pyro. You’re going to kill him.”
Shelly runs over and wraps her body around Luke’s head protecting him. His cries for help become a muffled yelp. Pyro jumps up and goes to the window.
“They’re gone. They just pulled in and turned around. It’s okay. Everybody chill out.” Pyro holds his arms out, pushing his palms down as if trying to quiet an entire kindergarten class. “We need to go, Shell. Get your shit.”
With the announcement that his keepers plan to leave, Luke comes to life. “What about me? Am I leaving too?”
“Fuck you.” Pyro walks around gathering his pipe and lighter. He puts the used syringe in his shirt pocket.
“Hey, man. I swear I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go. I’ve got money.” Luke picks his head up off the floor and torques it to the left, trying to make eye contact with either of them.
“He has money, Pyro. Maybe we should get his money.” Shelly pulls on Pyro’s arm as he tries to walk out the door.
“Screw him. He’s lying. He doesn’t even have pockets.” He grabs Shelly and pulls her out the door. Luke can hear them arguing as they walk down the driveway. The voices gradually fade.
Luke has no voice left. After yelling non-stop for what feels like days, his throat has turned dry and painful. Thinking back over what has happened, he attempts to calculate just how many hours have passed. Loneliness overwhelms him and for the first time since his wife died, he feels scared. Laying in the silence, his bladder feels so full his eyes water with the pain. Luke tries to convince his brain to release his bladder, just let it go. Once empty, he won’t obsess over it, he’ll feel better and be able to concentrate, but he can’t bring himself to do it. No, he can’t pee on himself. Luke closes his eyes.
Luke stands over the toilet in his bathroom feeling so much better now that he can finally pee. This is definitely the longest pee he has ever had in his life. The sound of the peeing makes him thirsty. He stares longingly at the sink and imagines turning the water on- a tall glass of water sounds unbelievable. As soon as he’s done peeing, he plans to stick his face under the faucet and turn it on. He stares at the stream, still peeing. It just keeps coming. He continues to stare into the toilet, watching the water level rise. Sheba appears at his ankle, rubbing and pushing her body into him. “Oh Sheba, my sweet kitty.”
Despite being able to pee, he doesn’t feel relieved. The pressure still remains. Concern takes over as he notices the toilet- it is filled nearly to the top. It might overflow and go everywhere making a huge mess. Joanie will get mad. He wants to pause his pee so he can flush the toilet but he can’t stop the flow. He tries to reach down to flush and feels urine spill on his leg. Joanie gasps from behind him. He stands up quickly and turns to find her, but she isn’t there. The pee keeps coming. As he watches, it inches closer to the top rim of the toilet and the stream turns bright red with blood. A sudden gush floods the toilet.
Luke startles awake, taking a deep breath of mildewed air. His leg feels warm and wet. The carpet beneath him squishes warm and soggy, a rush of horror battles with the feeling of relief. A moment later, the sudden desire for water erases his concerns about peeing on himself- he has to drink. The cottony feel of his tongue fills his mouth.
The right side of Luke’s body is raw from the pressure of the ropes and the weight of his body. He can’t bear to lie in this position any longer so he begins to rock his body. With little effort he pulls his knees over to the left and gradually rolls his body over so he lies on the other side. Now he stares at the wall, just inches from it. With the pressure off his right side, the feeling of relief is immense, almost taking his mind off his current situation.
Luke tries again to yell with his scratchy, barely audible voice. The sound he produces is pathetic, a mere whimper in a world of chaos. Trapped in an abandoned house, in the middle of nowhere, without a voice, he edges near hysteria. “Oh God. Ooh.” He pauses allowing the silence to fill the room, then begins to sob. “Oh, Joanie…Joanie, what am I going to do? Oh.” Tears drip from his face as he squeezes his eyes in desperation.
A light scratching sound from the kitchen steals his attention. “Hello?” He holds his breath and listens. “Hello?” After a few seconds of silence, the puppy comes running into the room wagging its tail wildly.
“Hey, buddy! Oh, am I happy to see you. I don’t want to be alone. Did you bring me help? Did ya, buddy?”
The puppy licks his face. His hairy lips feel wet on Luke’s cheek as though it had just been drinking out of a puddle. The licking stings his face as the puppy’s tongue keeps touching Luke’s tender eyes and nose. The puppy licks the dried blood from his face. How sweet.
Luke wakes to darkness. He had a dream about Joanie. She stood on a beach with the ocean in the background, her loose clothing flapping in the wind. She waved for Luke to come to her then opened her arms as if offering a comforting hug.
There is warmth at his neck. The puppy sleeps curled-up under his chin. Luke watches lights flash across the wall, then disappear. It wa
s a car, a passing car. There is traffic on this road. How do I get it to stop? How do I get it to notice me? How will they find me?
Luke has a plan. He’s been playing with movement. When he rolls onto his back, he can use his shoulder blades and hips to walk his body. He can only move in the direction of his head and as he sets out walking his hips and shoulders, it only takes a few motions before his head hits the wall and he has nowhere else to go.
Luke rocks his body left and right, trying to turn his head toward the door and away from the wall. Each rock from the left side to the right side produces less than an inch of rotation toward the door. The ropes dig into his back. The rocking is so painful and exhausting, he has to rest. A can of Mountain Dew on the coffee table offers him renewed strength. Now he has a goal- the coffee table.
Luke rolls to his left side, then takes his weight and rolls his body over to the right side. He wedges himself along the wall, half way turned around, half way headed in the right direction. This small achievement makes him happy. The puppy feels his happiness, running around the carpeted floor, darting from one corner to the next. “Thanks, Sugar. Thanks for the encouragement.”
After a pause to build his strength, Luke sets out on a slow inching crawl on his back. The motion of walking his hips make his lower back burn in agony. The ropes wrapped around his torso dig deep into his backbone with each rubbing movement. His painful cries produce very little noise.
After an hour of frustratingly slow crawling, he now lies parallel with the coffee table and staring at the Mountain Dew. With his first goal met, he ponders the task of getting the sweet fluid into his mouth. What if the can is empty? It can’t be. If he knocks the table hard with his folded knees, the can should tip over. But he has no way of knowing which direction the can will fall. And even if it does fall, how does he control the fluid as it spills onto the table top?