Cutthroat Heroes, Page 4

  My words came out like sandpaper.

  “Funny how the things that make you feel good can kill you at the same time.”

  “What did you just say to me?”

  “I'm thirsty.”

  “Of course you are. We had to pump everything out of your gosh darn stomach! You're lucky to be alive.”

  “Then why do I still feel dead?”

  The doctor looked at her notes.

  “That's normal. You're still drunk.”

  I shook my head a little, and it was like little bombs were going off inside.

  “Wait....Did you say you pumped out all the alcohol?”

  “Sure did,” she said. “And here it is.” She held up a jar filled with green and red stuff. It had an artistic pattern to it – reminded me of a fancy lollypop.

  Doc went on blabbing about the dangers of drinking too much. All I could think of was opening up that jar and drinking it down and feeling good again. Old Phil, he was standing next to the doctor, depressing me. I had to drown him out. It worked the morning before. Or was it the night before? I couldn't remember. The doctor said that if I drank anymore, I'd maybe die. I said that I understood and shook her hand.

  Walking down the street, I saw that Phil was following me, hovering toward me. I ran to him and hugged him, but it turned out to be some old Chinese woman. She smiled at me. Right then, I went to the nearest store to buy more beer. And I did. And I went home and drank a crap load. But then something odd happened. The beer didn't work. There were no fascinating journeys; no happy times. I couldn't block out Phil. He still followed me. I started drinking only hards, but even that only lasted for a little while. In the end, Phil would always find some way to break back into my head. Then drinking just made me depressed.

  I needed something stronger.

  I started taking drugs – weed, meth – nothing worked!

  He'd always be there, sometimes even standing next to me, teasing me. Torturing me. I came close to banging my head against the walls so many times....

  I felt like going to church. I don't know. It's strange. One day, I just woke up, looked around at my messy room – at all my shirts on the floor, sticking to the walls, dangling from the ceiling; at the TV stuck on loud-static; smelled the vomit-air; walked on the sticky floor – and I just felt like going to church. I remember looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. My eyes were black all around. My mouth was dry. My arms had tiny holes all over them. The bathtub was filled – totally – with drug needles. I lost a lot of weight. Something like...I went from 180 to 115.

  I felt eyes on me.

  Paranoia.

  I looked around.

  “Phil??? Where are you? I know you're here. Show yourself!”

  I walked all over the house, but I couldn't find him.

  A terrible thought occurred to me. I scratched my chest. He was inside.

  Deep inside.

  I was gonna lose the war if I didn't think of something fast.

  The guy I bought drugs from was named Carl. He was my butcher.

  “What'll it be today?” he said, chopping some meat. His apron was all bloody, and he wore black gloves that went all the way up to his elbows.

  The supermarket had few customers that day. Plenty of time for him to chat with me. He leaned over the counter. “What kind of meat can I give ya, Carmen?”

  “I need stronger stuff,” I said. “Nothing's working for me. I feel like crap all the time.”

  He shrugged.

  “That's how it goes. You get a high, then you fall down. It's normal.”

  “Have you got anything else?”

  He thought for a second, then slammed his butcher's knife hard on a leg of lamb. Blood splattered against my face. I was expecting it.

  “Well...I do have this one thing. Brand new stuff. The talk of the town. Haven't tried it myself, but everyone has been saying it's tops.”

  “What's it called?”

  “Babiroin,” he said. “Like I said, I haven't tried it out yet, but when I do, I'll see if it's worth selling....”

  “I'll buy some now.”

  “Now?”

  “Now,” I said, already digging into my purse.

  He looked impressed.

  “All right. That'll be $1,000.”

  I looked at the counter.

  “And I'll take some hotdogs too, please.”

  “Which ones?”

  “The black ones.”

  “Ah! The Black Snakes. Good choice. That'll be $53.72.”

  “For hotdogs?!”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Good meat's hard to come by nowadays.”

  He disappeared behind the swinging doors for a long time. When he came back, he had my drug all wrapped in white paper. It was beating like a heart. He said not to worry. All I had to do was eat it.

  When I got home, I threw the hotdogs in the fridge and went into the bathroom with the Babiroin. I opened the wrapping and took the drug out. It was beating...slowly. It hypnotized me. I took a nibble out of it, and it tasted like so many things all rolled into one: Tasted like crushed aspirin, old pennies, a sweaty neck, an orange peel, and skim milk. Terrible; terrible. I shoved the whole heart in my mouth. The thing started to beat faster. Felt like the thing was replacing – taking over my old brain. I chewed and swallowed it all down. The stuff danced into my belly, made it warm. My skin sizzled. A great sense of peace took hold of me. I felt like I could do anything. All my dreams seemed possible. I was invincible. Life didn't stand a chance. I was a god. I was in control....

  I wanted more.

  So I went back to the market, to Carl, and demanded MORE.

  “Be careful,” he said. “Don't take so much. You could die. I think.”

  I reached into my pocket and threw money at his face.

  “Just gimme the Babiroin!”

  He counted the money and smiled and saluted me.

  “As you wish!”

  He gave me five Babiroins, all wrapped in white paper in a picnic basket. As I ran away, shoppers were staring at me with weird looks, holding their kids away from me. Many of the younglings laughed and pointed in my general direction. I could hear Carl yelling behind me.

  “Ya'all come back now! Ya hear! Hahahahahaha!”

  I couldn't place my finger on it, but there was something uncaring in his voice.

  Back home, I filled the bathtub with ice cold water and took off my clothes and splashed in. I dropped the Babiroins into the tub. They stained the water with blood, and for some reason reminded me of giant, red eyeballs – all floating between my knees. I ate a Babiroin. I was at peace! Wonderful images filled my mind: Of flowers, of sunsets, of kids laughing, of old people laughing, of reindeer licking my feet, of cats covering my body. Phil was nowhere to be seen. Gone. No one to give me grief. I was happy. Blissful. So blissful.

  Absolutely. Absolutely.

  Thank you, Babiroin. Thank you.

  I ate another, then another, then another....By the time I had the fifth one all up in my trembling mouth and down my throat, my face began to feel all funny...like there were feathers under my skin. The cold water turned hot. (Was I seeing steam?? Glowing butterflies??) Eyes on me! Jesus, no....The bathroom began to whisper things, and the tub felt like a black hole. Phil....He was near. But where? WHERE???

  Fear set in.

  “What's happening right now?”

  This might've not been the smartest of moves, I thought.

  And then the coughing started. Something in my throat tickled. It felt like a hair was in there, alive and wild. I reached in and held on to whatever it was and pulled it out – hand over hand, like a rope. Pain shot through my heart. It was like something was yanking on it. This thing was wrapped around my heart. As much as it hurt, I pulled the serpent out from my mouth. The black snake splashed in the tub, hissing, trying to bite my head off. It had Phil's head. The snake jumped up to my face, and I got the feeling it wanted to get back in my mouth, back down to my heart. I picked up the snake and h
it it against the wall a few times. I remember...I strangled it and walked out the bathroom and threw it down the stairs.

  I ran back into the bathroom and took off that heavy toilet lid. I was gonna smash that devil snake to mush. I hurried down the stairs, not believing what I saw....

  It wasn't a snake at all. It was Phil.

  “Jesus!”

  Had I killed him?

  He was unconscious. I didn't see any blood...no bones sticking out through his skin. I started kissing him. I didn't care. I've missed him. I've wanted him for an eternity. I missed kissing him. I missed touching him. I grabbed his hands and moved them around – moved them all over my body.

  “One last time,” I said. “Just one last time.”

  After I put some clothes on, I took him out back and tied him against a tree, and for a long time I just looked at him. He opened his eyes, and he tried to jump out and get me.

  “Let me go! I'll kill you! You bitch! I'll kill you!”

  I poured gasoline all over him.

  “Not before I kill you first,” I said.

  He spat at my face.

  “You mean nothing to me! I love Fran! I make LOVE to her. She's better than you!”

  I lit a match.

  “You're not going to hurt me anymore,” I said. “You're not getting in anymore. Goodbye, Phil.”

  An arrow zipped through the air and took out the match. I looked around. Phil began howling like a dog.

  “My hero!” he went. “She loves me so much!” He looked at me. “Not like you, you stupid turd!”

  I spun around. Where was she? Fran came swinging out like a naked Tarzan and kicked me in the face with her muddy foot, sending me crashing through a sliding glass door, into the kitchen. I got a big knife and ran outside.

  They were gone. Those two naked bastards were gone.

  I chased after them, shrieking a battle cry, big knife cutting through branches. When I get my hands on them, I thought, I'm gonna cut them open and finally be at peace. That's all anyone wants – right? To be at peace? I'm gonna kill'em. I'm sorry, but I have to. There's no other way. Enough with this weirdness....Peace, here I come.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE HEALING POWER OF NATURE

  PHIL

  I was home alone. There were pictures in my wallet – pictures of me and Carmen holding hands, hugging each other, kissing, looking real happy. It all made my stomach turn sour. I ripped the pictures up and burned them over the stove and flushed down the ashes. I was being dramatic. It felt great. Seeing her bits vanish in the toilet was a relief.

  Fran was off at work. I was going crazy. I was in heat. A comet flew across the moon. Random images popped into my mind, of UFOs and aliens and swords and burning cars and big eyes...but no bears.

  I grabbed at my hair and shook my head.

  Hide it all. Tell no one of this madness. Sweep it all under my mental carpet.

  That was the best thing to do. I was my own best shrink! Better I lock it all up in my brain. It was easy when I was awake. Sleep was the problem. Each night, I'd get those damn dreams – of me in the spaceship, of “them” experimenting on me. Waking up in a cold sweat, I'd roll over and hug Fran for support, but she'd kick me away and tell me to go back to sleep, that aliens didn't exist, only bears. She was right.

  Jesus, I thought, she's so smart. I deserve all this yelling. How dare I wake her from her beauty sleep?

  I opened my eyes....I was back at the house again, alone, hands to my head, tears in my eyes. Soon. My baby would be home soon. I wondered if she was thinking of me.

  Phil....

  I turned around, squinting my eyes into the house.

  “Yes?”

  This is your smarter self talking – the part that went to college for all those years. Remember me? You created me. You trained me. I'm here to tell you that sealing up all this pain and confusion will only grow into something awful. You'll go mental. One day, you might wake up and find yourself killing someone for no reason. The mind is strange that way. A real mystery box. Trust me. I'm a doctor. I know these things.

  “Lies. I'll be fine. I'm strong. I'm tough. I'm a man, and as such, my job is to hold all this in.”

  I went into the kitchen and made a grand feast. Fran would come home and kiss me all over my body. In excitement, and in preparation for our night of sex, I stripped off my clothes and baked a turkey.

  “I'll never say anything to depress her,” I promised.

  CARMEN

  The sun was up. I was in the middle of the woods? Deep, deep in there. Monkeys made odd sounds. Strange, seeing how there weren't supposed to be monkeys in Hawaii – at least not to my knowledge. I kept walking. My feet sank in mud. I felt at ease. Vines dangled all around me. Those mysterious monkeys were dancing in the trees. One came down and fed me a banana. I said my thanks and ate it. The monkey smiled (I think) and ran away screaming.

  A wonderful vibration filled me.

  Home....Home....

  Peace.

  Peaceful.

  Everywhere I looked, animals smiled at me.

  The deer smiled; the racoons smiled; the anteaters smiled; the rabbits smiled. I kept thinking, How many of you guys are native to these here parts? No matter. I loved them. I walked up and hugged them all. A deer even let me ride on his back. The grand beast took me for a ride, and we jumped over fallen logs and mud puddles. I laughed and laughed....

  After two hours of riding through the woods, I crawled out from a dirty-brown lake and realized I was in the nude. Where were my clothes? When did I take them off? Didn't matter. I was in ecstasy!

  And then I was running through the woods and laughing – laughing at the top of my lungs. Eventually, I started screaming. I was releasing all those emotional toxins.

  At nighttime, those forest animals fed me all sorts of things: Berries, leaves, bark, and other things of nature. I had the bright idea of maybe cooking the berries, and a lightning bolt shot from the sky and hit the ground right at my feet, into a pile of wood, and a huge fire started. We all cooked our various foods. My deer friend turned to me and asked if I wanted meat this time around. I said I did, and he ran off behind a tree. He came back after a minute and spat flesh into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed as politely as I could. I didn't question it.

  Then I started getting a strange feeling in my belly...a strange hunger. I wanted brains. But not just any brains. Baby brains.

  I knew then that I was crazy.

  I needed that damn drug. I had to get off of it. I got embarrassed and ran off. My animal friends called out to me – all bleeping and honking – and ran after me, concerned about me, but I was just too ashamed to show my face. I was a drug addict. I was a loser. I didn't deserve friends. I didn't deserve love....Not until I cleaned myself up. I climbed a tree and sat on a branch. Of course! That was it! I thought. After I clean myself up. It made perfect sense. First get off the baby drug, then the alcohol drug, then the coffee drug, then get a job, then get rich and famous. The meaning of life was clear. I had to turn myself into a success. I climbed down and told the animals my plan. They thought it was a wise decision, and they wished me well and said they would do all they could to help me on my way.

  As I stared out at the Honolulu lights way in the distance, I said to myself, “I can do this. I can get clean. I have the power. I can be normal again. I can make something of myself. I can make a difference. I can be important. I can matter to someone....I can find a new love.”

  And as I said that last part out loud, something in me clicked.

  Something in me didn't really believe.

  Maybe didn't wanna believe.

  LOLLIGAL

  I was at work when that butcher, Carl, came into my confessional. We spoke on the phone earlier that day. He didn't have much money, but he said that if I gave him the service – inject his love ghost into someone he had the hots for (some old teacher he once had) – he'd give me a free month's worth of meat. I took him back into the white room and perfor
med the big suck on him. After the operation, he went outside and gave me an oily, dripping, brown box of various meats. He said that, as a bonus, he threw in a cow's head. I accepted his deal. See, I owed him a favor anyway. Carl once stopped a bunch of football players from beating up my daughter. Good kid, that Carl. Always handy with his butcher's knife....

  Walking back into the church, a line of ten cats followed me. I gave them some sausages and sent them on their way.

  In my office, I gathered my crew – the nuns and my UFO pilot – and gave them their share of meat. They were all very grateful, but meat wasn't going to pay the bills, so I went over to my safe and took out a big bag of money with a dollar sign on it. I handed out the bills. As everyone smiled and counted their pay, I said, “Now let's hurry up and get ready. We have another job to do.”

  Everyone walked out.

  Except for my UFO pilot – Jody.

  She was crying.

  “Lolligal, I need more money,” she said. “My mother...her medical bills keep going up.”

  I sat her down.

  “Is it the medicine?”

  She sniffed. “It's her eye drops! One month they're $20, and the next month they're $60.”

  “And now?”

  “$200....” she said.

  I was horrified.

  “Jesus Lord God. I am horrified.”

  “Indeed,” she said. “She needs those eye drops. Without them, she says it feels like her eyes are being dipped in acid. She actually just ran out of them eye drops. Mom's been crying all the time for the past week. Why, just the other day, she was cooking bacon when blood started falling from her eyes! Oh, no....Please, please help me. I know I shouldn't ask for more money. I don't want that Pope to do anything weird to you....”

  I put my hand on her head and smiled.

  “Don't you worry,” I said. “I can handle him.”

  I gave her more money from the bag.

  “Besides,” I said, “as long as we keep this between me and you, nothing 'bad' will happen.”

  We hugged, and I walked her out.

  Jody.

  Ah....Such a sweet kid. Reminded me of my daughter Jem. And it wasn't the first time I took a little money from that bag. Nah. I was taking some out every now and then and sending it off to Jem to help pay for her college. You have any idea how much a semester costs in this day and age? It's evil. She called me up one day, weeping, jobless, not knowing how to pay for her schooling. She needed help. And I had all that extra money. A little skimming wouldn't hurt. Who would ever know??? This so-called Pope that came by sometimes to pick up his money? It's not like he was psychic. He'd never find out. His boss would never find out. Not that I ever met the guy. I didn't even know his boss's name. All I know is that Mr. Pope here picks the money up and takes it to him via his Pope van. My crew came up with a funny thing – took to calling this Pope guy the “Gangster Pope”.