Authors: James Roy Daley
James couldn’t believe his ears. Sure as dirt on a rock, Johnny had gone insane. Maybe running wasn’t such a bad idea, James thought. He was quick and athletic. He could probably be out the door before Johnny realized what was happening.
“
I know you think I killed her,” Johnny said, reading James with his eyes. “But I didn’t kill anyone… I should have, but I didn’t.”
James felt his patience running thin. “Johnny, I don’t understand.”
“
You don’t have to. It’s just that… I tell you what.” Johnny made an expression that seemed thoughtful, heroic, and scared shitless, all at the same time. “You can kill me. I won’t stop you.”
Up until that moment James thought he had heard it all. Turned out he hadn’t. “I don’t want to kill you,” James said cautiously. “We’re friends, remember? You’re one of my closest buddies. You’re my boy. And you’re just fucking around, right? Aren’t you Johnny? Aren’t you?”
Johnny shrugged. “Sorry man. I’m sorry it’s you. But if I don’t pass it on it’ll be with me forever. I don’t want that. God, can you imagine? It hurts just thinking about it.”
“
This isn’t happening.”
Johnny smiled. “Oh yes it is. Don’t think for a minute that it isn’t. Just remember to pass it on, ‘kay? And don’t get it mad. You don’t want it mad. Know what I’m saying? It’ll get the best of you. Trust me. It’ll get even. I know. I got it mad a few times and… just don’t do it. That means don’t tell anyone.”
Johnny put the gun to his temple. He pulled the trigger, just a little. His eyes scanned the floor. “Is this okay?”
“
What’re you talking about Johnny?” James said, and he noticed the strangest thing. His breath hung frozen in the ice-cold air. The room was officially freezing.
“
I’m talking about a Bokor Incantation,” Johnny said. “And it’s not my fault.”
“
What the hell is that?”
Johnny shook his head. “Too late.”
“
Can’t we work this out?”
“
I am working this out James. See you on the other side.”
“
But—”
“
But nothing. See you soon. Try not to dream.”
On the floor, a shadow moved.
Johnny opened his mouth and dragged the gun along his face. He slid the barrel past his lips and rested it on his front teeth. Then he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
8
There was no pain.
But Mathew was screaming for Uncle James.
James was sitting inside the Demon’s lair, completely oblivious. He didn’t know he was in danger. Not real danger. But Mathew did. He could see it––see the demon hiding in the shadows. See the demon with the black skin, the long fingers, and the glistening eyes; the demon that had lived a thousand lifetimes and slain a hundred thousand men.
Mathew could see this, and Mathew was screaming. But to the outside world the child looked the same. He was lying on the hospital bed, silent and unmoving. To the outside world he was a boy, like all boys. No different. Only his injuries and experiences distinguished him from the rest. Nobody knew he was a unique child with an unrecognized gift, a special talent. Nobody knew his biological chemistry was uncommon. Not Anne. Not the doctors. Nobody.
Mathew could see things, things that are not often seen.
It was a gift.
Given time––two or three years perhaps––Mathew would develop a large tumor in his brain. The tumor would be diagnosed as cancerous. The doctors would say the cause of the tumor would be unknown, but likely genetic. They would tell his family that Mathew had a rough road ahead. A short while later, after the medical community punished his body with cell destroying chemotherapy, they would say he had less than a month to live. And they would be correct. But the tumor that eventually kills its host comes with a flipside that is rarely seen. In a way, it is the gift of sight, and the accident-induced trauma had exposed it.
Mathew’s eyes were opening now. He was seeing things, seeing into the lives of the people he loved. He didn’t like what he was seeing.
And inside his tiny, broken body, Mathew was screaming.
9
CLICK. The chamber was empty.
“
WAIT!” James shouted, as his stomach started doing back-flips. “FOR GOD’S SAKE, STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING!”
Johnny pulled the gun from his mouth and eyed the weapon suspiciously.
“
Let me talk a minute,” James said. “Please!”
Keeping his fingers ready, Johnny lowered his hand. “It won’t do any good. There’s nothing you can say.”
“
Fine. But give me a chance, will you? Can we talk a little before you blow your friggin’ head off?”
Johnny exposed his dirty teeth. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll give you five minutes.”
“
Five minutes?”
“
Yeah.”
James thought about his nephew lying on the hospital bed, a thick circle of bandages around his mouth, both of his legs in casts, suspended in the air, looking like something from a discovery channel emergency program. He didn’t know where the thought had come from. Somehow it didn’t seem like the obvious thing to think about when your buddy sticks a gun into his mouth and yanks on the trigger.
He said, “My brother Joe died last night. So did his wife Penny. My nephew Mathew is in the hospital. He might not make it. Things haven’t been good.”
“
Really?”
“
Yeah. Car accident.”
The insanity drained from Johnny’s eyes a little. “Are you serious?”
“
Unfortunately, I am. It happened on the highway around eleven-thirty. We got the call early this morning. My mom is at the hospital now; she’s with Mathew. You remember Mathew, right? Joe’s five-year-old… blonde hair, built like a baby lumberjack.”
“
I remember.” Johnny said. His eyes lost their ultra focused lunacy. His shoulders, which had been raised, came down an inch and his voice softened a notch. “Honest? You’re telling me the truth?”
“
Honest.”
“
Damn, James. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“
Thanks.”
“
No, really. I’m sorry.”
The two men looked at each other, each feeling ashamed of the moment.
“
Do you mind if we talk about it?” James asked, wondering if the sympathy angle would hold.
“
Go ahead.”
James cleared his throat. “But what am I supposed to do here, have a heart-to-heart with you, then watch as you blow your head off? Jesus man. We both have problems, but I was thinking we could help each other, make things right.”
Johnny shrugged. “I don’t know what to say, James. I’m backed into a corner here. This is my way out.”
“
Don’t say that.”
“
It’s true.”
“
No man, it’s not. Is that gun loaded?”
Johnny shuffled the gun from one hand to the other. “Yeah, it is. The next time I pull the trigger, it’ll be the money shot.”
“
You’re being stupid.”
“
Okay. If you say so.”
“
And why the hell is it so cold in here? I’m freezing.”
“
Is this really the way you want to spend the last minutes of my life? Talking about the fuckin’ temperature?”
“
But Johnny… it’s August.”
“
So?”
James shook his head. The small talk wasn’t working, however, Johnny was more coherent now. Much more. He wasn’t mumbling, rolling his eyes, or talking crazy. That had to be worth something.
“
My mother’s pretty upset,” James said. “In fact, she’s a bloody mess.”
“
That’s understandable.”
“
She says I’ll have to adopt Mathew. Between you and me, I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can be a father. I mean… I love the little guy, but I’m not ready. Mathew is such a handful and I can be… well, you know me.”
Johnny didn’t respond so James kept talking.
“
You know me,” he repeated. “I’m scattered at the best of times. Always have been; always will be. I’m the guy that walks to the store to buy milk and comes home with a loaf of bread.”
With an expression, Johnny agreed.
“
But you know what?” James said, considering a new approach. He figured he could dilute Johnny’s issues with his own. Maybe it would work, maybe not. It was worth a try. “Once upon a time, I wasn’t such an idiot and my head was on a little tighter. And at that time, I wanted children. I wanted to be a father. But then something happened, something bad. I was sixteen, maybe seventeen. And there was this guy. Harold was his name. I guess Harold would have been eighteen or nineteen, maybe twenty.” James smiled unexpectedly, remembering his old friend. “Harold had these big, awful sideburns that ran down his neck. When he wasn’t around we made fun of him a great deal. Muttonchops, we called him. Of course, he didn’t know that. We didn’t think Harold would appreciate being called ‘Mutton-chop Harold’. But that’s who he was to us. Mutton-chop Harold, the youngest father we knew.”
Johnny nodded.
“
Harold wasn’t ready. He wasn’t prepared inside his mind, you know? And his girlfriend at the time–d thwho was a few years younger than Mutton-chop––she wasn’t much of a thinker, and she didn’t care about him. Didn’t care what he thought or what he wanted. You see… this girl wanted a baby, end of story. And if the kid grew up inside a broken home with fighting parents and nothing in the cupboard, well… so be it.”
“
You know what we call girls like that, don’t you?” Johnny said.
“
No, what?”
“
White-trash bitches.”
James smiled insincerely. “Well, I don’t know if the girl was a white-trash bitch or not, but she lied all the time and she always played the victim. She also smoked a pack a day throughout the pregnancy. At least, that’s what Harold said. If that’s a white-trash bitch, so be it.”
“
I hear ya.”
James noticed that his knees were shaking. He made an effort to keep them still. He made an effort to keep calm. He made an effort to keep talking. “The smoking drove Harold nuts,” he said nervously. “He complained all the time. But what could he do? You know the law. The mother’s right even when she’s not. Even if she’s a self-righteous idiot with a grade eight education.”
“
That’s a bullshit law,” Johnny said.
“
It’s a bullshit world,” James granted. “Anyways, trying to be a dad while dealing with this bitch was upsetting. I mean, from what Harold said, she got pregnant on purpose two weeks after they started dating. You clearly don’t give a shit about anything if you pull that move.”
“
Some people aren’t very bright,” Johnny agreed. “They don’t think about the lives they fuck up.” As soon as he finished speaking he thought about shooting James. Shooting him right in the Goddamn face. He wanted to do it. Oh hell, he almost needed to do it. The thought of shooting James made him smile from ear to ear.
“
Yeah,” James said. Then he smiled because Johnny was smiling.
Maybe it was time to pull the gun from Johnny’s hand.
10
“
They broke up a couple months after the baby was born,” James said. “It was a boy, I think. Can’t remember the name. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Point is… Harold couldn’t take the bitch any longer and they broke up. Then came the babysitting. He’d have the kid a day or two, and she’d have the kid a day or two. This went back and forth a while without any screw-ups. Then one day Harold makes a mistake. It was February and he was going… wherever. It doesn’t really matter and I don’t honestly know. For arguments sake let’s say he was going to the mall. So Harold gets the kid ready, he bundles the little feller up in his snow-pants and whatnot, and he takes him to the car. And the baby is strapped inside one of those baby seats… sleeping or whatever. Knowing Harold, the baby-seat is probably two sizes too small with three pounds of dried puke on it. Anyways, Harold sits the baby on the ground. He unlocks the car, opens the door, and gets inside. He puts on his seatbelt, turns up the radio… then he drives away, leaving the baby sitting at the side of the road.”
“
Oh no.”
“
Oh yeah. And it gets worse. Harold’s not thinking about the baby, see? ‘Cause deep down, he’s not ready for the baby. He was
never
ready for the baby. So now the little feller is sitting outside and it’s February. And it’s as cold as tits on a seal out there and Harold’s gone to the mall. After a while he realizes what he’s done and holy shit does he feel bad. Real bad. So he comes racing home as fast as he can, but the guy lives downtown, you know? And when he gets home the cops are everywhere. The baby’s dead, got run over by a truck.”
“
Oh shit.”
“
Oh shit is right. And when the smoke finally clears, Harold gets two years. Needless to say, the girl hates him and her family hates him. In fact, both families hate him. And worst of all, he hates himself. So guess what? After he’s released from jail the first thing he does is get drunk. Then he phones his mother, says goodbye, and jumps off a fucking bridge. He kills himself.”
“
Oh man, that’s hard,” Johnny said.
“
Tell me about it.”
James looked at the gun. It was inches away, hanging loosely in Johnny’s hand. Johnny seemed lost in thought. If James wanted the gun bad enough he could take it. He could reach right out and snatch it up. But James wasn’t snatching anything. He was so worried he was trembling. Talking. Keep talking, he told himself. Talking seems best.