Woman Scorned Page 17

  The position of the stars told him it was late. Most island men- those outside the fortress at least- were already asleep. Even the fortress itself looked unusually peaceful from its perch at the center of existence. He came across no one, not even a sleeping body.

  As it so often did at night, Obe’s mind found one small thing to dwell upon to help pass the hours of loneliness as he avoided the sleep that brought so many nightmares. Tonight he noticed and dwelled upon the strange, overwhelming stillness of everything. Like the blank faces of shocked mourners, the entire island seemed to be unmoving that night. There were no noises, no wind, no people or conversations. The cars didn’t squeal their tires. Obe’s feet didn’t throb in pain. Even the horizon seemed straighter than usual and further away, like it had gone to sleep itself for just one night.

  Out there, somewhere, he knew was a life he’d once lived that wasn’t like this. It was somewhere in his head. But whenever he tried to remember, there were only clouds and brother and a dozen silly disjointed images and useless bits of knowledge. The rest was stilled emptiness, like this strangely quiet island night. The recent addition to his life- the exciting memory of camping and horses and a helicopter all with his brother- was turning out to be not enough to satiate his need for identity. It was no more than a tease, and Obe himself seemed to sit unmoving, ungrowing, in the still night. He listened carefully for the ever-present crashing waves, but the night had somehow swallowed them as well.

  At some point while his mind wandered, Obe’s feet followed suit and took him back into town across one of the thick, white lines painted on the road. In the darkness and his inattention, Obe never noticed he was once again in the island’s black sector.

  An hour later, just before he had convinced himself to give in again and just sleep, he heard a noise from the hill above him. He looked up and saw the fortress itself. A gate was sliding open and a car idled slowly out into his world.

  He quickly scrambled into the cover of a nearby bush. His actions were violent and loud after so much peace. The car moved down the hill toward then past him, the engine puttering as it idled by, mere feet from his hiding spot. The warm, nauseating exhaust rose up through his open nostrils, and he had to stifle a cough.

  It was deep night, but the full moon revealed enough to see the car was white and had a dented front-left fender. The headlight had been replaced, but there was no doubt this was the same vehicle he’d escaped from earlier in the week.

  Three women were in the car. With its convertible top down

  or its hardtop removed… don’t forget how much they like to modify their primary weapons!

  he could see their faces in the moonlight. He found himself looking for the one who had seduced him back home and so often tortured him in the bowels of the fortress. But her face was not among them.

  Josie, he mouthed silently. It was a name he would never forget. A name the women wanted him to remember forever.

  The women in the car made no conversation, and they were gone in a moment. Behind them another car rolled slowly through the gate. It was unmistakably black. The shine on the side suggested it had been recently washed, perhaps even waxed.

  Then a third car- the blue one- came through as well, stopping and waiting until the gate slid closed and latched behind it. It followed where the others had gone, turning a corner just after passing Obe and soon vanishing.

  Only then did his litany begin.

  He caught his breath, listening to his own heart slamming all through his body. Not one, but three cars. And every one had been full of women. A week ago he’d have lost control of his bladder and cried aloud in fear. But tonight he’d managed to contain himself. His breathing returned and came in heaps of cold, stinging air, and his litany came in controlled bursts, but it never deviated its course. “Lining lining… silver lining… cloudy silver… silver lining.”

  He continued this methodic ritual, allowing the rhythm of the soothing words to calm and control him. Of all his vices, this was the one helpful trait he had taught himself while enduring the torture that had broken him. In times of stress, it was often the only thing that had kept him sane.

  Finally, he calmed down and lay back. Yet the cars were still rolling by in his mind and he could so easily imagine one of the women glancing sideways and seeing his foot stick out from beneath the bush.

  Then a soft, nearby clatter jackhammered at his heart. Just yards behind him, it sounded like someone had thrown a small rock against the chain-link fence surrounding the fortress. Obe didn’t move. His tongue continued its litany though his lungs consciously held back the air that would have voiced it. Soon a soft thud sounded and a set of quiet footsteps stole away into the night.

  Obe, having reached his threshold, scrambled out from the bushes and ran.

  He ran for a long, painful time, longer than he’d ever run from a car. He ran until his toned legs burned and his heart pounded in his chest. He ran until his abdominal muscles were splitting in two and his breaths came in gasping gulps of the cold, midnight air. Eventually he slowed, stopped, bent over, and stuck four fingers deep under his ribcage. The side-stitch dug at him but waned. When he recovered, he paused to see his surroundings.

  He had crossed the perimeter poles and made it all the way back to the hills just south of the Cliffs of the Moon. Why his legs had taken him there he didn’t know, but seeing the place again felt awkward. Creepy. He kept picturing Doov’s story about the man who’d thrown his best friend over the edge.

  With the fear finally burned from his body- pushed through his pores like an underground stream, like the healing sweats rushing through your pores as your body fights infection- he wandered away and eventually found a valley that beckoned his much-needed sleep. Though he knew he would be vulnerable to an attack there, the unusually tall grasses in this valley covered him well.

  In minutes he had used Terd’s hidey-hole trick to create a camouflaged bed. He performed his nightly prayer in seconds, and was instantly asleep.

  The nightmares came, of course, and Obe suffered them as he always did.

  6

  Charles was having a very strange dream. He had gone on a crazy vacation with his old girlfriend, Josie, who had turned out to be one hell of a hot fuck. She was totally into the rough stuff, which was his favorite. They had screwed like a dozen times in just a couple days, and nothing he had done to her had scared her off. I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in the world, he had been thinking as they approached the helicopter. God damn! They were going on a helicopter ride! And who knew what wild lays they were going to have here in Hawaii. That hot ocean breeze tickling his balls and blowing back her hair to reveal even more of her naked body in the moonlight... he couldn’t wait to get her alone. I guess I really did turn her into a slut, he thought for probably the hundredth time. She didn’t know she liked sex until I came along.

  But then the dream got weird. Josie… hot, sexy little Josie… had stuck him in the neck with a syringe and he’d gotten dizzy in a handful of seconds and passed out. Only he didn’t pass out completely. He could still hear things like the loud, percussive beatings of the rotors overhead. And he could see a few things too. The blinking lights of the cockpit’s control panel mostly. Or were all those blinking lights really stars? He was sure he was seeing stars too. But no, stars weren’t green and red. But they were white like that on a huge black backdrop. God, this was a weird dream.

  Then he had woken up. In the dream he had woken up. Not in real life. In real life he was probably back on the airplane with the Die Hard credits scrolling by. Shit, he thought. I missed the end. I love that fucking movie.

  This clearly was still part of the dream, because when he woke up in the dream he was chained and naked and hit his head on a low ceiling. God it was weird, but it was like he was in some kind of prisoner of war camp. Probably got that from the movie, he thought. Were there chains in that movie? He didn’t think so. Not naked people either. God it was weird.

  Then a w
oman appeared in the dream, telling him to crawl out and kiss her feet or some shit. He gave her the finger. Stupid dreams always trying to fuck with your brain.

  But the woman wasn’t a real woman. She was fast and strong as hell. She swept down and grabbed him up and hoisted him over her hip like he was some kind of rag doll. It’s a superhero dream, he thought. And she’s the supervillain. That makes me the hero.

  The woman smacked him across the face, hard. “Wake up, asshole!” God, why was she screaming like that? And what the hell was she doing to his leg? Was that a strap hanging from the ceiling?

  In a flash she had him suspended by one ankle and strapped down to a cold table. He was totally immobile. And it was the cold of the table that was getting him really worried. It seemed too real, that cold. Too much like real steel for a dream.

  “What’s your weakness?” Charles asked in a half drawl. Shit, now there’s something wrong with my mouth. Why the fuck can’t I talk right? What’s wrong with me? I don’t like this. This is a fucking nightmare and I’m okay to wake up any time now.

  Then the woman spoke again, and her voice was beyond eerie. It was so confident, as if he was in a real prisoner of war camp and she was his domineering captor. But that didn’t make sense either. Everybody knew women didn’t do that kind of thing. But she was huge. Maybe it was a transvestite or something. “What do you mean, pig? What weakness do you perceive I might possible have?”

  Charles laughed. “I dunno,” he said, and his drawl was getting quickly better, and that scared him too because he was feeling like he was already awake but he was still in the dream. “Kryptonite or something? If you’re a super tranny maybe you’re super allergic to brass. You know, to compensate for the brass balls you don’t have any more.”

  And then the scariest thing of all happened. The woman laughed and Charles knew, absolutely knew for a full second, that this wasn’t a dream at all. Because that wasn’t an evil laugh like he’d picture a nightmare would have. It had been a genuine, hearty laugh of surprise and joy.

  “Oh my dear, pathetic man,” the woman said. “I am going to enjoy this more than you can imagine.”

  And then a gut-wrenching ripping came from his balls and he screamed bloody murder. He was fully awake now. No dream. No nightmare. No supervillain fantasy. Something had gone seriously fucking wrong. He and Josie had been captured by some kind of Hawaiin Amazon Guerrillas. It was crazy, totally fucking insane, but it was the only explanation that made any kind of sense.

  The woman punched him in the face. He couldn’t believe how much it hurt. Jesus, did she just break my nose? I think that bitch broke my fucking nose! I’m going to fucking kill her!

  “Don’t scream, you goddamned pansy,” she said. “You like to hurt women but you can’t take a punch as well as one.” Another horrible rip came from between his legs and he screamed again, long and loud, trying to drive the pain and the immense fear away. But both remained longer and fiercer than his useless breath had been.

  My balls! Charles thought. She just ripped my fucking balls off! Jesus I think she used her fucking fingernails. Oh Jesus my balls my balls! What the fuck?! Oh god. My fucking-

  The woman was leaning over him, suddenly, and holding one bloody finger up to her lips. “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” she was whispering. A bright red drop rolled from her upraised finger and fell from her knuckle into Charles’ face. It landed on his chin, and he nearly screamed again.

  That’s my blood! Jesus! That’s my ball blood!

  “You fucking piece of worthless man shit,” the woman said. “If I could do it, I’d rip your fucking balls off every day, every hour, every minute for all eternity. And I hope Hell does exist and after I kill you that’s just what will happen. I’ve lost my patience, you fuck. I’ve played the fucking game here for two fucking decades, and every time, every man, I did it Gertrude’s way. Well not this time, asshole. You’re mine, and for once I’m not holding back. I’m going to make you an offer you won’t be able to refuse.”

  “Who’s…” Charles began. But it didn’t matter who Gertrude was or anyone else. Shit, it didn’t matter if Josie was already dead, decapitated by this psycho bitch or whoever. She’d ripped his balls off. Ripped them fucking off! God, how was he going to live? What would he do at the gym? Jesus, what if he actually wanted kids one day? What the hell? What the hell? What the fucking bloody God-fucked hell?

  “Here,” the woman said. Her voice was suddenly calm again, and for the first time Charles understood his life was actually in real danger. She shoved something into his open mouth then clamped her meaty hand over top, squeezing his nose shut with the other hand. “Eat them, piggy! Eat them! I don’t give a fuck what she says, and I don’t give a fuck if you choke and die. But you will… eat… your useless… bloody… fucking… balls!”

  Charles felt them on his tongue now. Two slimy, hot spheres that tasted like wild, gamey meat. They were salty and they were soft, and they were his testicles.

  The world was going black again, thank God, so it must have all been a dream after all. This is punishment, he thought. God is punishing me with this dream because of what I did to Josie, and to Mindy, and to Josie again now. He’s going to give me this nightmare every day until I die, and oh my God I deserve it.

  In his horrible, far-too-lucid dream, Charles used his last moments of consciousness to swallow.

  7

  When Obe finally awoke after his late night excursions, his muscles were aching once again. A hot wind rustled grasses around him in sweeping waves, and he wondered briefly if his brother ever enjoyed such moments.

  He taught me to look for pictures in the clouds, he thought, so why not this as well?

  A solitary cloud hung in the sky at that moment, and Obe saw it looked a bit like a turtle with one leg pulled back into its shell. If another cloud had been there to help the story along, he might have indulged in his old pastime, but alone as it was, the turtle cloud instead depressed him and he quickly looked back to the earth below.

  His need for food came hard then, and he unzipped his jumpsuit, knowing exactly what he’d find there. A collection of orange peels was all he had remaining. There was no bread, no water, and certainly no tomato.

  Last grocery day was Wednesday, he thought. Today is only Friday morning and I’ve already wasted it all. And I have to wait till Sunday for more food. Sunday. Two full days plus one long, hungry morning with only these peels. “What the hell was I thinking?” he said aloud.

  Many of my answers will be found in the Family, Obe remembered. That’s what Doov said. Though he didn’t like the idea, he thought it might be time to find another man in blue and make some kind of deal to get more food.

  He began walking up the hill back into the heart of blue sector. It wasn’t easy. Every step felt like he was turning his back on his brother a little more. Over the crest of that hill were two smaller hills and then the abrupt beginning of the city. He saw a man in blue walking around its outskirts, possibly on his way to make his own deal in order to increase his own value.

  Then a long, loud screech echoed through the hot air. Obe tensed and scanned the distant streets. An engine revved as the invisible car gained speed toward some poor, doomed soul. Obe could hear that this was no game. That man was slated to die.

  I hate this shit. He thought briefly of the life he was supposed to have, of the lives all of them were supposed to have. But somewhere deep within, hidden by shadows he was barely aware of, Obe tried to validate their combined crimes with the sentence they’d been given. His quiet answer was that what was being done to them was wrong, but not entirely wrong. He suddenly felt more nervous.

  The car’s tires screeched again, this time farther away, and Obe shivered. “Welcome back, you bitches,” he said. “I hate you. With every fiber of my being, I hate you. If I had one wish right now, I honestly think I’d trade my freedom for revenge.” And though the words felt good coming off his lips, his heart fluttered underneath those shadows and asked i
f his own revenge would be any more humane. He brushed the nagging voice aside and continued on, looking for someone who might lend him food.

  It didn’t take long. The very first man he came across, Swin, was happy to help him. What Obe hadn’t been expecting was the terms of the deal he had to make. In exchange for two just wedges of orange, this man wanted in return the entire fruit from his next bag of food and a swallow of his water. Obe laughed at Swin out of shock, and the man instantly changed his offer, dropping the swallow of water from the deal. He held tight to the full fruit.

  Still suspicious, Obe explained he was considering joining the Family and, if he did, would not have anything to give of his next bag.

  “Alright,” Swin said. “I’ll wait till the bag after that. But no longer. I’ll be going hungry myself by then.”

  Obe was hesitant but accepted the deal. Later, he learned that this level of interest was normal, though most men didn’t demand to be repaid so quickly.

  As he met and talked to other men of the Family, Obe slowly learned that though he was still somewhat of a hero, his popularity had quickly waned with the return of the cars. They were becoming relentless. Obe was chased two more times. The first run happened later that afternoon. The escape was an easy one, fortunately. He was on a steep hill in the city’s outskirts at the time. The car had been patrolling on one of the old dirt roads and had veered off to chase him down. If they’d been intent on a kill, one or more of the women would have jumped from the car and chased him on foot. This time, however, it had been more of a scare than an actual hunt. He’d run further away from the city and down a steeper hill where no road existed. The car hadn’t even followed, choosing instead to return to the road and continue its patrol.