Inflictions Page 11

  “It appears that I’m winning,” he said to the three Seth men.

  “Get away from her, you fucking pig!” Christopher sobbed.

  “Very noble! One point for Christopher,” Tana said. He gave a final thrust and pulled away.

  Joseph saw the dampness of Julie’s tears on the man’s crotch, and a dense blackness pushed through him, fueling his hatred and rage.

  Christopher felt as if his bladder would burst. Twice he had cried out, only to hear a low chuckle from within the living room. It was 4:12 AM, and for nearly two hours his mother’s gaze remained locked on some indistinct point on the floor. His father’s gaze drilled the living room doorway, a more definable focus, but just as unmoving as his mother’s.

  Another searing jolt ripped his abdomen and a spray of urine released. If he hadn’t been taped to the chair, it would have doubled him over.

  “Let it go, man. Stop torturing yourself,” Matthew whispered. His face was unbalanced by an eggplant-colored swelling high on his left check.

  “I can’t,” Christopher hissed between gritted teeth. Unable to withstand the pressure, he let it all go with an anguished cry. Urine poured from him, flooding down his legs, over the chair, and onto the floor.

  A victorious cheer rang out from the living room. Tana emerged with a Cheshire Cat grin upon his face. “Do I hear music? Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,” he sang almost effeminately.

  “Fuck you,” Christopher croaked, humiliated.

  “Flattered,” Tana said and winked. “Maybe later.”

  “I’d figured you as a pedophile,” Matthew challenged. “What’s wrong, you miss your daddy’s dick?”

  Tana roared with laughter, genuinely amused. “You can play, too,” he said. “I’ll even invite your parents to watch.”

  Joseph Seth drilled Tana with a look so disturbing and seething, it momentarily paused Tana. Composing himself, Tana rhythmically tapped his foot in the puddle of urine on the floor.

  “I smell weakness, which can’t help your case much.” He rubbed his hand briskly over Christopher’s head as if he were a favorite nephew. Christopher gnashed his teeth at him, trying for his hand, or perhaps a finger, and just barely missing.

  “Whoa, Cujo!” Tana said, pulling back. “Your parents should put you out of your misery. Isn’t that what they do with rabid animals?”

  Tana turned to leave, but stopped.

  “What’s that?” he said, pretending to hear something. He leaned to Christopher. “Did you say ‘kill Matthew, not me’?” He stood back up, feigning concern. “Is that the kind of loyalty one should expect from a twin brother?” He shook his head and walked back to the living room. Christopher thought a little of the arrogance had left his step.

  The sounds of waste management workers tossing garbage cans about woke up Tana. He looked at his watch, thought about the boys in the kitchen, and smiled. He had to give the little shits credit, they had gumption. The intensity of the urine smell in the kitchen surprised him. The Seths were all haggard looking, gaunt with dead expressions.

  “Hello, kids!” he said merrily. “See, I’m a nice guy. I gave you an extra eleven minutes. Add the three extra minutes I gave you last night, that’s fourteen, which happens to be the ages of our men of the hour.” He clapped his hands like a game show host. “What a bunch of fuddy-duds! Well, the show must go on.”

  He turned to Julie and yanked the duct tape from her mouth. Julie cried out, and little beads of blood soon gathered between specks of adhesive residue.

  “Ooh, that’s going to leave a mark,” Tana grimaced. He yanked the tape from Joseph, retrieved the roll from his duffle bag, and taped Matthew and Christopher’s mouths. Neither boy protested.

  “Same rules apply. Any noises I don’t like, you’ve chosen both boys. Simple as that. Now, please enter our specially designed silent chamber behind door number one.” He motioned to the first bedroom door. He dragged Joseph’s chair into the bedroom, and then Julie’s chair. “You have one hour to make your decision,” he said, closing the door. “You kids behave,”

  “Rot in hell,” Julie said.

  Tana smiled. “Too late,” he said.

  Matthew turned away as Tana exited the bedroom. He considered begging for their lives, but knew it would only please the perverse worm. Matthew had prayed throughout the night, looking for inspiration. He found none. Tana’s heavy trod approached. Matthew refused to look at him, certain he was up to some cruel task, but Christopher’s muffled grunt startled him. Matthew looked at his brother’s disheartened face, and then at Tana.

  “What?” Tana asked.

  Another muffled question.

  “Why?” asked Tana.

  Christopher nodded.

  After mild deliberation, Tana said, “Why not? Nothing personal, I needed players. You met the criteria.”

  Julie didn’t want to think, feel, or hear. She just wanted to shut down, to curl up and sleep, down in a deep, dark hole where nothing could get to her. She barely noticed when Tana moved them. She stared blankly at the floor and hadn’t shifted the gaze since. Time, though so crucial, was irrelevant. There was no clock.

  “We have to do something,” Joseph said.

  She said nothing. She wanted silence, but it evaded her. Tana was talking to her sons beyond the door, his voice sounding too normal.

  “Julie, for Christ’s sake!” Joseph hissed.

  “He’s lying,” Julie said. “He’ll kill us all.”

  “I had the same thought,” Joseph admitted.

  “We can identify him.” Julie finally raised her eyes to meet Joseph’s. “Do you think for a minute he’d let three of us go? We’re not going anywhere.”

  “We have no other hope.”

  Julie wanted to hurt him, to drive steel spikes through him. “Are you going to decide which one of our sons he … murders? Can you make that choice?” she asked. “I could never forgive you for choosing a son to die.”

  “I could never forgive you for letting both die,” Joseph countered.

  “It’d probably be better if neither lived.”

  “How can you say that?” Joseph asked desperately.

  “How can you choose?” Julie hissed with so much disgust Joseph pulled away. “Think of what that would do. Think of how he would feel.”

  “But …” Julie stopped his words with her eyes, knowing what he was going to say, but he wouldn’t feel it for long.

  “You bastard!” She sneered with so much acid her voice sizzled. “Five seconds of that kind of betrayal would be too long. I refuse to sentence either of my sons to death.”

  “Then they both die!” His eyes burned.

  “I hate you!’ Julie growled. She started crying uncontrollably. “I-hate-you-I-hate-you-I-hate-you!” She looked at her husband and saw a stranger, a sallow and repugnant parasite. He and Tana were the same, evil and contemptible, so willing to take the lives of her sons.

  They sat in silence, neither knew for how long.

  “It’d have to be the emotionally weaker one. He wouldn’t survive without the other one,” Joseph said quietly.

  Julie knew he meant softhearted Christopher. She couldn’t believe he chose. She wanted to rip his heart out, yet inside she knew that poor, logical Joseph was on autopilot. He, the accountant, was taking tally and things weren’t adding up. His eyes were dead, empty and hopeless—concentration camp eyes.

  “No,” Julie whispered.

  “Knock-knock,” Tana said. “Time’s up!”

  He dragged Julie and Joseph back into the kitchen. Terrified eyes exchanged looks all around. Matthew and Christopher, ashen and diminished, looked abandoned.

  “I love you both,” Julie said with a weak, cracking voice.

  “Shh-shh,” Tana moved to Julie’s side with unbridled enthusiasm. “No time for sentiments, because, you know what time it is. That’s right! It all comes down to this! The big finale! Final Jeopardy. Yes, it’s time to Make a Choice!” Tana stood, arms spread and a huge Bob Barker smile on
his face. The smile faded and he dropped his arms. “What deadbeats!” he said.

  “Let them go,” said Joseph Seth. “If you have to kill someone, kill me.”

  Tana looked incredulous, as if Joseph were a child who had just been monstrously defiant. “I’m awed by your cowardice. You’re not getting out of this that easily, Bucko! But, this suspense is a killer. So, speaking of killer, who did you choose?” He said, as if asking what flavor ice cream they liked.

  Neither Joseph nor Julie spoke.

  “Come on, out with it. We heard you talking. They’re just dying to find out, if you’ll excuse the pun.”

  Still, no one spoke.

  Tana moved in front of the boys. A switchblade popped open and all four Seths jumped in unison.

  “So, you chose both,” Tana said.

  “No!” Joseph shouted.

  “Who?” Tana asked, sliding the blade softly down Matthew’s arm.

  No answer.

  Julie was shaking, her chin quivering and her arms twitching as if on the verge of hypothermia.

  “Who!” Tana hollered. “Ten seconds or they both take it in the throat!”

  Joseph said something. Tana rushed to him and leaned close.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “No,” whined Julie.

  Joseph stared at the refrigerator.

  “Did you say Christopher?” Tana persisted. “Or was it Matthew?”

  Nothing.

  “Who?” Tana roared.

  Joseph said something.

  Tana jumped up, his arm raised skyward. “Christopher it is!” He said, as if awarding the winning bid.

  Christopher and Matthew stared at their father, both wide-eyed.

  Joseph dropped his head and wailed. Julie looked at her sons, shaking her head in denial … in agony.

  Tana extracted a small silver can and a rag from his duffle bag, folded the rag, and poured the contents of the can onto it.

  “Ether, if you hadn’t already guessed,” Tana explained. He placed the rag over Joseph’s nose.

  “What are you doing?” Joseph cried.

  “Do you really want to watch?” Tana asked.

  “He’s going to kill us all,” Julie said through anguished tears. “I told you!”

  Within moments Joseph and Julie were slumped in their chairs.

  Julie awoke to an awful taste in her mouth and a searing pain in her temples. It was dark, but she could see the form near her. She sat up and looked at her arms as if they were a newly formed part of her body, felt ridges in her wrists where the tape had bound her, and then remembered.

  She shook her husband fiercely. “Joseph! Oh god, the boys!”

  Joseph sprung upright, looking around frantically. He cringed as the ether headache slammed him. “Wait!” he said. He held Julie back with a straightened arm. “Listen.” There were voices from behind the closed door.

  “It’s the TV.”

  “Tana might still be here. I need a weapon. Anything!” Joseph whispered. He got up and quietly opened the closet door, threw the loose hangers on the bed, and grabbed the hanger rod from the supports.

  Joseph opened the bedroom door slowly. The hallway and kitchen beyond were dark, except for the telltale flashing of the television on the walls. Inching ahead, they turned the corner and peeked into the living room. Matthew and Christopher were slumped in their chairs, facing the television. It was impossible to tell if their eyes were opened or if their chests moved.

  Joseph cautiously entered the room, taking everything in. “Watch behind us,” he said. Another step and Matthew jerked to attention. Julie stood, unmoving, praying for a sign from Christopher.

  “Tana gone?” Joseph asked. Matthew nodded and Christopher’s leg twitched.

  Alive! Julie rushed forward and touched their faces, their arms, raining kisses on them, but not totally believing. Joseph freed the boys and Julie undertook the painful task of removing the duct tape from their mouths while Joseph called the police.

  Hours and countless questions later, the police were coming up empty, and some even seemed skeptical, despite the bruise on Matthew’s face and Julie’s tape abrasion. No one with the name Chris Tana existed in the database. There were several named Chris Tanner, but none matched the description. One officer noticed, with implied accusation, that Chris Tana was an anagram for anarchist, and satanic could also be derived from it. The sergeant in charge did not feel it was coincidence … as did Joseph.

  The police showed a composite sketch to business owners. The few that recognized Tana only remembered his height and good nature. Joseph figured he wouldn’t be found. Tana and his easy arrogance had probably spent years terrorizing people and melting into the woodwork.

  The building inspector produced no pulled permits for masonry work, and no recent outdoor masonry work was evident anywhere in Provincetown.

  Matthew and Christopher spoke little that evening, answering questions with little more than affirmative and negative grunts. Matthew said maybe five words to Joseph, and to Christopher, none at all.

  With a little persuasion by the police chief, the Seths were roomed at the Anchor Inn Beach House, even with the summer crowd. The cottage was cordoned off as evidence, not that anyone wished to return.

  Alone in their hotel room, the Seths sat in near silence. Very few words were uttered. They all knew what the others were feeling, words were worthless.

  They got out of it alive. It turned out positive, considering all that happened, Joseph figured, yet he was constantly aware of their eyes on him, especially Christopher’s, averting them when he looked back.

  An officer knocked on the door, startling them. He said, “The sergeant has more questions. He’d like you at the police station at 9:00 AM.”

  “Just me or all of us?” Joseph asked.

  “Your choice,” said the cop.

  Christopher laughed.

  It was not a good sound.

  A Mother’s Love

  Colicky, finicky, and just plain cantankerous, six- month-old Cedric had been trouble right from the moment Dr. Gregiore slapped his too-skinny bottom. Marissa prided herself on the patience she had displayed since the birth of her irritable infant, but Cedric had become ravenous four months ago and it just kept getting worse.

  It would have been so much easier if she hadn’t loved her insatiable child. She could have tossed him to the wind like they did in population-controlled nations, or taped him up and popped him in the freezer for safe keeping, or maybe buried him in the back yard … if she’d had one. There had been a time in America when these things hadn’t been allowed, and the idea of disposable children had been unthinkable. Just a few months earlier, Uncle Sam had monitored everything: how much you earned, what brands you used and where you bought them, if your taxes were short, and if your kids were in school and up to date with their shots. But things had changed. Now they monitored nothing and all life was disposable … at least all human life. Now you could bury your kid in the back yard. Hell, now you could tie your kid to your car bumper and take him for a spin, because there were painfully few people—if any—who had the wherewithal to monitor you. There were even fewer who gave a shit.

  Marissa moved a little morsel of food around on the plate, sliced off a small section, and dropped it into Cedric’s mouth. It was so much nicer now that he could take small bits of solid food, instead of her having to pre-chew it, dice it, or somehow break it down. Cedric gnawed on the offered tidbit with great passion, accenting his toothless chewing with the guttural sounds of gnarling hunger. He swallowed and shrieked angrily for more.

  Keeping Cedric fed and happy was a grueling, thankless, and endless task that only got harder day by day. The fact that food became scarcer by the day only exacerbated matters. In retrospect, it had been easy enough at first. Living flesh had been plentiful. This was Boston, for Christ’s sake. The streets had always been teeming with people of all shapes, sizes, genders, and flavors, so finding a little food for Cedric had bee
n, if not easy, at least easier.

  The Pandemic had spread through Boston like hot molasses, and then through New England even faster. The CDC, with the full backing of the U.S. Armed Forces, the CIA, FBI, and possibly the NFL and AARP, tried to contain it. The last Marissa knew, all flights nationwide had been cancelled and a desperate barrier had been set up all along the Mississippi River and along the Canadian border in an improbable attempt to control the spread of the plague. Now, three months later, there were no flights at all.

  It had begun with a new species of spider discovered in the rain forests of South America. Apparently, some ambitious young biologist, botanist, or whatever the hell he was, took it upon himself to pack one of these exotic little arachnids up and bring it back to MIT for research. Unfortunately the scientist didn’t stop to think that his little spider didn’t want to be dissected. It was faster than shit, could jump like it had a rocket up its ass, and could make small work of whatever protective materials were covering the scientist’s hands. He slapped and killed the spider immediately, but that was too little, too late. The deadliest and most contagious toxin ever encountered was on the loose, and The Araneae Plague, or Plague of The Spider, was born.

  After his little spider kiss, our scientist went home and kissed the wife and his two kids, the wife kissed her mother, and then made love to her best friend’s hubby while the kids shared their Kool-Aid-filled sippy cups with their cousins. Next thing you know, our scientist is eating the cheerleader next door, and not in the way you brag about. By noon the next day, half of Arlington is sharing their newfound strain.

  Twelve hours from point of infection to living-dead condition. Catch the toxin, spread it everywhere, puke and shit your guts out, and then keel over dead. Five minutes later, up and at ’em and voila … you’ve got yourself a zombie!

  They tried to be politically correct by calling it “suspended life.” What the hell was that all about? Marissa had wondered. The shit was hitting the fan in copious amounts from every feasible direction, and they were worried that people would be offended by calling a spade a spade. If you’re dead, but you’re still walking around all growly and shit and eating everyone from your barista to your pastor, sorry honey, you’re a zombie.