Ryan Thomas - The Summer I Died

He dragged her over to the dog dishes and slumped her on the ground. Clink went the ax as her head hit the ground. I started dry heaving at the sight of it.

After he was sure she wouldn’t move, he came over to me and stuck his face in mine, our noses touching. The collar kept my head from turning too far away, and every time I moved he moved with me, laughing like I was the funniest thing in the world. He grabbed my nose and squeezed it hard. My sinuses felt like they were being crushed and my eyes teared up. Struggling did nothing; he held fast and kept laughing. With the rag in my mouth I couldn’t breathe and I knew this was it, this was how I’d die. Spots jumped before my eyes.

“Let him go, you fucking faggot!” Tooth yelled.

No, let me die. Just let it end peacefully.

“You fucking coward! Unchain me so I can kick your faggot ass!”

The man pushed his forehead against mine, his breath hot on my lips. Then he slammed my head back into the wall and let go. My knees buckled and I sagged, but the chain caught my throat and started to choke me so I struggled upright again, my head searing with pain so intense my vision wobbled.

Still laughing, he went and stood in front of Tooth. “You killed my dog” he said, and slapped Tooth in the face. Tooth took the blow without a sound, but I could see he was on the verge of tears.

“Unchain us, and show us what you’re made of,” Tooth said. “Unchain us and fight us fair. You coward. You fucking mama’s boy. C’mon, we’ll let you use the gun even. What have you got to lose? C’mon!”

Skinny Man ignored him and went back to the woman on the ground. He lifted her body and sat her up against the stove. Then he disappeared into a door on the other side of Tooth. I hadn’t noticed it before because Tooth’s body was in the way, but it must have gone back under the rest of the house. He came back out a minute later carrying some more chains. He draped them around the woman and began chaining her to the stove. She didn’t move the whole time, as if she was a doll or something. When he was done he took a step back, folded his arms, and looked at her.

“What are you doing, you pussy?” Tooth was still trying to goad him into a fight.

The man continued to ignore Tooth. He was unhappy with something, his face scrunched with annoyance. “What’s wrong with this picture?” he asked.

“My foot’s not up your ass yet?” offered Tooth.

“Nope.” Then as if struck by inspiration he grabbed the ax handle and lifted the woman’s head off her chest so she was looking right at us. He rested it against the stove, the handle of the ax sitting atop the surface. Her clouded eyes bore through us. “Much better,” he said.

Satisfied with his work, he left the room and shut the door, leaving the three of us to get acquainted.

Slowly, like a glob of pudding, the woman’s head sagged forward and fell on her chest again. Was she defying him, or was the ax blade too heavy for her neck?

“I’ve got to get my phone out,” Tooth said, straining to get a hand around toward his back pocket. The handcuff prevented him from reaching it, only the tips of his fingers brushed the pocket. He held his breath as he stretched, as if this might help, then exhaled, defeated. “Shit, I can’t get it. Are you okay?”

Blinking away tears, I nodded yes. Working the rag out of my mouth with my jaw and tongue unleashed another wave of searing pain in my head, but I ignored it. I was having trouble breathing through my nose now, so there wasn’t much choice in the matter; I needed air. Tooth took another stab at reaching his back pocket. He was getting closer, I think.

“I can…just about…get it…”

A heartbeat later, the door crashed open and slammed against the wall. Skinny Man was back and he had an armload of firewood. He carried it over to the stove and shoved the logs inside, moving them about so he could stuff in as many as possible.

“Why don’t you just kill us and get it over with?” Tooth asked, no longer going for his pocket.

Again, Tooth’s remark went ignored. From his back pocket, Skinny Man took out a newspaper and tore it into sections. He twisted them up like he was wringing someone’s neck and placed them under the logs. Then he took out some matches and lit the contents of the stove. Immediately, my eyes darted to the woman chained to it. If he didn’t move her she would fry.

Like a bolt of lightning the man rushed at Tooth and punched him in the face. Hard. The smack of fist on jawbone was horrific. I closed my eyes and turned away, struggling against my chains, thrashing like a swordfish on a hook. Again, the smack of knuckle on jaw resounded. Again and again and again!

With each blow, Tooth’s grunts and gurgle-choking filled the basement. The sweet aroma of burning wood began to mingle with the stench of fear-induced sweat and blood. I cried. I prayed. But the beating wouldn’t end. Why was this happening to us? What had we done to deserve this? Why wouldn’t he just leave us alone? Just leave us alone! Stop, stop, stop! I jammed my tongue forward, pushed the rag out of my mouth.

“Hit me, you fuck!” I screamed.

He stopped.

I quivered.

Sluggishly, my best friend’s head lolled to the side-a mass of contusions. The man faked like he was going to punch me and I winced, but no blow came, and I guess that’s what he wanted because he just laughed. When I opened my eyes, I saw him stuffing the rag back in Tooth’s mouth, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. When the rag was tight, Tooth’s blood had nowhere to go but out his nose.

Skinny Man sneered at me for another half minute before coming over and running his hand through my hair. “I’ll hit you, little boy. Oh, man, I’ll hit you. But not yet, not like that. I’m gonna come at you with something special, something unreal.” He put my rag back in my mouth, tied it in back. “I’m going out to bury my friend, and I when I get back, maybe we’ll discuss your punishment a little more.”

He stopped to look at the woman, gave her a nudge with his boot, saw she was still in her coma-like state, and left.

Next to me, Tooth was mumbling incoherently and trying to open his swollen, puffy eyelids. Something started to smell like smoked ham and together we realized that, against the stove, the woman was starting to burn.

She sat in a pool of blood that flowed from the stump at the end of her arm. Her hair, face and neck were stained with dirt and gore; fresh leaves stuck to her like reptile scales. She wore a pair of jeans and a button down flannel shirt. Her feet were bare.

As soon as I smelled her flesh cooking, I knew it was going to be bad. She was going to die horribly right in front of us. Considering her wounds, especially that ax in her head, she had little chance of surviving even if she escaped anyway, but to watch her burn to death was something I couldn’t stomach. Seeing her head get cleaved and her hand chopped off seemed far less cruel in comparison. Don’t ask me why, perhaps because those acts were quick and I didn’t anticipate them. This was different. We knew what was coming, and it was the waiting that was making us crazy. I could already feel the heat of the stove from where I was, a good ten feet away.

If only she would stay comatose, stay half asleep like she was, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she would just melt away without a sound, peaceful, quiet. But she woke up. And the show began.

She blinked her eyes, as if pulled from a restful siesta by a strange noise, then lifted her head, trying to figure out where she was and what the hell was going on. It took a few tries to get her head level because the ax was throwing off her equilibrium. A snaky tendril of smoke rose from her back as her shirt started melting away. Then something sizzled and popped, and as if on cue, she went wild. Her scream was deafening, worse than any gunshot, like being slammed sideways in a high speed, metal-crunching car wreck. Tooth snapped to attention, worked his rag a little out of his mouth, enough to form words, and called to me. “Roger!”