Ryan Thomas - The Summer I Died

I thought about what Tooth’s father had said, about everyone having a purpose, but I couldn’t figure out how it applied to us. What was Skinny Man’s purpose? He’d already killed one person we knew of, bragged about some others and most likely was going to finish us off, too. What possible purpose was there for him on our planet?

“You’re not giving up on me, are you, Roger? That better not be defeat I sense in you.”

I almost said yes. “No.”

Still struggling, Tooth tried to pull his hand through his cuffs again, and this time he pulled so hard a spout of blood arced into the air. There was no way for me to duck out of its way so it landed on my shoulder. “Nhhhnn!” He ground his teeth and kept pulling and pulling until a flap of skin hung around his palm like a piece of luncheon meat. He was in tremendous pain but he was smiling.

“Are you okay?” I asked like a fucking idiot. “What are you doing, committing suicide?”

“No, but I think I know a way out.”

“What, skin yourself? The cuffs are too tight. Even if you flayed your flesh, you wouldn’t get your bone through it.”

The cut looked bad, but luckily it was on the back of his wrist, away from the artery.

“These cuffs are really sharp, like he purposefully sharpened them.”

“No shit. What’s your point?”

He just kept staring at me like he’d won the lottery. I thought maybe he was starting to go a little insane. They say you do in situations like ours. Or maybe all that beer in his system had dulled his nervous system and he couldn’t feel pain anymore. If alcohol consumption was a power Tooth was a superhero all right. Then again, maybe he had figured something out. I was about to ask him when he shushed me and motioned toward the ceiling. Dust was falling in time with footsteps. Skinny Man was walking to the stairs.

Quickly, we worked the rags back into our mouths and pretended they were still tight even though they hung a little loose at the back of our necks. A second later the door swung open and our captor sauntered in, rolling my dice in his hand. He carried a black duffel bag in the other. He was clothed in the shirt and pants he’d had on earlier, but the cap was gone. Butch was at his heels, like a piece of shit-stained toilet paper stuck to his shoe.

“Hi, boys. Butch and me were just discussing something upstairs,” he said. “He’s real upset about Sundance and I’m not sure how to console him. Not like I’m a fucking grief counselor or something. I tried to tell him that Sundance is playing in Heaven, having a grand ol’ time, but he don’t believe me. When he gets this way there’s no talking to him. So I asked what I could do to make him feel better and he said he wanted to come play with you, maybe get his mind off things. Personally, I think it’d be kind of therapeutic for him, don’t you agree? Hell, what could I do?”

Skinny Man had this sort of dazed look in his eyes, the kind of look you see on people who don’t sleep much. He probably stayed up all night talking to the mice in the walls. While it wasn’t funny the way he talked to Butch, I thought it was funny that he had named both animals after two outlaws that arguably died at the end of the movie. Was that fate working for us?

Skinny Man played with the dice like he was rubbing his own balls, rolling them over one another. He put the duffel bag on the ground and stared at my chest for a moment, mulling something over.

“Silver Surfer,” he said. “I know that. Used to read that when I was younger. Metal man from outer space imprisoned on Earth, helping mankind fight against the evil of the universe. Boy, that was the kind of hero I loved when I was a kid. That was the kind of thing made you want to do good in school, and bring flowers home to your mama. You ever bring flowers home to your mama?”

I didn’t respond. He grabbed my throat and squeezed hard until it felt like the front on my neck was touching the back. Tears fell from my eyes and through them I could see Tooth watching intently.

“Politeness is a virtue. Answer the question or I’ll go get your mama and bring her back here and we can have a family discussion.”

I cried, “No!”

Skinny Man liked that; he smiled and let go of my throat. Air rushed into my lungs and I immediately started coughing. “Answer the question. Did you ever bring your mama flowers?”

I faked a muffled yes because I didn’t want him to know we’d loosened our gags.

“Son, I’m not stupid. I know that gag has been out of your mouth. You think I was born yesterday? Normally, I got some duct tape lying about but somebody thought it would be funny to bury it, and all I had left was these old rags I used to clean up somebody’s piss.”

Each time he said “somebody” he looked at Butch.

“Anyway, you don’t need to answer. I can tell you were a good boy. You were never in trouble. Must have been a straight-A student, apple of your mama’s eye.”

I didn’t like the way he used the past tense when referring to me. It was not a good sign. He ripped the gag clean off of me and threw it on the floor.

“But you did break one law: trespassing. Why did you trespass on my property?

“Because we heard a woman screaming.” My voice was shaky and unsure.

“Because you wanted to be a hero like Silver Surfer here. But there are no heroes in this world, my friend, only winners and losers, the strong and weak, the chosen and unchosen. Trust me, I know. Ain’t that right, Butch, we know all about that kind of thing. And we know what happens to little boys that break the rules, don’t we? They become the property of the demolition crew. You ever see a building get torn down? They smash that big ol’ wrecking ball into it and kapow! the wall crumbles and falls to the ground. Too brutish, I tell ya. Some poor soul took the time to make that building, took care to place each brick just right, gave a piece of himself in the process. Yet every time, they just bash that ball into it. We’re not like that though, are we? No sir, we’re a different kind of demolition crew. Someone took the time to make you, and we’re gonna take the same kind of care and passion in unmaking you. . my little rule breakers. But this is neither here nor there. Butch wants to play, so we’re gonna play.”

He put the dice in his pocket, opened the duffel bag and reached inside. He pulled out a length of razor wire and two heavy work gloves. I went flaccid, as if my bones had been turned into wet noodles. Tooth thrust his gag out and yelled, “Fight me, fight me man to man!”

Skinny Man put the gloves on, took hold of the wire, and whipped Tooth across the face with it. It made a sound like someone undoing their zipper. Little pearls of blood splashed against the side of my head, some of it flying into my ear and lodging in the ear canal. No sooner had he hit Tooth than Tooth picked his head back up and looked right at him, stubborn as ever. His right cheek was slashed open in three places. The bruises inflicted yesterday, which had since filled with puss, were pumping out all sorts of blackish fluids.

That’s when Skinny Man thrust the razor wire into Tooth’s mouth and tied it around the back of his head. The razors sliced off part of Tooth’s bottom lip, which fell to the floor. Butch ran over and snatched it up, bobbing his head up and down as he ate it. Tooth screamed. But he stopped quickly, realizing that any movement of his jaw would cut him. It was too late though, the razors cut into the corners of his mouth, and within seconds had sliced them open to his cheeks. The blood ran in rivulets.

I realized I was trying to scream but wasn’t making any noise. It’s funny how they say your voice can be a weapon, but when you’re dead fucking scared, and could probably use it, it takes a hike. Didn’t matter how horrified I was-my throat wouldn’t respond to the image in front of me.