Ryan Thomas - The Summer I Died

Tooth, whether he heard me or not, was still moving about, albeit slower than before. Sonofabitch was strong, a real tough mother. Should have been dead already, considering the amount of blood he’d lost. I could see by the crack of light from under the door that he was still hunkered over to one side, his hip probably shattered into tiny shards. And though I couldn’t see it, I figured he must be pumping out blood like a ruptured water main.

From above me, the ceiling shook with footsteps, a random pacing to and fro. Dust trickled down on my brow.

“Jamie,” I shouted, not caring if Skinny Man heard me or not, “Jamie, I’m sorry we fought all the time. I’m sorry for this, it’s all my fault. I’m sorry for not being nicer to you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I. . love. .”

And that was all I got out for Jamie, that I was sorry, because I felt the weight of the moment in my stomach and threw my head back and sobbed uncontrollably. I managed to say I love you, but she probably didn’t hear it around the sobbing. For all I knew she was dead now anyway.

The footsteps came down the stairs, the key went into the lock, and the door opened. Silhouetted against the light from upstairs, the skinny maniac sauntered in, already naked with the damn dog behind him.

He didn’t speak; he didn’t come over and touch us either. There was a new look in his eyes, not so much fear but sobriety, as if he’d just received some sort of life-altering wake up call. He reached up and turned the bulb on, apathetic to my snivels, and bathed the room in the color of dead leaves; the once yellow bulb was spattered with blood.

I looked over at my best friend, who was beyond anything I would ever recognize as human. Naked. Burnt. Bound. Gagged. Split. Sliced. Drenched in blood with two round medallions of raw meat stuck to his chest where his nipples had been, his duct-taped face erupting with pus and blood and strands of razor wire that had wedged into his forehead and cheekbones. The hole in the tape sucked in and out of his mouth so faintly it might have only been the breeze coming down the stairs that made it move. His blackened groin was a mass of bubbles and blood-filled boils that oozed down his legs. He was in the process of dying, our plan not so much abandoned as improbable now.

Flies speckled the walls, lit on my body, on Tooth’s body, in the dog dishes. The floor was brown with dried blood. A few toes, one with a silver ring, still lay about. The foot was gone, probably to wherever the mystery woman went. The pieces of Tooth’s cell phone were sticking out of the gore like tiny sinking lifeboats.

Skinny Man was going through his instruments on the table, picking up little knives and trowels and axes, examining a handsaw and a long metal rod sharpened at one end. He spread them out on the floor and went through each one, picking it up, hefting it, looking at us, putting it down.

I was beginning to breath heavier and heavier, both because Tooth was about to die, and I was about to take his spot in the game. Skinny Man knew Tooth was on his last breath, which meant those instruments were for me. He was mad at me anyway, because he couldn’t roll my number. Why I had been spared so far I didn’t know. I didn’t even want to begin to think about it. Not only did I not want to jinx it, but if I delved into it and sought for some religion, I would only attempt to find meaning in it. There was no meaning to this; this was just our bad luck. Nothing more. Purpose? Fate? Destiny? It was bullshit. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time, that was all.

And because I had my fucking driver’s license on me, Jamie was in it with us. He had never gone back to get my parents, or to seek out Tooth’s home. What were my parents doing now? They must have gotten back from Providence. But they wouldn’t come looking for me, not if they knew I was with Tooth. They’d just assume we were off drunk and hanging out. But Jamie, she was another story. If she didn’t check in they’d be concerned, they’d call her friends and ask if they knew where she was. She was supposed to have been at the damn mall flirting with boys. What happened? Cancelled plans? Bad luck again?

The wrong place at the wrong time.

Skinny Man chose a hammer and a spike about the size of a magic marker and stood up.

Tooth’s body, up till now supported by both the wall and the chains, began to slide down. Small nerve spasms rocked it back and forth. He wasn’t getting any air and his body was fighting for it.

“Tooth! Oh God, Tooth! No!”

Even though I knew it was my voice it still sounded far away. I’d read about how these moments appear as though you’re watching a television show or movie. But that’s only half right, because part of my brain knew it was happening right there, and so what I actually felt was split in half. I was two people, the mind and the body, looking at a picture of a cellar but feeling the wall and dirt floor within it. I wanted to be all mind, to see it all as a two-dimensional image. But it didn’t go that way.

Skinny Man unwrapped the tape from Tooth’s face. Underneath, the razor wire fell away to reveal branches of lacerations. His cheeks were shredded like tattered rags.

“I want to know why they call you Tooth,” Skinny Man said. He smashed the hammer into tooth’s jaw with the indifference of a man just doing his job and Tooth’s bridge went flying against the wall in a splotch of blood. “Well I’ll be, you ain’t even got any teeth, Tooth.” He pulled back his arm and swung again. Two molars shot out from the torn cheeks, blood spit out like black cherry sundae sauce. Tooth didn’t make a sound; I think he was crawling toward the light.

I was still screaming, “You fucker! Stop it! Stop it! Tooth! No!”

Then he put the spike to Tooth’s jaw and rammed it in with the hammer. Again and again he smashed the hammer into it. The jaw broke, actually came loose from the hinge. Skinny Man dropped the hammer and spike on the ground, grabbed the jaw with both hands and thrust downward on it, thrashing it, yanking, giving it all his weight.

My eyes were out of my skull.

Skinny Man pulled and pulled, picked up the hammer one more time and smashed it down on the front of the jaw. Then he yanked some more, ramming Tooth’s head down into the neck collar, and finally there was a crack and then another crack and then the jaw separated from the skull. Skinny Man yanked it still until the skin peeled down and ripped around the neck and it tore off and he held it in his hands and just stared at it triumphantly.

Tooth was dead.

I went still. Before I closed my eyes I saw Tooth’s skull, missing its jaw, the tongue hanging down like a necktie, blood flowing and some other goo, probably saliva or mucus, cascading out as well.

Under my lids, I went back to California and pretended I was watching Tooth pick up girls on the beach. He was wearing his Red Sox hat and had a beer in his hand, making lewd gestures that made the girls giggle. He waved me over but I was reading a Spider - man number one. I didn’t want to ruin his chances and besides, he seemed happy.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Skinny Man said, winded but grinning his stupid grin again.

I kept my eyes closed, watching the waves, trying desperately to make the dream real, but I heard him unchain Tooth’s body and drag it up the stairs, the head smacking each step in succession, like Mark Trieger, and that washed away the vision. I waited a few minutes and then opened my eyes again, looked at the empty room, saw the jaw bone in Butch’s dish though the dog wasn’t around. He must have followed his master out.

I turned away from the jaw with its sheet of torn skin curled up under it. It was crawling with little black dots. The flies had phoned their friends, invited them to the cookout.