Ken Douglas - Gecko

He bit his lip against the pain he knew he was going to cause himself and silently screamed as he pulled on the tube. The silent scream turned into a belly wrenching wail as the needle dug into his flesh, but still he pulled on the tube and suddenly it pulled free.

The steady drip of the fluid hitting the floor echoed throughout the silent room, reminding him of leftover rain splashing down a rain gutter after a summer rainstorm.

He thought about giving up. It would be so easy to lie back, piss himself and go to sleep. He looked up at the spider just as she moved to the side. The gecko again moved around her to put her back on course, but instead of complying with the reptile’s wishes, like she’d been doing, she attacked, almost catching it with her fangs. She hadn’t given up yet. His bladder felt like it was going to burst, but in his drug induced state he equated wetting himself with giving in. He would hold it as long as possible. If the black lady above could hold on, so could he.

The steady patter of the dripping solution picked up an echo. Stereo, he thought, craning his head around to look. The clear drops were being matched drop for drop by the red liquid drops of his blood as it oozed out the tiny tunnel the tube had left in the tape. Great, he thought, if he didn’t do something, he would slowly bleed to death.

The thick red liquid covered his wrist and hand, making it impossible to see how bad the wound was and how fast he was losing blood. He wanted to know. The clear tube was hanging less than an inch from his grasp, so he stretched his bloody hand against the rope, hooked it with his index finger, and twisted his hand around, so that the drip landed on the bloody tape. He planned on the slippery liquid washing away enough of the blood to give him a look at the place where it flowed from the tape, but the blood was too thick and the drip too slow.

He stared at the clear liquid mingling with his blood and for a few minutes was lost in the clear splotches among the red ooze. Then he saw the gold band he still wore and wondered how slippery the red ooze was. He let go of the tube and watched it swing away. He had taken a vow. Till death do us part. Julia was dead, he was no longer married. He bent his wrist and moved his thumb behind the ring on his ring finger and pushed it over the knuckle. He was surprised how easily it slipped off.

The soft pinging sound the ring made as it bounced on the tile floor sent shivers of grief and regret through him. He shouldn’t have done it. He wanted the ring back. He stared at his bloody hand with his thumb still folded under his ring finger and an idea struck him. He had seen Julia fold her hand like that every time she slipped off a bracelet. With the slippery goo covering his hand, maybe he could slip it out from the rope tied around his wrist.

He looked up and saw that the spider was directly overhead, with the gecko moving around it, snapping at its legs. It was too fast for the confused spider, snapping first at its front, then an instant later at its back, keeping the spider spinning in a vain attempt to defend herself. Any second it would fall.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled his hand against the rope and came up against an unexpected obstacle. The needle. If he tried to slip his hand through the rope, he’d drive the needle further into his wrist and that would really hurt. He looked up at the spider bravely defying the gecko and made his decision. He let out a yell as he jerked his hand against the rope.

The defiant scream turned into an agonizing cry. The needle, pushed by the rope, dug into his wrist. His hand slipped further through the loop. The rope caught under the needle, pulling it up and ripping it through skin, tendon and muscle. He clamped his mouth shut, biting back a second scream as the room echoed with the crack of the needle snapping. His hand slipped through the rope as the spider fell, landing on his naked chest with a quiet plop.

His first impulse was to swat the spider off with his newly freed hand, but he bit his lip against the pain shooting from his wrist and watched the spider sitting on his belly button. This time he wasn’t frozen with fear. He felt a certain empathy with the deadly spider. They had the same enemy. He looked up at the chattering gecko above and, as if the spider knew what the man was thinking, it side stepped away from his belly, slid down his waist, walked across the bare mattress, dropped a web to the floor and slid down, away from Jim.

He grabbed the chrome IV pole with his bloodied hand, pain shooting from his wrist as his fingers closed on it, but he was a man with a mission. He lifted it an inch off the ground, testing its weight and balance. Then he turned his attention to the noisy gecko, set his mouth in a tight grin and looked away. But instead of setting the pole back on the floor, he shot his arm upward sending the pole flying to the ceiling like a spear.

He missed the gecko by over six inches, but the clear plastic IV bag flopped up, hitting the reptile like a water balloon, stunning it and sending it falling with the chrome tube, and the clear bag. The metal pole made a clanging sound when it hit the tile floor. The half full IV bag made a loud pop as it broke open, spilling its gooey liquid contents. The gecko hit with a tiny thud.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, turned his head to see the spider, a black blur, dart across the room toward the fallen reptile. She was on its back as it came to life. She sank her fangs into its flesh repeatedly as it twisted and tried to throw her off, but she held on with all eight legs, riding the gecko like a cowboy rides a bronco. She stayed with it until it quit its death throes and lay still.

When she was satisfied her enemy was dead, she hopped off its back and did a little dance around the fallen reptile. Despite everything, Jim smiled when she spun around, and he watched as she moved across the floor to the door and began to climb back toward the ceiling. She paused where the wall ended and the ceiling began, but after a few seconds she started her trek along the ceiling. She didn’t go far. She stopped over the doorway. Stopped and waited.

Jim swung his bloody left hand over and untied his right. Once it was free, he pulled out the rest of the broken needle with a tight grimace. He was weak and still bleeding. He pulled the sheet from the bed and tore a strip off with his teeth. Then he wrapped it tightly around his wrist. Only when he was sure the bleeding had stopped did he untie his feet.

He still had to piss. He looked around the room and settled on the farthest corner. He climbed off the bed, made his way to it, where he lay his cast against the wall for support and urinated. Finished, he stumbled to the door and wasn’t surprised to find it still locked from the outside. He went back to the bed, picking up the IV stand along the way. A five foot long chrome tube would make a good weapon. He propped it up by the bed, then sat and massaged his legs. The only thing left for him to do was wait-like the spider.

The lights went out twelve hours later and he was still waiting and beginning to think no one would ever come. Twice more he stumbled to his corner. Once to urinate, once to squat. The pleasant, drug induced sensation was replaced by a raw, nagging hunger. One arm ached, the other itched, his head hurt. He was naked, alone and fighting for his sanity, when he drifted off to a fitful sleep.

He woke several times during the night, but no one came. When he slept his dreams were peppered with fire and monsters. When he was awake his thoughts were of death and pain. He didn’t know which was worse. But awake or asleep, through the fire or the pain, he wondered who’d brought a black widow halfway around the world to frighten him. Everyone that knew about his being bitten by a black widow and how terrified he was that day, was dead.