J. Gonzalez - Back From The Dead

Tim tried not to let his enthusiasm show too much. He hefted his backpack in a more comfortable position. “That sounds great. What do you want to see?”

“ Hostel 3 is playing.”

“Sounds good to me!” Tim was dying to see Hostel 3 , and felt another sense of vindication. Another horror movie fan!

“Cool. Hey, listen, let’s meet up tomorrow at the beginning of lunch and we’ll swap numbers. I gotta go catch my next class. Mr. Banks. English Comp.”

“Okay, man.”

“See ya!” George clapped him on the shoulder again and took off, heading toward the row of buildings on the other side of campus.

Tim watched him go for a minute, then started heading to his own class. For the first time he could remember, he felt good about himself. After years of being the butt of everybody’s jokes, of hardly having any friends, he felt he was gaining strides in his social life. He and George had been tentatively sniffing around each other for the past year when George transferred to Spring Valley High from a school in Dauphin County. His parents were new to the area; job transfer. They’d hung out together somewhat at lunch and it was during those brief, yet introspective moments when they’d discussed mutual interests when he realized they were a lot alike. They liked horror and SF, were into gaming, and the same kind of music. The only difference was that George Ulrich didn’t have six years of baggage on him, branding him as an outcast. If he’d learned about any of Tim’s history from the other kids he never revealed it, or let it affect him. Tim had known Al, Matt, and Chelsea casually since Middle School and everything seemed to just magically come together when George arrived. They started hanging out together at school. And it was shortly after that he began to really notice Chelsea. She’d always seemed to carry an aura of trouble about her. Tim could never pin anything specific to her, but the impression he had was she was not the typical clichéd fake tortured soul so many artsy kids pretended to be. It had taken Chelsea a good two months to open up to the others during their lunchtime conversations. It wasn’t until the last few weeks that Tim noticed three things about her: he really liked her as a human being, he was physically attracted to her, and she’d had some serious psychological problems in the past that had caused her to cut herself. More than once Tim caught a glimpse of scars running diagonally along her right inner forearm. The first time he noticed them it immediately made sense. Late in their tenth grade year, Chelsea had missed school for two weeks, with no explanation given for the absence. He’d wanted to ask her about it but wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. Maybe it was better if he didn’t. Besides, it didn’t matter. He liked her, and that was all that mattered.

Tim walked to class and slid into his seat in Mrs. Fegley’s Algebra class. The rest of the afternoon went by in a dreaming haze.

Through all the laughter, David couldn’t hear Scott yelling at him to stop. He hit the bum in the face again, his fists plowing two front teeth out. The bum’s face was a swollen, bloody mass of flesh. His right eye was completely swollen shut. He’d been pounding on the piece of shit the past minute or so and he was already working up a sweat. His fists and face were spattered with the man’s blood.

A hand gripped his wrist, stopping his next blow. “ I said stop !” Scott yelled.

David started, suddenly back in focus. He blinked, panting with exertion.

They’d trussed the homeless guy up by a pulley they installed on the ceiling via a heavy steel hook. Dangling from thick chains at the wrists, the homeless man had been stripped to the waist. His body was a mass of contusions and heavy bruising. His left side was puffy and swollen from repeated kicks and blows. The hardwood floor he dangled above was wet with piss and blood. The bum dangled, his breathing raspy, barely conscious.

Scott hauled David back. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you!”

David stepped away, confused. “I thought that’s what we brought him here for?”

“ We didn’t bring him here so you can kill him on the first day !” Scott yelled.

Scott and David were the only two in attendance in the guest house after the abduction. Since then, they’d pretty much left the bum alone. Scott had kept him gagged and tied up and allowed him to regain his senses. Then today after school he and David showed up to have some fun. Scott’s mistake was letting David go first.

“I want a crack at him too, you fucking asshole! Look what you did to his goddamn eye! You damn near punched it the fuck out of the socket!”

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” David rubbed a grimy forearm against his sweaty brow. Scott managed a grin and threw a mock punch at David. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They left the guesthouse; Scott locked the door behind them. They could leave the homeless guy dangling there all night for all he cared. His throat was already blown out from trying to scream his way through the gag. Scott discovered that this morning when he’d gone in to check on him.

They paused at the little gazebo in the center of the well-manicured back yard. Scott sat down on the quaint oak bench and David sat down next to him. He peeled off his shirt, revealing a well-muscled abdomen. Scott leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Gordon and Steve haven’t said anything, right?”

“Nah,” David said. He looked at Scott. “They’re cool, man. I told you we’re all cool with it.”

“Yeah, but the more people know, the more of a chance we’ll get caught!”

“Not if we keep it to the four of us.”

“All I want is a week with him,” Scott said. “I want my turn in a day or two. Then we can let Gordon and Steve have a turn.”

“And no filming,” David said.

“Goddamn right. No filming the shit and posting it to Youtube. That’s how all those other assholes get caught.” He rose to his feet and David followed. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

They headed to the house. “He’s only gonna last for so long. I figure when we’re done we can bury him in the woods that border Zuck’s Farm. We’ll do it right, too. Wrap him in plastic and dig a good five foot hole, drop him in.”

David nodded. “Yeah, that’s the ticket.”

Scott led the way in to the spacious house through the breakfast nook. As they stepped inside, David was struck by the immense size of the Bradfield home. It was immaculate. Well over four thousand square feet, it had five bedrooms and five baths, a large great room with vaulted ceilings, a large kitchen, a dining room, and a four car garage. There was an indoor swimming pool off the combination mud room/laundry room near the garage. The basement was finished and contained a family room with a wet bar, a media room, guest quarters, and a small workroom where Scott’s father had woodworking tools: bandsaw, various hammers and pliers, even a goddamn chainsaw. That was a lot of house for only three people, but David lived in a house that was only slightly smaller, with his brother and sister.

Scott opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. “Thirsty?”

“Yeah.”

David sat on one of the stools at the counter as Scott pulled down a pair of drinking glasses. As he poured the juice, Scott glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after four P.M. “Your folks working late again this week?”

“Dad is. Not sure about Mom.” Scott handed a glass to him.

“I can’t believe your mom still works,” David said. He took a sip of his orange juice; it was freshly squeezed, just the way he liked it. “When my dad was made senior partner, Mom quit her job.”