Scott Sigler - Nocturnal - A Novel

Finally, Rex would draw Alex. Alex, and all the things Rex wished he could do to him.

The sketch pad waited.

Rex drew.

Aggie James, Duckies and Bunnies

Aggie James pulled the dirty sleeping bag tighter around his body. Even the two cardboard boxes underneath him couldn’t keep away the ground’s chill. He’d wedged himself behind a dumpster that blocked at least some of the light wind, but San Francisco’s night mist permeated his clothes, saturated every breath he drew into his lungs, even soaked into the sleeping bag he’d been so lucky to find. The sleeping bag was red, with duckies and bunnies on it. He’d found it draped over a trashcan not too far from here.

He felt the cold, the dampness, but those were distant, just faint echoes of something that might concern him. Weather didn’t matter, because he had scored. Scored big . And it was good shit, too — he’d felt the horse kick in before he’d even pulled the syringe out of his arm.

This was his favorite sleeping spot, in the back doorway of some old furniture store on Fern Street, just off Van Ness. They called it a street , but it was an alley . No one really bothered him here.

A numbing warmth spread all over his body, even down to his toenails, man, even down to his toenails . So it was cold out, so what? Aggie was warm in the way he needed to be warm.

He heard a light thump, then a heavier rattle, like something had landed on the dumpster.

“Pierre, you retard, try to be quiet.”

“You sthut up.”

The first voice sounded raspy, like sandpaper on rough wood. The second rang deep. Deep and slow . The sounds echoed through Aggie’s head. He hoped these guys would just pass on by. Sleep was coming whether he wanted it or not. Damn , but this was some good shit.

“This him?” The sandpaper voice.

“Uh-huh,” said a third voice. This one sounded high-pitched. “We gotta clean him up, but for sure he’s a won’t-be.”

The sound of someone sniffing, and that sound was close. When Aggie heard it, he felt a cool trickle of air across his cheek. Was someone smelling him?

Aggie tried to open his eyes. They cracked, just a little. He saw a blurry image of a kid’s head, maybe a teenager?

The teenager smiled.

Aggie’s eyes slid shut, returning him to the delicious darkness. Had he dropped a tab? Maybe he had after he shot up, then forgot about it. Had to be something — horse had never made him hallucinate before. Well, maybe a little, but not like that . Had to be acid. Only acid could have made him see that teenager with big black eyes, skin as purple as grape juice, and a smiling mouth full of big fucking shark teeth.

Just say no to hallucinations , thank you very much.

“I been watching him,” said the high-pitched voice.

“He looks sthick,” said the deep voice. Something about that voice, something wet and slurry. It reminded Aggie of Sylvester, the cat from Looney Toons, the way he’d spit and slobber while working out suffering succotash . The guy sounded like he had a tongue that just didn’t know its place.

“He’s not sick,” said high-pitch.

“He looks sthick. Thly, you think he’s sthick?”

“I dunno,” said the sandpaper voice.

High-pitch sounded offended. “He’s not sick. He’s just stoned. We can clean him up.”

“He better not be sick,” said sandpaper voice. “The last one you picked must have had the flu. I shit chocolate milk for a week.”

“I said I was sorry about that,” said high-pitch.

Sandpaper voice sighed. “Whatever. Pierre, pick him up. We need to get back.”

Aggie felt strong arms slide under him, lift him effortlessly.

“I’m staying out tonight,” said high-pitch. “We have lots of time before dawn. I got to do my thing.”

The sandpaper voice again. “Chomper, you need to come back with us.”

“No. The visions. I … I can sense him.”

“Yeah, so can we,” said sandpaper. “I told you not to talk about it. You want Firstborn to beat you again?”

“No. I don’t want that again. But those assholes hurt him, I can feel it.”

Him . Whoever it was, he sounded important.

“I have someone watching over him,” sandpaper said. “You stay away, or you could bring the monster down on him.”

A pause. Aggie felt like he weighed all of five pounds. Maybe even five negative pounds, because you don’t weigh anything if you float.

“I’ll stay away,” high-pitch said. “But I’m not going home. Not yet.”

“Just don’t draw attention,” said the sandpaper voice. “And stay away from the king. Hillary said he’s not ready yet. You get us caught, Firstborn will kill us. Pierre, let’s go, we’re due back.”

“Okay, Sthly.”

Aggie felt like he was falling, only for a second, then he went up . So fast, herky-jerky, pop … pop … pop … like someone taking the stairs three at a time, yet the arms holding him felt gentle, like the guy carrying him was being careful — much like you would be careful carrying a dozen eggs you just bought from the store.

Aggie struggled to open his eyes again. He was on a rooftop. He could see Van Ness far below, his attention drawn to a green Starbucks sign. Not that a Starbucks sign was much of a landmark; those things were everywhere.

Then, the world lurched under him. Up, then down, then up, then down.

Despite the motion, the horse — that goddamn fine horse — finally caught up with him. Aggie James let himself slide into the warmth and the darkness, into the one place where the memories didn’t haunt him.

The Belt

But I feel sick.”

Roberta Deprovdechuk crossed her arms and stared. “Get up, boy. You go to school.”

The very word school did, in fact, make Rex feel sick. Sick inside, a cold sensation that made him want to crawl into a hole and hide forever.

“Honest, I really don’t feel good.”

She rolled her eyes. “You think I was born yesterday? You’re not sick. Those kids pick on you because you’re obnoxious. You leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone. Get up and get to school. And no skipping! You skip school like some good-for-nothing burnout, sit here and draw all day. I let you put your stupid pictures up on your walls, don’t I? Now get up .”

She grabbed the blankets and yanked them off. He had a horrid, frozen moment of exposure, of his boner pushing his underwear out in a little tent. Rex slammed his body into a fetal position, hands over his underwear-clad privates.

“You filthy boy! Did you touch it?”

Still curled up, he shook his head.

“Rex, did you touch yourself ?”

“No!”

He heard the familiar hiss of leather sliding through denim belt loops. He closed his eyes tight in anticipation of the pain to come.

“Roberta, I didn’t touch it! Honest, I—”

The crack of leather on his back cut his words short.

“You little liar.”

A second crack , this time on his legs. Despite the stinging pain, he stayed curled up. Rex knew better than to cry out, or to try and get away.

“I told you never to be like the other dirty boys, didn’t I?”

Crack , his shoulder lit up.

“I’m sorry! I won’t do it ever again!”

Crack , on the thin underwear fabric covering his ass. That one made him lurch, twitch, his body screaming at him to run , but he fought himself back into a tight ball.

If he ran or resisted, it would only get worse.

“There,” Roberta said. “I’m helping you, Rex. You need to learn these things. If you’re not ready for school in five minutes, you get more. You hear me talking to you?”