In a small suburb of St. Louis, approximately 300 miles south of the Wagner’s suburban home, a haggardly-looking man in his late twenties listened intently as a “car specialist” told him how much it would cost for a new head gasket on his Econoline van.
“Figure three days minimum and around $750, pal,” stated the master mechanic as he put his ballpoint pen back in his blue, shirt pocket.
Paul looked at the white oval on the man’s shirt and read the name Ray. There was a grayish stain over most of the red embroidery, otherwise it appeared to be clean. The mechanic refrained from eye contact and shuffled papers on a clipboard while he awaited Paul’s reply. “Are you serious?” exclaimed Paul with a shocked smile.
“Serious as cat shit on your favorite chair!” replied the mechanic as he clasped his hands, set them on the clipboard and looked at Paul.
Paul’s eyes bounced around the garage, while his mind considered alternative options, which of course didn’t exist. Paul was between a rock and a hard place. He wasn’t a member of any automotive club so his van was towed to the garage he was standing in by luck of the draw and not by his choice. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life towing a dead van, (at $85 a tow), from garage to garage to hear different price quotes. He remembered a sign taped to a wall at a diner he stopped at in Florida which read:
“Shingo’s quote
of the day,
It’s just a pothole!”
Paul had just landed in a $750 pothole! He sighed, looked at the mechanic’s blank expression and said, “Fix the son of a bitch. Is there a reasonably priced hotel or motel nearby?”
“Yeah, there’s one about ten miles from here. I’ll get a cab for you as soon as we’re done. We need to get some paperwork out of the way before we do anything.” The mechanic pulled a form with at least six carbons from a small desk drawer and asked, “Name?”
“Paul O. Porter,” came the response.
The mechanic printed the name in the appropriate box and seemed to be studying the form. “Anyone ever call you Pop, Mr. Porter? I don’t meet many people with initials that spell another name. Not many people would even notice that sort of oddity. It’s kind of a hobby I started a few years back. Mainly out of boredom I guess.”
“A young drunk in a bar called me Pop once and it had nothing to do with my name. You’re only the second man to honor me with that distinction,” replied Paul.
“Know what else is peculiar about your name?” asked the mechanic as he tapped the paper with the top of his pen.
“No, but I’m as excited as a rooster in a hen house waiting for you to tell me!” said Paul sarcastically.
“Not only do your initials spell out a name but it’s a palindrome to boot! That’s pretty rare too!” exclaimed the mechanic with a small degree of pride.
“Guess I’m just chocked-full of surprises. It’d be an even bigger thrill to me if I knew what you were talking about!”
“A palindrome is a word that spells the same thing forwards and backwards, like pop, mom or dad. Get it?” asked the mechanic with a smile.
“Got it. Is the tutoring extra or is that included in the $750?”
The mechanic chuckled, picked up his pen and said, “Sorry, old habits die hard. I was an English and automotive mechanics teacher at Dundee High for ten years before I started here.”
“Really? Downsized, huh?” speculated Paul.
“Yeah. We were overhauling the engine on an ‘83 olds when one of my seniors came to class and started throwing tools at me and some of the students. He was high on something and determined to cause pain. I tried to calm him down while another student called police. The guy that was high picked up a hammer and threatened me so I downsized him with a crowbar.”
Paul shook his head and smiled. He removed his driver’s license from his wallet and handed it to the mechanic. “Here. This should help you fill in the rest of the blanks.”
The mechanic held it up and said, “A Mississippi man. Are you here on business or pleasure?”
“Business. Are you about finished?” asked Paul when he noticed the mechanic had stopped writing.
“I need to make a copy of this license, have you sign by the X and I’ll get one my men started on your van as soon as possible.” The mechanic made the copy, had Paul sign the paperwork authorizing the repairs and said, “I’ll get that cab for you now. When you get settled, give us a call with your phone number so we can let you know when the van is ready.”
“Thanks, Ray, I’ll do that.”
“If I’m not here, ask for Vernon.”
Paul took his copy of the paperwork, put his license back in his wallet and nodded to Ray. After a 45-minute wait for the cab and 25-minute ride that should have only been ten, he arrived at a mediocre hotel. After catching a quick meal at a nearby fast food restaurant, he went back to his room and tried to get some sleep. Deplorable memories of yesterdays, scrambled liberally with baneful thoughts of tomorrows, blurred his reality and constantly badgered his mind.
Paul opened a suitcase and produced a photo of a gorgeous, redheaded woman in a red turtleneck sweater. He had just retrieved it yesterday and it was all that was left of what could have been a great set up for him. He could have had his cake and eaten it too. She had the master key to many men’s universe. Shannon was beautiful, sexy and great in bed. She didn’t want a long-term relationship, just someone outside of her marriage to jump her bones and keep her life exciting, just like Paul. Unfortunately, Shannon was no more. She was out of Paul’s and everyone else’s life forever. Although he didn’t do her in, he was responsible for her demise.
He rubbed his eyes, leaned back and stretched out on the bed. When he tried closing his eyes, all he could see was Shannon. He could smell her perfume and taste her lips. He could feel the soft strands of her hair gliding between his fingers. He could still feel the warmth or her body against his after they made love. They would never meet again. Shannon would forever be just a memory, like so many other memories.
Sleep didn’t come easy to Paul and that night was no exception. Normal sleep was more a treat than a routine. One remedy for his insomnia that occasionally worked was a trip to the lounge. He had been in hundreds of hotels and as many lounges.
He sat at a small round table and ordered two Johnny Red’s on the rocks to start the evening. He always wanted the first two on the rocks. After that, he didn’t care how they came. He only cared when they came.
Many of the hotels featured live bands in their lounges. The more Paul drank, the better those groups performed. There was one band in Texas called the Queen Red Oranges that started out so bad, that Paul preferred the sound of a chorus of barking dogs to their playing and singing. As the night wore on though their practice must have paid off because they didn’t sound that bad to Paul anymore.
Paul was sliding his finger through the water rings where his glass had been, when he spotted two women sitting at a table in front of him. The brunette kept staring at him, while the blond sized up the man at the table to Paul’s left. The guy at the other table was wearing a moderately priced suit and loosened tie. He was nursing some sort of mixed drink, which meant he was probably staying at the hotel and had nothing else to do. When he saw the blond taking an interest in him, Paul saw the guy discreetly remove his wedding band and slide it into a pants pocket.
Paul nonchalantly walked to the women’s table and after exchanging introductions, invited the brunette to have a drink with him. The brunette accepted and accompanied Paul back to his table.
He gestured for the waitress and asked his date, Marie, what she was drinking.
“Why don’t we start with a Manhattan?” she said with a seductive smile.
The server acknowledged Paul with a slight nod of her head. She stopped at another table before making it to Paul and seemed oblivious to the customer’s hand on her butt as he ordered another drink. After she took his order, she gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, winked at him and then put his considerable tip in h
er tip glass. She made her way to Paul, smiled softly and said, “Another round?”
Paul couldn’t remember his server’s name so he looked again at the name tag pinned above the left breast of her plain white, cotton blouse. He paused for a few seconds to admire the cleavage and said, “Yes, Tanya, I’d appreciate that. My friend here would like a Manhattan.”
Tanya made a couple of scribble marks on an order pad and went to the next table. Paul savored her shapely legs as she glided past and wanted to liberate them from their black pantyhose. He also liked the way she wore her hair. Shannon used to tie her hair in a French braid almost exactly like Tanya’s. His wife, Pat, rarely did because it was too much of a bother. He wondered from time to time how his wife was doing. He hadn’t spoken to her in several years. He assumed she had divorced him in absentia and had probably hooked up with another man. What he didn’t know was that she had been dating his old friend, Bosco. One of the conditions of their dating was to ditch the tobacco plugs. They were as revolting to Pat as they were to her sister, Pam.
He was good for Pat and vice versa. The Bosco that Paul knew was solid as a rock, faithful, steady and as loyal as they come. He had no idea if Bosco was a good lover and actually never gave it much thought. Bosco was just one of those guys that was always there when you needed him. He was a very simple man, with simple needs and had no sense of adventure. Most of the guys he grew up with avoided him, because they he wasn’t really a guy you wanted around when you were in the mood for “fun”.
Paul thought of his wife often and wallpapered many empty hotel and motel rooms with memories of her. He hungered to trace her slender shape with his hands and share her sweat in the throes of passion. He recalled the nights of her tender caresses, passionate kisses and selfless devotion. He needed to hear her laughter and the way it lifted heavy thoughts from his mind. He missed teasing her and the fun they had together. He knew he had a good woman, that’s why he married her. He had changed in many significant ways. Unfortunately, Paul screwed up in a major, unfixable way. It was all long gone and like Humpty Dumpty, they would never be back together again.
Marie interrupted Paul’s wandering thoughts and said, “Are you in town on business, Paul?”
Popular question in this town, thought Paul. “Not really. I just wrapped up the business I needed to take care of. I’ve been sidelined for a couple of days because of mechanical problems with my van.”
Marie glanced back, smiled at her friend and while still smiling, looked back at Paul and asked, “What kind of business are you in?”
Paul sighed slightly and looked down at the table top. Everything was always the same. He knew the routine like lines in a play that had been memorized. He knew what questions would be asked and what questions to ask. He knew what to answer and what she would answer. What should he tell Marie? Should he say that he takes part-time jobs in each town to make ends meet or tell her he’s a traveling salesman? Maybe he should tell her that he’s a pharmaceutical representative, like Shannon used to be when she was alive. He was dressed well enough to say he was a high-priced corporate lawyer. What did it matter that it was his only suit? Maybe he should go back to the room, change into his one pair of jeans and then the conversation would be over and he wouldn’t have to select any lines at all.
It didn’t matter what story he decided to tell or what character he decided to play. It always ended the same way. Different stories simply made the ordeal more tolerable and less depressing.
Paul raised his head and said, “Would you like to hear the truth for a change…or does it matter?”
Marie smiled seductively and said, “I’m a pretty good judge of character, Paul, and I doubt you would tell me anything less than the truth!”
Paul chuckled and said, “Okay. I’m a hunter of sorts. I’m also a caretaker and a collector. I guess I wear several hats, so to speak.”
Marie finished the last sips of the drink she had brought with her from the other table and said, “Hmmm. A hunter. Interesting. I haven’t met one of those yet.” Marie wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked at Paul. “So, do you hunt people or animals?”
Paul feigned a half-smile and said, “Neither. I hunt things. Deadly things. Things that will pull your plug and plunge you into eternal darkness just for being alive.” Paul gazed passively into his empty glass and said somberly, “Things that will pluck your eyeballs out while you’re asleep or suck you down a drain while you’re taking a relaxing, hot bath.”
He paused momentarily to look into Marie’s eyes and measure her response. She had a blank stare and didn’t know if it was because she was in shock or simply because she thought he was bullshitting her to be different.
He took a shallow breath and continued with his job description. “I’m a caretaker of things that enjoy the taste of fresh blood and fatty bone marrow. It doesn’t matter if it’s animal or human, just so long as it’s fresh and tasty.”
Paul leaned his body imperceptibly forward, looked Marie straight in the eyes and said, “Or things that will burn you to a cinder and drag your soul through the halls of eternal damnation.”
Marie evaluated Paul’s narration and found it lacking in credibility. It all sounded more absurd than any other story she had ever heard. She passed Paul’s comments off with little interest and mentally catalogued them in her special file devoted to lonely guys on the road. Each guy tried to be unique and special. They all wanted to be more interesting than their normal life permitted. She too knew the routine. The routine she was familiar with differed only slightly from Paul’s. She knew all of the questions, mannerisms and answers. Once she made it successfully past the facade, she discovered most of the men were married and watched exciting movies starring actors like Charles Bronson or Clint Eastwood. They fantasized that they were just as tough, just before helping with the dinner dishes. Most were ordinary guys who played with their kids, hugged their wives and dealt with ordinary responsibilities. Guys who paid their bills on time and followed a daily, boring routine. When they were on the road, the actor inside would burst out and the fantasy would begin. She deemed Paul to be no different than the rest. His story was the most unique she had ever heard and if awards could be presented, he’d surely take the grand prize.
“Am I supposed to be impressed, scared out of my wits or just incredibly disgusted?” she asked blandly.
“It’s your choice,” he replied almost immediately after she finished speaking. He knew what her response would be and gave his answer with very little thought. It would have been more stimulating to him if she’d said anything else. It would have impressed him. It might have even saved her life. She was no different than anyone else had been. They always had doubt.
“Why don’t you tell me exactly what you hunt and why?” she queried with a smile. She wanted to see how creative Paul could be with his tale of terror.
Paul was temporarily distracted by the group performing on stage. He grimaced as they offered a weak rendition of a popular Beatles tune. It was one of those songs you hear and hum the same line over and over because you either can’t remember the rest of the lyrics or you can’t understand them. In any event, the band on stage was beating the song to death.
Paul drifted back to Marie and said, “Judging by your tone and reaction, I’d have to say that you don’t believe much of what I’ve told so far. It’s understandable. No one does until I show them my collection. The nature of my journeys demands that I show my collection to the vast majority of the people I meet. It’s all part of this wretched curse that’s been placed upon me. I have a few items in my collection that require feedings with some degree of regularity. In that sense, I’m also a caretaker. The things always get what they want…I rarely do. I am, however, allowed this one treat!” said Paul as he downed the new drink that had just arrived.
Tanya was about to walk off, when Paul grabbed her wrist. He held it until the last of the liquid coursed quickly down his throat. He set the glass down carefully, looked at t
he Tanya and said, “Hit me again.”
Tanya always smiled when a customer said “hit me…” . There were many nights that she would like to take them literally and knock them to the floor. Of course, she never did, even though there were several bastards who deserved to have the crap kicked out of them. She turned to Marie and said, “Would you like another?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine for now,” she replied.
Marie didn’t usually call a man’s bluff. She’d go along with the story, enjoy the man’s company and have a pleasant night of entertainment. She didn’t always care what they had to say because she hadn’t reached the point where she was interested in a long-term relationship. After the festivities of the night were over, she generally didn’t want to see her date again. Few men ever had a second chance with Marie. Although she was a hard nut to crack, there was something appealing about Paul. Something that made her want to know more. She couldn’t put her finger on it exactly. Maybe it was an inner sadness or need for comforting that he was projecting. She made an exception to her first rule of caution and invited further discussion about Paul’s “things”.
She waited for Tanya to leave, then smiled and said, “Where do you keep your collection?”
“It goes everywhere I go. I’d love to leave it someplace, believe me! Like I said, some have special needs. It’s all part of the curse.”
“You’ve mentioned a curse several times. What kind of curse are you under?” asked Marie as she sipped her drink.
Paul looked at Marie like he looked at so many people before her. He knew it would end the same way as all the rest and didn’t want it to. Just as he got to know someone and really enjoy their company, he found himself saying goodbye. He’d also met some people whom he couldn’t say goodbye to quickly enough. Oh well, he had to do what he had to do and he had to do it that night.
Paul sighed and said, “I’ll tell you all about the collection and the curse soon enough. When I tell you, you’ll regret it and wish I hadn’t.”
“It’s that awful, is it?” asked Marie in a patronizing voice.
“Marie, it’s worse than awful. Without a doubt, the curse goes well above and beyond the call of horrible!” stated Paul.
Paul had told the same story for so long that any sincere fears were disguised by repetition. Marie wasn’t able to perceive any indications in Paul’s tone of voice so she doubted the seriousness of the tale.
Tanya returned with Paul’s drink and set it on the table. “Another?” she asked with a flirtatious smile.
“No, thanks,” he replied. He downed the new drink in the same manner as all the others and looked at Marie. “Do you have a car tonight?”
“What do we need a car for?” she asked as Tanya left.
“My van isn’t feeling well. I had to put it in the shop for some minor surgery. I thought you wanted to see my collection.”
Marie chuckled slightly. “Of course, I’d love to see this famous ‘collection’. I really thought you’d tell me it was in your hotel room. I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s down an old country road with no street lights. We’ll get down the road and find out that we’re hopelessly lost or it’ll be a dirt road with some muddy patches deep enough to get a car stuck in for a few hours!” said Marie with a gentle, knowing smile.
“Not at all. It’s in a very public place with plenty of surrounding street lights. It’s not far at all,” he stated.
Marie studied Paul’s face again and decided to play along. He looked safe enough and she wanted to see Paul squirm when she called his hand. Remaining in the empty lounge would be unproductive and incredibly boring.
“My friend and I take turns driving when we go out. It was her turn to drive tonight. If she doesn’t have any plans, I doubt she’ll mind me borrowing the car. She’s borrowed mine on different occasions. You’re sure I’ll be safe with you? Do I need you to leave your driver’s license with her?” asked Marie with a mischievous grin.
“You tell me,” he replied with an equally mischievous grin.
Marie looked at the few drops left in her glass and spun them in a circular motion as she thought. She looked back at her friend, then at the glass and finally back at Paul. “Okay. I’ll tell Susan we’re leaving and get the car keys. How long will we be gone so I can give Sue some idea of when to expect us back?”
“It depends on you. Will Susan have a problem getting home if she wants to leave?” asked Paul.
Marie laughed softly and said, “Are you kidding? Sue will be just fine. Take my word for it! I’ll be right back.”
Paul watched as Marie whispered something to her friend. Susan kept staring at Paul as the two exchanged conversation. Shortly thereafter, Susan removed a set of keys from her purse and handed them to Marie. She strolled back to Paul and said, “Ready when you are!”
“Your friend doesn’t look too happy. What did you tell her?” asked Paul calmly.
“I told her that we were going to look at your ‘collection’ and I wasn’t sure how long we’d be gone. She looked at you and told me not to trust you. She thinks your collection is housed between your legs!”
“Why don’t you tell her to come along and she can see for herself?”
“I asked her if she wanted to come along and she told me that she has other plans,“ said Marie with a smile. “She knows I can protect myself if I need to. If she’s not here when we get back, she wants me to call her.”
Paul finished his drink and said, “I’m ready.” He looked at the server, threw some cash on the table and walked outside with Marie.
Marie adjusted her coat and shivered from the cold. She handed Paul the keys and said, “Do you feel comfortable enough with the area to drive?”
Paul shrugged and said, “Sure.”
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
“I’ve got a general idea. I noticed some familiar landmarks. This isn’t my first trip to your lovely city. I was here less than a year ago, only I never made it to this part of town. I sure as hell won’t take the same route my cab driver took!”
Their warm breath fogged the windshield almost immediately, so they sat in the car and waited for the engine to warm up. Paul cupped his hands and blew in them intermittently while Marie donned her gloves. Their silence made Marie feel a little uncomfortable. As long as someone was talking, she could constantly gauge her situation. She knew that any situation could change very quickly and without notice.
Once Paul put the car in gear and started toward the shop housing his van, she removed her right glove and slipped her hand into her brown, leather, shoulder bag. Once she felt the cold, silver-plated, .25 caliber pistol, she felt more confident about the outcome of their unusual journey.
“Out of curiosity, where are we going?”
“Believe it or not, I have a superior sense of direction. It’s a side effect of the curse. It should be a block or so up this street and somewhere on the right side of the road,” said Paul as he kept looking to his right.
“A superior sense of direction? Are you sure this is your first visit to this neck of the woods? You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” asked Marie suspiciously. She was doubtful of the “sense of direction” part. She really thought he knew the area too well. She was thinking he had a wife tucked into bed somewhere nearby and made frequent outings like this one.
“Driving through this part of town is like driving through any other part of any other town. All the streets follow the same planned layout and they all lead back to my van,” stated Paul dryly.
“Thanks for not trying to impress me with a heavy foot on the gas. I really appreciate that. You wouldn’t believe how many men let their testosterone take the wheel and try to convince me of their masculinity. Fast driving scares the hell out of me. There was a time however, when I loved it and never objected when my high school boyfriend drove too fast. Then one night we were coming home from a party at a friend’s house and we had too much to drink.” Marie laughed and looked out he
r passenger window. “We were all too young to drink legally so any alcohol at that time was too much! My boyfriend only had a learner’s permit and was supposed to have a licensed driver with him whenever he was driving. His mother had plans and his father was watching a football game on TV and didn’t want to be bothered. Besides, he didn’t give a damn about the rules anyway, so he gave my boyfriend the car keys.” Marie turned, looked at the floorboard and said, “I looked at the speedometer and the needle was moving past 90 when he lost control of the car. When I woke up in the hospital two days later, I learned that I had a skull fracture, a broken arm, a broken leg and several broken ribs. My boyfriend and two kids in the back seat all died.”
“An experience like that would leave an understandable lifetime impression.” Paul raised his finger and pointed. “There it is.” He didn’t give a shit about her stupid little sob story. He had lived though several situations, far more severe and tragic than a simple car wreck. All of his attention was focused on where he was going. He had a job to do.
After the car rolled to a gentle stop, the two sat quietly and stared at the garage where Paul’s van was. Paul looked to Marie and said, “Last chance to change your mind.”
Marie opened the car door and stepped out. Paul followed suit and the two approached the building. Paul looked through the dirty glass of the automatic garage door and stared at his weather beaten van. “Sure isn’t much to look at is it? At least it’s paid for and gets me where I need to go…most of the time!”
Marie stood to Paul’s right and looked. “Jesus Christ! You want to get it on with me in that freezing cold van? I suppose we’d just have to wait for the mechanics to come to work in the morning to free our bodies from the metal, once they stuck to it from all the sweat!”
Paul smiled. “Now that would be an interesting thought!”
“I like you, Paul, even though you’re a bit stranger than most men I date. I’ve got a feeling you might have a sweet spot or two and I think one of them is right there,” she said as she touched his lips with her index finger. “Am I right? Are your lips as sweet as candy?” She turned his body to face hers, ran her hands up his arms and leaned into him. “Let’s just see how they taste.” She pressed her lips against his and ran her fingers through his hair as she kissed him. She backed away slowly, smiled and said, “What’d you think of the coming attractions?”
Paul glanced through the garage door window and then at Marie. “It was wonderful. I haven’t been kissed like that in quite some time.”
“I want you to understand that I’m not an easy catch. I don’t make it a practice to sleep around, although I certainly wouldn’t mind making love to you. Not here though. The atmosphere is all wrong and it’s too damn cold! Let’s go back to your room or my apartment and you can show me your collection there. At least it’ll be warmer and more comfortable,” said Marie in a gentle and caring voice as she rubbed his forearm.
“I hadn’t planned on doing ‘it’ here or anywhere. I knew you wouldn’t understand, Marie. You couldn’t possibly understand. It’s yet another part of that wretched curse. I can’t ever have sex until the curse has been completely lifted,” said Paul in a frustrated voice.
Marie felt uneasy with Paul’s response. Maybe he didn’t have a few sweet spots after all. Maybe he was some perverted serial murderer that delighted in ritual mutilations? Maybe he wasn’t anything bad, just mentally impaired or prone to hallucinations. She thought of the gun in her purse and tried to think of the best spot on his body to aim for if she had to shoot.
Marie decided that the best course of action was to go along with the situation until she could safely react. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right and you’re under some evil spell. When or how does the spell get broken? Do you have to kiss a frog or something?”
“I was tasked with gathering a considerable list of things. When I find the last one, I’ll be set free.”
“You really have a collection in that van?” She was shocked. Maybe he really believed in the curse idea and had a bunch of junk in the van. Poor guy, she thought. Maybe he was just suffering from delusions and was driving all over creation with someone’s trash in the back of his van. She smiled, looked at Paul and said, “Well, Don Quixote, if I’m to be your Dulcinea, perhaps we should make sure you’re prepared for battle!”
Paul hesitated. He almost didn’t want to show Marie the van. He was growing fond of her. I have to do what I have to do. I have no choice, thought Paul, as he turned away from Marie and walked briskly to a side door of the shop.
Marie stood her ground and moments later, heard the sound of breaking glass coming from Paul’s general direction. She waited for screaming alarms to shatter the brittle night air, summoning sufficient authorities for a rousing game of poker. Oddly enough, there was no response. All remained peaceful and calm. Only time would tell if there was a silent alarm.
A frightening thought struck her as hard as being hit in the chest by a baseball bat. There was a remote, almost impossibly remote, possibility that Paul might be telling the truth. If that were so, the outcome could be very scary. She inhaled a generous helping of the frigid, dry air and mated her finger with the trigger of the pistol in her purse, just in case she wasn’t his Dulcinea. Her heart started pounding so hard, she thought she could hear it. It was an identical feeling to the one she had while she was waiting for the judge to sentence her on the misdemeanor possession charge.
When Marie was a young teenager, she endured a myriad of personal problems that pushed her out of her high school, her family home, and into the real world. She got involved with a group of rebellious, thrill-seeking kids that lived vicariously, with one foot over the edge.
An undercover cop made a drug buy and later raided the house she was staying at with a bunch other kids. She was booked for simple possession and later received 12 months probation as a sentence. She was lucky, not all of the others were. Two of them were selling hard narcotics and were given sentences of five to ten years.
If what Paul was telling her was based on fact, then she needed to plan an avenue of escape. If he was just handing her a line to get into her pants, she didn’t want to overreact and look like an idiot. She wasn’t sure what direction to pursue. The only thing she knew with any certainty was that she had no desire to become a maggot brunch.
Her head swiveled from left to right. Her best and quickest way out would be the car. Did Paul leave the keys in the ignition or were they in his pants pocket?
Marie jumped slightly as the garage door jerked without warning. She nearly squeezed a round off in her leg. She began to think that the time to bolt like a motivated rabbit had arrived. Her heart shifted gears and picked up the beat as the garage door wheels made their way noisily up the aging track. She fondled her pistol and decided to play one more hand with Paul. She was nervous, yet curious, and had to see where it was all leading. She mustered up the last of her courage and remained motionless as she awaited Paul’s next move. Gambling and taking chances had always been her downfall. Too bad she never learned that you can’t beat the house and Paul was the house.
The door was open far enough for Marie to enter without ducking so Paul released the green button he was pressing and moved confidently to the ominous object that was more his home than his vehicle.
Marie took a few cautious steps forward, stopping far short of the van. She looked it over several times and searched for any hints of danger.
Paul opened the two rear doors of the van dispassionately and said, “Marie, I’d like to introduce you to my collection. Collection, this is my beautiful date for the night. Her name is Marie…hmmm, I don’t know her last name.”
“It’s Harrison,” she said reflexively. She shook her head and chastised herself for volunteering more information than Paul needed to know at that point.
Paul nodded. “Thank you, Marie. Collection, this is Marie Harrison. Sorry, Marie, my collection only has one name.”
Marie’s grip on her weapon rema
ined true, although she was beginning to believe he was more crazy than dangerous. She moved closer to get a better look at the contents of the van. She made a quick study of a pile of assorted junk and said, “This is your collection?” she held back a nervous laugh and said, “Please don’t take offense, Paul. Your collection looks more like a flea market on wheels to me!”
Paul smiled, wiped the corners of his mouth and said, “It looks that way to any rational person that views it. In fact, it’s the story of my new life and a reminder of the old one I’ll never return to. I’m living out a nightmare that’s worse than anything written in science fiction novels. It’s a terrible curse brought on by years of selfishness, arrogance, over-indulgence, short-sidedness and seasoned liberally with stupidity.”
Marie moved boldly to the rear bumper and sniffed the air flowing from the van’s interior. She looked at Paul and said indignantly, “Oh my God! Do you process raw sewage in the back as well?”
Paul smiled and said, “It does smell that way at first. After you get used to it, it’s actually not so bad. Believe it or not, there are times I enjoy the fragrance.”
“I don’t think fragrance is an appropriate word for what I was just exposed to,” said Marie as she moved away from the path of the air flow.
Paul put his hand on one of the rear doors, lit a cigarette and looked in Marie’s direction. He was looking more through her than at her. “A number of years ago, a very bizarre woman moved south from a northeastern state. I think it was Massachusetts. It doesn’t really matter where she came from or why. The only important issue is that she moved to my state, to my town.” He dropped his hand, leaned against the door and cleared his throat. “Whenever my friends, LJ and Kevin, and I wanted to blow off some steam or just have a good time together, we’d go out drinking and raise some righteous hell. Most nights it was time away from the world. We’d have some harmless fun and do the male bonding type of crap. Then she moved in. The crazy bitch called herself Malvada. She used to tell local merchants that she was the ‘Prince’s Mistress’. I’m asking you, Marie, why would the ‘Prince’s Mistress’ want to settle in a condemned dump in the middle of nowhere? Maybe she wanted to get away from it all and retire in obscurity, I’ll never know. Unfortunately, she picked my town. You’d think a witch of her stature would find more business in some larger city. We never believed in real witches until we met her. You’re not supposed to be able to find witches just wandering around the countryside, are you?”
Marie looked at Paul in disbelief. “Come on, a witch? Broomstick and all?”
“Yes, a real witch. She had a broom all right but it was an ordinary broom that she probably used to clean the house with. I never saw her riding it in the sky. I know witches are just supposed to be a bunch of bullshit to scare the hell out of little kids at Halloween. Malvada was real. Too real. It seemed like I kept having coincidental encounters with her and each time they were negative. She was getting under my skin and I was growing more angry with her by the day. I told my buddies, LJ and Kevin, about her and they partnered with my anger. If I was angry, then they were angry.”
“That doesn’t sound healthy. I guess it is typical of men though,” smirked Marie.
“Kevin decided to see if he could find out more about her so he went snooping around her house. He was going to tell her that he was there to read the gas meter if she caught him. I doubt if the damn house ever had one. It was a Saturday afternoon around mid-August. Temperatures were hovering close to 100 degrees and you couldn’t buy a breeze. He saw that she had all of her windows open so he sneaked up to the edge of one and peeked in. There was an awful odor coming from the window, much the same as the one you smell here. He had been looking for a few minutes and started to gag from the fumes. He held his nose and was about to leave when he saw her coming in view from one of the back rooms. She was stark-naked. That’s not unusual in that kind of heat. A lot of people I know walk around naked in their house during the summer. What startled him was what he noticed next. He looked at her chest and saw three nipples. He remembered reading a book in school discussing myths about witches and one of the myths described witches as having three nipples. The third nipple is the mark of Satan. That would explain why she called herself the ‘Prince’s Mistress’.”
Paul heard a sound coming from the van and glanced in. “Shhh,” he whispered.
Marie shuffled her feet and said, “You guys must have really believed in the whole witchcraft thing to so readily accuse her of being a witch. The third nipple could have just been a birth defect. That’s probably how the stupid story originated. Some poor, victimized woman was most likely accused of being a witch. When she passed an insane test thought up by a moron proving her to be a witch, they discovered the third nipple and burned her at the stake. Urban legends start like that today with far less fact to go on, yet people by the thousands believe them.”
“I suppose it could have been an abnormality. We didn’t look at it that way. We were convinced, so we went to the library and did more research on witches and witchcraft. She fit every criteria established, without exception. We were at a loss as to what to do next. We tried going to the police, but we could tell that they didn't believe a word we said. We told some of our friends and they thought we’d been drinking too much. Others thought we were bullshitting them to have a little fun at their expense. We decided that if anything was going to be done about her, we’d have to be the ones to do it.”
“Did you ever take the time to approach her and express your thoughts, your fears?” asked Marie.
“No, we never did. We discussed the situation amongst ourselves and each time we talked about it, our anger churned and intensified our resolve to take action. We’d go to Grumpy’s, that was our favorite watering hole, get juiced up and drive by Malvada’s place to harass her. We’d do crazy stuff, like crapping on her front porch and throwing firecrackers in her front yard while we assumed she’d be sleeping. We went through town, gathered up about 15 for sale signs from people’s lawns and stuck them all in Malvada’s yard. One night, we were driving around in LJ’s truck, it was a big old, black, Chevy pick-up, nearly exactly like mine, and we decided to turn Malvada’s property into a landfill. It was trash night in town, so we went through several neighborhoods and filled the bed of LJ’s truck with as much trash as it would hold. Then we’d drive back to her house and dump it. We made five or six trips like that and laughed our asses off each time. We’d been drinking that night as well and decided to urinate on her front porch to cap the night off.”
“How manly! If I would have been in her shoes, I would have called the police and had you locked for as long as possible. You guys should have left that kind of behavior in the school yard when you graduated. It’s not at all funny. It’s just plain stupid,” said Marie quite angrily.
Paul and Marie looked to the street as a set of headlights passed. The air was so still and the area so quiet, they could hear the idle of the car engine at the traffic light. The vehicle gunned its engine and roared away. Paul flicked his cigarette to the ground and looked back at Marie. “One night we went too far. We all met at Grumpy’s, as usual, and drank pretty heavily until it closed. Then we all jumped in LJ’s truck and drove to Malvada’s. LJ had a case of beer in the bed so we sat in front of her house, drank the beer and threw the empties toward her porch. We hammered on LJ’s truck horn and laughed at stupid jokes that didn’t make any sense. Then LJ stopped laughing and started getting angry. He had some memory spring up that pissed him off. I think Kevin said something that provoked the reaction. LJ was never the type to tell you what bothered him so without knowing the cause, there’s never been any way to help him.”
“The man has some serious issues. That could be real dangerous for him down the road,” offered Marie.
“He shifted his anger to Malvada and the hotter he became, the hotter all of us became. It was like there wasn’t three individuals anymore. It was more like we had become a single creature, an ugly cr
eature, with three violent, snapping and irrational heads.” Paul lit another cigarette, blinked his eyes several times from the irritating smoke and looked out the garage door windows. “Anyway, I guess I was just too caught up in the thing. The next thing I knew I jumped from the cab of LJ’s truck, yanked his deer rifle from his gun rack and drove a round into the chamber. I yelled for the guys to watch as I took aim on some empty, green wine bottles in a living room window. Round after round followed the first. There was bottle and window glass flying wildly into her living room. LJ and Kevin were howling and cheering me on in a very sick way. The moment escalated and they joined in the assault by throwing rocks, empty beer bottles and anything else they thought would shatter any glass that was still intact. It was insane and we all laughed the whole time we were doing it. It’s so weird because none of us had acted that crazy before.”
Marie listened intently to Paul’s narration. She felt as though he had told the story before or at least rehearsed it. Even though the whole story could have been a bunch of bullshit, Marie sensed a disguised pain in his voice. She saw a vacant look in his eyes and determined that a deep loneliness had smothered his smile. She was sympathetic to the suffering he must have endured in his life, although she doubted that it was attributable to a witch.
Paul stopped abruptly and looked coldly into a glowing streetlight across from the garage. His bloodshot eyes mirrored the doubtful stare of Marie. He sighed deeply and continued. “I’ve seen that look before. You’re wondering how much this bag of bullshit will weigh by the time I’m done.”
Marie smiled and asked, “What happened next?”
“After I popped off the last round, we heard a high-pitch scream coming from inside the house. It was a long, loud, horrifying scream. A scream like someone enduring an unbearable pain. I can hear it echoing in my mind as if it just happened five minutes ago. I hear it all day, every day. I don’t think I’ll ever hear anything like that again.”
“It sounds like the last shot fired missed the original target and hit Malvada instead,” said Marie in an obliging voice.
Paul nodded and said, “Yeah, sure did. I never figured her to be in the line of fire. We all thought she’d run out the back and hide until it was over. No one in their right mind would have faced that kind of harassment. I was careless and an awful accident happened that shouldn’t have. Every bit of that night was preventable. I couldn’t change what I had already done.”
“How badly was she wounded?” asked Marie.
Paul finished his cigarette, dropped it to the floor and crushed it underneath his shoe. He shoved his hands into his pockets, wiggled his shoulders a bit as if to ward off a chill, and said, “Malvada came staggering to the front door, flung it open and pointed her knobby finger directly at Kevin. Seconds later, his entire body was engulfed in ghastly, almost life-like, green flames. One of the flames wrapped around his mouth and prevented him from uttering a sound or taking a breath. His body jumped and danced around, trying to escape the ordeal. He couldn’t move though. It was like someone had put a transparent fence around him.”
“Then she pointed at LJ. For a couple of minutes, the two looked at each and smiled. LJ flipped her off with both hands and stood solid as a rock, while a green bolt shot from her fingertip. It ignited LJ the same way Kevin had been lit up. LJ smiled as the flames engulfed his body. I was scared shitless and wanted to run like hell. I threw LJ’s rifle at her and tried to run away. I couldn’t move an inch. It was like an invisible lasso had been thrown around me and the noose was tightening at my waist. I had no choice, I had to stay. I’ve never been much on prayer or religion and never went to church on Sunday. When all the crap started with Malvada, I paged God and began to pray! I was panicking and willing to try anything in the few minutes I had been given.”
“Well, at that point, I would have tried anything myself. It doesn’t seem to matter who you are, whenever someone gets backed into a corner, they pray,” noted Marie.
“I suppose so,” replied Paul. “The green flames burned brighter and brighter, until both Kevin and LJ were nothing more than two piles of gray-white ash. I looked at Malvada and awaited my turn. Her face had become a strange, crumpled mass of green and black. It looked more like a kid mixed some paint with modeling clay, squeezed it through his fingers and slapped it on her skull. The pewter pentacle around her neck glowed to a bright white, then disappeared, leather strap and all. A red fluid oozed from her entire body and dripped to a spreading puddle at her feet. I hesitate to say that it was blood because nothing else about her was normal.”
“Sounds like a pretty disgusting scene!” remarked Marie.
“She extended her arm and fingers toward me and all I could do was watch helplessly as her fingers grew longer and longer. They grew from the porch she was standing on, to where I was paralyzed on the street. I’m talking about a distance of at least fifty feet! Her frigidly cold fingertips wrapped around my neck and squeezed tightly, like someone closing a handcuff. The next thing I knew, the fingers were contracting and pulling my body with them. Her grip was so tight, I could barely breathe. I still had no voluntary control over my body and could do nothing to try to break her grip.” Paul lit another cigarette and looked disinterestedly around the back of the garage. Marie maintained an interest in the story and like being caught up in a good novel, she wanted to hear the ending.
“Mind if I bum one of those?” she asked.
“Not at all. I didn’t realize you smoked.”
“I do occasionally. I used to smoke two packs a day and went on the patch to help me cut back.”
“Worried about your health?” asked Paul.
“Not really. The cost bothered me more than anything.”
Paul offered a cigarette from the pack and lit it when she put the filter to her lips. She had very kissable lips all right. He wanted more of those full, sexy lips. He wanted more of Marie. He desperately wanted to feel her sweating flesh against his. He knew it could never happen, so he flushed the idea from his mind and pressed on with the story. He had business to take care of.
“As I was being dragged back to Malvada, her fingers shifted from frigid cold, to warm and then to hot. The closer I got to her, the hotter the fingers became. I began to feel and smell my own flesh burning. Screaming was out of the question. It was all I could do to just breathe. Finally, we were nose to nose, or at least what should have been her nose anyway. Her breath smelled like day-old vomit. Her eyes had solidified and looked like two shiny, black marbles with a small, red dot in the center. She spat in my face and I could feel hot streams of fluid running over my eyes and down my cheeks. Then she spoke in a deep, raspy voice and said, ‘I’ve sent my belongings to here and to there. You alone, you piece of human dung, will be the only one to know where. You won’t know where until they deliver their blow and kiss their victims with my deadly lips. You are tasked with finding my things amidst the screams and return them all to me. Once you find me, your journey will be over. Until you find me, my things will need care and the proper attention they will have grown accustomed to. You will be required to feed them on a regular basis. Their diet will be readily learned. Since you have taken my life, the life of a woman, so shall I take all women from your life. You will be able to look, not touch. You’ll be allowed to savor and crave their wonderful essence, but will be forbidden to taste it. You’ll be able to talk and lust for them and that’s all. I’ve taken the necessary steps to make sure you’ll be able to follow through on my commands without hindrance.’ After she said that, I felt an excruciating pain in my groin and was left with a penis the size of a multivitamin. A small multivitamin at that!”
Marie snickered and said, “I’ve never seen one that small! That would certainly be worth looking at!”
“Go ahead and laugh. I suppose I would in the same situation. Then she said, ‘Each time you find one of my things, you’ll feel the pain I feel now and the last time we met. It will be your personal pain because you will witness the d
estruction that your acts of stupidity and insanity have caused. Even worse, there will come a time you’ll feel no emotion at all. Feed my things well; they’ll demand it. That is your curse, you useless piece of human dung. Wear it all until we meet again and I remove it. NOW BURY ME!!’ She pointed to a spot near an old elm tree and I watched as a shovel flew through the air and landed at my feet.”
Paul put a cupped hand to his mouth, coughed slightly and wiped his lips with his fingers. He looked in at the contents of the van and then at the concrete floor.
“I’m guessing that you buried her as directed and began the quest she established for you. Is there any more to the story?”
“There’s a lot more,” he replied as he pulled a black, wicker chair from the van. “Sit back and relax while I finish. You might as well be comfortable.”
Marie had grown tired of her stationary position and welcomed a chance to rest her shapely legs. She shifted around in the chair until she felt comfortable and looked Paul over. “If her fingers were hot enough for you to smell your flesh burning, then shouldn’t you have some scars around your neck?”
Paul smiled and said, “Good point. Yes, I do have them and I’ll be glad to show them to you right now.” As he opened his coat and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, four wicker strands popped free from the chair and slapped around each limb of Marie’s body. Two from the bottom of the chair started curling around her ankles and worked their way quickly up her legs. Two from the top part of the chair curled around her wrists and ran up to her shoulders. They squeezed tightly around her arms and legs, pulling her snug against the body of the chair and totally immobilizing her. Marie’s eyes opened widely and her head darted from side to side, examining the involuntary bondage. She pulled hard against her wrists, trying desperately to get to the purse and gun in her lap.
“Marie, I’m so sorry. It’s nothing personal, believe me. As I told you, they require periodic nourishment. Well, it’s dinner time for the chair and I’m sad to say that you’re the main entrée! There have been many before you. Believe me when I say it’s not something I enjoy doing. It’s something I have to do. You don’t know how times I’ve had second thoughts or how many times I’ve said I refuse to do this anymore. The problem is, if I don’t feed them, then they disappear and end up in someone’s house or apartment and I have to track them down all over again. That gives all of them more time to feed, more people to suffer. Surely, you can see the awkward position I’m in.”
Marie looked at Paul in absolute horror. Her eyes couldn’t have been stretched any wider. When she opened her mouth to scream, a wicker strand shot from the chair and pierced her larynx. Although Marie fell immediately silent, she was still cognizant of her fatal plight. The fear in her eyes and her struggling body were a familiar sight to Paul.
Moments later, another strand popped free and lapped up the blood spurting from her throat. As her struggling decreased, more and more strands freed themselves from the chair and weaved their way through her warm body.
Paul looked on as he loosened more buttons on his white dress shirt. Wicker strands were dancing wildly and had gone into a feeding frenzy. They were darting in and out of Marie’s body like sewing needles, taking as much of her blood and flesh as they could along the way.
Marie was an attractive woman with a reasonably good personality. She was more the exception to the rule for his dinner selections. He preferred seeking out the terminally ill and would frequent hospital wards where victims were surprisingly easy to come by. In some towns, he would even take part-time positions at hospitals as a member of the housekeeping staff. It would provide him with a temporary income to obtain food and gas for the van. It also provided him with a ready supply of food for his “things”. Even spilled blood on emergency room floors was mopped up and put in the dinner bowl.
When night fell, he would enter a patient’s room on the ruse of delivering a gift. Hospital nursing staff would see him enter a room with a table radio or portable television set and think nothing of it. When he left the room, he would simply tell them the patient didn’t want it. Naturally, they only saw him leave with the gift and were never able to put two and two together. What sane person would?
On one particular night, he was mopping a hallway floor and heard the moans of a an elderly man. He entered the man’s room cautiously and the two engaged in idle conversation that lasted for a couple of hours. The man told Paul that he was a retired banker with a considerable nest egg set aside and that his wife had passed away many years before him. The man was angry because his daughter was trying to have him declared mentally incompetent and seize control of his assets. She claimed the heavy medications altered his state of mind and caused him to make irrational decisions regarding disbursement of his funds. He knew he wouldn’t live to spend the $1.8 million he had amassed so he made a master list of charitable foundations he wanted the money to go to and his daughter wasn’t on the list. The man and his daughter were about as close as Earth and Neptune.
Paul sat at the man’s bedside and said, “There’s absolutely no hope for a cure?”
“None. Never has been, never will be.”
“How intense is the pain?” asked Paul as he began to think of his hungry “things”.
“It’s constant and severe. They’ve medicated me as much as possible without actually killing me. I keep insisting on a larger dose so I can die and be free of this pain. They ignore my pleas and always refuse,” the man stated angrily. “It’s my body and my life. Nobody tried to stop me from dying when I went to war. They encouraged me to put on a uniform and deliberately go into harm’s way for them. Now that I want to do it for myself, they turn a deaf ear or highlight the value of human life. Where was the value of human life when they planned an attack on a fortified location and calculated acceptable losses? Quite a contradiction, don’t you think?”
“You’ve got a point!” replied Paul.
“And now my daughter, Sam, who rightfully hated me for twenty years, has come back into my life for the pie. Not just a piece of the pie, she wants the whole damn thing. I admit that I was a pretty crappy father, but she was a pretty crappy daughter! The bitch was always after me for something and never got enough. Whenever I gave her something, she squandered it foolishly or gave it away. I wanted my checkbook so I could spend my money before she gets her hands on it. If she has me declared mentally incompetent before I die and takes control of my estate, there won’t be any money left to go to the charities I designated in my will.”
Paul looked at the man and said, “What if I could help you end your pain, see to it your charities are paid and pull a great gag on everyone in the process?”
The man looked up at Paul and studied his face. It was a confusing profile. There was a cold look in his eyes and the old man was unsure what to make of it.
“Let me hear your idea,” said the old man skeptically.
“I will bring an official from your bank or financial institution with the necessary paperwork for you to disburse your money. Once that’s all done, I’ll end your pain.”
“How much do you want for your part??” asked the old man.
“I hadn’t actually thought about a figure and don’t really want one, however, since you suggested it, a couple of grand would be nice.”
The man winced in pain, looked at Paul and said, “How do you propose to do me in?”
“It will be quick. Very quick. You will feel no more pain than you already do and it will be over in minutes.”
The man considered Paul’s words and asked, “What would the great gag be?”
“Think about how pissed your daughter will be when she finds out how you’ve sidestepped her. What’s even better is that you’ll disappear and they won’t be able to declare you dead without a body. No body, no death. No death, no burial and no final liquidation of any remaining assets that she might be entitled to!”
“I want to know exactly how you will accomplish what you suggest. I underst
and the banking aspect, it’s the other details I’m a little fuzzy on.”
Paul spent the next hour explaining the curse and how he intended on pulling off the disappearing act.
The old man spent a lifetime judging people by the look in their eyes and the tone of their voice. He looked for deceitful “tells”, like a gambler sizing up another gambler before wagering a large sum of money. He delivered a weak smile and said, “Let’s make it happen! Be here tomorrow morning at nine sharp. I can’t move my arms or legs very well anymore, so I’ll need you to dial some phone numbers for me. I’ll need to save what strength I have left in my arms to sign checks.”
The following morning, Paul arrived at exactly nine, dialed several numbers for the old man and held the phone to the man’s head while he barked orders to several people in a foreign language that sounded like Italian or Spanish. Paul was not familiar with any language other than high school English, so he wasn’t quite sure what language the man was speaking. When he got tired of holding the telephone, he propped the receiver between the man’s bald head and pillow and looked out the window. The old man chatted at great length, while Paul sat on a chair next to the bed and dialed. When he was finally through, the man directed Paul to leave and return by 4:00 p.m. later that day. The man’s brown, cataract-clouded eyes looked to Paul and stated, “Make sure you’ll be ready to finalize the deal when you return.”
“I’ll be here. Make sure you don’t go anywhere,” Paul said facetiously.
Paul spent the afternoon milling about town and watched a couple of movies. When he returned the old man turned his head slowly and said, “Are you ready?”
Paul held up a small, portable television set with a handle on top and said, “Yes.”
“Is it a color set or black and white?”
Paul was taken aback by the man’s question. “I really have no idea. I’ve never had it on. I don’t even know if it works. Does it matter?”
“Not especially. I was just curious. There is an envelope on the table over there. Do you see it?”
Paul looked in the direction the man’s eyes were gazing, saw a sealed business envelope sitting on his bedside table and replied, “Yes.”
“When I’m gone, that’s yours. It’s a little something for your help.”
The old man cleared his throat and said, “My business in this world is finished. Let’s make this thing happen!”
Paul selected the portable television because it was one of the quickest acting “things” that Malvada had. He placed the set next to the man’s head and within seconds, there was a fruuump and the man was gone. An invisible cloud of puzzle gas shot forward and filled half of the room. Paul scooped up the envelope, shoved it in his back pocket, grabbed the television and left the room. As he was walking down the hall, he noticed a professionally dressed man and woman standing at the nurse’s station and who watched him as he left the old man’s room. When he walked the few feet to the nursing station, the woman turned to him and said flatly, “Excuse me.” She reached into her black, overcoat pocket and produced a black identification holder with an official-looking badge and photo. “My name is Special Agent Mills. The gentleman to my left is Special Agent Vittari. We’re with a special investigation department within the Federal Bureau of Investigation. May I have your name please?”
“It’s Paul O. Porter,” he replied as the male agent wrote.
“What was your business with Mr. Tragasse?”
Paul set the television on the counter at the nurse’s station, making sure to face it away from any people and replied, “Are you referring to the man in room 643?”
“Yes,” replied Agent Mills.
“I never knew the man’s full name, that’s why I asked. I work with the housekeeping department here and yesterday, when I was passing his room, I thought I heard him call for help. He didn’t want any help, he was just complaining. I came back today to bring him this television set because he said he couldn’t see the one mounted to the wall very well. He said he asked his daughter for one several times in the past. I guess they don’t get along very well and she never found the time to get him one. Anyway, when I went into his room, he wasn’t there. I plugged it in and tried to tune a station. All I was able to get on any channel was static. The reception up here sucks. I didn’t want to just leave the television so I unplugged it and left. Now I’m here and I am talking to you guys.”
The special agent looked at the charge nurse and said, “Did you note what time Mr. Porter entered Mr. Tragasse’s room?”
“I couldn’t tell you the exact time, however, I know it wasn’t more than twenty minutes ago,” the nurse responded. “He stopped at the station here, showed me the television and told me it was a special request from Mr. Tragasse. The man is terminally ill and there are no regulations against the television, so I let Mr. Porter proceed.”
“Was Mr. Porter alone?” inquired Agent Vittari.
“Yes,” the nurse replied.
“Was Mr. Tragasse scheduled for any special treatment that would necessitate his being removed from the room?”
The nurse located his patient chart, glanced at it and said, “No. He should still be in his room.”
The two special agents walked briskly to the old man’s room and discovered that Paul was correct. Mr. Tragasse was gone. Agent Vittari remained in the room and started making phone calls, while Agent Mills returned to Paul.
“What did you and Mr. Tragasse talk about yesterday?”
“Not much really. He just said he was lonely and wished his daughter and he got along better. I was only with him for a few minutes yesterday as well.” Paul neglected to tell her about his second visit with him earlier in the day. The charge nurse didn’t come on duty until 3:00 p.m. so she wasn’t there to see him.
“Did he mention his daughter’s name?” asked the agent.
Paul thought for a minute and replied, “I think he called her Sam. I’m guessing it’s short for Samantha or something like that.”
“Mr. Tragasse had no surviving children, Mr. Porter. He did have two sons though. One died as a result of wounds sustained in the Vietnam conflict. The other son was murdered by another inmate while serving a prison sentence for extortion. Sam was the nickname he used for the federal government, as in Uncle Sam.”
Paul looked at the agent with raised eyebrows and said, “Go figure. That nice old guy lied to me. What is he being investigated for?”
The agent produced a business card and said, “That’ll be all we need from you for now, Mr. Porter. If you remember anything else that may be of interest to us, give me a call at any of the numbers on my card.”
Paul stuck the card in his back pocket, picked up the television set and walked to the elevator. After the elevator doors closed he punched the button for the hospital parking garage and smiled widely. The elevator doors opened and he went directly to the driver’s door on his van. He unlocked the door, tossed the television into the back and started the engine. He retrieved the white envelope from his back pocket, tore it and revealed the contents. It was the money Mr. Tragasse promised. Paul counted the crisp 100-dollar bills and when he was done counting, he had ten thousand dollars. He put the money back in the envelope and saw a scrap of paper with some writing that he had missed when he took the money out. It was written by a shaky hand and read, “Never let Sam know you have this. She’ll want all of it.”
Paul chuckled slightly and drove out of town smiling. He still had miles to go and “things” to feed.
He also liked to snag the people hopelessly addicted to drugs and living in squalor underneath bridges, etc. Heroin and cocaine addicts didn’t settle well with Malvada’s “things” so he would periodically treat them to normal, healthy people like Marie. When they fed on people like her, they were satisfied longer and didn’t require as many feedings.
He put his hands in his pockets and stared at Marie as her body was being devoured. “I don’t want you to die thinking this was a personal thing
. Actually, I wish it wasn’t you. Unfortunately, Malvada’s curse had an added feature. Her belongings are much like an owner and pet relationship. In the beginning, the owner dictates when the pet will be fed. It doesn’t take long for the pet to figure out what buttons to push, making the owner feed it when the pet wants to be fed. My existence is solely for the benefit of her ‘things’. My sense of morality and reason have ceased to function. I’ve even offered myself as a midnight snack to be rid of this obligation. Sadly, my body and my blood are taboo. My only function, my damnation, is to gather them together, feed them and witness the pain expressed by people forced to be a party to this curse. Although, I will admit, that I feel more apathetic and hopeless with each feeding.”
Even though her strength and will were slipping away, Marie continued her struggle to free herself from the constricting bands of wicker. Her eyes were consumed with desperate fright as she tried to rock the chair from side to side. More wicker strands popped free and eagerly worked their way through her body, much the same way a seamstress with a quota would stitch a garmet.
Paul watched unemotionally as the strands did their dirty work. It was like watching hundreds of large, black maggots making short-order of rotted meat.
The fright in Marie’s eyes disappeared when two strands shot up from her intestines and pierced them. The same two strands then exited from her ears, just as dry as when they entered the eyes.
Paul walked to a grimy, gray, water fountain attached to a wall, bent over and swallowed a few gulps of cold water. He stood upright, leaned against the fountain and said, “It’s a shame you didn’t have the opportunity to see all of the junk I’ve accumulated so far, Marie. I’ve got a couple of wooden chairs, a three antique lamps, a table radio, an old, black, wall phone, a typewriter and you already heard about the small, portable television set. It’s truly an incredible amount of junk. I have the feeling that I’m nearing the end though. I keep getting this strong feeling that it’s almost over.”
Paul looked at Marie indifferently as he noticed that her left arm and the left side of her face were gone. Not a single drop of blood, piece of flesh or clothing had hit the floor; although there were some loose strips of flesh hanging from the right side of her face.
“I found some of this junk in antique shops, after they had dined on their owners and had been sold by surviving relatives. Other items were found in churches and schools. I think the most humorous one I came across was the table radio. Some guy burgled a private residence and stuffed it in a duffle bag with the rest of his booty. I guess the radio had dined well because I was getting massive vibrations and a thundering, high-frequency sound. I got there just after the burglar left. The house was unoccupied when he entered so he had real easy pickings. I followed the vibrations and high-frequency sound to the burglar’s apartment. I entered through an open window just in time to hear him pleading for help and recanting his life of crime. It’s funny that a burglar would leave his own window open, don’t you think? Anyway, he had the contents of his booty bag dumped on the floor and was clawing at the carpet, trying in vain to stop from being pulled into the radio. I was amazed to see his rather large frame being sucked ever so slowly into two, tiny speakers that were no bigger than your palm. The radio was as efficient as all of the rest of her ‘things’ and didn’t allow a single drop of blood to escape.”
As Paul finished his account of the radio episode, a scraggly-looking strand raced up Marie’s chest and devoured a faux pearl necklace. Then it raced down what was left of her right leg and sucked up a gold, herringbone, ankle bracelet as dessert. He was amused by that particular strand’s diet preference. Although Malvada’s ‘things’ preferred organic tissue, they would and frequently did, eat anything Paul would throw their way.
“I hope I’m right about all of this being over soon,” said Paul as he surveyed Marie’s limp and lifeless remains. “It was very difficult going to Shannon’s house. She and I were lovers. We enjoyed some wild sex together before I got married and probably would have continued as long as we could after I tied the knot. She was married to man in another state and traveled a lot. She told me that she could never get enough sex. It would have worked out perfectly. She lived far enough away so that no one would get too suspicious and the absence would make our reunion that much more enjoyable. I followed a vibration and sound trail that lead me to her house in St. Louis. I didn’t realize it was her house until I saw her picture in a silver frame on the fireplace mantel. There was one of her by herself, one of her husband and one of them together on their wedding day. She had a beautiful, well-decorated home. She had excellent taste in furniture …and men as well, I might add! I traced the smell and vibrations from the feeding, back to a set of square cushions on her couch. They still had yard sale, price stickers on them and went very well with the couch. I decided to take one of her photos from the mantel as a remembrance. It was the only time I ever took anything other than what I needed to take for Malvada.”
“Like I said, from the feelings I’ve been receiving, one of her creations is feeding like none other. I’m sure it will dine many times while I’m waiting for this stinking van to be repaired,” he lamented.
The wicker chair had consumed most of Marie’s body. Strands were feeding vigorously on the remaining bits and pieces. Her purse finally dropped through an opening in the wicker and landed on the concrete floor with a sound thud.
“Did I explain the tracking method I use, Marie? I can’t remember. I’ll tell you again and if you heard it already, feel free to stop me. Each of Malvada’s ‘things’ sends out a pulsing vibration and high-frequency sound, like a radio station sending out radio waves. The closer I get to an item, the more intense the signals become. Just like a radio station comes in clearer the closer you get to the transmitter. When one of her items is feeding, the vibrations shake my insides from head to toe. It took me awhile to figure it all out and know how to follow the trail so in the beginning, there were many more victims than now. The vibrations I’m feeling now, are exactly the same as the ones I felt several years ago. I was extremely delayed then, as well. I was drinking too heavily in a bar in Florida, got a little carried away and was jailed for public drunkenness. I was broke at the time and couldn’t make bail. By the time I was released and able to follow the path, I was too late. I was in a Chicago suburb, standing on a vacant lot with weeds higher than my knees and had nothing to show for my efforts. There was still a lingering odor swirling around the empty lot. I could see a bare, rectangular outline that was big enough to be a house and a path where someone had trampled patches of weeds before me. Other than that, there was nothing suspicious. Her ‘thing’ probably consumed the entire house and its contents before something stopped it, because I’m sure a house used to stand there.”
Paul lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. He watched quietly as the last morsels of Marie were consumed. At one point, the chair was wildly intertwined with Marie’s body, its shape as a chair was indiscernible. As the pace slowed and Marie’s body parts dwindled, strands returned to supportive positions and the chair began to return to its original shape.
He took another drag on his cigarette and said, “You have no idea how badly I want this all to stop. Sometimes, it gets so boring, doing the same thing over and over again.”
One night after Malvada’s typewriter claimed the life of a young college student, Paul attempted to take his own life. His life was so barren, lonely and painful when he first started his journey that he couldn’t take it anymore. He arrived just in time, (he always seemed to arrive just in time. He thought it was Malvada’s sick humor), to see the young man’s fingers being sucked into the keyboard. With a sudden and profound jerk, it yanked the boy’s arms in, slamming his head into the carriage. Paul ran to the boy, locked his arms around the boy’s waist and yelled, “Not this time, Malvada. Not this time, you warped, evil bitch! You can’t have him! I won’t let him go!” As it turned out, his words were nothing more than word
s. Paul was no match for the power of the typewriter. Minutes later, his grip had been broken and the only remaining evidence of the young man was a pair of brown slippers that had fallen from his feet. They still held the warmth of his feet. Paul wanted to shout at the top of his lungs but the sound was lodged deep within and never cleared his lips. He pounded the typewriter with the fury of a wild jackhammer. Nothing did any good. It never did.
He stowed the typewriter in his van, returned to his hotel room and ingested a wild assortment of pills. By his estimation, he took enough drugs to kill five healthy Green Beret soldiers, two cows and a full-grown, gray elephant. He woke the following morning feeling incredibly rested and very much alive. Since the pills had no effect, he opted for a much more drastic course of action. He bought a .357 pistol and box of bullets at a pawn shop that cared more about money than background checks. He drove to a deserted field and test fired six shots into a large, maple tree. When he saw what the hot lead had done to the tree, he smiled widely and said, “Start the coffee, God. I’m on my way!” He reloaded the gun, put it to his temple, squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. He heard the clicking sounding of the hammer against the metal of the gun and nothing else. Once again, he failed to end his life. He pointed at the tree and successfully fired six more rounds into the trunk. He repeated the suicide attempt and test process several more times As you might guess, the gun would never send a round into his body. Further attempts utilizing different methods to commit suicide were just as fruitless. He was here for the duration of the curse and that was that.
A wicker strand from the chair ventured out and pursued a stray shoe, while several others slithered over to chow down on Marie’s purse. At one point, he thought he actually heard the chair belch. He passed it off as an over-active imagination.
“Well, Marie, I know I told you a little bit about my lover, Shannon. Did I mention my wife at all? She wasn’t so bad either. I really had a good thing going and I lost her to another man. The other man is the man I used to be. It doesn’t seem right that you have to pay years for something that only took a few seconds,” said Paul in a maudlin voice.
Marie was well beyond any point of listening. About all that remained were her hips and a few scraps of her dress. Inorganic matter was always the last thing to go.
“I wish I could start over with my wife. When I was married, I only wanted sex, never romance. Foreplay was just a word that made me think of four guys playing two-on-two basketball. I always thought it was sissy-like for a man to be tender and sensitive. I never saw my mom and dad hugging or kissing. I learned to say what women wanted to hear just so I could get laid. That’s another weird thing. Have you ever noticed how you can remember that an orgasm felt great but you can’t feel it again without experiencing it in real time? Does that make sense to you? It’s the same thing with pain. You can remember that hitting your thumb with a hammer hurts, however, you can’t actually have the same sensation without hitting your thumb again. No matter how hard you try, the only way to relive any physical sensation is by doing it again.”
“I’ve changed dramatically since I was married. At least I think I have. What does it matter now? It’s like the old man in the hospital with all the money he could ever want. He was dying and had no way to spend it. I’m a new man and it doesn't mean a damn thing.”
Paul watched several smaller strands fighting over threads from Marie’s dress like they were noodles and Marie was the casserole. He lit another cigarette and removed his brown, tri-fold wallet from his back pocket. He flipped the plastic, photo windows to a faded photo of a woman and said, “This is my wife. You’ll have to admit, she’s a pretty sexy lady.” He admired the picture for a minute and returned the wallet to his pocket. “My wallet is my time machine. Problem is, it only allows me to travel back in time. I wish I travel forward once so I knew when this crap would be over with. Oh well. I suppose I should clean up here and get some sleep. It’s been a long drawn-out day. I know it’s been especially rough on you, Marie!”
Obviously, Marie didn’t hear a word and hadn’t for some time. Marie was gone. The last of the black strands slid back into their proper position and it looked like an ordinary wicker chair once again. A vomit-like odor lingered around the van. It was a smell that Paul had grown accustomed to and found pleasing. It had become an anticipated treat he looked forward to after each feeding.
Paul walked casually to a dirty mirror mounted above the water fountain and stared for a moment. He ran his fingers gently over the white ridges of burn scars on the side of his neck and said, “There they are, Marie. Plain as day.” His eyes wandered to the lower left corner of the mirror and met up with a crack in the glass. “We’re all flawed in one way or the other. I wonder why?”
He licked his lips, took a deep breath and sighed quietly. He buttoned his shirt and returned to the van. He threw the chair back into the van and closed the doors. As he was preparing to leave, he spotted a brown cockroach scurrying across the dirty floor. Paul laughed and said, “You’re late. Dinner’s over.” Paul ran after it and smashed it with his shoe. The legs of the cockroach served as carrying handles for Paul as he bent to pick it up. He carried it over to the van, opened the doors and said, “Who wants it?” The van shook mildly. There wasn’t enough left of the bug to generate too much excitement. He flung it in and closed the doors. A thought occurred to him as the doors slammed shut. He pulled his keys out and decided to lock the van up. It would suck if the mechanic saw the crap in the back and got curious. If the mechanic disappeared, Paul could be in that town for a long time.
He looked at the van and said, “Now you guys behave. Leave everyone in here alone.” He pushed the red button to close the garage door and gave the area a last look. The ‘things’ had never left anything behind before, and Paul wanted to make sure there wasn’t a first time. As the door worked its way down, he took one last deep breath to fill his lungs to capacity with the putrid odor. After the door completed the journey, he left through the side entrance that he had entered. He turned around to face the door and smiled. It was a gray steel door with a single window pane. The window was about the size of an average kitchen floor tile and certainly not big enough for anyone to fit through. Some people called it a security window so you could safely see who was on the other side of the door. It was the same window pane he had broken to gain entrance. He stuck his hand in his right, front pocket and removed Malvada’s pentagram. He touched it to a remaining shard of glass firmly embedded in the door and commanded, “RETURN!!” . Within seconds, the scattered broken glass returned to its original form and the window pane was as intact as he found it. Then he raised the pentagram over his head and located the alarm box at the top of the building. He looked through the center of the pentagram until he had the box in alignment. “ENABLE!”, he ordered, and the building alarm was reset.
Learning how to use the pentagram was a trial and error adventure. The morning after he buried Malvada, he discovered it in his pants pocket. He was new to the curse and there were no indoctrination courses to assist him so the pentagram remained isolated there for nearly a year. The only time it left a pocket was for a change in clothing.
One day Paul was barreling down an interstate when his right, rear tire went flat. He pulled off the highway and reached for the tire iron underneath the front seat. He jumped out of the van and slammed the door shut. After changing the flat, he walked back to the driver’s door, only to find that he had reflexively locked it when he got out. He searched his pockets for the keys. All he produced was a red and white mint that was hopelessly mated to its cellophane wrapper and the benign-looking pentagram. Still holding the pentagram, he peered into the driver’s window and immediately realized what he had done. “Shit!” he exclaimed as he shoved the pentagram into a back pocket. He stepped back and tried to determine the best way to proceed. Within seconds, Paul felt a series of severe, abdominal cramps that led to an uncontrollable urge to have a bowel movement. He looked to a cl
ump of trees about 100 feet in from the road, grabbed his stomach and turned to run toward them. Unfortunately, he was only able to advance two steps before his pants had filled with crap. Furious, he picked up the tire iron, smashed the driver’s window and got his keys. Paul walked to the side van doors to get a change of clothing from his suitcase and discovered that they and the front passenger door, were unlocked. He threw his keys down into the roadside gravel, hammered the door with his closed hand and once again exclaimed, “Shit!” Within seconds, he had more cramps and ultimately the same end results. He got a freshly laundered pair of jeans and underwear from his suitcase, went to the woods and changed. The smell and clean up was a bit messy so he discarded the soiled clothing and returned to the van. Walking back, he thought about what had just transpired and it seemed odd that the pentagram, although in the direct line of fire, remained unscathed. Over the following weeks, he was able to determine some of the powers the charm held. He learned that he could only use single-word commands and the object it was focused on had to be capable of carrying out the command. Had he put the pentagram in his front pocket, his underwear wouldn’t have been soiled. He wasn’t sure what other tasks, if any, the charm was able to perform. He didn’t even know how to explore for them.
Paul drove Susan’s car back to his hotel and decided it would safer if he checked out and relocated to another hotel under an assumed name. Once he got settled into the new room, he ventured out again to dispose of the car. He drove up and down streets looking for just the right area. There was an area with several vacant industrial buildings that had what appeared to be gang markings on the brick walls. He haphazardly parked the car, left the keys dangling in the ignition and left the driver’s door slightly ajar. Since he knew he wasn’t allowed to die, the only thing he feared or dreaded was the long, cold walk back to his hotel. By the time he returned to his new room, he was numb with cold and totally exhausted. He left an early wake-up call so he could call the mechanic and make new notification arrangements with him. He clearly had no desire to attempt an explanation as to why he changed names and hotels.
He threw his clothes over the back of a chair and crawled under the comforter. The pillows were soft and the mattress was very firm. The combination was exactly the way he liked it. The last waking thought he had was of a ‘thing’ calling to him. The vibrations were steadily becoming more intense. He felt it was the same area as before. “I can’t miss it this time,” he murmured as he drifted off. This one was going to be the most powerful one yet. It was going to be big. Very big. Hopefully, it was it big enough to be Malvada.
CHAPTER TEN
THE COMPETITION