CHAPTER 11
Candy Colored Cabin
(Jenga!)
(unexpected guests)
Allison Reynolds. Uh, Alley Richardson. Carol Polly. Colleen, Peters? Peterson? No. Just the first names. Brianna. Brandy. Blanche. Karen. Karol. Katie. Cynthia. Francis. Jillian. Jennifer. Jenny. Jen Jen. There is more, I know there is.
I was tied to a cold metal chair, nylon rope, blindfolded. My cheekbone and mouth were swollen, they burned and stung. I was mentally reciting the names of all the girls I could remember having sex with, in no particular order, anything to not think about the current situation.
Macy. Taryn. Karyn. Julie. Nicki. Morgan. Mallory. Lili. Emily.
Carrie. Christine. Wait, no, those are Stephen King novels.
Ashley. Ashlee. Trixie. Michelle. Kelly. Shannon. Kellie. Kayla. Sandra. Becky.
I wasn't scared about my abduction. It was retribution for something I failed to do. I was going to kill that idiot Milton, I didn't, now I was in this situation. There was a darkness that was recently born inside me and I had failed to embrace it.
Milton hired a couple of Rednecks to kidnap me and take me to an undisclosed location, so that he may torture me or something to that effect. It didn't really matter to me. I had had sharp knives to my wrists on many drunken occasions. I was not afraid to die, nor did I feel like I deserved to live any specific allotted time.
Dick was already dead. I had blown my shot with Lorrie Lovitt. We kissed and now she knew she loved me. But I sent her away and told her I needed space. Now I was in this situation and wanted nothing but for Milton and his Rednecks to kill me.
There was the sound of pacing in the room. The feeling of heat radiated from somewhere. A fireplace maybe? There was a very woodsy smell in the air. We were probably in the mountains. Milton had said he wanted a place where no one would hear me scream. Assuming of course, I even felt like screaming. At the time apathy bled through me.
“Where do you want us when you take off the blindfold?” Asked a Redneck voice.
“Just stick around, I'm still figuring how I'm gonna do this.”
“Is he even awake?” Asked a different Redneck voice.
“I don't know! You guys shut the fuck up and let me think!” Milton screamed.
“Why you so nervous? You never killed a man before?” A Redneck said.
“Of course not you idiot. I'm an EMT. I save lives.” Was Milton's reply.
“Shit don't get all salty, I was just wonderin'.”
I cleared my throat, loud and obvious. The room fell to deadly silence.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Can we get this shit over with?”
“Get what over with?!” Milton asked, rage in his voice.
“My execution. You brought me here to kill me, right?” I said, thick sarcasm in my words.
“You shut the fuck up,Tuck Sawyer! Just close your mouth, I'm in control now!” Milton screamed, he seemed very on edge.
“Oh, I see. This is about control to you?” I asked.
I heard fast footfalls coming at me, I braced myself, eyes squeezed tight under the blindfold. My head jerked back, pain exploded again, a blunt object smacked my forehead. Warm blood trickled down my nose, past my lips, onto the lap of my jeans.
I wanted to shout profanities, but for some reason something inside me forbid it, instead I laughed hysterically. Like Brad Pitt in Fight Club. Is that why I laughed? Because I'd seen someone do it in a movie? Do I really not care? Or is some force just taking over and refusing to let me be a pussy right now?
“STOP LAUGHING!” Milton shouted. I laughed harder.
“You finally are starting to get it?” I said, then spit blood from my lips.
“What are you talking about?” Milton asked, calmer, he breathed heavy.
“Anybody can get pushed to the point of insanity. Anyone can get fed up to a point where they will take a life.”
“Is that why you tried to kill me? Lorrie pushed you to the point of insanity?”
I laughed again, “I didn't try to kill you. I was going to kill you, then I decided not to. Not the same as trying, I could have done it easy. Lorrie didn't drive me to anything, I felt you were an equation that needed to be erased from the proverbial chalk board.”
“You don't fucking make sense, man! You piss me off so bad. I already know what the deal was, you wanted me out of the picture because Lorrie is falling in love with me.” Milton said. I growled and fought against the nylon ropes.
“FUCK YOU! Lorrie has higher standards, FUCK FACE!” Spittle shot from my mouth. I wanted to break the ropes and stab him to death this time. I had to calm myself. Yelling wasn't going to fix anything. “Lorrie doesn't love you, that's the only way I can put it.”
“But she will.” Came the chillingly calm response, “With you out of the way, she will run into my arms.”
“But you can't kill me. You're a hero, Milton, you save lives.” I wasn't begging or pleading, I was egging him on.
“We'll see about that fucker.” He said to me, “Take off his blindfold and load the rifle.” Milton said to the Rednecks. I couldn't help but smile. It was time for my curtain call. Lorrie Lovitt the angel. The chest nut eyed anime queen. The apple of my sodden eyes.
The world suddenly became bright. The blindfold fell from my eyes to the floor. The cabin was small and had the vibe of a Pepperidge Farm cookie bag. The walls looked like real wood, the floors too. The interior itself was colorful and surreal. It was out of a Disney cartoon.
It took me a full five minutes to place it.
A beefy fat Redneck in bib overalls stood next to Milton. Another beefy fat Redneck stood beside me. Milton wore his EMT uniform. He had sweated through the shirt and his homo-erotic emo hair was visibly soiled.
The Redneck to my right sized me up. He stared at my eyes, then walked back to join his buddy, he seemed bothered by something. The other Redneck handed Milton the rifle. The same rifle that had already left several divots in my face.
Milton did not look intimidating holding a rifle. He looked the way I imagined Betty Boop would look if she clutched a rifle. Just not scary. Maybe it was the cabin we were in.
I didn't know what to think when I realized the cabin we were in had been showcased on the Food Network on a program called Unwrapped. For a split second I questioned whether or not severe blood loss had occurred and now this was a hallucination.
The candy colored rainbow sofas was oversized. The rugs were of splashed jaw breaker colors. The lamps and lighting fixtures were all different bright colors and looked edible.
This was a Willy Wonka wet dream.
The clock and phone were sixties retro, turquoise. Coffee tables and metal chairs were all retro. The pit of the fireplace was a clowns mouth, the mantle and above made up the eyes and big red nose.
“Look's like this is where you die, Tuck Sawyer.” Milton said dramatically. I could see it in his eyes, he also loved Lorrie Lovitt and maybe, just maybe, he might actually kill me. And to be killed in this cabin, by this loser, over a girl that loves me. For some reason, right then, it made me want to live.
“You're going to kill me here? In this place? How the hell did you break into the Johnson Jelly Bean Cabin?” The second I asked the question I knew the answer. I laughed at my own ignorance. The last name on Milton's shirt, Johnson. “You are an heir to the Johnson Jelly Bean company? You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“Shut up, Tuck!” Milton cried.
“Doesn't the fucking FBI have this place bugged or something? I heard that a year ago on the news.”
“WHAT?” One of the Rednecks said, nervously.
“SHUT UP, TUCK!” Milton cried out.
“You didn't tell your buddies here about your dad and granddaddy? Shady characters.” I said and whistled. “Out here in these very woods, is where they allegedly killed the head of Crimson Candy Enterprises. What was his name?”
“I'LL KILL YOU! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Milton wailed.
“Ted something, Theodore
a rather...”
“YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”
“There was a law suit over the Johnson Jelly Bean Clown. He held a striking resemblance to the Crimson Candy Clown.” I was talking to the Rednecks, who were visibly terrified now. “Oh, yeah. The FBI came down here to investigate. They claimed The Johnson Family had ties with the Russian mob.” I paused for effect. Milton was livid and almost to the point of tears. “So maybe you are a killer, just like your daddy and grandpa.” I said, tied to a chair with a bloody face. “Why you chose to save lives when they were so adamant on hurting others, I will never know.”
“I FUCKING HATE YOU.” Milton said.
“Then pull THE FUCKING TRIGGER.” I yelled, mockingly. Milton did something then I will never forget. He set down the rifle. He spit on the wood floor. Went over to a black gym bag that I guess had been there the whole time.
He's going to torture me, I thought. The bag was full of tools to do such things. Razors and pliers. Salt and lemon juice.
But no. Milton pulled out a cream colored folder. He opened it. The Rednecks were dead silent as they watched events I'm sure they didn't see coming unfold in front of them. The shit that was going down was all kinds of personal.
“You think you know what the fuck is going on in my life? You think you know my family?” Milton paused, I assumed for effect, “I'm not like them. I save people.”
“Pussy. Just FUCKING KILL ME.” I said. The Rednecks looked back and forth at us as we each took turns speaking.
“I'm a pussy?” Milton said. A stupid question really. “Let's see what I have here,” He consulted papers in his hands. “Tucker Eugene Sawyer. Attempted suicide at age twelve. Admitted to a psychiatric hospital for three days.”
I didn't see this coming. I hoped my poker face would hold up.
“So what?” I said.
“You have an issue with your mommy, Tuck?” Oh, fuck, I thought. “Because it says here on three separate accounts, you tried to attack your mom with a, wait, I'm familiar with this, a large kitchen knife. All three times you were under sixteen.”
“So the fuck what?” I said, a little too defensive.
“At age seventeen you burned down the boys bathroom at school, you were removed from the premises and expelled. That same year the school investigated you on accusations that you exposed your erect genitals to a group of girls.”
“Boys will be boys.” I said through grit teeth, squeezing against the nylon bounds.
“Hmm, let's see. Oh, this is gold. Hospitalized for seventeen days at age twenty three. You tried to kill yourself in the bathroom of a girl that dumped you! Seriously!” Milton broke into genuine laughter. The Rednecks joined in.
“Look, she didn't love me, fuck head. I had nothing to live for.” I said, but the laughter just increased.
“But now you have things to live for, dude.” Said the voice of Dick Pickett, the ghost of my dead best friend and brother from another mother. He sat Indian style at my feet, in the middle of an intense game of Jenga with himself, he looked up. “Get out of this shit and go love Lorrie you moron.”
“Dude, fuck you, I just want to die and convince this faggot Milton to kill me.” I said to Dick. I noticed the silence immediately. When I looked up the three men stared at me. The Redneck that had sized me up and seemed scared earlier nodded.
“Who the fuck are you talking too?” Asked the scared Redneck.
“No one.” I said poorly. He looked at his buddy and Milton.
“I knew this guy was trouble. He's fuckin' nuts and look at the size of him. We just gotta get rid of him. He looks the type to hold a grudge.” The scared one continued.
“He ain't gonna do shit.” Said his Redneck buddy.
Milton smiled, “No, Tuck is going to be just fine. He's going to kill himself.” Then he pulled my kitchen knife from the gym bag. He took the knife I almost killed him with from my home. “I'm going to give you this, you know what to do with it.”
“Dude, please don't.” Dick said as he carefully removed a Jenga block from the center.
“What the fuck do I have to live for?” I said. Dick looked up, his eyes said Lorrie Lovitt, his eyes said, the Bucket List.
“My point exactly.” Said Milton. He handed one of the Rednecks the rifle. He and the other Redneck came from behind me, they untied me. The other Redneck slapped a handcuff of my left wrist. They set me on the floor, then my left wrist was cuffed to my left ankle.
Milton handed me the knife. He smiled.
“Slit your left wrist. Or he will shoot you.” Milton said, the scared Redneck had the rifle on my head. It didn't really matter. I put the knife to my wrist, the blade was cold, but I knew soon it would burn against my skin.
“Dude, please, Don't.” Dick said as he pulled another Jenga block, too close to the center, the knife at the same time made contact with my wrist.
“Jenga!!!” I shouted. The gunshot rang out against my head. Dick's Jenga blocks went tumbling over. Blood poured from my wrist, my head screamed. Nothing went dark like usual. I felt the blood pumping from the puncture in the vein.
I looked up. The two Rednecks had dropped to the floor, the rifle across the room also on the floor, Milton lie in the corner with blood spurting from his right knee.
The Rednecks screamed and pleaded, “Please don't kill us! Please!”
I looked at the doorway. Nico Saucony stood in the doorway, a gun drawn, Next to him was the big man Johnny Basil. Johnny held a smoking revolver. I was never happier to see those two cats in my life. Nico ran to my side.
“Tuck! Here wrap this around your wrist.” He handed me a white handkerchief.
“How in the hell-” I attempted.
“All in good time. What do you want us to do with these guys? The Feeb in probably on there way.” Nico said in a rush.
“Nah. The FBI stopped investigating The Johnson Family months ago. I just wanna go home and sleep, Nico.” I said.
“You alright?” Johnny asked. I looked up at him.
“Yeh, I'm good Johnny.”
“What do you want to do with EMT boy?” Johnny asked.
“I just really want out of here. I don't care.” I said. Nico and Johnny undid the handcuffs and helped me to my feet.
“TUCK! CALL THESE GUYS OFF MAN.” Milton yelled. “Tuck, come on man. Save some lives!”
“Please. Please. Please, Tuck.” I heard the Rednecks cry out.
Nico led me slowly out the door, the air was cool and crisp. Johnny shut the cabin door behind us. I was now in the woods, just the sounds of crickets, cold breeze. Before I ducked into the back seat of Nico's car I heard several gunshots from inside the cabin.
Minutes the later the cabin was ablaze and Me, Nico, and Johnny were on our way back down toward society.
Several stitches and ice packs later Nico told me the tale of how Lorrie Lovitt accidentally saved my life. After I turned her away at the apartment she went to Johnny Basil's Pizza to get drunk. She told Nico the whole story. He left work early to see if I was O.K.
Pulling into the lot of my apartment building he saw three men carrying my unconscious body to their trunk. He followed them. Memorized the location. Rushed to get Johnny Basil and a couple pistols. The rest is history.
The next few days I played video games and drank German imported beer. The Bucket List was lingering. I looked over it, it made me nervous. I wanted the comfort of my home. The outside world was just horrible.
Lorrie had been by Milton's place a few times. I heard her knocking on his door. She even left him notes. She was heart broken. Meanwhile, I had quit my job. Meanwhile, I could taste Lorrie's kiss. Life was grand.
One fine afternoon, I was in the middle of beating my high score on Marvel Vs Capcom 2 for X-Box. It was only 2p.m. But I was almost drunk. My doorbell rang.
“I don't want to worship Jesus or Jehovah.” I yelled. Silence.
“Tuck.” I heard a soft voice. It was Lorrie Lovitt. I wanted to puke and shit acid at the same time. I ch
ecked the peep hole, as part of my new ritual. Sure enough it was the angel.
I opened the door. She came in. She looked bad. Like she had been crying for days.
“I know you don't want to see me, but-” Lorrie cried. “He's out, Tuck.”
“What? Who?” I was on a new level of confused and trying to force myself to sober up.
“Darren Winchester. The nineteen year old that killed Dick. He's out of jail. In a home or something under the care of a conservator. I'm not clear on the details. But he's free to do what he pleases and eat what he wants and breathe fresh air.” Lorrie cried hard. I held her and felt rage about it all.
Lorrie slept on the couch and I took to my bed. Though I didn't sleep. I thought of the kid that single handedly destroyed my best friends life. Then I thought of Johnny Basil. He seemed to not have a problem handling things. But then I didn't think much more of it as I slipped into sleep.
The next morning I awoke to the familiar smell of frying bacon and cooking eggs. Both were more familiar when Lorrie lived there, but I was grateful for it anyway. I dressed, vomited in the sink due to nerves, brushed my teeth and joined Lorrie at the table.
She served green tea and toast with the eggs and bacon.
“I'm training for a marathon next month.” Lorrie said as we ate.
“You run marathons?” I asked through a mouthful of food.
“Yeah. Not as much as I used too, but I'm getting back into it.” She said.
“What are you trying to prove?” I asked. “Or what are you insecure about?”
“What do you mean?” Lorrie asked.
“Well-” I started to say but was interrupted by the door bell. I went to the door and checked the peep hole per usual. The woman on the other side of the door was Cynthia Garcia. My ex. The first woman to ever truly destroy me.
I hadn't seen her in almost seven months. She had led me to her house under false pretenses when I was upset and we had amazing sex. Later she revealed to me that she was engaged and could never see me again. Yet here she was.
I opened the door and the first thing I noticed was her stomach. She had a baby bump.
“Hello, Tucker. My fiancee left me, you wanna take a wild guess why?” Was all she said.