INDELICATE INCIDENTS: 9-12
Family, man. What a nightmare.
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9.
I’m on my hands and knees crawling through black quicksand. It’s sucking me down, biting at my skin, eating through the fabric of my jeans. My hands are blistered and red and my knees burn where they’ve been rubbed raw. Gravel grinding into open wounds.
I’m in the kitchen, home sweet fucking home. I’m in the kitchen and the room is alive with monsters and figures and my hair singes from the heat and I don’t know where I’m going.
I’m an animal all instinct and I need to escape. Clawing biting howling in a trap. I’ll chew my own leg off to get out.
Leave them behind leave them get away go go but the quicksand is more like tar and I can feel it sucking me down, going lower and lower in the shit and filth where I belong.
People are screaming only they’re not people anymore.
The kitchen is a war zone it’s perfect and pristine it’s the usual shitshow. Dirty dishes piled high and walls stained with grease and grime and I swear to fucking god they haven’t done dishes since the day I walked out. WIndows coated in dust aside from where it’s been wiped by dirty sleeves and grubby fingers.
Tobias is howling worse than he did when he was four and got the flu. His temperature went up to 103, and I was afraid to give him any of the pills my parents had lying around. All I could do was put him in the tub and run cool water and press a compress against his burning forehead until he stopped wailing like a car crash.
This howling is worse.
I see Aaron and Aaron is already under the quicksand, fingers wiggling and clawing at the air. Half his face is gone, a gaping wound. His skull is crushed in. Thick tar quicksand pulls him down. He’s saying my name, over and over and it’s rude not to answer but I can’t, I can’t, and I’m so sorry.
The crack of a whip across my spine. Spikes down my back.
I wake up screaming their names.
Dennis Georgie Tobias Tim Aaron Jakob.
I make Grady look at my back in the bathroom, under the harsh fluorescent lights. He yawns, wipes the crud from his eyes. Smacks his lips as he weaves behind me, naked but a pair of boxers.
His fingers are cool as he traces them down the bumps of my spine. Following the path of scars he can’t see, but knows are there.
Grady tells me I’m fine, it’s fine, nothing’s there. No new marks or scars or wounds.
I thank him and send him back to bed. Spend the next few hours twisting at odd angles to look at the untouched expanse of my back.
I know Grady’s telling the truth.
I still don’t believe him.
10.
‘Let me get this straight.’ I have Agent Nescio’s full attention. ‘You think your younger brother is possessed by a demon-’
‘Or other monster,’ I interrupt. ‘Maybe an alien. Something inhuman.’ Nescio nods.
‘Right, or other paranormal entity, thank you,’ he says. ‘Possibly related to The Incident.’
‘It would be a hell of a coincidence,’ I say.
‘Which is what led to him committing-’
‘Allegedly committing,’ I say. Don’t want to hear the charges again. I know what they are. Burned into my brain like a brand or an acid scar. Names faces families ages. The way they died. Everyone and everything they left behind. Were taken from.
I’m sorry I’m so so sorry.
Media couldn’t get enough of it. A wet dream for those true crime fans. Jakob’s troubled childhood. Tragic losses. The crimes he’s committed.
Allegedly.
‘Allegedly, fine, committing a series of truly heinous crimes,’ says Nescio with a wave of his hand. It’s all the same to him. ‘Because of a demon.’
I look around us.
‘We’re allowed to talk about this stuff in public now?’ I ask.
Agent Nescio glances around the dusty bar. There’s a man sleeping on the corner, or dead. Hand still clutching a beer bottle. The bartender insepcts his own tattoos as if he’s never seen them before.
‘We didn’t keep that close an eye on you,’ says Nescio. ‘It was more of an empty threat as opposed to an actionable one.’
There’s a ringing in my ears. Vision of smashing Nescio’s head into the sticky table over and over and over.
Some of this must pass across my face.
‘Calm down,’ says Nescio. ‘It’s not a big deal.’
‘You threatened my brother, and now it’s not a big deal?’ I say. Agent Nescio shrugs.
‘Are you really surprised?’ he asks. ‘Honestly.’
No.
‘Do you even work for the government?’ I ask. I know the answer.
‘Don’t be a child,’ says Nescio, weariness tingeing his voice. ‘We did track you, obviously. We would have found out if you’d told people. Eventually.’
‘Great,’ I say. ‘I feel better.’ I shake my head. Focus. ‘What do you think? About the demon theory.’ Despite what Nescio said, I lower my voice and lean towards him. He gives me an unimpressed look.
‘The word ‘demon’ suggests the existence of a heaven/hell dichotomy with heavy religious implications we are unqualified to decipher at this time,’ he says.’ I drink my beer. Put it down on the table with a thump
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Expressing The Program’s official stance on the word ‘demon,’ he says.
Jesus Christ, he uses actual air quotes.
‘Would you prefer ‘monster’?’ I say, mimicking his hand gestures. ‘I know how this sounds, Nescio.’
‘Do you?’ he asks mildly.
‘You do not get to come here and act like I’m crazy,’ I snap. Nescio looks around.
‘If you engage in histrionics, I will leave,’ he says. ‘We still need to be discreet.’ I sit back in my stool and take a slow breath. I’ve been shouting. The bartender watches us. I glare at him until he slinks to the other side of the bar.
‘I think a demon possessed Jakob,’ I tell Nescio in a low voice.
‘A demon,’ says Nescio. I nod.
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ he says.
Nescio smells like cheap shampoo and sweat. Human and organic and fallible. I’m disappointed.
‘Jakob has no history of violence,’ I say. ‘None.’ I count my points off on my fingers. ‘No juvenile record. 4.0 GPA. He got along with everyone. Volunteered. He was prom king, for fuck’s sake.’
‘The exposition is unnecessary,’ says Nescio in a bored tone. I smack the bar with my fist, then hiss.
‘Exactly!’ I say as I rub my hand. ‘Ow. You were watching him. You know this stuff. You know Jakob. He would never do anything like this. You can help me prove it.’
‘Jakob never displayed any behavior that would suggest supernatural interference,’ says Nescio. ‘We have no reason to suspect any occult or otherwise paranormal involvement in these alleged crimes.’
‘I’ve got it figured out,’ I say, ignoring him. ‘You can tell me where to look. I’ll find him. Figure this out. Prove he’s innocent.’ Nescio looks away from me. Drinks his drink. ‘What?’ I ask.
‘The Program is small,’ he says. ‘As I’ve told you, we don’t have unlimited resources.’
‘I don’t need unlimited resources,’ I say. ‘I need to be pointed in the right direction. Just tell me where he is.’ Nescio’s eyes flicker.
‘You do know where he is, right?’ There’s a pause a decade long. ‘Right?’
‘Not as such,’ Nescio says. He’s not looking at me. I stare.
‘Excuse me?’ I ask. He coughs.
‘We are currently unaware as to the precise physical location of Jakob Thompson at the present juncture,’ he says.
‘You lost him?’ I say.
‘We did not lose your brother,’ says Nescio crisply. ‘The Program does not lose people.’ I relax.
He raises two fingers and orders another drink.
‘However, he may have eluded some of our rookie agents,’ he says.
I open my mouth. Shut it. Rub my eyes with the heels of my hands.
‘You lost him,’ I say, mostly to myself. ‘You lost him.’
‘Locating missing persons is not my area,’ says Nescio, nasty tone under bland words.
‘And what about weird shit? I ask. ‘Your kind of weird shit.’
A couple of chubby women in bright sweaters sit down at the bar and order pints of cider. Their makeup is brash and cheery. They’re laughing and chatting, bright and easy.
They seem happy.
‘What are you talking about?’ asks Nescio.
I reach into the knapsack on the stool beside me. Pull out a manila folder. It’s not in great shape. Battered and torn, worn around the edges. Absolutely stuffed with paper. Covered in illegible codes and reminders to get milk at the store. Sticky notes burst from it like some sort of hideous bouquet.
This manila folder has seen some shit.
I hand it over to Nescio. He takes it with a grimace.
‘Check this out,’ I say. ‘Then see if you want to help me.’
Nescio flips through the first few pages. Glances up at me. Flips through some more. Goes back to the beginning.
I tear up a napkin while I wait. Pretend to crowd watch. I see figures moving.
Human figures.
I know.
I check.
Been doing it a lot lately.
I check again.
At least, I think they’re human. I glance around but they’re gone.
There’s laughter in the corner but there’s a humming throbbing underneath. Something real and alive and hungry.
‘Frank, what am I looking at here?’ Nescio’s voice has changed, gone clipped and sharp around the edges. He sounds like the man who threatened to make my brother disappear if I didn’t live a lie.
‘Research,’ I say. My heart is thundering in my ears.
‘Where did you get this?’ Nescio asks. He taps the manila envelope with his fingers, impatient. Keeps opening and closing it. Can’t tear his eyes away from the pages. I feel pride, affection.
Remind myself to thank Grady later.
‘There’s information in here you shouldn’t have access to,’ says Nescio. ‘There’s information here you shouldn’t know exists. That shouldn’t exist. There’s documentation here I’ve never seen before. Do you understand what this is? Here did you get it?’’
‘I’ll tell you if you help me,’ I say.
‘In exchange for finding your wayward brother,’ says Nescio. I nod.
‘Yeah, basically,’ I say.
‘The Program cannot officially provide you with any resources,’ says Nescio. I open my mouth. He raises a hand. ‘However, if you’re willing to tell me where you got this information, I could be convinced to help out in small ways.’
I frown. Take the folder back from him. He’s reluctant to let go. Holds on for a beat too long. His eyes keep going back to it.
‘How small?’ I ask. Like a gift card?’ Nescio shrugs, eyes still on the file. I can see his fingertips twitch.
‘Giving you access to locations you normally wouldn’t be able to visit,’ Nescio says. ‘Connecting you with people who can provide you with information. Unofficially of course.’
‘What’s the catch?’
‘Gullible and suspicious all at once.’ Nescio shakes his head, fond. ‘The catch is I want to speak directly to your source about these files and how they managed to find them. If they’re authentic. What other information they have.’
‘The file’s authentic,’ I say. I know for a fact.
‘I want to speak to your source,’ he says again. I stay quiet. Look at carvings on the surface of the bar. ‘I know who they are, but I’d like to keep this polite.’ I grip the folder tightly, bending the paper between my fingers.
Nescio smiles at me like cancer.
‘‘It’s not hard to figure out who’s been helping you,’ he says. I look away.
‘I have resources,’ I say.
‘You have a social circle of about four,’ says Nescio. He nods at the file. ‘Your source has discovered documentation thought lost for hundreds of years. And managed to decode it, I might add.’
‘My source is very impressive,’ I say calmly, allowing a hint of pride into my voice.
‘Unfortunately, this information could be somewhat useful,’ Nescio admits. Mouth pursed like he smells shit.
‘So you’ll help me?’ I ask. Don’t bother to try and keep my voice casual.
‘Frank,’ says Nescio. ‘Even if you’re right, and something unusual has happened to your brother, it doesn’t matter. The Program wouldn’t allow the information to be made public. Even if they did, no one would believe you. I don’t see a reason for all this effort.’
‘You don’t?’ I ask. Nescio shakes his head. ‘Of course you don’t.’
‘I don’t see what you’re getting out of it,’ says Nescio. ‘What do you want here?’
‘A chance to help my brother,’ I say. He cocks his head to the side. Imagine smashing my beer bottle against the side of his thick skull. Bursts of blood on the bar and my face and the chubby woman in their bright, cheery sweaters.
‘How?’ he asks. I look away, annoyed.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Exorcize him. Or the appropriate term.’
‘And if there are no paranormal forces behind his crimes?’ asks Nescio. ‘What then?’
‘Alleged crimes,’ I correct automatically. Nescio props his elbow on the bar and rests his chin on his palm. Taps his fingers against his own cheek.
‘How can you be so naive?’ he asks. Searches my face for something I don’t understand.
‘I know he didn’t do it,’ I say. Nescio shakes his head.
‘The Program will only intervene if there’s concrete evidence of supernatural activity,’ he says.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Do we have a deal?’
Nescio drains his drink and stands up. He looks different from when he first walked in the door. Can’t pinpoint how.
‘I’ll say it one last time, Frank,’ he tells me. ‘There is no evidence whatsoever of any supernatural forces around Jakob. You understand?’
I stick out my hand. Keep my face placid as a lake and blank as the first page of a book report.
After a long, drawn-out beat where the only thing between us is the sound of the bar coming to life, Nescio shakes my hand. His grip is dry and firm. His expression is resigned.
‘Deal,’ he says. Tosses down some money for his drink. ‘So, who’s your source?’
I show him my teeth. Point my thumb at my own chest.
‘I am,’ I say. ‘I’m good at computers.’
I’m really fucking bad at computers.
11.
The front office of the motel was small and hot. Everything had a thin layer of grime. Smell of old cigarettes and mold in the air. It was stagnant. Sad.
There was a blackened, dead ficus in the corner. No one could be bothered to water the fucking thing. Forgotten and tossed aside. Not even worth disposal.
I’m sorry, I thought. Turned away from the plant corpse.
I counted out worn dollar bills while Jakob skulked by the door. He drew swirls in the grime on the glass. Kicked up clouds of dirt, watching it settle on his jeans.
I kept him in my line of vision. Checked the perimeter.
A fan droned hopelessly in the corner of the office, blowing hot air around the room.
The girl behind the counter watched me. Her eyes flitted between me and Jakob without stopping on either.
She was bored. Bored with me. Bored with Jakob. Bored with the gum she kept snapping and her long blonde ponytail and the ancient computer she typed on. I stood there sweating. Jakob coughed behind me. Sneezed at the dust.
I tried to smile. Well, I showed my teeth and raised my eyebrows.
Close enough.
The girl took my money and turned to the clunky old Mac on her desk.
‘One night,’ the girl said. It wasn’t a question. I nodded. Stopped nodding when I saw she wasn’t looking at me.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘One night, two beds.’ Girl was too young for her job, face still speckled with acne and braces on her teeth. She should have been slumming it at the mall, swimming in a pool, riding horses.
Teenage kid shit.
‘Thanks,’ the girl said. She dropped the keys into my hand. ‘Hope you and your son enjoy your stay.’ Her tone was flat. Might as well have been listing the specials on a menu.
Behind me, Jakob made loud vomiting noises. The girl cast a glance at me, disapproving. I tried the smiling thing again.
‘He’s not my son,’ I said. ‘He’s my brother.’
12.
Or maybe I ran. Waited until Jakob was sulking in the lobby, leaning close to the shitty fan, his dark hair moving in the breeze.
Maybe I told him I forgot something in the car. I’d be right back. You stay here.
Got in the car. Started the engine. Looked at Jakob’s sleek head, alone in the shimmering heat.
Maybe I left him there, out in the dust and the mirages, alone except for a bored girl and an old computer. I hadn’t seen the kid in years. Didn’t owe him shit.
The Program could take care of him. Let him be their problem.
Maybe I drove all the way home. Lived in my shitty apartment and worked my shitty job and eventually painted my shitty apartment with my brains to liven up the decor.
I didn’t, though.
I sat in the car for a few minutes, head against the dully hot steering wheel. Eyes too dry for tears, but they burned all the same. Turned off the engine.
When the buzzing in my head stopped, when the shaking became a slight tremor, I went back to the motel lobby to collect my little brother.
You’re so prolific . This is a series obviously.