fiX - A ParaBnormal Fairy Tale Read online

  “I’m saving you,” he called out, following after her. “Like you’ve been begging me to. If you decide you want to come back after we get away, I won’t stop you. But we’re getting out.” Juno stopped, turned around quickly and moved to slap him again. He caught her hand with his own and pushed it aside. “And you’re going to do your part, you little...”

  She looked into him as he paused. “Say it, Davey. Call me what you want to call me. Call me a fuckin’ whore.” He began undoing the buttons on her night dress and she scratched at his wrists to stop him. “You’re going to make me take a shower now? Big fuckin’ man. Why don’t you hit me again? Maybe that will help.”

  “You’ll thank me tomorrow.” He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her into the bathroom, to the tub.

  “You’ll be dead tomorrow. Because you can’t pull off whatever it is you think you’ve got all worked out. Even if you get lucky, you’ll find some way to fuck it all up. You’re a loser. That’s what you do.”

  “You get cleaned up, put on some clothes you haven’t ruined, go shopping and, by tonight, we’re free.”

  She continued to protest, lashing at his face with her fists. “I’m not going. You can’t do anything to make me. I want to fix. You do too. Admit it. It’s killing you. Making you crazy. We just need more junk, you stupid piece of—”

  Breath blasted from Juno’s mouth as she wrested herself from David’s grip, the momentum tripped her up, gravity bounced the back of her head off the wall and she slumped into the bathtub.

  “And...” He looked her in the eyes as they fluttered open. “If you don’t shower, get dressed and go shopping, then by tonight, this is as good as it’s going to get. Except this sort of thing won’t be happening by accident. And if you even think about pulling this kind of crap. Talking back, being a smart-mouthed little pain in the ass, when they’ve got you back on the streets? They’ll kill you and toss your body in an alley dumpster. For anyone to find. So your mommy and daddy will have to come and ID you. Know what you were.” David turned to leave the room. “You don’t want to go? All right, I can’t make you, like you say. But I’m out. And, for your sake, I hope I see you later.”

  “Whatever happens, we’re done,” she said, her speech slowing and her body relaxing. “I don’t know if it’s the withdrawals, or if you hate me, but now that we’re clean. Us... We don’t make any sense. Maybe I still love you, but I don’t think so. Maybe you think you still love me. It’s too confusing. Especially now.”

  “Look, I’m sorry that—”

  “Don’t.” She stopped him as he began what she assumed was an apology for the unchecked rage. The physical violence and the cruel words that, she knew all too well, were the only things that made sense if the hurting came back and you needed to forget. “We’re both fucked up. The kicking is making us insane.”

  “Just don’t die for no reason,” he said as his anger and frustration left right along with hers.

  And for a while, they both felt calm. Like the cravings had never existed. Like they’d never used. It wouldn’t last much longer. It never did.

  “Fine. I’ll get dressed and go shopping,” she said. “You’ll be watching when I go, right?”

  He nodded. “I’ll follow you. Until you’re out in public. Then I’ll go my way. I’ll be back to pick you up in an hour or so. Probably sooner. Like twenty-six, twenty-seven minutes. Can you shop for that long?”

  “Can I shop for that long?” She laughed, even though she was well aware of the negative stereotype she was perpetuating.

  “Just remember, the thrift store is where you’re supposed to be. Don’t go more than a block from there. Stay on the same side of the street if you have to leave.”

  “Okay.” She got up and turned on the tap. “I’ll be waiting. Forget us. But don’t forget me.”

  He walked into the kitchen to grab a sandwich while he waited for her to wash up. “I won’t forget you. Not that way.”

  “...This is not a fairy tale...”

  I’ve been back in this slice of nowhere, on this Petri dish located in the middle of a mediocre universe, watching over the sickeningly sweet-natured, confused objective of my mission for a little less than what I suppose is a month now. And while it’s a welcome break, I already miss the violent, focused insanity of my unwitting aide. My favourite monkey. He’s been keeping me busy for most of the last two decades, but he’s only a means to an end.

  “...This is not a fairy tale...”

  I’ve been chanting that mantra since I got here, and It still ignores me. I know It can hear, but It won’t give me the satisfaction of recognising me. It won’t even acknowledge what I know to be true. It wants to kill me but It’s still too confused to commit entirely to removing me from Its world. Whether that’s because It knows It can’t and fears the consequences, thinks It might need my help to fix what It thinks is broken, or knows It can use me, it’s impossible to tell. I can read Its monkey mind, but after all this time, Its mind is a maze and a mess. And I’m only invested in It finding Its way Home so I can go back too.

  It’s content, instead, to drag Its tainted wings through the thinning blood on the floor of this wooden box. Sniffing all around It. Foraging for scraps. Staining Its white fur thick with disease as It licks the floors and walls cleaner than they’ve ever been. Sucking up chunks of bone and vomiting them back out. Always so upset with the result. Always so upset with Itself. Knowing what It’s attempting to do is futile, but never stopping. Desperately seeking out crumbs because It can’t admit It might be wrong.

  And It has to have known, ever since It made the decision to fall and take refuge on this simian garbage dump, the way back Home is easy. But It didn’t want to come back for many years. And when It decided It did, It was lost. Confused. Too prideful to accept my help. And too dense to see Its pride is part of the problem.

  Today, It looks up and stares into me. Its mouth dripping chunky liquid over Its breasts, and down to the nothing between Its legs, as It wraps Itself in Its dark purple wings. Leaking red poison in pools beneath It as It bares Its primary fangs, opens wide and allows the indefinably long protuberance It calls a tongue to slither through the air and open the teeth that make up its tip. A secondary set of teeth that allow the snake-like tongue behind them to shoot out and glide through the air as its tip’s teeth begin chomping at dust. If I weren’t familiar with the Underneath, It might scare me right now.

  It asks me why I’ve come back. Though It knows I know It knows. And I tell It Its way Home is near. And it will be coming to It presently.

  It growls when I tell It the truth and sucks me down from my comfortable place on the ceiling. Attaching me to Its back for a moment as I begin to give It visions. But, before I can make them clear, It shakes me off. It tells me I can’t be trusted. That It’s not falling for my pranks. That I’m a liar, a trickster and a cheat. That this isn’t a game.

  And I laugh as It considers ending me. I laugh harder when It threatens to. And I let It know once more, if It really wants to leave this miserable plane of existence, the opportunity is coming again. Very soon. I let It know that, though It doesn’t want to accept it, the vessel that hasn’t needed me for three weeks now is a way Home. A conduit back to where It’s been dying to return for so long. And I let It know, if It can’t manage to stop acting like a vicious, lethal infant and trust me for once, the opportunity will most certainly pass again. And there won’t be another one for quite a while. Perhaps for aeons. And I tell It I’m going to be riding It harder than It’s ever known me to, and there’s nothing It can do to stop me.

  I tell It the smell is growing stronger and It pulls me back toward It, growing me and shrinking me and then letting go and looking confused. Muttering Its favourite ape phrase. As if It’s ever really loved anything.

  It knows I’m not lying and that scares It, which makes me think this time there might be a chance I’ll be able to complete my mission and go back Home.

  But I’m never sure
. And I can’t tell what Its intentions are as It passes through me, and the roof of this bloodied wooden box, and hooks me with Its talons. Trading Its smaller prison for a larger one like It does over and over again. Passing from the Underneath to the In-Between. Taking to the sky and trying to convince Itself It’s free as It casts me wide and dark over the small town It’s been calling home for far too long. Getting angry with me again, as It does, when I laugh at all the monkeys below, directing their gazes upward in fear of getting wet, as It passes above them and paints a sliver of night across their precious dirt.

  Then It makes Itself small and releases me to find another corner where I can wait inconspicuously. It returns Itself to the clean wooden box It calls home and assumes Its monkey form again.

  I pray It will get things right this time. Mostly for me. And, I’ll admit, for my favourite monkey.

  It realised Its path to redemption, when It first met my favourite monkey, and It ran from him like a yellow dog. Too confused about Its own lust for the monkey flesh to differentiate between sin and simple primate need.

  But the smell is all I require to keep me on my game. The smell means I might be going Home soon. With or without Its help or consent. If the smell attaches to It again, I can complete my mission easily.

  And I call after It, over an alternate channel so I don’t introduce any more fear into the monkeys’ lives than they insist on manufacturing for themselves:

  “...This is not a fairy tale... And I’ll be God damned if you fuck this up for me again.”

  Juno arrived at the thrift store around noon. David followed her halfway there. Until she got to the street. Until she was among the crowd of regular people going about their days, doing what they had to do. Or what they wanted to. Until he could be sure no one was going to make her disappear.

  She’d looked back and given him an obvious nod when she felt safe. Then she’d watched to make sure he left. Hoping he’d be getting them as far away from where they were now, as fast as possible. But not believing. He was a dreamer and, though he tried, he never came through. Not all the way.

  Trying to figure out what it was about David that changed since their last taste, wondering if nothing had, and just breathing the same stale city air made her want to shoot up again. Despite how freshly the pain of withdrawal still lingered in her mind and how terribly it still stressed her body. And she couldn’t start slapping around random strangers on the street to relieve the pressure. Not without suffering noticeable consequences. At his most violent, David never hurt her badly enough that she needed make-up to conceal the damage. And, though she could ignore them when she was alone with David, or the heroin took her to that place where she could forget, her looks were more important to her than she could bring herself to admit. Perhaps, that’s where her fear of freedom came from. If she died young, she’d never have to know the indignity of ageing.

  And personalities were no substitute for good looks. Personalities were for ugly women who needed them.

  She was all clean and a little too dressed up for the thrift store but, ironically enough, the pricey, form-fitting white dress she had on was the only piece of clean laundry she could find. The only outfit she hadn’t wrecked when she’d been kicking. Looking for anything she could destroy to keep her mind off using.

  “Junie? Is that you?” a voice called from behind her. Her body stiffened as she felt the words worm their way under her skin. She recognised the voice and she never wanted to hear it again. If David was right, and he did have a workable plan, she wouldn’t be hearing it anymore after that evening. If David was wrong, she’d be hearing it often and much sooner.

  She turned around slowly, pretending she felt casual. Acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Like she belonged where she was, looking the way she did.

  “Excuse me?” She looked into steely grey eyes, pretending to be surprised. “Ricky? Ricky Nevil?” Richard looked back at her. He was big. Six feet, easy. Wide, but not fat at all. His face was ugly. Like someone had set it on fire and extinguished the blaze with alcohol. But there was an air of calm about his features, and in his voice, that made him deceptively attractive. Even when you knew what he was capable of, how little you meant to him and what he would do to you if you crossed him, no matter who you were or what you might have thought you were worth.

  “You’re looking good, Junie.” He stepped to her side, as if he, too, were going to begin browsing the second-hand ladies dresses. “You clean up nice.” A smile hinted from her lips. “You look like a sparkling clean human toilet now.”

  “What? I mean, thank you.” She kept her voice clipped, looking straight ahead. Trying not to show any shame as she felt his words hit her and his eyes molest her. Ogling her without any tact.

  “Hardly recognised you,” he said. “Last time I saw you I thought you were living in a ditch. You looked worse than the piece of shit you are. Figured Davey must have given up on you. You still fucking that junkie lunatic on the house?” He gave her left ass cheek a lingering squeeze and she brushed his hand away, keeping her stare fixed. Her lips beginning to tremble with embarrassment. “God damn, girl, you could really be earning. With that body and that face. It’s a shame.”

  “Davey and me are done. I ended it.” She moved down the rack and brought her voice to a whisper. “But I don’t do that. Not anymore. Only the six or seven times after. When I had... problems. That wasn’t—”

  “Oh,” he said, whispering too. “I didn’t realise your fucking strangers for smack was a secret. Did Davey know how you were helping out with the rent when you were his one and only?” She looked down and away. “Of course he didn’t.” He looked around to make sure no one was paying them any strict attention. “You know, if you want, all you’ve got to do is give me a call. Give me a call and I’ll set you up. All the dope you want and, if you keep looking as good as you do now, real money clients who can boost your income. Or you could start sucking some other loser’s dick every day for free. I’m sure Davey’s uncle would take care of you. Matthew, is it? I’m sure he’d help you out in exchange for the only thing your stupid little ass is good for. How long you been clean?”

  “What do you want from me?” she snapped, still keeping her voice hushed. “I’m trying to find some nice things to wear. And I don’t know his uncle. Matt whoever. Davey says he’s homeless. A drifter. What does it matter? Why are you treating me so...? Look, just because I used to work for you doesn’t give you the right to... It just doesn’t. Please stop.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know how highly you value your status in the community. I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about you and that lovely, talented mouth.” He moved closer. Sniffing the air. “Your breath smells funny. Not enough protein?”

  She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. More honestly, she wanted to grab a pair of scissors off the counter by the sewing machines, cut out his heart and eat it while she watched him die. But, as angry as Richard could make her, she never got brave around him. Though he’d never once raised a hand to her, she’d seen him deal with problem girls. And what she’d seen him do scared the hell out of her. She felt certain he would hurt her if she pushed anything too far. That he’d beat her half to death anywhere, any time, for any reason, if she gave him a good enough one. Right there, in broad daylight, if she forced it. “Ricky. Come on.” She inched down the racks in the opposite direction. Moving herself sideways in front of him as she passed. Making sure her bottom grazed his trousers as she moved to his other side. He chuckled with pity, as it did. Watching her facial expression show him she’d noticed, even when she was looking good, she did nothing for him.

  “You got somewhere you’re going?” he asked. As she looked away from him, pretending to care what was written on the clothing tags, her face went white. “I don’t mean to be nosey, but I haven’t seen you looking this good in as long as I can remember. Not even back when you could turn heads without grinding up against the customer
. Ever, maybe. What’s the occasion?”

  “Don’t you have somewhere you’ve got to be?” Her skin flushed red and she continued to look away from him. If she turned around now, he’d surely see nothing was right or, at least, something was definitely wrong.

  “You’ve got the most beautiful face.” He gently pulled her hair from the front, back over her shoulders. “I’d forgotten.”

  “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say. Why are you...?” She could feel her sense of time slipping away, along with her sense of safety. Wondering where David was, and why Richard wasn’t with him. Trying to remember what David had said the plan was. The plan that was going to get them out of the life. Out of the city. She felt Richard’s hand lightly touch her chin as he turned her around to face him. “It’s not. Really. But thank you.”

  “You are adorable. You’ve got butterflies. All because of little old me? I never knew you liked me, Junie.”

  Juno shook inside and she could see her fear registering in Richard’s eyes. It felt like it was the time David said everything was going to be happening. And when Paul’s operation was shut down, Richard would have to be there. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t go away when the cops showed up. If the cops showed up.

  “Listen, Ricky. It’s just...” she said, losing track. “Why are you acting so...? Why are you treating me like this? I didn’t—”