“Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we're opened, we're red.”― Clive Barker
It was the fortieth repetition of sit-ups that the twenty-one-year-old Malcolm had crunched. The sweat seeped through him, yet the burning sensation wasn’t enough to cleanse the anxiety. It was the completion of Malcolm’s third set, and he collapsed onto the rugged floor.
After some moments of gasping, Malcolm propped up to see his television was ending the credits for some coming-of-age comedy; an ironic one where the dweeb got the girl. He reached for the remote on couch and tuned the television to the local 2012 news:
…Following the abrupt leaking of Wikileaks cables, Latin American Nations choose not to publish. The Obama Administration admits to conducting Drone attacks on America’s enemies. Attacks on African Christians by Boko Haram. Homeless Street Preacher found stabbed, to death, nine times at an intersection. The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia attacks the local army’s cocaine laboratories; French Journalist reported missing…
Malcolm paced his apartment, from the kitchen to the living room window. He was naked, except for his boxers, and his legs trembled as his heart skipped beats. He stopped before the kitchen clock and saw that the time passed 7 P.M.
He thought fearfully and he cupped both hands over his mouth as he breathed. I have a DATE in two hours!
As the moments passed, Malcolm’s own breaths pulsated his anxiety all over again, even after the exercise. He never saw the clock change, only that the time was now ten minutes after. A sudden rasp nearly made him bite his palm.
“Fuck! FUCK! I need to shower. I need to smell okay for her!”
He halted before entering the bathroom. He ran a hand through the short strands of black hair on his head, feeling the grease and sweat moisten the skin.
“Dumbass, Malcolm! You shower right before leaving; a million things could happen after showering now!”
He suddenly punched the wall and once again, Malcolm paced as he rubbed the tension away. Moments passed before it occurred to Malcolm to check on his phone, which was charging on the kitchen island. Upon noticing the time being 7:14, Malcolm saw his recent text message was received after six. To his comfort, yet resuscitated dread, it was from Meryl.
“Hey there, Mal! You’re shit about answering your calls, lol.”
Malcolm forced the smile he desperately wanted to feel.
“Just forewarning you that I might be a few minutes late tonight. I have to pick my dumbass little sis up from a concert around eight twenty. (Mom and Dad are lazy.) Anyway, I’m NOT sticking you up, so please don’t scare yourself. I’ll let you know.”
Malcolm kept the forced smile while nodding at the text.
“This isn’t high school, Malcolm…Meryl is…Older. Smart too. She’s not the type to set you up…” When he opened his eyes, his distorted reflection from the refrigerator stared back. “You are…a college failure…turned Army-Grunt-Cliché…a tortured, would-be-artist who’s commanded by his Carnal Beast. Meryl, a medical student, wants an Army brat for a boyfriend?” He began to stammer. “I’m to be someone’s ‘boyfriend’ when I can’t even let her know me…?”
The foreboding premise of depending on Meryl to talk for him presented itself. Malcolm’s breathing had begun to feel like a violent tremor in his chest. It was only now that he thought to respond to her messages.
Malcolm typed. “Okay then! Family first and all that! I’ll try to be there a bit early; in case you aren’t held up!” He sent the message, not knowing if any other information was necessary.
It was indiscernible whether the rumbling in Malcolm’s stomach was a side effect of his fear, or an unsated appetite.
Fantasies of the perfect conversation began to orate themselves aloud as Malcolm began pacing his apartment again.
“…You can’t talk to her about medical shit on a date you dotard!” Malcolm pulled himself out of the fantasy, deciding to call his Battle Buddy, Javier. Malcolm had to dial a second time before Javier answered.
“My dude!” Javier said. “Where’ve you been man?”
“Ugh…killing time…” Malcolm was half honest.
“Doin’ what? We landed in Leesville three weeks ago and you go AWOL on the squad.”
Malcolm’s eyes darted. “Well, I had to renew my Netflix subscription.”
“Uh huh.” Javier said sarcastically. “Corporal Book Reader is binging TV.”
Malcolm shrugged, anxiously. “So, what’ve you been up to?”
“Hanging with the squad, unlike your E.T. mannered ass.” Javier responded with sardonicism. “Get the fuck out here. We’re at some bar in...”
“Javi, I have plans tonight.”
“Well at least you’re getting the fuck out of your shell.”
Malcolm felt flushed. “I’ve kind of been fished out by someone else…hoping I could get your life coaching.”
Javier made a belching sound. “Did the Colonel ask you to attend some banquet? Over the company C.O.?”
“No…” Malcolm answered awkwardly.
“Oh! Well, shit…rumors are rumors. What’s up?”
“…I have a date at nine...” The very words felt unreal to Malcolm as he spoke.
A silence followed. “You what?”
Malcolm seethed to himself. “Do you remember that medical student Rosie brought when we were at the bowling alley last October?”
“Uh shit…the brunette?”
“Yea…” Malcolm answered. “Her name’s Meryl and…whelp, Rosie decided to set us up with each other’s contact. Now, I have dinner with her at nine.”
The only sound from Javier was a muffled choke. “How the Hell did I miss this?”
“Because you and Rosie are a constant on-and-off again…”
“Alright, fair point.” Javier’s voice faded. “Yo Kenny! Our boy, ‘Corporal Space Dog’, is going on a DATE!” Malcolm heard a raving laugh on Javier’s end. “Shit, my bad bro! I had to tell someone! It’s like seeing my child take his first steps!”
“…Yea, I get it…” Malcolm quietly huffed.
“Is that it, man?” Javier asked. “Because I am glad for ya.”
“Javi, you’ve fucked in your time. How do I make myself worth it for her? Am I supposed to keep her laughing the whole time?”
“…Dude. People are all different, I met this ‘Meryl’ once. I mean, if you’ve been talking to her then you’ve already kept her interested…”
“That doesn’t count man!” Malcolm let his worry seep through. “Almost all that was over text messages! I can think and stall over those!”
“Look bro,” Javier assured. “I can promise you this, you will bomb hard if you put thought into this.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t ‘plan’ a conversation dude.” Javier began to whisper. “And don’t go in with high expectations. That includes sex; women aren’t loose…Unless they’re with Kenny!”
“I didn’t…” Malcolm felt flustered. “I just want to be present for her…”
“Then that’s the best you can do my man.” Javier sounded encouraging. “Just do what you gotta do to clear your head and don’t take yourself so seriously. Call me tomorrow and fill me in!”
“Yea…alright.” Malcolm took a deep breath. “Bye.” He hung up without a response. The phone’s clock showed the time to be 7:26.
“Just fucking…calm down.” He spoke aloud as his heart pounded. A tingling impulse to exert his tension began to work its way up through Malcolm all over again. He moved to the center of the living room and turned his television off while still holding the smartphone. “A playlist then…” He accessed his music app.
***
Thus far, the day’s second workout had yet to provide Malcolm with a single athletic ache; the hurt that Drill Instructors screamed was weakness draining out of him. Starting with more sets of push-ups, warmups for the crunches, Malcolm delicately switched to a series of yoga stretches to pop the muscles in his legs and torso. After he felt rejuvenated, Malcolm switched his routine to leg climbers on all floors and gradually escalated into air lunges before dropping back down.
He had had switched to yoga again with another song on his phone’s playlist. He would make another transition to clapping push-ups after a sick pop disrupted the down tempo to a Jimmy Eat World track:
“…It’s a lie, a kiss with open eyes…
…she’s not breathing back!...
…Anything but bother me!...
…Takes my Pain away!”
As he gathered breath, he could feel his core expand as a chasm; with it came a gnawing hunger. Still panting, Malcolm crossed to the kitchen’s refrigerator and opted for a protein solution.
His phone beside the couch was interrupted mid-song by a vibrating ring. Malcolm had just finished mixing a tall glass of milk with his chocolate flavored protein. He crossed to answer and nearly spit his milk when he saw the name.
He set the milk down on the table with a shaking hand and quickly snatched the phone. He took a cautious gulp and exhaled while answering.
The husky voice barked. “…Hey! You got a lot of fucking nerve acting like we don’t exist!”
Malcolm’s stammers returned. “Dad…I haven’t been home long…”
Something adjusted on the other end before Dad returned. “Think that would excuse the lack of rent I get for helping you float that apartment of yours?! And I checked with Leesville, you’ve been home for weeks!”
“I-I…” Malcolm felt punched. “Dad, I was on tour for five months…I wanted to…”
“You CHOSE the army life; I was DRAFTED to the Marines before I could attend college!”
Malcolm cupped the bridge of his nose. “We all hate Nixon, Dad.”
“Busted my ass to get that diploma afterward, and then there’s you. Can’t make a full ride to a university work out, so now I gotta float you a home since you make dogshit as an Army grunt!”
Malcolm’s hand dropped from his mouth. “Dad…I’m going to pay you back…can I drop the money off later in the week? I need the money I have tonight…”
Dad guffawed. “For what?! New addition to your ‘authentic’ knife collection? Gambling with that spick Battle Buddy you have?”
“No I’m…”
“Nope indeed. I just got home with your mother, I’m about to come and collect!”
Malcolm’s eyes popped. “Dad, no! I NEED what I have!”
“Why!?”
Malcolm begged. “…because I’m seeing someone…”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Sweet Jesus, you’re seeing those goddamn support services!” Dad was in disbelief. “For WHAT!? You fight cave-dwelling shepherds who fuck their livestock! They can’t be scarier than those short yellow bastards popping out of a jungle!”
“No, Dad…it’s a woman…I’m seeing a woman tonight.” A pause followed.
As hard as Malcolm shut his eyes, he could still envision Dad’s jaw drop. He finally spoke. “How did this happen?! You slip her a ruphy?!”
“Dad…”
“No, seriously Boy, I need to know right now so I can get a lawyer lined up!”
“I didn’t do anything Dad…”
“...Good God, is there something wrong with HER too?”
Malcolm’s mouth continued to falter. “I…met her thrice in person. She studies medicine…”
“Well fuck, you must be making a last resort kind of deal. How fat is she?”
Malcolm began to chug the protein milk for comfort as he sat on the couch. “I’m not doing that dad…she’s tall, she’s funny, she’s a good listener…”
“D-don’t act like a cuck for her! No one like’s that shit!”
Malcolm stammered. “But I’m supposed to pay for the both of us, aren’t I?”
“Well, you’re not supposed to dine and dash!”
Malcolm paused so it could sink in for his father. “So please don’t make me pay you tonight…please don’t come…”
Dad’s gravelly voice became starker. “You think I’m gonna cock-block my boy when he’s finally acting like a normal person? And here we were accepting that our bloodline was over…”
Malcolm huffed with a red face. “Yea Dad, thanks…”
He heard Dad’s voice sound distant. “Nancy! Your Black Sheep has a date tonight!” The pause gave Malcolm goosebumps. “No, I’m not. YOU talk to him!”
Malcolm contemplated hanging up, versus stabbing his own ears. He hadn’t the time to decide before her voice picked up on the speaker. “So, this is why you’re too good to speak to the woman who almost shattered her tailbone a second time, just to give birth to you?”
“Hey Mom…” Malcolm answered. “…I would never replace you…I meant to call the other day but I…got caught up donating blood and…”
“So, who took you for pity? Your father insisted you weren’t raping anyone.”
Malcolm was pretending to impale the side of his head. “Mom-”
“But then again, he’s got a different definition for ‘rape’. Did you bring a widowed villager back from Iraq? Because that’s not informed consent. You hear me, boy? What you’re doing is a kidnapping and that woman is your hostage.”
“Mom…I didn’t kidnap anybody from Iraq…I-I met this woman through a friend…”
“Oh. So, you think you got a mutual connection, is that it?” Mom sounded so matter of fact. “Let me tell you something, friends are fickle. I can count on one hand how many I have, and those faces change every decade.
Why? I even lost my best friend right around your first birthday, considering your father couldn’t be bothered helping raise you properly. Outside of feeling cool with his friends...Is that how you fancy yourself with this woman?”
Malcolm bit a nail. “…I don’t want to feel cool, Mom... I want to feel…normal.” He choked.
“Normal huh?” Mom deadpanned. “Is trying to embody your father’s ‘masculinity’, what normal people do? That testosterone rage of your dad’s got no better with time...You know I never had sex with your father after you were born?”
Malcolm’s eyes popped from his head.
“...A sacrifice like that, you could’ve had a career working on Late Night shows if you had been writing anything other than that distressing dribble you called poetry; at least you outgrew that phase.”
“…I could never write jokes…the Army…it…”
“Made you feel like the ‘man’ your father wants you to be. I know.”
“I fit in with them. They…see me.”
“Yes, and now your surrogate family, the platoon, is letting you borrow one of their wives or whoever.” Her cold blinking pierced Malcolm through the call. “Just as a reward for your supposed ‘service’ and ‘loyalty.’ You think those women are loyal if they’re allowed promiscuity; or that they’re even clean? Let me tell you something about AIDS…”
“Jesus, Mom!” Malcolm finally panted. “I didn’t meet this woman through the Army! She studies medicine…and she’s the one who asked me out!”
Mom began to smack her lips together; vibrating over the phone, the sound made Malcolm seethe.
“Is there something wrong with her?” her deadpanned voice returned.
“No! Nothing! Mom…she’s actually...” Color drained from Malcolm’s face, “…really pretty…”
“Now look here, this woman is testing you. Hear me, buster? She’s taking the male role away from you to see if you step up the effort. It’s a way we test our suitors.”
Malcolm was desperate. “Mom please stop!”
“What? It’s up to you if you’re going to be good enough for her. And I am counting on you to be good enough, since you’ve faintly rekindled my hope of being a grandmother. Now I want you to stop whining, no one likes that. Otherwise, you’re better off saving this poor woman the trouble.”
Malcolm was rocking as an infant. “Just let me go, Mom…I have to go.”
“Hmm. I was done teaching you anyway; I just hope she’s able to see past your looks.” Mom hung up the phone, as always, without a goodbye.
It never occurred to Malcolm that he was staring at the screen of his smartphone, or for how long. He registered the time to be seven minutes past eight. Some time passed with Malcolm’s ghostly face staring at the ceiling lights. He pondered aloud. “…If Meryl ever brought you all the way with her…You’re not lasting two minutes…” The phone slid out of his hand as he sat up, staring at both.
Slowly, Malcolm began to scratch the tips of each finger as his breathing began to palpitate. “There is NO being yourself with her, or anyone at this point. Not with what’s lurking beneath me. How fair is that to her, never learning who she’s really with? I’m hardly a full person…”
As the next moment passed, Malcolm was in a pace around his apartment once more. The nails under his fingers felt pried by a crowbar as he tried to scrub the rot.
“If I can’t be myself to her, then I may as well not even be present…And when I prove Mom right…I ought to go ahead and die…”
Where Malcolm came to a halt, the potential agony of his haunting prospect made him shiver. When he focused, he was staring at the living room window. “…I shouldn’t hurt her…”
Malcolm slowly lifted the window after raising the blinds. A guff of fresh Louisiana air wafted into the apartment as Malcolm absorbed a city lighting up against the rising night. His head dropped to the street, three stories below him, where all the people were facing what was directly ahead of them.
Malcolm let out a dreaded breath. “…anybody but her…” Without a flinch climbed out his window.
Malcolm grunted through the discomfort as he climbed to the next subsequent floor; he then navigated his path around the ledges until he found a way further up. As Malcolm scaled the building, the sense of being suspended farther from the Earth began to stretch itself. He couldn’t avoid looking around as he made his path, and every turn-of-the-head saw the features of New Orleans shriveling to divots. The increasing tension was making his muscles soften with every reach and pull.
A sudden slip of his bare foot, while crossing ledges, would almost be the start of his demise. In a frantic tightening, and with toes pressing into the apartment wall, Malcolm caught himself in a dangle over the oblivious city street. In the next instant, Malcolm readjusted his legs atop the bottom window and planted himself tightly; he was eight stories above the street. Longer moments of gathering the cool city air in his lungs had to pass by for the rush of adrenaline to subside.
Malcolm clenched his eyes and could still picture his death. He pressed his head to the wall. “…don’t let go…” he pleaded to himself.
He tried to retrace his path with his mind, and he knew the certainty of a faulty step should he choose to start climbing down.
His ascent past the next floor was deliberately delicate as he weaved across the windows to the next reachable ledge. Malcolm lifted himself to a window frame on the next floor. Upon his head rising to view, it was apparent that the closed window was left with open blinders; inside the window was a darkened bedroom.
A person slept on a bed made for singles with a white cover sheeting them. Malcolm could make no features out, whether it was a man, a woman, or their age. A light was illuminating beneath the door inside the bedroom.
Malcolm turned his head right; there was also a light shining from the adjacent window. He made a steady side motion to the other ledge and when his head was level with the window, Malcolm stared inside the apartment.
He was looking into the kitchen; Malcolm could hear the muffled voices of a television from within, but there was no foot patter or even a silhouette in the light. His head stared, unmoving, and with fastened, unblinking eyes of brown.
“…This is just a plain security risk.” Malcolm uttered beneath his breath.
The opportunity with the sleeper inside the bedroom didn’t need to present itself, it was already in Malcolm’s mind. He finally felt a single pain throughout, the knots in his stomach gnawed once more and the blood in his veins were congesting into ice. It was a force-of-impulse where Malcolm felt there was no choice but to climb inside. He maintained his place outside the window, only for the commanding willpower of his conscious.
“…So, this Carnal Beast wants to rear itself when I attempt my suicide.” Malcolm noticed his over salivating mouth and swallowed. “And still, it wants to take command, at every opportunity, for a blooded depiction of indulgence…”
By now, Malcolm’s resistance was beginning to fail as if threaded needles were pulling at his joints; his teeth were grinding. “A million things can go wrong…”
As if his words summoned it, Malcolm’s dreaded feelings of fear turned his eyes wide. “I could face the loss of all control…and how will I wake after the Beast has gone to sleep? It wants to live more than I do, so it also needs to feed…If I deny it now, will it devour Meryl as a punishment?”
His eyes shut, the chin dropped, and Malcolm held his breath. “…Does all this make you more alive than me? Is it you who wields all my paranoia; this feeling that I’m being manipulated?”
His head nodded involuntarily.
“You, are the trash file in my brain; where absurd ideas are thrown away to die…Only you decided to surge and spatter our depictions.” Malcolm’s eyes swelled to black as he raised his head. “…You’re the reason why I have no choice in loving every Piece…” he climbed inside.
Malcolm was standing past the window and with a perception unblinking, he took the sight of the kitchen and the living room past it. The television was blaring some Comedy Central standup act. Malcolm deduced the bedroom door against the wall, next to the television set.
A second door was to the right of that one, it had a light shining through the slot beneath and the hum of a fan within. Malcolm glided into the kitchen, where his sight of the living room was separated by an inner wall. It was on the right side, between the stove and the refrigerator, where sets of kitchen utensils sat in sheaths.
A single finger hovered over them yet cautiously touched not one. Behind black eyes, Malcolm contemplated their morbid potential by the width and length of each handle; from the small cutters to the palm-length daggers. With thoughtless confirmation, his finger chose to land on the bulkiest handle tip. Malcolm slowly drew the knife without a rasp of its blade and stared into his shining reflection. He allowed his hand to wave the knife through the air, eventually twirling the handle and redirecting the sharp point.
A toilet flush halted Malcolm and the sound continued to drone. He looked over to hear faucet sink was turned on and Malcolm paced over to the end of the tiny inner wall beside the open window. He knew his shadow lurked in the light, hoping not to be seen, Malcolm leaned his ear against the wall.
As soon as the bathroom door swung open, the gusting scent of marijuana filled Malcolm’s nostrils. Despite the active fan humming from the open door, Malcolm’s intent ears distinguished a pattern of footsteps after the door had shut. He prepared to lunge should the person enter the kitchen or close the window; instead, the patter slowed, and the pressing of a couch cushion was heard.
A single blackened eye peered past the inner wall. The shortened, back of the person’s head stared at the TV. They began to rewind the standup special to wherever they had left off as they reached for the table to pour a shot of whiskey. After hitting the play button, they downed the whiskey shot without a hack and leaned on his back with stretched arms across the couch.
As Malcolm emerged from behind the inner wall, his shadow shifted behind and condensed into him as he past the kitchen light. The steps he savored were quieter than a creeping animal. The person’s head dropped backward, and Malcolm’s head cocked without flinching. His head was hanging off the back of the couch with closed eyes. Malcolm confirmed the person to be of a likely post-college age, not yet thirty; he was an ethnic, tan-of-skin. The man let out a deep sigh of breath which indicated the crashing of his high and his jaw was left wide.
The man didn’t get to notice Malcolm’s silhouette blotting the rays of the television light. The audience laughed; with a still-tilted head, Malcolm dropped a hand and clasped the jaw tightly.
The Man’s eyes opened to the apathy of Malcolm’s unblinking; the man’s pupils instantly quaked with terror and arms jutted to rip Malcolm’s grip. With an unsmiling flash of grinding teeth, Malcolm pressed the face leftward, and the down held knife plummeted into the right temple.
A crack coincided with a third of the blade penetrating the skull; the man’s eyes instantly rolled to the back of his head as Malcolm applied force, sinking the wabbling knife across brain tissue. The pressed geyser of blood became blocked by the handle and began to pool around the edges, oozing down the right temple.
It seemed long after the man’s eyes ceased jolting that Malcolm could remember to inhale. The first rush of air accompanied the numbing pulse comparable to opioids, nourishing the gnawing in his pit. Malcolm opened his eyes and looked back down as he tried to pull the knife out. He twirled the head in a circle and with a final tug, the handle snapped off and the blade was left embedded through the brain. Malcolm delicately set the broken handle on the head of a couch cushion.
His black eyes looked at the bedroom door before turning around to enter the kitchen again. After a more casual selection process, Malcolm flagrantly exited the kitchen with a clawed meat mallet sized to the length of his wrist. He came to a steady halt before the bedroom door and his twisting the knob came like a snap; a hard push sent the door flying open.
Already the sleeper had jolted to a sitting position on the bed. Malcolm stared at him through the casting of his own shadow. He panted thrice behind popping white eyes. “G-GET THE FUCK OUT!”
It had taken Malcolm a single leap and a dozen repeated bashes of the clawed mallet before the flailing sleeper became a limp carcass. Malcolm climbed off the bed and stepped back, letting the light reveal his depiction. A crimson coagulation spattered or stained the walls, frame, mattress and floor. The sleeper’s limbs now dangled at the sides, except for the head; it was caved from the center outwards.
Malcolm never realized that he dropped the mallet. Once the wobbling in his legs ceased, Malcolm turned to exit the bedroom. He stepped into the light, revealing the drip from his chin, down to the prints on his bare feet. After scanning the room to plan, Malcolm turned to enter the smoky bathroom.
After sifting through the smokers’ paraphernalia, he emerged with a set of four candles and lined each beside the kitchen stove. Malcolm also brought a lighter and set each with flame. He then set every knob on the stove to allow gas to hiss. Moving with a dreaded grace, Malcolm climbed back out the open window.
He would barely scale down safely, for it a light rainfall was starting; he descended through his apartment window and closed it. He looked at the clock in the kitchen as he walked to the bathroom, it was thirty-six minutes after eight. He dropped his blood-soaked boxers to the living room floor and shut the bathroom door behind a trail of prints.
Some minutes after a thorough shower, Malcolm heard the explosion from his bedroom just after getting dressed in a silver-lined button up with regular black jeans. He stood with perfect alignment in his mirror and lastly processed the reflection of his curling lips; the brown of his eyes had returned with the high, Alleviation. Every fire alarm in the building was blaring loudly while he tied the laces to his shoes. He left to grab his phone off the couch table, it was forty-three minutes after Twenty Hundred.
“So, I might be late as well.” Malcolm spoke as a soft matter of fact; every knot in his core was released and Malcolm lost his sense of appetite. He glanced around his apartment as the alarm continued to drone. The blood-soaked boxers sat past the television and the crimson trail of footprints was beginning to darken. “Hmmm. No bringing Meryl back here.”
Malcolm grabbed his key ring off the wall beside the apartment door; his hand was steady, despite the continuous surge of dopamine. He cared not to shift his grin when he stepped out into the hallway; Malcolm blended in with a passing family of four and his fellow neighbors as they hustled to the stairwell under loud alarms.