Collected Kill: Volume 1 (2 page)

James took a deep breath.  “What do you think it will do to her?”

“I’m not sure, but it might just straighten her out.”

James went over to Vicki and offered her the drink, claiming it was non-alcoholic.  She sipped the drink and James waited patiently for her to drink down the little Jesus in the glass.  

Finally she finished the drink off.  And immediately demanded James to take her home.

During the drive, she said nothing.  She just stared straight ahead.

James felt somewhat guilty for tricking her, especially when she exited the car without even saying goodbye.  
Did she know it was alcohol?
 

James headed back to the bar and couldn’t help thinking about his misdeed.  He pounded his fist on the dash and stopped the car.  He could just keep driving and hope the whole incident would just blow over.  If she was, in fact, pregnant, it couldn’t be his.  He didn’t even have sex with her.  She thought they had intercourse because James had jizzed all over her leg, and obviously, the way she walked later that next morning, the snake had done a number on her.  But James never even put his dick near her after he had vomited the snake into her crotch.

But for some reason, James felt sorry for her.  So he turned the car around and headed back to her apartment.

He knocked and no one answered.  He tested the door and it opened.  Two steps into the living room, James saw blood on the floor.  A vase was broken against the wall.  In the far corner, Vicki held a shard of the vase in her hand and was gouging her stomach.

“No!” James yelled, rushing at her.

“I must free myself from evil,” she explained, then cut deeper.  Blood gushed from the slit in her abdomen.  James wrestled away the knife and put pressure on her stomach.  Vicki broke down in tears, still struggling toward the jagged piece of porcelain.  

Blood still squirted through James’ fingers.  He took his shirt off, applied more pressure.  

Something suddenly bulged from the wound.  James dropped his shirt and stepped back in shock.

The snake’s pale head was sticking straight out of her abdomen, its head roaming back and forth in mid-air.  It opened its mouth to hiss, but, instead, spit the little Jesus figure across the room, into the shag carpet.

It ducked back into the wound as Vicki fainted.

“Oh man,” James said, “This can’t be happening.”

He knew he was in a predicament.  She was obviously bleeding to death right before his eyes, but if he rushed her to the hospital, they would either discover the snake and think he implanted it there, or save the baby and reserve James the right to be a father, which he didn’t want either.  Or maybe the baby was already dead, and he could just take her to the hospital, then leave her for good.  The possibilities were endless.  

James finally acted, driving her to the hospital.

*   *   *   *   *   *

Three months passed.  Vicki had been saved, though she had lost the baby, for which James was secretly glad.  The snake had been extracted and the doctor’s only explanation was that it was some kind of unknown parasite.

He still saw her from time to time at the bar, but they both managed to ignore each other.

Until one night, she was waiting by his car at closing time.

“Come back to my place.  Just for old time’s sake.  Please.”

James didn’t mind the idea so much now that
Tequila Son
 couldn’t fuck things up.  It would just be him and her, without that damn import Tequila to fuck everything up.

They were naked less than an hour later, rolling around on the bed.  James could see the scars on her belly.  That night three months prior kept slipping in and out of his mind.

“Come on, James.  Give me the oral treatment.  You were so good,” she pleaded.

James knew she would be disappointed to learn that he wasn’t responsible for the vaginal tongue-lashing previously, but he knelt just the same and started lapping away.

“Oh yeah, baby, give it to me good!”

James lapped harder.

“And say hello to the kids while you’re down there.”

Before it registered, a tiny head poked out of her vaginal lips.  James almost licked it, before he pulled away and screamed.

As he stared, several more tiny heads poked through the darkness, their tongues flitting toward James.

“They’re almost ready to come out now.  They hatched last week. Isn’t it wonderful?”

James stared in disbelief.  The only thought that went through his head other than fleeing was that he needed a drink.  A
light
 drink.

BETHLEHEM: 9 MONTHS B.C.

Little Solomon looked across the field full of tiny lights glowing in the twilight.  Lightning bugs drifted in the wind, signaling in flight.  In the distance, he saw Jonas smiling and waving.

“Come here, Solomon.  I have something to show you.”

Solomon stopped petting the tiny mouse he had found in a rotted limb which had fallen during the last storm.  He placed the mouse back into its burrow and met Jonas at the center of the field.

Jonas slipped off his sandals and motioned for Solomon to follow him.  They ran, chasing fireflies, laughing and dancing to the sound of the wind through the trees.

After tiring they sat next to a large rock in the tall grass and stared at the darkening sky.

“Do you want to see something neat?” Jonas asked.

Solomon shook his head, noticing the palm of Jonas’ hand illuminated by a single firefly.  The insect climbed atop Jonas’ knuckle, preparing to take flight until Jonas cupped his other hand over its body.

“Let it go,” Solomon said.

A dark glare washed over Jonas’ face as he pinched the bug between his thumb and index finger.  A white bead of liquid bubbled from behind the insect’s wing.

“You’re killing it,” Solomon yelled, “Stop it!”

“No,” Jonas returned.

Solomon grabbed at his palm as Jonas squeezed harder.

“Watch,” Jonas said as he raked the bug’s body over the face of the rock.  A trail of yellow light fell behind the insect’s deteriorating body.  Jonas hooked the illuminated trail until a “J” appeared on the rock.

“Only four more to complete my name.”

Little Solomon felt like smacking Jonas, but instead turned and walked away.

Suddenly the wind gusted and howled and Jonas screamed.

Solomon whirled to see Jonas’ feet taken out from under him as his body was lifted into the air.  Solomon focused on the expression of fear on Jonas’ face.  His thin, wiry body rose then suddenly stopped.  His head snapped back.  His eyes bulged from some unseen force of pressure  

The invisible force lowered him, scraping his head across the earth next to the rock.  Face down, Jonas’ neck went limp, his mouth gaped until streaks of blood and brains steadily spewed atop the grass, like permanent ink from a marker.  The trail of blood twisted and looped until it spelled something.

Solomon watched as Jonas’ lifeless body was then discarded into the tall grass as the wind settled to a slight breeze.

Solomon looked to the sky, but saw nothing but moon and stars.

*   *   *   *   *   *

A little boy looked down at Solomon from beyond the clouds as a booming voice suddenly interrupted his amusement.

“Are you playing with humans again?”

The boy tucked his chin against his chest and shied away from the unseen voice overhead.

“What did I tell you about that?”

The boy looked up, cringing.  “I’m sorry, Father.  It won’t happen again.”

“How would you like it if I sent you down there as one of them?”

The little boy’s eyes widened as he lowered his head.  “Oh no, Father.  I wouldn’t.”

The voice returned, echoing around him.  “Next time you disobey me, Jesus, I’m sending you down there as an infant.  And then you’ll see how it is to be a mere human.”

Jesus glanced down to earth and saw the trail of blood scrawling the letters: ESUS.  Disappointed that the J on the rock had lost its glow, Jesus glanced up in search of his father.  He whispered his name, but no reply came.

Jesus smiled and set his sights on the field where Solomon was looking down at the body of Jonas.  He pulled Solomon’s body off the ground and, with one swoop, Jesus painted the rock with a J and quickly disposed of the human’s body.

Jesus stared down at his drawing as his father’s voice yelled at him from above.  “I warned you, little one!  Now you will have to face the consequences.”

Before Jesus could beg or argue, he found himself lodged in a warm place of fluids and darkness.  He felt his features in the darkness, noticing the solid wall of human flesh now covering his entire body.  He wiggled blindly amongst the fluid and pushed against the elastic edges of his confinement, but found himself trapped, awaiting his release.

CHOCOLATE JESUS

Sunday school was no place to be on a gorgeous summer day.  Ms. Larson would rattle on about how Jesus did this and Jesus did that and how everybody was going to burn in hell if they didn’t live their lives like snobby little pricks who judge everyone else.  

Alex hated church.  His mother forked over five bucks each Sunday for him to put in the collection plate, but, instead, he’d hike on over to Louie’s candy store and buy himself an assortment of candies and chocolates.

His mother never knew.  She was always wrapped up with Nick.  Though the guy was half her age, she hung all over him like he was the last guy on earth.  She stopped going to church altogether and started getting on her knees for other things instead.

Alex kicked up a cloud of dirt down the alleyway as he stared back at his house.  The shingles on the roof whistled in the wind and the gutters were filled with plant life.  Things had gone from bad to worse since his father had been killed in a car wreck almost two years ago.  

And that’s why he hated church so much.  If Jesus really existed, then his father would never have died so young.  How could someone so powerful and good let something so bad happen?  Preacher Roberts had said that everything happens for a reason and when Alex asked why, the preacher simply shrugged his shoulders and patted him on the head.

That was the last time he attended.

As always, Alex arrived at the candy store and purchased a chocolate bar with the collection money his mom had sent with him.  He sat on a park bench outside the store and watched Sunday-goers pass along the street.  He leaned back on the bench and let the warm sun cascade down his arms and face.  He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

By the time he awoke, the sun had melted his chocolate to the park bench.  Alex noticed its shape had distorted in the heat in a strange way.  And Alex almost pissed his pants as he looked upon a tiny figure of Jesus staring back with chocolate eyes.

Alex rubbed his eyes and shook his head, as if the motion might knock him from a deep slumber and a fitful dream.  But the chocolate figure only crossed his arms and waited silently.

The figure’s face was sculpted almost perfectly as in the various portraits his mom had hung across her bedroom walls.  With the same beard and pleading, gentle eyes, this figure sported a wavy robe and sandals just like Alex would have pictured Him wearing.  

“Tell me your troubles, my son,” the figure spoke clearly, as if the sound had been transported from some insane puppet master, channeling the speech solely into Alex’s ears.

Alex stuttered, then shifted to the other side of the park bench, trying to ignore the strange little man made of pure chocolate.

“Don’t be afraid, Alex.  I am the light of the world, remember?”

Alex glanced around, afraid that someone might walk by and see him talking to a half-foot chocolate fudge chunk that resembled the Lord.  “Go away…leave me alone!”

“Your soul must go on, Alex.  You mustn’t skip church and indulge yourself with pleasure over obedience,” Jesus said.  “The key to unlocking heaven’s gate is discipline and sacrifice.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Your father wants you to go to church and live a life that’s righteous.”

Alex perked up, feeling saddened, but yet aware of the newfound possibility.  “I want to talk to him.  I miss him!”

The chocolate Jesus smiled and held out his tiny hands, palms up.  The chocolate slowly melted and bubbled, shifting and coalescing into a broad-shouldered man with a mustache and glasses.

“Dad!”

His father lifted his chocolate hand and waved.  “Hi son!”  

Alex pouted.  “You’re not really my dad.”

The chocolate figure crossed his arms and said, “It’s me, Alexander.  I’m in heaven now.”

Alex felt a wave of disappointment, considering his father was once warm flesh that could be hugged or able to play catch with in the back yard.  Now, after his death, he was reduced to appearing as a chocolate chunk, only because Jesus had allowed him to.  What kind of a deal was that?

The figure responded to Alex’s disinterest by morphing back into the Jesus figure.  “I know you’re mad and don’t understand.  You’re young and you have to learn that all things happen for a reason, but in the end, you’ll be rewarded in the kingdom of heaven.”

Alex felt his lip quiver.  He thought about the last day he had seen his father and how much his life had changed since he had died.  He thought about his mom and how she had changed too.  She never cooked meals and hardly spent time with Alex.  It was as if Alex only reminded her of his father, and she couldn’t stand the pain of being alone, to where she had picked up Nick to fill the space.  And Nick, in turn, lived off his mother and when the walls were quiet in their room, he’d secretly sneak over to Alex’s and talk to him softly while slipping his hands under the sheets, touching Alex in a way that no one else ever had.  And Alex felt bad, like he had lost his place in the world.  At age ten, he felt as if he didn’t belong.  He trusted no one, not even the tiny figure which stared back with pleading, gentle eyes.

“Please listen—”

“No!” Alex shouted, leaping from the park bench.  “You listen, for a change.  Every night I talk to you and you
don’t
 listen.  You don’t protect me from Nick.  But you allowed my father to die and leave me here alone.”