The Summer I Died

yelling for his dog, until finally he stuck his head around the top of the stairs and said, “Butch, you know better than to go down without me. Get yer ass up here right now.” I could see from his torso he was still naked, his garish gray tattoos looking like spots of decomposition. Didn’t anybody live nearby enough to notice a naked man with a corpse in his backyard?

Butch looked at me, looked at his owner, and trotted up the stairs a defeated animal. As the two of them drifted out into the yard again I heard Skinny Man say, “Don’t worry, we’re gonna play with him in a few minutes.”

It was a small victory but it was mine and it was all I had so I took it. The flies were landing on me like early arrivals to a concert looking for the best seats. It was all very telling of what was about to come. And I knew I couldn’t win, not really, so I put my head down again and tried to find that spot on the beach once more.

And damn if I didn’t notice something lying by my feet.

The fucking spike.

How the-? It was right next to my left foot, practically touching it. A few half-smudged paw prints decorated the dirt next to it. Butch must have kicked it when he lunged at me. My heart started to race and my body broke a sweat. I almost fought the feeling off, because I didn’t want hope to fuck with me, but I also realized I didn’t really want to die.

I lifted the toe of my sneaker and got the spike under my foot. I would have to do this very carefully, I thought, and I’d probably only get one shot. I drew it back and placed it perpendicular to the wall so that it stuck out like a nail. Using my heel, I pushed back on the tip of it and lifted it slowly until it was upright. Quickly, before it could fall, I slammed my foot flat against it and trapped it under my sole. The leg iron bent outward and cut my ankle open, slicing in deep enough I could feel it in my head. I gnashed my teeth against the pain, telling myself if this worked a lifelong limp would be worth it.

I reached down with my hand as far as I could, about two feet away from the spike. At this point I cursed myself for having never played sports because I was going to need more than luck on my side. I needed some fancy footwork and some serious skill. With the spike facing up like a rocket nearing takeoff, I flicked my foot up as much as the chain would allow and shot the spike up the wall.

Into my hand.

My heart was a salsa beat trying to rip through my rib cage. I couldn’t believe it. I was so stunned I just leaned back against the wall and sighed, a big exhalation of tutti frutti emotion: rage, determination, fear, sadness, but mostly rage. I flipped the spike around so that the point was out and twisted my wrist to see what I could do with it. You ever see monkeys pick up a toy at the zoo and not quite understand how it works, try to eat a soccer ball or stick a comb up their nose? That’s how I felt. And forget what I’d seen in films. I sure as fuck wasn’t about to pick a lock with it, not only because I had never done so before, but also because the tip was too big to fit in the keyholes of the cuffs.

But I had it, so now what?

I thought maybe I could pry the cuff open, but thought better of it. The handcuffs were too strong to be broken and I’d probably break the spike or sever my wrist. I could see if Skinny Man would get close enough to jab it in his belly, but that would be a waste, he’d just take it away. I had to use it to get free somehow.

“Jumping Jesus, that fucker was starting to stink like my Aunt Gretchen’s ass sores.” It was Skinny Man, bounding down the stairs with Butch in tow. His limp prick swished back and forth like a broken watch hand. He was dirty, like he’d been digging, and the sonofabitch was wearing Tooth’s Red Sox hat. I put the spike behind my lower back and pressed my body against the wall to hold it there.

“I put him next to Sundance, so the dog can get his revenge,” he said. “Better late than never, you know. And Sundance, he don’t like people that mess with him. He’s a mean mother when he gets mad. Like this one time, delivery man comes to the door, and Sundance he’s all barking and fixing to bite the guy’s nuts off. But the guy figures he’s safe because Sundance is behind the screen door and all, so he yells, ‘Shut up, you smelly mutt!’ And Sundance, you know what he did? He goes around the back and opens the back door and runs around to the front and bites the fucker in the ass. Tore a chunk right out. The guy’s screaming and hollering for me to get the dog off him. But at that point it was out of my hands. Butch comes tearing through the house right behind Sundance, sees his brother having so much fun, and goes right for the neck. BAM! Just like that. Boy, we had fun with the fella, didn’t we, Butch? Say, you ever seen one of these?”

He held up a short, slick, tube-like object. It was grayish-white where it wasn’t covered in blood, and ringed with ridges.

“It’s called a trachea. Interesting, I think. It’s Butch’s favorite. Here, boy, here ya go.”

The dog took it and went over to his dish and put it on the floor. This seemed pretty amusing to Skinny Man, whose cackle filled the room. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you got a pole up yer ass.” He walked over to the dice, shooed away some flies and picked them up.

“I suppose you know what that looks like.” I cursed myself for replying. What if he grabbed me and I dropped the spike? I wasn’t thinking worth a shit.

“Actually I don’t, but we got time enough to find out. Where’s that duct tape?”

“Who was she?” I asked.

He looked at me funny, then hit on what I was talking about. “That bitch? She was probably someone’s girlfriend or wife or mother. I don’t really know, I didn’t ask.”

“Why did you kill her?”

“What is this, a Barbra Walters special? What do you care?”

“I just want to know what she did to you, what we did to you, why you’re doing this.”

“You’re just stalling. But it won’t help you because I’m in the mood for walking, not talking.”

“I want to know.” I really did want to know, but I was also stalling.

Skinny Man got kind of sullen and put his nose to mine and breathed into my mouth. “Because if I don’t they get mad at me, hurt me. Even right now they’re listening and if they hear what I’m telling you they’re gonna be pissed. And if they get pissed nothing I do to you is gonna satisfy them. They’ll just make me go on and on. Oh, son, I really wish you hadn’t come here, but what can I do about it now?”

Who was they? The dogs? The flies? Ghosts? But then he chuckled and I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. Did he ever stop laughing? Psychiatrists might classify it as a nervous tic, but somehow, I knew he was truly finding pleasure in all this pain. That, on some deep level, scared me more than anything.

“My odds are looking good this time,” he said as he played with the dice. “Fifty-fifty chance I roll your number. You want odds or evens?”

“I want you to die.” I didn’t know where that came from, it just burst out before I could stop it. I figured he’d slug me for it and I drop the spike and then all would be lost, but he didn’t seem to mind. I’m sure he’d heard it all before.

“You’re kind of an oddball, so I’ll make you evens.”

In his own head, he was the funniest thing since the whoopie cushion, and that last remark must have been his coup de grace because he doubled over and snorted a bunch. “Get it?” he asked, still choking on his laughter, “’cause you’re odd. . see. . and I said even. Get it? Shit, boy, don’t you ever laugh? They say it’s good for the soul, ya know. Aw, forget it, you’re no fun.”

He tossed the dice at my chest and they bounced across the floor like two kids playing tag. I couldn’t see the numbers where they landed, but Skinny Man looked really pissed when he looked at them.

“Fine,” he said, coming over and looking at me. “Fine. I’m a patient man, I am. Good things come to those who wait, I tell ya. And when she’s gone you ain’t gonna have no easy out. You fucking freak!”

He bent down and scooped up all his torture toys and started wiggling. He had to catch a couple small knives as they escaped his grasp, but he held them tightly and went over into Jamie’s room. Within seconds she was crying. My chest went tight and breathing came hard. She was alive, and I thanked God for that, but was it worth it, was this really living?

I dropped the spike back into my hand and thought frantically about what to do. The links in the chains might be breakable, though my only experience in handcuffs before this told me not to get my hopes up. Still, without another choice, I jammed the tip of the spike into one of the links and tried to bend it. But it was no use. I needed a fulcrum point, some way to pry at the link without moving the chain. The wall, I thought, use the wall. I put the