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The night was dark, cold and quiet. A late fall breeze tinged with winter's breath swept across the desolate streets, audibly rushing past the metal dumpsters and storage containers. The trees had shed most of their leaves, leaving their branches as thin black lines against the starry sky.
Lizzie sat down on a concrete wall and leaned back against a metal fence. The dumpster she usually raided sat as a golden jewel, emitting the tantalizing twin fragrances of cookie and cake. Yet Lizzie remained seated, not interested in its treasures.
For several hours, her mind held the promise of a new future tightly in its grasp, like a hungry man would hold a fresh-baked loaf of bread, inhaling its smell as a form of sustenance, delighting on the joy it would eventually bring. Her classmates at Alliance pressed on her thoughts as well, and she was eternally grateful that she didn't touch the plant.
Yet that isn't enough, she thought. I need to break them of its spell as well. I knew the minute I saw it that it was wrong, that it was evil. Now is the time that I do something about it.
The door behind the Deli opened, and Greg stepped out. He stretched his long limbs high, appearing as an echo of those naked trees. Lizzie leaned back against the fence, trying not to be seen. She and Greg knew each other, though she had desperately tried to forget.
"How odd to find you here, now, at this particular time," said Greg, to no one in particular, though Lizzie knew it was meant for her. "And I see the dumpster lid is closed! Don't you know they're throwing out the cakes they made for Thanksgiving?"
Lizzie sighed, and put her hands in her pockets as the wind whipped up harder. Greg didn't seem to mind the frigid temperatures; he stood in an open shirt that exposed his lean, muscular chest.
"Maybe you've gotten yourself some self-control? You know, I've seen men try to change their habits. Stop looking at porn, stop stealing, stop lying; everything. And yet, they can never give it up. the mind rationalizes the body back to its habit. And they usually gorge themselves when they return. So it's best to keep up the bad habit, just in moderation. After all, what's life without a little sin?"
The sound of a creature rustling in the trash floated to Lizzie's ears as Greg opened the lid of a trash can.
"Well looky there, a kitten! If that isn't just the sweetest little thing I've ever seen. Even wallowing in the trash, it's still cute. I remember another little kitty I played with, a long time ago. The kitten tried to scratch me, but its claws were so small and they barely hurt at all. And now that kitten is more like a cat, with claws that can shred the carpet and rip up the sofa, and it wonders if it's time turn the tables on the master."
Greg turned to look in Lizzie's direction.
"Except I'm a tiger, fully grown, and just one of my talons can eviscerate you. Oh, I'll play with you first, just like before. Except this time I won't let you go. I'll SMASH you head, and CRACK it open, and rip open your rib cage with my teeth and suck out what's SWEET!"
"You can huff, and you can puff," said Lizzie, scared yet determined, "but I'll swear I'll never give in."
Greg laughed. "What a clever retort! And I must give you credit; I'dve thought you'dve been the first to touch the plant, to become something other than a morbidly obese self-loathing little girl. But, I give you credit; you resisted temptation, which would've been noble an all, except that you forced it on your friends."
"I didn't force it on them," she angrily snapped. "It was Stacey, and her plant. I walked away."
"You didn't try to stop them," said Greg coolly. "You didn't hide it from them. you didn't say or do anything to dissuade them from touching it, from giving themselves over."
Lizzie shook her head, as a few tears fell. "I'll make it right. I'll get them off it. I'll --"
Greg laughed out loud. "OH PLEASE! I've had so many stronger than you fail; broken people who actually had a scrap of self-worth. Why are you even here? Why aren't you face-first in that dumpster; did you have a moment of introspection, or of doubt? Did you find one person on this pathetic, broken husk of a world that had a scrap of self-respect, and you suddenly think you can too? How childish of you; how FUCKING naive. Let me tell you that it's all for nothing. The game is stacked against you, so high that you have no chance of winning. Do you remember the day I took you? The night I came into your mother's house, drank her into a stupor, and plowed you like there was no tomorrow? Did you even cry out for me to stop? Did you even put up a hand in protest? Oh, you were so thin then, with skin so soft, and meat so sweet . . . or did you know that I was unstoppable, that I was inevitable? How can you even sit there and think to oppose me?"
"I . . . I have faith in myself."
Greg snickered. "Don't worry; like indigestion, it'll pass. And if you don't believe me, well, I hope your last conversation with Rachel was a good one, 'cause you won't be having another with her."
The kitten Greg found in the can began crying, and Greg picked it up.
"You see, I let this thing live, and it starts irritating me." As he held it by the scruff of its neck, he used his other hand to violently twist its head in one fluid motion. The sound of tiny breaking bones floated over to Lizzie's ears, reverberating deep inside her soul. "There. All better." Slowly, he walked over to the dumpster, opened its lid, and dropped the kitten's body inside. "Maybe I was too soft in my younger days, letting annoying kittens live." Greg pulled open the back door to his deli, grinning in the flood of fluorescent light. "But, I guess we've all gotta find our own paths, no matter if they lead to the yawning abyss. You should stop by my deli sometime; you know I'll always give you a good discount . . ."
After Greg disappeared inside, Lizzie pulled her legs in and began to cry, wondering what happened to Rachel. Her tear-filled eyes drifted to the dumpster, and she knew she would have to lean on what lay within as a crutch to help her through that terrible night, despite the broken body of the kitten that lay slumbering within.
18
For the first time in many years, Bill felt proud walking down the sidewalk, as Rachel was at his side. He wasn't worried because he wasn't walking someplace alone. No one thought he was gay, or a homicidal sociopath, or a pervert trying to look in the windows of the homes. He was normal, with a pretty girl at his side. A couple walking with a little girl didn't look concerned as Bill passed by, for he was like them; in a relationship. He understood how crushing social norms could be, now that their weight was lifted from him. He always wondered if people thought he was dirty, or had a disease that he wasn't with a woman. He wondered if people thought he masturbated a lot, or spied on young girls, or boys for that matter, because no one helped him shop for food. The weight of solitude twists the mind, bending it to self-destructive thoughts, and up until that day, Bill was waging a war against them. But a truce had been called; no more thoughts of suicide, of using a hooker, of rape, of murder. No worries about when he might get laid, or if he'd be able to kiss a girl, if he'd be able to fondle a girl's breast. So much opened in his mind as a result of walking with Rachel that he felt positively lightheaded.
As they came to the corner of Eighth and Walker, and had to stop at a streetlight, a convertible pulled along beside them. In it sat an old woman and man. As Bill looked on them, they returned his glance with a wide smile.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?" asked the woman.
"Yeah, it is," replied Bill, for the first time saying it with conviction.
The old man nodded. "Never know though, when a storm might kick up." He reached over and pressed a button, and out of the trunk extended the hood. "Gotta be prepared for anything."
Bill watched as they drove off, their interaction striking a discordant tone in the middle of a pastoral symphony.
I won't let anything ruin this.
He reached over to hold Rachel's hand, and she let him, but she didn't turn to face him, to acknowledge his gesture. Instead she ceased to speak, and they followed the path out of town in silence, her eyes covered by her hair.
"You know
, Rachel, I like you."
"Yeah, I know," she replied softly. "You touched the plant, didn't you?"
Bill was shocked by the frankness of her question, and confused as to the response. While he knew he couldn't lie, he didn't want to seem like the only one who touched it, but he wasn't sure about betraying Paul.
"We all have, now."
"Paul too?"
"Yeah," he replied reluctantly. "Paul too."
"I guess the difference is that Paul asked me out a while ago, before the plant. I know what he wants."
"To be better at Physics?"
"To become someone my parents will accept. I'm not that naive that I don't know how the world works."
"Then you must know that a lot of people will never accept you and he being together, no matter what he achieves."
"Are you saying that I'm so shallow that I won't be able to accept that?"
"No, I'm saying that love isn't forever."
His words shut her down for a time. They continued to walk, in silence, hand in hand. The sidewalk had become broken and filled with debris. The path leading out of town, to the Shop-N-Save, was one that led down tighter streets with more vacant houses. If driving, they would've just taken I-30, but it had no sidewalks. Most students from Zorrell took that route, though they had no company as the shortened winter day began to turn dark.
Slowly, she pulled her hand from his.
"That's a cold thing to say, Bill."
Before he touched the plant, his stomach would have twisted into so tight a knot he would've needed to evacuate his bowels. Fear would have smothered his senses; fear she would never want to see him again. But now, her rebuke glanced off him, or rather it was absorbed into the blackness that was his soul.
"But it's true," he said calmly. "You have to sacrifice a lot to be with him, and there's only a little chance that it will last. What if you have a kid by him? It'll be half-black, and everyone will know what the father looked like. No white man will be with you."
"Why not?" she asked, her voice breaking, as she began to cry. "Why wouldn't they?"
Bill couldn't help but smile, knowing he was slowly but surely breaking her down and bending her to his will.
"Because men are men. We want what's ours, and we want it to be all ours. We don't like to share," he said, taking a step closer to her.
Rachel nodded as she wiped her face. "I can feel what the plant did to you; you're different."
Bill harrumphed. "I'm smarter, Rachel; and I don't mean the book smarts that Paul has. I have the confidence to say what needs to be said."
"But you'll never know now if you would've gained that confidence later, when you'd have the wisdom to use it properly."
"Does it matter? You need to hear this now," he said, grabbing her hand. "I'm here with you now!"
"And what does that mean," she demanded, as she angrily snatched her hand away; "I hafta be with you 'cause you're white?"
"No, 'cause I like you, and you like me. 'Cause we get along, and 'cause you know it'll be good between us. We have something in common, something you and Paul can never share."
Rachel took a deep breath. "I know that, Bill, but I also know how Paul feels about me. He cherishes me, Bill. He writes poetry to me. He texts me during class, and listens to me. He is always there for me, never yells at me, never forces me."
He resisted the urge to smile as he knew just what card to play. "So when are you gonna take him to meet your folks?"
She came to a stop, and shook her head, her eyes moist. "I . . . I just don't know. The way dad talks sometimes is . . . awful. I don't think he even knows how bad he sounds. But I . . . where are we?"
Bill glanced around, and found they had walked to the edge of a very wide field, one he hadn't seen before.
"Did we take a wrong turn?" she asked. "I . . . I don't even remember how long we've been walking."
Bill took a step forward, and felt a shiver go up his spine and a tingling in his fingertips. He inhaled deeply, and the air smelled of electricity, of power.
"Bill, look at this," said Rachel as she knelt down. "This looks like the plant Lizzie has."
Bill didn't need to look down to know it was. As he looked harder at the field before them, he knew it was filled with those plants. They grew taller near the center, and Bill took a step forward. Instantly, the small plants along the edge grew dramatically in size, to where they stood up to Rachel's knee.
"What are they?" yelled Rachel, as she backed away and tripped over something, falling awkwardly on her side. "They . . . they make me sick!"
She moaned for a few seconds, trying to hold it in, but lost the battle and suddenly vomited over herself and onto the ground. Bill watched dispassionately, his mind consumed with thoughts of where they were.
"Wait here," he said, "I want to see what this is all about."
"No!" screamed Rachel, as she wiped her mouth, "you know this is wrong! That plant is wrong, everything it's doing is wrong! I can feel it, Bill; nothing good will come of this. Just . . . just turn away. Just come back to me, help me, up, and let's go back to school, back to the way it was."
Bill thought on the late nights in the deli, watching guys buy porn. Is that me, for the rest of my life? Unable to muster the courage to build a real relationship with a woman? I might not end up to be that man, because of the plant. What else can it give me?
Bill pressed on, as Rachel still begged for him to stop. The plants grew higher and higher the further into the center he walked, until he couldn't see more than a few feet ahead. Yet he strode confidently through the undulating mass of green, drawing power from each touch from their leaves. And with each touch, so the physical boundaries of his body seemed to expand. No longer was he a thin, weak youth; he suddenly could feel thousands of leaves and limbs at his command, ready to grasp, ready to squeeze, ready to rip flesh from bone.
After what seemed to be a lifetime of travel, the plants diminished in height, revealing an ovular clearing. In the middle of that clearing stood a small figure, with arms that swayed in the light breeze as if they were made of straw. Bill moved closer, drawn to the figure, the leaves of the plants parting to let him through. As he came closer to the figure, he saw it resembled a young boy whose legs were rooted into the ground. His skin was covered with the same colored leaves as the plants, and stalks substituted for veins. His eyes were formed by dark shadow, and though Bill knew there could be no lungs, it seemed to breathe just the same.
The leaves rustled around him, distracting, and when he looked back, he saw a crude mouth formed in the motley visage with long, grey thorns for teeth.
"It's a great little place you've got here, ain't it?" asked the young plant-boy, his limbs slowly dancing to an unheard rhythm. "I used to like it."
"What are you?"
"A different version of you," said the plant-boy, his voice like the hissing of leaves in a storm. "One day, you'll take your place right beside me."
"No -- never!"
Bill began to back away, but the plants joined together to form an impenetrable barrier.
"Everyone must pay the price for their success," said the plant-boy, "in their own way. And you will be very successful. And you won't be alone -- if you plant them now, they will be here to keep you company in the long, dark sleep. This planet is goin' places, and we mean for men like you to lead it there . . ."
The plant-boy gestured to where Rachel would be, standing far on the other side of the mass of plants, and Bill could feel in his mind what it asked him to do.
"I . . . I don't know if I can kill someone."
"Well, you've gotta learn," said the plant-boy, "because you're gonna need to, one day. But as for your friend, she won't die. This is nothing but a field of the living. She'll just . . . change, as I did and as you will. After all, happiness loves company."
The plants behind him parted, making a path that led to Rachel. Bill walked briskly down it, and when he reached her, he helped her to her fee
t.
"I . . . I just felt something there," she said suddenly confused. "I . . . I can't see, Bill! What happened," she cried, as she rubbed her eyes. One minute I was looking up at the clouds, the next, everything went dark."
"I . . . I don't know; maybe the stress or shock of being here."
She began to cry, wiping her eyes with her filth-stained hands. "Help me away from here, please . . ."
Bill put his arm around her shoulder, and gently guided her forward.
"What brought us here in the first place?" she asked.
"I don't know, but we're almost out of sight of the field," lied Bill, as he led her down the narrow clear path leading deeper into the field of plants. "Just a little bit more, and we can turn a corner, and be back home in a few minutes."
"Great," said Rachel, sighing with relief. "But those plants," she said, her hair still covering her eyes. "They felt so evil, so wrong." She pushed her hair to look up at where his voice came from. "Promise me you'll never bring me back there."
"I promise . . . because you'll never leave."
Bill quickly backed away, as the ground opened beneath Rachel's legs. She sunk quickly into a mass of vines and leaves that swirled around her form. She screamed and tried to run, but the plants shifted under her, keeping her off-balance. Still, she was strong after many years on the rugby team, and managed to claw her way out of the pit that threatened to swallow her.
"Bill -- help me!"
Bill backed away, consumed with fear over what might happen if she made it free. He saw the police getting involved; saw him being blamed for Phillip's murder. He felt the need to grab her, to hold her in place, but was unable to move, though no plants held him still.
"YOU'LL PAY WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE!" she screamed, as she slowly made her way to the edge of the field. "You KNEW this would happen! What kind of person are you? WHAT KIND OF PERSON HAVE YOU BECOME!"
Somehow, even without sight, she managed to pull herself free from the twisting vines of the plants and make her way slowly to the edge of the clearing. Bill was amazed at her strength of will; she had determination he knew he would never posses. Though she still couldn't see, she seemed to divine where Bill was, and used all her strength to make it within an arm's reach of him.
"I can smell you, you filthy traitor!" she screamed. "I was your friend! "
"I'm . . . I'm sorry," muttered Bill, as she strained forward to dig her fingers into his flesh. "I'm really sorry."
"You're a sorry waste." She opened her eyes, and though she couldn't see the world around her, Bill knew that she could see straight into him. Her sightless eyes pierced into his soul, and he felt weak and vulnerable. "I see you now, Bill; I see what you were, and what you'll be come. You're gonna be --"
At that instant, a thin hand of what looked to be bone reached out and closed around her leg. She pulled on her leg twice, thinking it to be just another plant, but as she reached down to pull it off, she felt the brittle, hard bone and went mute and white with terror. The plant-boy wrapped his arms around her as she went into shock, slowly pulling her through an ocean of leaves back to the center.
"I'm disappointed in you, Bill," said the plant-boy, as it ripped off her clothes. "I was gonna save her for you, but now, I think I'm gonna take her for myself." She tried to scream, but the plant-boy shoved his leafy hand in her mouth. The plants helped to spread her, as her lower body sank into the ground. "Now get outta here Bill -- you've still got work to do."
Bill watched for a moment as the plant-boy writhed on top of Rachel, before turning and running as fast as he could back to Alliance.
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