A Summertime Journey

touching a hot burner. “Fuck, his hand’s cold,” he exclaims, but he’s not looking at us, he’s looking at the man. Since the odd man didn’t give us his name, I gave him one myself: Charlie, after Charles Manson. This psycho reminds me of him. He has something magnetic about him that draws you to him, but he’s quirky, too; makes you want him to like you, but there’s something else that makes you want to piss your pants like Ryan did when he looks at you. Little did I know that this man is Erebus’s conscripted soul Emma warned me about earlier.
Charlie laughs a hardy genuine laugh, and as suddenly as he starts, he stops and becomes deadly serious. “Joey, this boy won’t make the journey. What should we do with him?”
First—why is Charlie asking Joey? Second—what journey?
“What do you mean, what should we do with him?” Joey asks, staring down at his own feet, afraid to look Charlie in the eyes. I glance over at Jeremy and he’s frozen—scared. Even though it’s a warm June night, Jeremy is shivering like it’s January.
“Joey, you remember what I told you? Not all of your friends will make the journey, and you agreed that the risk is worth it, remember?” Charlie says.
“What the fuck, Joey, when did you meet this guy?” I ask.
Briefly, Joey has a blank look on his face, and then his expression changes. “I met him tonight… or last night…” he looks up at the sky, confused. “When we were collecting rocks, remember?”
“You were with us last night, dipshit, and we didn’t meet anyone except that pissed-off cowboy.”
“Yeah, I did, I followed Wendy to that apartment and met him, and we planned our journey,” Joey says in a sober tone.
What is going on? Did I fall down the stairs and knock myself out, or did Jeremy bean me in the head with a rock? I reach my right hand up to my head and begin exploring—nope, no bump. The man looks at Joey, and Joey nods and says, “OK.”
What the hell—are they somehow communicating? It doesn’t make sense. Suddenly Joey reaches into his front left pocket and pulls out his Old Timer pocket knife and flips it open like I’ve watched him do a hundred times. Joey’s proud of how fast he can draw his blade and be ready to fight. Then without a word, Joey takes his right hand and pushes down on Ryan’s chin, so his mouth is wide open, and he taps Ryan’s bottom lip with the tip of his blade. I hear the steel contact his teeth, making a tang sound. I grimace. Ryan’s tongue automatically juts out as we all watch in horror.
This is not happening; it’s a trick to freak out Jeremy and me, I think, I hope. Joey cinches Ryan’s tongue with his fingers and pulls as Jeremy and I wince and look away. Trick or no trick, I can’t watch. But I can’t not watch it. Without missing a beat, like a butcher carving a raw roast, Joey levels his blade and slices Ryan’s tongue. It doesn’t happen with one swift action; it takes Joey several attempts, and blood immediately begins to pool in the lower jaw that once housed Ryan’s tongue. Ryan doesn’t scream, but Jeremy and I do; we scream loud enough for us all. I feel like I’m going to pass out, and Jeremy looks like he’s throwing up in his mouth. Ryan stands in the same spot, motionless, with blood spilling out of his mouth, and he has the same neutral expression on his bloody face. The wind picks up and I instinctively lick my lips, and wish I hadn’t. I taste dirt and the unforgettable metallic taste of blood. I almost puke. The sound coming from Ryan is reminiscent of gargling mouthwash, and then he ungracefully drops down to his knees and leans back into his final resting spot as we watch, petrified.
He lies there on his back with his left leg bent awkwardly behind him, blood filling his mouth as each labored breath forces the blood out and down his cheeks. He’s choking to death right here in front of us. I look down at Ryan’s face; his eyes are still expressionless but watering, and the blood is frothing now as it bubbles and spills over his lips and onto the ground.
Again, my legs refuse to listen to my mind, and I’m frozen. I want to run, I want to help Ryan, but I can’t do either. I stand there in shock and fear. Charlie is smiling and humming a tune to himself as he watches the four of us like we’re all part of a play just for him. He gets the same sense of self-satisfaction he had with the two girls in the abandoned building. He gets a thrill out of the power he has to make anyone do what he wants when he wants.
Jeremy drops to his knees and is hysterically crying while Joey stands next to Ryan, unfazed. Ryan’s blood reaches Joey’s Vans, and now the tips of his shoes are covered with dirty blood. Charlie looks at Joey; Joey reaches over and places his index finger and thumb over Ryan’s nose and squeezes. Ryan’s bloody lagoon begins bubbling and frothing more violently and blood shoots up as Ryan tries to gasp for air. When Ryan’s body stops twitching, and he has breathed his last breath, Joey releases his grip on Ryan’s nose. Charlie turns to us and says, “I felt the humane thing to do was end his misery as quickly as possible.”
What the fuck is this guy crazy? I want to leave and go home to my mom and forget this ever happened. Charlie, expressionless, turns to me and looks straight into my teary eyes and says, “You won’t be seeing your moms for a while, kiddo.” What, now he can read my mind, too? This is too crazy, and I want it to end.
Charlie addresses all three