Contractor (3 page)

Fitzfaggot. How’s life?"

"Oh, the usual." Daniel gave him a

puzzled look. "Don’t you have shit to eat or

something?"

Kyle grabbed Daniel’s shirt in a fist and

pulled him forward. "I’ll kick your ass right

now if you want it that badly."

"Easy, big guy. Just reciprocating."

Kyle frowned, but, after a moment, let

him go. "The hell’s reciprocating mean?"

Daniel’s jaw clenched with the effort of

not rolling his eyes. "It means I was just

giving back what you gave me. All in good

fun."

"Fun, right," Kyle said. "Sure."

Kyle kept talking, but Daniel didn’t

really pay attention to what he said after that;

he was staring at Kyle’s wart. It was more

putrid every time he saw it. Daniel was

starting to associate it with the smell of

weed—that was how he usually knew Kyle

was approaching.

Kyle leaned in close. "What are you

staring at, pretty boy?"

"Just waiting for you to explain the

pleasure of your company."

"I told you. Making sure you don’t wuss

out."

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world."

The bell rang. Kyle shoved a hand on

Daniel’s shoulder, knocking him into the

lockers. "It’s gonna be bad, Danny. But

you’d better be there. If you make me hunt

you down, you’ll regret that shit all summer."

"Mr. Fitzgerald! Mr. Jennings!" Mrs.

Faldey’s cheerful squeak peeled over them.

Daniel’s pleasantly plump history teacher

could be a bit fussy, but she really knew

what she was talking about, and if you did

the work, she was more than nice. She

waved an arm at them as she walked down

the hall. "Don’t stand around in the halls!

The bell rang!"

"Fatass cunt," Kyle muttered.

Daniel directed a glare of pure loathing

the idiot in front of him. That settled it. He

was bringing the bat.

"Sorry Mrs. Faldey," Kyle called, "we

were just talking!" He turned and started off.

Daniel started to turn in the direction of his

own destination.

He stopped. His legs were still working,

but his feet were nailed to the floor.

Hanging flat on Kyle’s back was

something that looked like a stingray made

from jet black sludge. Glistening tentacles

protruded from bony ribbings on its spine.

They were sunk into Kyle’s skin, right

through his T-shirt. It was half-merged with

him, grown into his body like some kind of

parasite.

"Mr. Fitzgerald! You’ll be late!"

Daniel jogged down the hall away from

Mrs. Faldey and across the courtyard from

one building to the next. Once he was inside,

he slowed down, trying to process what he’d

seen. What the hell was that thing?

The bell rang. He went down the

hallway a bit further, paused in front of his

English class for a moment, then tried to slip

through the door as quietly as possible.

Mr. Griggs was Daniel’s English

teacher, and probably the coolest teacher he

had. The big man was straightforward,

down-to-earth, and very funny. He also had a

pet-peeve about attendance. He was staring

down the entrance even as Daniel came in.

"Dan. Third time this week."

"Sorry, Mr. Griggs." Daniel picked his

way over backpacks and between desks. "I

have my last class -"

"At the top of the Foster building, I

know. Somehow that didn’t stop you on other

days." Mr. Griggs tapped his desk. "Take a

seat."

Daniel threw his bag off his shoulders

and sat. He ran his hands through his hair,

sighed, and extracted his notebook from his

pack. Mr. Griggs started talking about the

book they were reading, Madame Bovary,

but Daniel’s thoughts lingered on the image

burned into his eyes—the creature stuck on

Kyle’s back.

The implications struck him all at once.

It hadn’t been a dream. Xik was real. Magic

was real. That thing was a Vorid.

Alternatively, and far more likely, he

was having some kind of prolonged

delusional episode. That or he was so bored

he’d mistaken a band logo on Kyle’s shirt for

a monster. He thumped his forehead onto his

desk.

"Dan? Could you at least do me the

honor of your attention?"

Dan snapped his head up. "Sorry. Long

day."

"Ah, yes. The hectic life of the young

professional." Mr. Griggs smiled. "Since

you’re so excited for English, why don’t you

help me explain something?" Daniel waited.

"Do you recall the scene when our

adulterous heroine is riding home from yet

another lust-fulfilling misadventure?"

Daniel grinned. "You mean the part

where I paid attention?"

A few people chuckled, mostly the guys.

Mr. Griggs waved his hand. "Save it for your

special alone time. So, Bovary is riding

home in her carriage. Remember the old

woman she sees on the way?"

"…yeah. Nasty old crone on the side of

the road."

"Precisely. Can you explain Madame

Bovary’s actions at that moment to the

class?"

Daniel tilted his head. "She cringes

away and shuts the curtain on the window of

the carriage. She can’t bear the sight of the

old lady. He took his time describing that."

"Yes, that’s what happens," Mr. Griggs

said. He tapped the binding of the paperback

in his hands on a desk. "And you’re right.

Flaubert does take his time. But we know

that Flaubert doesn’t just do it because it was

a Tuesday and he felt like it. As an author,

he’s a perfectionist. He’s an artist." Mr.

Griggs rubbed the book between his palms.

"What is he saying? Why couldn’t Bovary

stand the old woman?"

Daniel thought a moment. "It’s a symbol.

The old woman is actually what Bovary’s

like on the inside. She knows it, but she’s

ignoring it, actively shutting it away."

"And Fitzgerald earns his keep." Mr.

Griggs turned back to the class. "That’s

exactly it—the passage is evidence that she

knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly how

bad she is—but she can’t own up. She’s

fatally flawed. She’s on the road to doom,

but she can’t bring herself to acknowledge it

and change course. And we pity her for the

same reason. It’s almost too awful to look

at."

****

The bell rang. The rustle of hoodies,

zippers, and books being stuffed into bags

filled the room. "People!" Mr. Griggs called.

"Read the last three chapters tonight! Test on

Monday! Final next Friday! Be ready, or be

dead!"

Everyone began to file out of the room

without bothering to hide unpleasant

expressions. Mr. Grigg’s tests were

notoriously difficult, and now that the end of

the school year had come, the shadow of that

final leered over them like the grim reaper.

Daniel shared their looks, but not because of

the academic threat. Aside from the one

answer he’d given Mr. Griggs, his mind had

been restless the entire period.

"Daniel, hold up for a second."

Daniel waited with his backpack slung

over one shoulder. Mr. Griggs sat on his

desk at the front of the classroom, and didn’t

move until everyone else was gone.

"What’s up?’ Daniel asked.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," he said. "What am I

going to do with you?"

"I’m really sorry I was late." He meant

the apology. Mr. Griggs had written Daniel’s

second college recommendation. "I’ll do my

best to get here on time."

"It’s not that." Mr. Griggs sighed and

shook his head. "You’ve gotten straight A’s

on my tests. You always read the material.

It’s the last two weeks of school. I really

don’t care if you’re late, I just can’t make

exceptions, so I give you a hard time."

"…oh."

"I heard about the little brouhaha that’s

going down after school," Mr. Griggs

continued. "Would you like a ride home?"

"Can I be straight with you?"

"I always want you to be straight with

me."

Daniel looked at his teacher. "They’re

getting me back. If I avoid it today, I’ll need

rides from you for the rest of the year. That’s

not so long, but then I’d have to stay in my

house all summer."

"Then give me the full story and we can

attack the problem at its roots."

"I’ll deal with it myself," Daniel said. "I get bruised up a bit, I go my way, they go

theirs. End of story."

Mr. Griggs clasped his hands. "I’m not

going to run to the principal."

"Look…" Daniel shrugged. "It’s not that complicated. A couple of guys…they were

getting messed with. They asked for help. So

I launched a little counterattack."

Mr. Griggs’s face grew pensive. "Is that

so."

That was all Daniel needed to say. The

previous week had seen an all-out barrage of

pranks all over the school. Lockers had been

rigged up to spray silly string or foam; others

had been filled with mud. Brake fluid was

used to corrode car paint. Shoe polish had

been set to dry on windshields and side

mirrors, obscuring the driver’s view with a

nasty coat that had to be chipped off. Every

bully of any note was targeted, and Daniel

Fitzgerald was the mastermind hidden in the

shadows.

At least, he
was
hidden. The only reason

he’d done it was to go out senior year with a

bang. But some thug with a few spare brain

cells decided to hone in on one of Daniel’s

accomplices, one of the little snowflakes that

had been bullied. There was no courageous

last stand in the name of truth and justice.

The nerd squealed like a pig, and now a lot

of people hated Daniel’s guts.

"I admit nothing and imply no

involvement," Daniel said.

"You sure you want to go out on a limb

like that?" Mr. Griggs asked. "Help is sitting right here."

Daniel grimaced at the idea of going out

on a limb for those losers. He was an equal

opportunity hater—the thugs, for taking out

their miserable lives on other people—and

the geeks, because they didn’t stand up for

themselves. Playing both sides off each other

was something he did for fun, but he’d

miscalculated and made himself a target.

That was all. Time to pay the piper. "It’s not

like I’m going to walk out and take a bullet

without putting up a fight."

"Dan, use your head. We can -"

"Gotta go. Don’t want to be late to my

next class, right?" He ducked out the door.

"Daniel! Dan!"

Daniel ignored Mr. Griggs voice and cut

a left at the first corner.

****

Daniel took a detour at the start of his

free period. He had a lot on his mind, and he

needed five seconds together to get it

straightened out. Unfortunately, the men’s

bathroom was his only available option.

It was everything a high school

bathroom should be—a dank, stained affair

that smelled faintly of urine. Graffiti

depicting male genitals coated every stall. It

reminded him of everything he despised

about the place. Childish. Petty. Pointless.

He was a pessimist trapped in a world of

immature idiots. Hell by any other name.

He stepped up to the urinal and

imagined Kyle’s face where his piss hit the

porcelain. He smiled to himself as pee struck

the wart.
So much for maturity.

He’d seen Kyle’s bushy mohawk a

second time a little while ago. The black

thing was still there, latched onto his body. It

looked distinctly real.

Daniel sighed. Brooding about his

mental condition could wait. Right now, he

had to focus on mustering the troops. He

gave his hips a shake to finish his business.

"So I’ve heard you have a bit of a

problem with some rough types."

Daniel spun. Xik was there, sitting on

top of a stall door. His body was stooped to

keep his head from hitting the ceiling. His

legs dangled over the metal. Daniel stood

there, everything hanging out, staring.

"I was under the impression that it was

appropriate decorum to cover the pelvic

region in your culture."

Daniel fumbled with his fly, then zipped

up. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Problem? My mission is to get you to

accept the contract, but I’d characterize it as

a challenge, not a problem."

"…just…" Daniel shook his head. "It’s a little impolite to sneak up on people when

they’re in the bathroom. FYI."

Xik hopped down. He towered nearly a

foot over Daniel, but was so thin a strong

wind might blow him away. His body

proportions had an uncanny weirdness—like

a clown with a grin that was just a little too

cheery. The awful suit didn’t curb that

sensation. "I came to a realization," the frog said. "A practical young man such as

yourself wouldn’t easily believe so wild a

story. You didn’t take me seriously because