The hot dog and ice-cream vendors were streaming out of the park like cockroaches. Jamie jumped out of the car as one of them passed.
“Hey, my man, can I buy a fudgesicle from you? Two, please?”
“Uh-uh. I’m done for the night. I’ve got to get home to my family,” the guy said, his voice tinged with some faint Middle-Eastern accent that was nearly undetectable beneath the more pronounced Brooklyn one. The grizzled old ice-cream vendor pushed his cart right past Jamie without looking. He’d obviously had a bad day. Sales for ice-cream probably weren’t too good in November.
“C’mon, can’t you help me out? My kid is dying of cancer and I’m just trying to show him a good time on Thanksgiving before he has to go back to the hospital.”
“Thanksgiving is tomorrow. And I need to get home to my family tonight.”
“He might not be alive tomorrow.”
The ice-cream man knelt down and peered into the car. He saw the emaciated boy sitting in the front seat wrapped in a blanket, his mouth hanging open, struggling to breathe, his hair all but gone, and his eyes hollow pits sunk deep into his face. The boy’s eyes swam sluggishly towards the scruffy old ice-cream man as if even that took great effort. He smiled painfully, and the old man gasped and looked back at Jamie.
“Oh, Jesus. Is he gonna be okay?”
“No. No, he’s not.”
“I’m sorry, man. Here, just take the ice-cream. I already totaled my receipts for the day. It would be too much effort to make change for you anyway.”
“I appreciate it.”
Jamie took the ice-cream and hopped back into the car. The boy was too weak to hold the fudgesicle, so Jamie held it for him. He didn’t start eating his own ice-cream until the boy had finished all of his. When the boy was finished, Jamie wiped his chin with the blanket and unwrapped his own. They sat there quietly watching the curtain of night thicken as Jamie slurped on the melting fudgesicle. It was a good thing it was cold out or the ice-cream would have already melted.
“Thank you.”
It was a hoarse whisper barely audible above the sounds of traffic and the rustling of the trees. Jamie wasn’t certain he’d even heard it. He turned towards the boy. There were tears streaming from the kid’s eyes as he stared back at him.
“Don’t thank me.”
“My parents never come to visit anymore. They say it’s too painful for them to see me like this. I know they didn’t send you. They’ve forgotten about me. I don’t know why you’re doing this. But thank you.”
Jamie had to lean close to the boy’s lips to hear him. His voice was so weak, unable to get enough air into his lungs to project it. That close the smell of the cancer inside him was suffocating. Jamie smiled back at the boy and studied the kid’s face. It seemed impossibly cruel that someone so young was dying. Jamie wondered how long the kid had left. If he was in the terminal ward than it wasn’t long. They had only been gone for an hour but Jamie could already see the pain in the boy’s face as his morphine wore off and the agony of his disease slowly crept back upon him. His face twitched and spasmed as he struggled to maintain that appreciative smile despite his increasing discomfort. Soon the pain would be unbearable to him.
There’s no such thing as mercy killing, Jamie thought. Every death is an injustice.
Jamie cursed and started the engine. The wheelchair was still in the parking lot when they arrived back at the hospital. He wheeled the boy back through the lobby, up to his room, and then lifted him back into his bed.
“Thank you.” The boy wheezed again. Jamie turned quickly away. He walked off mumbling prayers in dialects that hadn’t been spoken on earth in two millenniums. His mind was in a tailspin as he drove home.
I can’t do it. I can’t fucking do it. I’m doomed. My soul is doomed. There has to be a way to satisfy them all without killing. There has to be a way!
The VW rocked and shook as shadows and dark apparitions hurled themselves against the vehicle, attacking it in a rage of disappointment. Jamie tried to keep his eyes on the road, looking straight ahead and not at the twisted creatures slithering across his windshield trying to pry their way in to pluck him from the vehicle and tear him apart, to punish him for failing them yet again.
“Give us our sacrifice! You owe us! Kill for us! Give us our sacrifice.”
“Who are you? What the fuck are you? Are you a God? A devil? What?”
“We are God. Kill for us! Kill for us!”
Jamie parked his VW back in its usual spot and headed straight for his apartment, shrugging off the spectral fingers clawing at him, threatening to make a sacrifice of him. He could feel the weight of their bodies as they grabbed hold of him as if they wanted to make it clear to him that they were not hallucinations. They wanted him to feel their strength and power. Jamie felt hands around his throat, choking him. He felt something jump on his back and drag him down. He was still being strangled as kicks and punches began raining down upon him. Jamie felt his ribs crack as something kicked him in his side. What little air remained in his lungs came exploding out as something punched up into his abdomen. He almost passed out when the presence seated on top of him suddenly disappeared and the pressure around his throat abated. He was left alone on the sidewalk bleeding and panting after being mugged by things he could not see. Jamie staggered home, trying to figure out what to do. This was no longer a matter of curing a disease. It was about saving his immortal soul.
He unlocked his front door and then the door to the spare bedroom where Tara, Naomi, Billy, and Kitten were still held captive.
“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. The spirits are demanding a symbol of my gratitude, a tribute, a sacrifice. But first, we’re going to have a last meal, a Thanksgiving feast.”
His captives wept and trembled as he spoke. Jamie dropped his head then slowly turned and walked out the door, back to his room.
Jamie’s dreams were dark and violent. Demons and spirits, angry demigods and angels, worried at him as he slept. He dreamt about murdering Kitten, the prostitutes, and the young boy, ripping their hearts out to sacrifice to the gods. He dreamt of what would befall him if he didn’t. He imagined himself covered in blood, sawing a torso, that appeared to be the streetwalker named Naomi, in two. In his dream, he had an erection. He woke up with a scream and was appalled to discover that he had orgasmed. His underwear were soaked with sweat and semen. He had cum while dreaming about mutilating one of the women he had locked up in the next room.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He stripped out of his soiled briefs and dashed into the shower. As he scrubbed his drying seed from his pubic hair, he steeled his nerves for what he had to do. The sun was at its full height when he stepped from the shower. It was Thanksgiving Day. Time to show his gratitude to the gods with a blood sacrifice.
Today, Jamie forsook his normal rituals. Instead, he took the last three chickens from the cage and slit their throats. He offered their blood and entrails to the various deities who were satisfied by such pedestrian offerings. The rest of them went into a large pan then into his oven. He sautéed some potatoes and green beans as well. It was all he had in his cupboard. He wished there was time to make a pie. It just wasn’t Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie, but cold shivers wracked his body and the thought of venturing out into the cold to go grocery shopping made the chills worsen. It would not be much of a last meal.