The world was a menagerie of fireworks, drum beats and horrible sounds as Priss could not stop the violent retching. She tried to keep her hair back and out of the way of her projectile expulsions, but her coordination had evaporated with the onset of anatomical crisis.
She flushed the toilet and was about to stand when it came over her once more and she hit her knees on the tile, screaming in liquid anguish into the bowl. Her body shook with the effort and tears streamed down her face.
She would never drink like this again. Ever. And, she would sure as shit kick out that asshole clown once she regained control of herself.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of spilling her guts, Priss managed to make it to the sink, splashing cold water over her face. She was trying to clean her hair with water and a washcloth as she heard the music shift again to another angry metal type song. She was going to kill that clown, whoever he was. Why was he here? She didn't remember inviting him. Still, there was something familiar about him. And, those eyes. No, she thought. That’s just your imagination.
She finished cleaning herself up and stood facing the mirror. Her hair was a mess, now mostly wet from the efforts to remove the vomit. She reached into a drawer and retrieved a small elastic band, wrapping her wet hair back into a ponytail. It would have to do for now. She adjusted her coconut bra and hula skirt, then turned and exited the bathroom.
Red waited as Priss took in the scene. He had spent his time well this evening. Thad and Misty had been secured away in the washroom off of the kitchen, safe and sound while he quietly spread the rumor that one of the neighbors had called the police. Drunken people are so very gullible, he thought. He kindly escorted most of them to the door himself, leaving only the extremely zonked out young boy in what looked to be a Cirque du Soleil outfit.
Now, the three guests of honor were sitting, facing the stereo, Indian-style with their wrists bound to their ankles with thick zip ties. Their mouths had been stuffed with silk scarves and duct-taped to prevent any arguments.
Red sprang between Misty and the Cirque boy to take Priss' hand, dragging her to the front of the assembled trio. Before she could get a grip on the seriousness of the situation, Red stuffed a scarf in her mouth and slapped more duct tape over it. He held her hands and looked into her eyes.
"Sit the fuck down. Do it nicely. Wouldn't want to mess up that gorgeous face, now would we?" His intent was clear in his duotone eyes, and she sat without further fuss. The zip tie was in place in the blink of an eye. After all, he’d been practicing for months.
He sat down in front of her and turned his head to the trio behind him.
"One more than expected, but it still worked out for the best. Now, you might be thinking, due to the arrangements here, that they’re your audience, right?" He saw the realization dawn in her eyes as tears seeped out and tracked the soft curve of her perfect cheeks. "Right?" he asked again.
She nodded.
"Wrong!"
She jerked back at the cold maliciousness of that one word. He leaned in, close enough that she could feel and smell his breath. Strangely, it smelled of strawberries.
"Nothing?" he asked. "The eyes didn't give it away?" He shook his head in disappointment. "Let me tell you a story, Priss. It's a story of a boy and a girl and an abiding friendship.
"This boy and girl were the closest of friends. Had been friends since second grade. So young. So ignorant. But, I digress.
"The boy was a shy little bastard. Poor. But, kind and rather smart.
The girl was a shining beacon of youth and beauty with golden hair and eyes the color of a Montana spring sky. Rich. A little spoiled. But, also kind and understanding. Or, so the boy thought.
"They would play for hours on end during the summers of their young years. He would be goofy and funny and make her laugh until she hurt. She would make him see life in the most positive of lights. Until the age of twelve. When she began hanging out with more girls her age and level of society. Then, it seemed, the boy held little interest for her. She ignored him, hoping he would just go away."
Red was really getting into the story, so much so that he was surprised to feel a tear of his own escape and track down the red and white of his makeup. He ignored it and continued to relate the story that had haunted him for all these years. He was happy to see she remembered now.
"One day, the boy felt he could no longer keep the truth inside and declared his love for the girl. Right in front of all of her new friends. The girl appeared shocked and angry, embarrassed by this boy whom she had known most of her life. With only a few words she threw him away like so much unwanted trash. Do you remember, Priss? Do you remember the words you screamed at me that day?" He saw her nod, her sobs only serving to irritate him.
"'You're nothing but a clown! I never want to see you ever again!'
That was what you yelled out in front of everyone that day, Priss. You remember, don't you? Of course you do. Now. As for me, I never forgot. I never forgot a single moment I spent with you. Especially that moment when you ripped my heart from me and stomped on it for all to see.
"The last time I saw you, I just wanted to talk. I couldn't give up.
Looking back, I have no idea why I tried. And, look what it got me. Sand, literally, kicked in my face. In my eye. Damage done. I still have a little sight in it. Not much. But enough. Enough to see you for what you really are." With that, he stood and pulled the box cutter from his pocket.
Priss was aghast at what was unfolding before her. If it were not for the horror of the situation she would not have believed it. Casey had always been a little strange, but she would never have thought him capable of this.
She remembered growing up with him, how sweet and kind he was.
He was so shy and introverted until he got around her, and then he became every bit the class clown. He was goofy and funny and so smart. But, then he had gotten clingy, overprotective of her. They were only twelve but his growing insecurities had pushed her away from him. What he said was true.
She had called him a clown in front of everyone. She had just had enough of his constant hounding of her. She had no idea it would lead to this.
She watched as he pushed up the sleeve on Thad’s right arm. Thad and Misty and the boy—she thought his name was Greg—looked as if they were only barely awake, like they’d been drugged or something. Their eyes appeared to roll back in their heads every so often and then they would try and refocus on what was going on.
Priss couldn’t help the tears. He had somehow gotten rid of all of her guests, so they were now on their own with him. Her heart pounded and she looked around for some way to escape.
“If you’re thinking of trying to get free, I wouldn’t count on it,” he said, turning back to her, catching her shifting her eyes this way and that.
“Besides, the fun is just getting started.”
Red turned back to Thad who was trying to focus on him but continued to sway back and forth. Red reached out and took the man’s wrist and slid open the box cutter.
“This is your throwing arm, isn’t it, big guy?” he asked. “All those awesome games you played in high school. Some of your fondest memories, right? Hell, how could they not be? Cheerleaders hanging all over you, grades never really a problem. I mean, you were an important guy, right?
How many trophies are in that high school case because of you, huh? Ah, the good old days. All those wonderful memories. Let’s make some more, shall we?”
In a movement practiced and swift, Red placed the box cutter blade against Thad’s forearm and sliced a line almost from elbow to wrist. Thad’s eyes grew wider, as if he were beginning to realize this was not some sort of hazy dream. With another smooth movement, Red sliced a line at the top and bottom of the first long cut. Priss was screaming into the scarf within her mouth behind him. He glanced back with his bloody smile and winked at her. She was sobbing breathlessly. He felt an age-old pang, but there was no turning back, now.