“But the way you love your mother…” Belinda’s mother continued. “It’s huge! It’s usually pretty easy to direct a host toward an appropriate outcome. The barbiturates we dose the hosts with — in your case via the cigarettes we gave you — usually make them so pliable. It was working so well too, but you had to run out, didn’t you? The barbiturates began to wear off, and like a flash, you were thinking about that mother of yours.”
“My mother needs me. You’re not just killing me here, you’re killing her too.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Bruce... really I do. In our circles we have a philosophy. Bodies contract illnesses for a reason. We believe it’s because disease has a right to exist too. If a body is to defeat a disease, it should do so without the aide of medical advancement. It’s incredibly unfair when you think about it. You’re actively choosing to snuff out the life of the disease without even giving it a fighting chance. That mother of yours… she has a disease, Bruce. She shouldn’t be here. The only reason she’s alive is because you look after her. This is a clear case of the disease earning its victory over the host.”
“But when the host dies, the disease dies,” I said, feeling some need to stick up for the human side of the equation.
“Which means the disease has been allowed to conclude its natural life cycle.”
I found myself somewhat torn. There was no possible way I could advocate the philosophy of these psychopaths, yet… I couldn’t escape the attachment I had to my own disease. To say I loved my tumours wasn’t an understatement and, despite it signing my death warrant, I wanted them back inside me. In the thousands of passed days since my birth, those tumours were a manifestation of the only thing I’d ever created with success. I made those fuckers so well that they continued to exist outside of me. I made them so well that I was willing to accept my demise if it meant I still had them inside me. And now, with them gone, I wasn’t willing to accept my death. The truth is they had ravaged my body to such an extent that, even with them gone, I probably wasn’t going to recover. There was only one thing I knew with certainty — I didn’t want my death to be at the hands of Fiona or anyone from my tumour family. I began to laugh at the stupidity of it all.
“Are you okay, Bruce my man?” asked Arthur.
“I’m just dandy,” I replied. “Wanna know the best thing about all of this?”
This question was greeted with anticipatory silence, which acted as my cue to continue. “I don’t even have the tumours anymore. They’re all gone!” My statement was followed with more laughter.
“What do you mean?” yelled Belinda’s mother.
“One by one… they’ve all left my body. They’re already out there living their own lives. Fiona didn’t get them. You guys can slice me open all you like, but you aren’t going to find the tumours.”
I heard hurried footsteps approach the table I was bound to.
“He has to be fucking lying,” said Vince, who had finally joined the other two.
“When’s Fiona due back?” asked Arthur.
“She went to buy us all pudding,” said Belinda’s mother. “She’s bound to be back any minute.”
“Do I get any pudding?” I found myself asking.
“Probably not, Bruce,” replied Belinda’s mother.
I sighed deeply. My stomach was broadcasting all manner of implausible acidic transmissions. I wanted food almost as much as I wanted my tumours back, and not far behind was my desire for a cigarette.
“Can someone please give me a smoke?” I asked.
I’d barely finished my request before three cigarettes were wedged between my lips. I mumbled a half-arsed ‘thank you’ and patiently waited as the flames from the cigarette lighters worked their alchemy. I directed the accumulated smoke into my lungs with an eager inhale and waited for that divine intoxication to flavour my blood. When the intoxication hit, it didn’t feel the same. It felt like an intrusion and not something I invited. I could feel a layer of phlegm peel away from the wall of my lungs and form a ball as it travelled up my throat. It emerged from my mouth in all its revolting glory, extinguishing my cigarettes and rolled down my cheek. It hit the table with a muted splat, the cigarettes lodged inside.
“I don’t think I want any more cigarettes,” I croaked.
It was true too. Without the tumours to feed off the toxins, my body couldn’t handle it. It felt like the smoke had charred my insides. The others stood over me, their mouths contorted into expressions of disgust. The smell radiating from the phlegm ball was profoundly indecent.
“What say we go and play boggle or something until Fiona gets back?” said Vince.
They left me alone with my rancid ball of phlegm and giggled their way through word games.
The footsteps that approached me were full of anger and frustration. The heels from the shoe threw up an echo that refused to fade. Each new echo just joined the others.
“I don’t believe this for a second,” said Fiona. “They can’t all have left.”
“I’m just telling you what he told us,” said Vince. “For all we know, he’s lying. Either way, you’re handling it.”
Fiona bent down over me. Her face was so close to mine that I could see it twitch. I pursed my lips and gave her a kiss. She lent back and gave me a sharp slap across the face.
“It was worth it,” I said.
“Why have you taken it upon yourself to make things so difficult?” she scolded. “If you’d just followed the rules, this would all be over with and none of us would be dealing with this mess.”
“If anything, this is your fault,” I said, to which her eyebrows arched in reply. “You made my tumours so damn perfect that they left us.”
“You’re a liar, Bruce,” she said. “They haven’t left you. The readings I’m getting have weakened somewhat, but you still have tumours inside you.”
“Bullshit,” I replied.
Fiona foraged around in her handbag and pulled out what looked like an old Casio calculator. Upon flicking a switch, the device started to beep chaotically. The closer she held the device to my stomach, the more ferociously it beeped.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked with a smirk.
“I shat them all out back at my mother’s. There can’t be any left. I feel completely empty.”
“You know, Bruce… I believe you. I am convinced that you are convinced you have none left, but let me tell you… you do. Can I ask you, did any of the tumours you expelled earlier look different from the rest?”
“There was the guardian tumour… I remember it from the endoscopy, but the rest were just plain, old tumours.”
“And do you remember what the guardian tumour represents?” said Fiona with a chuckle.
In the absence of words, I slowly shook my head from side to side like clown heads at a carnival sideshow. Fiona’s chuckle grew and she positioned her mouth beside my ear.
“You still have the queen,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes in order to achieve oneness with my body. I felt for whatever Fiona was talking about. There was warmth at the pit of my stomach, different from any warmth I’d ever experienced. The more I focused on it, the warmer it became. The warmth throbbed like a heart. My eyes shot open.
“Holy fuck… you’re right!” I said.
“The tumour responsible for all the rest… the most powerful of diseases.”
“Please don’t take it,” I begged.
I needed it within me. The more aware I became of its presence, the more I felt it. I knew intuitively that I had been in possession of this tumour for a very long time. This tumour was a remnant of a primordial self. The tumour was the heart that governed my heart.