Utah Saints (pt 4).

There’s blood on the inside of my legs, like I just got my period or something. That’s the first thing I see. Second is the dude pulling up his underwear and getting up off the bed.

Oh god, I say, my voice sounding like a little girl. Oh what happened.

The dude gets his pants from the clothes on the floor. There are needles, too. You’re fine, he says. I just got a little carried away. He laughs like a baby, looks like a fucking zombie; he might even be one, for real, I don’t fucking know. It smells like shit in here, and rotten food, and weed, and I’m hurting, like way down inside me.

Dixie’s gone, Zombie-man says, lightning up and smoke falling out of his mouth. You aren’t going to ever see him again. Does that make you feel bad?

You know Dixie? I ask him; my head’s all retarded and I can’t remember how I even fucking got here. I was coming to see Dixie, I say. I was looking forward to it.

Well, too bad. The zombie sits back down on the mattress and puts his arm around me. I try to get him off me but I can’t get loose, and I do a hundred pushups every day. His eyes got something sick in them and he smells like puke when he talks.

Why did you come here? he says. I’m dying to understand. You called his father. And then he does something so scary I start crying: You deaf or something faggot he aint here. The zombie don’t say it in his own voice he says it like Dixie’s dad did when I called, not just the words but it sounds just fucking like him, and I start sweating cold ‘cause this ain’t the same dude, no way, that I seen yesterday. I got here a whole day before Dixie had that dead boy on his back and I even seen him too, that kid, that zombie-boy talking to zombie-man here yelling about something. That god damned kid looked like he was ten years too soon to be in this place and this sad old zombie disphit took it like a dog – but he didn’t look nothing like this thing’s got me in a headlock now.

Lemme go, I say, but I can’t move.

Oh, sure, he says. I got things to do. Places to go.

He’s at the door. His shirt’s on. I never even saw him move. I want to shout so bad.

I have never wanted anybody like I do Dixie, the zombie says, and then he laughs. Isn’t that strange? Life is just so very odd sometimes, don’t you think?

He gives me a thumb-up and goes, leaving the door half open; I kick it shut and then I yell because I’m hurt down there worse’n I thought, and while I’m waiting for the knives feels like I got shoved up in my guts to back down, I figure it out. That dead kid got me sick, that zombie boy – got me real sick, with something real mean. The kinda sick that makes you forget that you done things. And now the zombie is sick, too.

I just wanted to see him. I jam my fists in my eyes until I see stars. That’s all I wanted.