Dry Heat

Tick Tock

a short story

by Derek Johnson

     You’re dead, get over it. You think to yourself as you walk out of the ominous place and limp towards the sidewalk in front.

     I wonder if there is a way I could weasel my way out of this. You think as you get in your pathetic hunk of metal that is somehow called a car.

     Your phone rings obnoxiously loud, startling you and making you scream like a little girl. You look and see the innocent, inanimate device in the passenger seat; you left it inside your car last night. You sigh and put a hand on your chest, where your heart is pounding against the ribcage. You groan as you pick up the phone and press answer, putting the phone to your ear.

    “Hello?” You say into the mouthpiece. You look into the rearview mirror, which is dirty from some disturbing stain. You shudder as you remember what that stain is and how it got there. You forgot that you were on the phone.

    “Hey, you there?” Your only friend, Marley asks. You shake your head a little.

    “Yeah, I’m here. What-what’s up?” You ask, slightly nervous, looking into the stained rearview mirror again. You find yourself staring at your features. Medium length brown hair, green eyes that are red from crying and irritation, and clear skin. Well, except for the bruises, cuts, bloodstains, and swollen cheeks. You’re pretty much beat to a pulp. Again…

     “You alright, Alex?” Marley asks you, sounding worried.

     “Yeah, I’m fine; why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, chuckling halfheartedly. Marley sighs.

     “You’ve done it again, haven’t you?” Marley asks.

     “Done what? What the hell are you talking about?” You ask.

     “Don’t bother denying it; you owe a lot of money to Tremaine again.” Marley replies. It’s true. Why bother denying it? You think as you flashback to earlier today to explain to your friend that you’re up the creek without a paddle.

This morning.

     Your alarm clock buzzes at you incessantly. Insisting that you get your lazy ass out of bed and turn it off.

     You grumble and slam on the snooze button and your annoying clock stops its buzzing. You sit up in your bed and stretch, yawning. You look at the clock and it’s a little past eleven; my, my, a late start.

     “Ugh, why isn’t it the weekend yet?” You ask as you crawl out of bed, putting your bathrobe on. You leave your miniscule room and go into the kitchen to grab some breakfast. You notice that your mom is sitting at the table, eating a bagel and reading the newspaper. “I thought you’d be at work today.” You say as you grab some orange juice from the fridge and pour a glass for yourself.

     “Today’s my day off.” Your mom answers, without looking at you. “What are you up to today?”

     “Oh, not much.” You reply, drinking the juice down in several large gulps.

     “Something like paying back Tremaine the money you owe him?” Your mom guess. You look at her, taken aback.

     “What are you talking about?” You ask, feigning surprise. Your mom drops the newspaper and glares at you with her piercing green eyes.

     “He came to the house this morning; just a couple of hours ago.’ She explained.

     “What did he want?” You ask, uneasy. You’re still playing that card.

     “Don’t give me that shit; he says you owe him money. How much did you ‘borrow’ now?” She asks, using air quotes. You quickly do some math in your head, using your fingers in your empty hand and looking at the ceiling, trying to remember the exact amount.

     “Originally, it was twenty-five bucks; that soon became a hundred; then that became two-fifty; uh, I’d say it’s almost a thousand now.” You answer, looking at your mom. Her eyes pop out of their sockets.

     “A thousand dollars now?!” She shrieks at you. “A thousand?! Where are you going to get that money? You’re out of a job.”

     “I’ll figure something out.” You reply, shrugging. In reality, you’ve no fucking clue what to do.

     “Well, you’d better think of something fast because he’s going to be here in a few minutes.” Your mom informs you, going back to eating and reading, as though the conversation never happened. You look at her, but she ignores you.

     “Wait, wait, what?” You ask, nonplussed. Your heart starts racing.

     “Tremaine said he’d be back here at eleven-thirty; it’s a quarter past eleven now, so you’d better get to the bank; you’ll have to take the money out of your savings account.” Your mom explains, taking a bite out of her bagel.

     “Damn it!” You groan, putting your empty glass in the sink and running to your room to get dressed. I’m not going to the bank. You think as you swiftly throw on a t-shirt and some shorts. I don’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction.

     After dressing and putting your shoes on, you grab your car keys and wallet and run out of your room. That’s when you hear the door knocking.        You stop running, gasping. He’s here.

     “Tick tock, Alex!” You hear Tremaine’s booming voice yell from outside. “I want my fucking money!” There is another knock at the front door, this time louder than the previous.

     “You might want to get that.” You hear your mom calmly say from the kitchen.

     “Oh, hell no.” You say to yourself. The knocking at the door continues and gets louder with each knock.

     “I’d get that.” Mom says. You look at the front door and walk cautiously towards the front door. You reach it, after several delays due to the knocking and Tremaine’s demands for the door to be opened startle you into pausing temporarily. You unlock the door and open it, but before you can open it completely, the door is smashed against you and you stumble back, your face in your hands as the door smacked you. You then feel strong hands grab you and throw you to the carpet floor. You grunt as you lie there and remove your hands from your face to see your uncle Tremaine staring at you, his leather jacket clad lackeys leering at you at his flanks.

     “You think that because your my little sister’s kid that you can get away with this?” Tremaine asks you.

     “Yes?” You reply, stupidly. You damn moron.

     “Think again, Alex.” He snarls and he reaches down and lifts you up and gets close to your face. So close that your noses are almost touching and you can see the anger in his piercing green eyes. “I. Want. My. MONEY!” He explodes, spraying you with saliva, but you’re too terrified to care. You just stammer in response and he throws you on the floor again. One of his lackeys kicks you in the side. With a steel-tipped boot, ouch. You groan loudly as you side burns groan loudly as your side burns and screams in agony. You curl up into a ball and cover your side, hoping that nothing got damaged inside. You wonder where your ‘sweet and caring’ mother is during all of this. You haven’t seen nor heard from her since you opened the door.

     “The boss needs your money now, Alex.” Another lackey says to you.

     “I don’t have it on me right now. I-I-I need to get to the uh, bank.” You manage to speak, but it hurts. The lackey who kicked you in the side slams his boot on top of your chest, trapping you under his weight and the crushing soles. You groan and writhe in pain, trying to get his boot off your chest as you start to panic and breathe heavy, which is harder to do when there’s almost two hundred plus pounds holding you down. So you start hyperventilating. Tremaine gets on one knee and leans in close to your ear to whisper.

     “I really don’t care where you get the money, Alex. All I care about is getting it. You understand me?” He says. All you can do is nod your head desperately as your breathing becomes more erratic and you come close to blacking out from panic. “Good. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, Alex.” He replies, standing up and the boot lackey releases you and you roll to your side and start gasping and coughing. “You have one hour.” Tremaine says, before leaving. He then snaps his fingers and his lackeys grab you and start to beat you.

     After they beat you to a pulp, or your face at least, they leave and you lie on the floor. One of the lackeys told you as they left that the hour starts now. You stay where you are, whimpering and crying as you hear car doors slam, followed by a car engine starting and the vehicle leaving.

     “They did a number on your face again, huh?” You hear your mom say nonchalantly from the kitchen.

End of flashback

     “Well, now what?” Marley asks, after you finish your story.

     “I’m in my car now, and I’m going to the bank.” You reply.

     “What happened to your rebellious attitude, then?”

     “He’ll kill me, I just know it.”

     “When he gets his money and you will give him his money.”

     “It’s only a thousand bucks. I have enough in my savings account.”

     “You said that ‘it’s only a hundred bucks’ last month; how’d that work out for you. Just get to the bank.” Marely says, hanging up. You put your phone down and turn your feeble car on, the weak engine sputtering to life after a few tries. You put the car in shift and drive to the bank. You go inside and make the large withdrawal. You leave with the money that Tremaine needs. You get back in your car and drive home. You go inside and wait in the living room with the money for your uncle to return. You sit in a chair, a bag of ice on your face, numbing it for you. You moan as your face gets unbearably cold and throbbing.

     There’s a knock on the door, this one gentler than the previous ones earlier.

     “Tick, tock, Alex.” Tremaine’s voice comes from the other side.

     “It’s open.” You moan. You hear the sound of a door opening and footsteps. The door closes a few seconds later and you lower the bag of ice.              Tremaine is standing in front of you, an impatient look on his face and his arms folded across his chest. His lackeys are standing beside him.

    “Well?” Tremaine demands. You point to the bag of money on the coffee table. The lackey closest grabs the bag and pulls out a wad of twenty dollar bills. He checks the money and nods to his boss, verifying that it’s real.

     “The thousand I owe you.” You remark. Tremaine shakes his head.

     “That’s scratching the surface, Alex.” He says calmly.

     “I don’t have it all.” You groan, shaking your head slightly.

     “It’s not your problem anymore; your mom called me when you were at the bank. She asked me to tell you that you don’t deserve another chance and I quite agree with her.” He says. He then pulls out a handgun from his jacket and before you can react, he pulls the trigger and the last thing you ever hear is the blast of the gunshot.

     And now, nothing.

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