Whatever You Want

Chapter 9

The Johnson house sat in darkness when Zach let himself into the kitchen. It wasn’t a small house, but it was shabbily decorated and looked like nobody had made any real effort to clean it in some time. Junk piled up in every corner, torn up pet bedding lay everywhere and most of the rooms were unfinished misadventures into DIY, half tiled or partially painted.

The mother was sitting in front of a muted television set, a cigarette in one hand—or rather, two inches of balancing ash—and a pint glass of wine in the other. Her glazed eyes did not raise to meet Zachs. The stepdad was at the kitchen table eating a microwave meal directly from the black plastic tub. He barely glanced up from his feast as Zach walked in and riffled through the freezer to find ice. The ice cubes crackled like lightning as Zach popped them from the tray and into the one clean-ish bowl he’d found on the work surface.

The man finally acknowledged Zach, grunting through a mouthful of pasta, “You one of Ricks mates? Tell that little prick I’m still waiting for my bike back.”

“I don’t care about that,” Zach told him as he opened every drawer, trying to locate a knife. In the third drawer he tried there was he found one that was not as sharp as he would have liked, but it would have to do. Grabbing the wooden handle, he walked over at sat at the table. He flashed Jerry a smile as he gripped his wrist and sliced the man’s little finger off.

“Arhh, what the f**k!” The man screamed, staring at the stump. Zach picked up the finger in two of his own and plopped it onto the ice. After telling him to remain calm and seated, Zach explained to Jerry that he would have to go upstairs, pack all he could and leave forever, after a brief trip to the hospital to reattach the missing digit. When the wife ran in, shrieking like a banshee, Zach told her to sit on the floor by the fridge and stay silent. She did as Zach ordered, periodically glancing up at Zach from behind a waterfall of greasy hair.

Unfortunately for Jerry, he was not in a compliant mood.

“If you ever come back here, Jerry, I will take another piece of your anatomy and instead of putting it on ice it will go into the blender,” Zach warned.

Jerry laughed, a strained and creepy sound from lips that were beginning to turn blue. He scratched his thinning hairline with the four fingered hand, causing blood to drip down his forehead. He did not seem to notice. He might be far too drunk for these intimidation tactics to work, worried Zach.

“Think we can afford a blender? Look around, kiddo.” Jerry waved his arms and wobbled as though he might pass out.

“Microwave then. You own one of those, Jerry?” Zach asked, becoming frustrated.

“Well that box over there ain’t a TV,” Jerry laughed quietly at what passed for witty humour in his tiny mind.

“You know how a microwave won’t work while the door is open? You can rig the mechanism, so it carries on cooking with the door removed,” Zach explained. “You think losing a finger hurts?”

Jerry grimaced, wobbling his head. His eyes rolled then fixed on Zach. “You don’t scare me, kid.”

“I’m not a kid, Jerry.” Zach gripped the man’s face by the cheeks, trying to get his droopy eyes to focus. Zach exhaled deeply. “Look at me. Look at me. Stare into my faces.”

Jerry’s eyes finally made contact and pinned instantly. He jumped backwards, flipping the chair. After ten minutes of scrapes and bangs from above, Jerry slid a suitcase out of the front door. Zach heard the car start and exit the driveway with a screech. He sat, staring at the finger in the bowl of ice, wondering if Jerry would remember and return.

He didn’t.

Zach hummed to himself as he raided the kitchen for alcohol and poured away various bottles of wine, vodka and rum. As he completed his task the woman did not move from her spot by the fridge, forced to listen as her stash glugged down the sink.

“If you drink again, let him back in, or replace him with another asshole, I will return. What I did to Jerry will seem tame.”

The woman looked up and whispered, “Who are you?”

“I’m your guardian angel,” Zach said, tripping over and spilling a box of dog food on the way out. He kicked the stray biscuits away. “And clean this s**t up.”