The Great Below

The Holiday - Part 2

Victor inhaled the smokiness of the dive bar Alex had found for them, a place in Lisle called the Nut House. From the outside it was merely a house; the only thing that distinguished it as a business was the row of parked cars and a lit-up Pabst Blue Ribbon sign. Victor took a moment to appreciate the wood paneled walls and the well-worn bar. It was good to know that the world hadn't gone anywhere in his absence.

Alex led them to stools at one end of the bar, next to a mounted boat oar and a clip-rack of potato chips. They each took a seat on a plush, black stool. A yellowing nicotine smell permeated the room. "I need to know more about her burns and bruises."

Victor raised a hand to slow Alex down. He caught the attention of the bartender and ordered two PBRs. Once they'd gotten the drinks and Victor had taken a cold sip, he addressed his companion. "I want you to start again," he said, "and this time I want you to watch your tone."

Alex produced a pack of menthol's from his jacket and lit up without offering one. "I've thought about it, and if this exam mimics something she's already experienced – an unpleasant memory – she'll be more inclined to fight her way out." He took a drag on his cigarette, pushing the beer away with his other hand. "I need to know what you've done to her, what would piss her off enough to save her life."

Victor tensed his jaw. "How could I take that the wrong way?"

"I don't have the luxury of time to prep this test. I can't pretend I don't know what you've done. And what's worse..." Alex stopped.

"What?"

A queer expression passed over him, like Alex had just realized something awful and then did a pitiful job of hiding it.

"What is worse, Alex?"

"What's worse is I have to be you in this scenario. I just need to hear some recent stories of things that made her angry, things she wouldn't tolerate if they happened again." He tapped a speck of ash into a black, plastic ashtray.

This opportunity was better than traditional Thanksgiving dinner; it was a lavish buffet all its own. Alex was looking for a monster and Victor was going to give him one. He decided to start with the last thing she'd forced him to do. "I had to burn her," he said lightly.

"You had to?"

"I did. She snuck away from the couch, where I ask her to stay while I'm gone. She's not good at it. The only way to guarantee she'll be there when I return is to handcuff her to it, so I did."

Alex nodded, paling a bit.

"That night, she got out of her handcuffs while I was gone. I asked her how long she'd been sneaking out of them, but she feigned ignorance. While she was free to roam the apartment, she threw our dinner on the kitchen floor. She was rebelling. She broke a dish and ruined dinner. Again, I asked her why she did it, and she called it an accident. She took no responsibility."

Alex listened so earnestly that he forgot about his cigarette. The ash was an inch long, dangling past his fingers. "What happens," he asked, "when you don't use the handcuffs?"

"I've had to use them for a long time, now. I can't trust her without them. Women are like that. Impulsive and emotional. I've watched her yell out the window to passing squad cars on the street, I've heard her knocking on shared walls to alert my neighbors. She needs discipline. She doesn't understand love, or the work that goes into maintaining a relationship."

Victor told Alex about the train station, how she'd slipped out while he ran an errand. She'd taken a twenty from Victor's dresser and spent it on shoes. It was nice, having Alex's rapt attention. He'd seemed shy about the beer at first, but it wasn't long before he dragged it back in front of him and took a few nervous gulps, if only to soften the blow of hearing Victor talk.