The Grand Ballast (24 page)

Several pages of entries, ending with:

Subject hates to be abandoned.

Bode flipped again, his throat
tightening.

Eulogy for You:

You have made it to the
end. And
I am here as promised. Now
together we’ll

More wagon drawings.

This is a call
for talented and vicious people

For people of talent and passion
bordering on savagery

Must be comfortable with public
debasement, long hours on the road

Show me what you are. I have no
requirements.

Below that was
scrawled:
Sibyata?

Dee Patterson—H-ville reject.
Contact agent.

Then, on the next
page:

THE GRAND
BALLAST
.

“
What
is
this?” Bode asked again, looking up.

“
I intend to start a show,”
Kilroy said quietly.

“
An X-show?”

“
That’s the
plan.”

Bode clutched the notebook,
not sure what upset him more—the idea of Kilroy wanting to
participate in something so disgusting, or the idea of him wanting
to create something without Bode’s help.

“
It was Driscoll’s idea,”
Kilroy continued. “He knew I wanted to do something bold,
and—”

“
Bold?” Bode repeated.
“Those shows are trash.”

Kilroy didn’t
answer.

“
You said
Driscoll was an
artist
.”

“
Bode, it would be
tremendous if you would calm down.”

Bode held up the notebook.
“This is not a plan. These are…” He searched for the word,
self-righteousness swelling him. “
Ravings
.”

For an instant, Kilroy
looked as hurt by those words as Bode wanted him to be. Then the
corners of his mouth jerked up. “And yet you can’t walk away. You’d
pull me out of a swamp. You’d follow me into one.”

He doesn’t love
me.

It was the first time Bode
had allowed himself to think the words directly. But the knowledge
had always been there, casting shadows over all that he
did.

I don’t know if he can
really love anybody.

The weight of how wrong
he’d been over this past year suddenly hit him. He should have
cleared out long ago and concentrated only on his dancing. Instead
he’d sacrificed his chance to be great for the chance to be one of
Kilroy’s temporary obsessions.

“
I like to help people be
who they want to be,”
Kilroy had
said.
“I like to break apart their small
comforts, so that they have no choice but to be
soul-driven.”

He set the notebook on the
table. “I need to get out.”

“
Don’t
go. Now, no. Don’t go.” Kilroy tugged his sleeve. “We’ve been doing
so well.
You’ve
been doing so well. I’m sorry I interfered with
that.”

“
Get off me.”

“
Bode…”

“
I said get off me!” He
shoved Kilroy violently. Kilroy fell back, and the chair scraped
harshly against the floor.

Bode gazed at him a moment.
And then he did what should have been simple, and still
wasn’t.

He left.

EVERY TIME, I GET CLOSER

“
You’ve been spending time
with your prize.” Kilroy said. “I like that.”

It was the night of their first show in
Ravelstown. The others had been sent to get ready. Bode had been
summoned to Kilroy’s car. He could hear Mr. Lein one car over,
rustling around and listening to saxophone solos.

“
He’s
not
my prize.” Bode kept his voice
steady, but didn’t bother to hide the defiance in his expression.
Stronger than his fear that Kilroy knew about the kiss was the
memory of the kiss itself—clear and stunning; one of the few
memories the Haze had never had a chance to dull.

Kilroy stood, holding the ring stick. He
approached Bode slowly. Bode forced himself not to back up. “He’s
making his debut tonight.”

Bode stopped
breathing.
No.

“
Lein has built him a
platform. I wasn’t sure if you knew. A platform with chains and a
cage, and a rather exciting yoke to keep him immobile while our
patrons explore their tactile fantasies.”

Bode concentrated on Valen. On the promise
he’d made. On how softly, how hesitantly Valen’s lips had touched
his. For every hundred things you could drop and watch plummet,
there were a few that caught the air, set themselves down softly,
defied your imprecision. Some things you couldn’t yank the
gentleness out of, and those were the things that endured.

“
I figure we’ll do the
grope show for a while.” Kilroy rapped the stick against his palm.
“But eventually he will need to replace LJ. LJ’s health is simply
too spotty. One night, he’s a healthy, lovable lug, and the next,
he’s all fever and infection.”

Bode stayed silent.

Kilroy opened his mouth and pressed his
tongue to the point of his right canine. “What do you think of
that, Bode? Perhaps one day your prize will be deep inside you,
while everybody watches. You’d like that, right?”

“
I don’t care either
way.”

“
You like him, don’t you?”
Kilroy circled Bode. His

tone dropped to where it was nearly
inaudible. “Do you put your hands on him?” Kilroy’s arms fluttered
slightly, and his lips twitched. “Do you touch him?”

“
I don’t want to play this
game,” Bode ground out. “I’m bored with it. If you’re going to do
something to me, you crackpot, then do it already. Otherwise I’m
going to the dressing room.”

“
Oh
no
,” Kilroy said softly. “Say that
word again, Bode. Say ‘crackpot.’”

“
I said you’re a crackpot.
You’re insane.”

Kilroy grabbed Bode’s
wrist. “I said, do you put your
hands
on him?” He raised the stick
and struck the back of Bode’s hand. The thorns lodged firmly, and
then Kilroy yanked downward, tearing the skin. Bode gasped and
tried to twist away. “Do you
touch
him?”

Bode attempted to grab the ring stick with
his other hand, but Kilroy was too fast and caught him across the
center of his palm. Bode dropped that arm to his side, flexing his
fingers. Kilroy took a tighter grip on the wrist he held and
brought the stick down over and over until blood streamed over the
sides of Bode’s hand.

Bode’s fingers twitched, and he shook with
the effort of not crying out.

“
Do you kiss him with that
slack mouth?” Kilroy demanded.

“
None of your
busin—”

Kilroy cracked the ring stick hard across
the lower half of Bode’s face. Thorns caught his gums and lips,
scraped against his teeth. Kilroy released him, and he staggered
backward, clapping his hand over his mouth. Kilroy was breathing
hard. “Remember to whom you owe your debt,” he said savagely,
biting off each word.

Bode looked up at Kilroy and began to laugh,
his teeth slick with blood.

“
What the
fuck
is so
funny?”

“
You
are
a worm.” Bode dabbed at his
mouth with the back of his throbbing hand. He could feel thorns
stuck in his lips. “And you might not know it yet, but you’ve made
the thing that’s going to destroy you.”

“
Shut up!” Kilroy
shouted.

“
Your art is all about what you can take away. And mine is
about what I can give.” Bode grinned. Blood dripped over his lip
and down his chin. “And that’s why I’ll win.”

“
I will change things!”
Kilroy panted harshly, his cheeks puffing, his face red and
sweating. “I already have. And I don’t need you, you coward, you
little fleck. You traitor.”

“
Kill me, then. Kill me, if
you don’t need me.” It was a quiet, sincere challenge.

Kilroy stood there panting a moment longer
then slowly calmed. “Bode?” His voice was wispy, tremulous.

Bode curled his fingers, pain shooting up
his arm.

Kilroy crept closer to him. Held out a hand.
“Come here. Please come here. I’m just a man, Bode. A man can look
up to monsters, but he can only ever be a man. Please forgive
me.”

Bode stepped back. Kilroy stopped. “Let me
go,” Bode said. “Let me walk out of here, and I’ll forgive
you.”

Keeping eye contact, Bode took a step toward
the door. It took no small amount of courage to walk past Kilroy.
But Kilroy seemed small and pathetic now. Bode flicked his gaze to
the door to see how much farther he had to go.

Kilroy lunged and grabbed him. Twisted his
arm hard, forcing Bode almost to his knees. Kilroy looked down at
him. “You’re a murderer. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

Bode struck a massive blow with his other
hand, hard enough that Kilroy yelped and released him. He launched
himself at Kilroy, shoved him to the floor and spat blood in
Kilroy’s face. “You want to see a murderer?” he shouted through
hissed breaths, shaking with rage. “I’m going to kill you, you
fucker.”

“
Lein!” Kilroy shouted.
“Lein! I have a—a situation.”

“
He’s not going to save
you,” Bode said through gritted teeth. He struck Kilroy again.
Kilroy seemed to revel in the pain; his eyes closed in a quiet
ecstasy as blood and saliva rolled sideways off his
cheeks.

Someone caught Bode’s elbow, and he was
hauled up and around. Mr. Lein, a candy wrapper stuffed in the
front of his shirt like cravat, stared at Bode, red-faced. “What
issss this?” he demanded, as Bode kicked and struggled.

“
Let me go!”

Lein put Bode in a headlock.

From the corner of his eye, Bode saw Kilroy
rise. “Mr. Lein,” Kilroy managed between gasps. “Bode has lost all
reason.”

Bode tried again to wrench free, his heart
pounding and his breath hissing between his clenched teeth. He
flexed his bleeding hand. Tried to move his mouth, but the swelling
in his lips and gums had increased.

Mr. Lein cocked a brow at Bode. “That
so?”

“
Hold him a minute, Lein.”
Kilroy spoke politely.

Bode didn’t struggle.

Kilroy straightened his jacket then removed
a bottle of blue pills from his pocket. Popped the lid and shook
five or six into his own mouth. “Pinth hith nothe, pleathe,” he
said to Lein, the little iridescent pills sliding on his
tongue.

Lein pinched Bode’s nose. Bode opened his
mouth with a gasp. Kilroy leaned forward, shoved Bode’s head back,
and let the pills fall from his mouth into Bode’s. Lein wouldn’t
release him until Bode swallowed, and hard as Bode tried to keep
some of the pills under his tongue, the pain in his mouth and the
angle of his head made it impossible.

Kilroy nipped the torn flesh of Bode’s upper
lip almost playfully. Nuzzled Bode’s nose then stepped back.

“
Thank God,” he said to
Lein. “He was wild, Lein. It was too much, even for me.” A shake in
his voice.

Fucker. You’re scared. Every time, I get
closer. I get closer to beating you.

Lein’s arm was heavy around his neck,
choking him. He could feel the pills starting to take effect,
starting to blur his thoughts.

3 pills good for the pain. Bad for
reflexes

Stay awake.

Fight this. And keep fighting.

Keep. Fighting.

He looked up at Kilroy and Lein, both of
whom regarded him with a mix of wariness and discomfort.

He grinned at them as he sank.

THS MMNT

Then.

Bode climbed behind the
wheel of his car. His hand was shaking as he turned the key. He
stabbed the volume button on the stereo until the music was
blasting. It was nearly dark out. Through the lit kitchen window,
he could see Kilroy’s silhouette moving.

He backed out of the drive
too fast, and then started for his parents’ house. He’d stay there
for a while and clear his head. Think about what he wanted to do.
The problem might be this
town
. If he and Kilroy could get
away from this place, from Driscoll and the Little Comet and this
home that was starting to give Bode a sour taste each time he
looked at it…

Idiot. Why are you still
trying to find ways to make this work?

Why was he so afraid of
being alone?

He’d always been like
that—wanting to accompany his mother on errands when he was a kid.
Listening for the sounds of his mother’s marbles and his father’s
needles, even as he resented both his parents for their inertia.
He’d once railed against audiences for being afraid of true pain,
real experiences, of thinking too deeply. But he’d been terrified
his whole life of empty rooms.

He found himself, for some
perverse reason, driving through the west side of town. The sky
darkened further, and Bode flicked his lights on. Blew by the
coffee shop and the black iron gates of Driscoll’s front yard. He
forced himself not to look at the house as he passed.