Lyrics to Boogie Fever by The Sylvers (1975); Keep It Comin' Love by KC and the Sunshine Band (1976)
In the beginning, she thought she could hack it...she thought she could do what her sister did...but she was weak. She couldn't. She came to this realization slowly, over the course of three terrible days watching and assisting a man being tortured, listening to the sounds of his muffled screaming and trying but failing to avoid his wide, pain filled eyes, trying and failing to ignore the dark shadow of her sister's face, her lover's face. In her sleep, she heard the tick of his fingernails dropping into a metal can, the ends wet with blood and quivering quick, and she heard Liby's voice. This little piggy went to market...this little piggy stayed home...and this little piggy told me what I wanted to know. In the day, as she gazed out the window during class, her mind troubled and her eyes faraway, she could smell the astringent odor of piss and fear, both of which soaked him, she could taste the coppery twang of blood spilling from his split lips as though it were her own. By Thursday, she could barely sleep, and when she did, she was back in that dank torture chamber, watching helplessly as Liby gleefully yanked his teeth out one-by-one with a pair of needle nose pliers, her lips arranged in a mad smile and hellfire in her eyes. When she would wake and see her lover's face, she would start and shy away.
It's okay, she told herself, it's just Liby, and we're only doing what we have to. It's us or him.
She knew this...but knowing something is a whole lot different from seeing what goes into it. The Vietnam War was unpopular and unromanticized unlike like past conflicts because it was broadcast directly into living rooms the world over. Common people, for the first time, saw what war really was. It's easy to be idealistic when the closest you come is waving the boys in blue off as the band plays Johnny Comes Marching Home, but not so easy when you see burned and bullet blasted bodies strewn forsakenly across a battlefield like garbage. America lost its ideals of war in 1967, and nearly eighty years later, Lacy Loud lost her newfound appetite for her sister's consequentialism - the ends justify the means, she said, and Lacy agreed...until she saw just what the means really were.
For two days she fought against her disgust and horror. Liby needed her to be strong, and so did everyone else. This was serious shit; that Montoya asshole was plotting to kill them. Her resolve, however, steadfastly crumbled with every blow, every strangled cry, every one of Liby's deep-throated-laughs-of-evil. Just when she thought she was going to break, he talked...and Liby wanted to shoot him.
Shooting someone who's shooting at you is different from shooting someone tied up on the floor. One is self-defense, the other is cold-blooded murder. He wasn't a good person, hell, he may have been a terrible person, but he was still a person, and Liby was going to shoot him like a feral dog.
That's when Lacy snapped; she didn't realize she was striking until she and Liby were spilling to the floor, the gun flying from the older girl's hand and landing in the dirt, the report deafening in the small space. She didn't feel Liby's elbow smashing into her nose, didn't feel the hot blood gushing down her face, she didn't even think, she simply did. That's what one does when it's The Right Thing.
When Lucy broke them up and they both got to their feet, their gazes met, and Lacy saw in her sister's eyes something cold and reptilian, something alien and unlike the warmth and love she was used to. It was horrible, evil, and it made her soul twinge as if in pain.
This wasn't the Liby she fell in love with...this wasn't the girl who made her heart race and her stomach flutter. This was someone else, something else.
Something that scared her...and repulsed her.
That night, she stayed in Lupa and Lyra's room, a blanket spread across the middle of the floor as a makeshift bed. She spoke to neither of them, but she could feel them glancing at her as she tried and failed to lose herself in a copy of Sports Illustrated. She could practically hear Lupa snidely asking Trouble in paradise?
Yes, by the way, there was; paradise wasn't what it seemed. Like an idyllic town with white picket fences and shady streets that harbored a dark, Stephen Kingian secret. Liby wasn't what she seemed.
That realization overwhelmed her, and she jumped up and rushed to the bathroom so she could cry in peace. She felt hurt, betrayed, and so lost that her head spun. She had loved her sister just over two months, but even so, she couldn't imagine life without her, couldn't and wouldn't remember life before her. But was it even true? Was Liby true? Lacy couldn't say - she never thought her sister possessed such callous cruelty, and after seeing it for herself, she just didn't know.
Presently, Saturday morning, Lacy stood in the kitchen with her back against the counter and a mug of coffee in her hand, a curl of steam rising into the air. She rarely drank this stuff - your body needs electrolytes, not caffeine - but she needed something to melt the ice in her bones, and to warm her frozen spirit. Leia was bent and rummaging in the fridge, and Lacy watched her absently as she tried to gather the (courage?) to go to Liby, to...she didn't know what. Talk about Hector, at least.
And probably about them.
Leia sighed. "There is never anything in here." She stood and crossed her arms with a huff. "I'm going to have to eat pickles and peanut butter like I'm pregnant."
"You can have one of my sports bars," Lacy said, barely even realizing she was speaking. She lifted the mug to her lips and sipped, the boiling liquid burning the inside of her mouth. She hardly noticed that either.
The younger girl rolled her eyes. "I don't want a sports bar, I want eggs and stuff."
In the living room, Loan shouted, "Come on!" as her game character died. Or something. Honestly, Lacy didn't know and she didn't care. Sighing again, Leia crossed to the pantry, opened it, and looked around for the sports bars, pushing up on her tippy toes and stretching to reach. She grabbed one and ripped the wrapper off.
A vision flashed across Lacy's mind - her and Liby in the wooded clearing after target practicing, naked and holding each other in the warm afterglow of love, Liby stroking her face and staring deeply into her eyes. Another: Liby grimacing tightly as she ripped one of Hector's teeth out, her eyes like chips of ice. The mug trembled in Lacy's hand and a little bit of coffee splashed over the rim, burning her finger. She winced and squeezed her eyes closed against a rush of tears.
She loved Liby more than anything...or the Liby she thought she knew. She knew the first image, the sweet, smiling, perky sister-lover...she did not know the monster in the second one, and she didn't think she wanted to.
"Ugh, how do you eat these things?" Leia asked through a mouthful of food. "It's like cardboard." She peeled the wrapper down like a banana skin and took another bite though. Lacy ignored her and took another sip. Maybe it was her imagination, but the coffee tasted like cardboard too. She sighed, sat the mug aside, and started to push away from the counter, but stopped when her phone buzzed. She reached into her pocket, took it out, and looked at the screen.
A text.
From Liby,
Come to the basement. We need to talk.
In a family as big as Liby Loud's, you're bound to be distanced from certain members and, perhaps, closer to others. Of her aunts, she was the closest with Lisa; even then their relationship was more brisk and formal than it was warm and comfortable. Lisa, being the resident genius, had often assisted Liby in her...endeavors...with technological support. Last year, Liby had her develop a vaccine against every type of noxious gas on the market (black or otherwise). She needed to be innoculated every three months, but those trimonthly shots were well worth being able to breathe tear gas, mustard gas, and Zyklon-B as though they were the sweetest Rocky Mountain air.
In return, Liby procured live specimens for Lisa's secret research; cats, dogs, the occasional low-level mobster. Liby was vaguely aware of her aunt's genetic studies, but did her best to ignore them. It was hard, though, when Lisa was in a particularly chatty mood and wanted to show them off: Rats with too-human faces; severed heads in tanks of liquid that literally followed you with their eyes, their lips moving in silent curses...or pleas for death; a terrifying dog/spider hybrid with the brain of an ape who was seemingly always erect (he only does that when you're here); a golden retriever with the intelligence of a man, and who could communicate by pushing Scrabble tiles into place with his nose. I'm very lonely, it told her once, can you stay with me? Just for a while?
Her pride and joy ("My greatest accomplishment") was Lulu, a generic hodgepodge of god-knows-what in the form of a cute one-year-old whose face could open like a venus fly trap and who could produce spider silk by wiggling her fingers. Her abilities were largely unrealized, and Lisa admitted again and again that There's no telling what she'll be capable of as she develops. The mad genius was uber secretive about her daughter, and one never knew what to expect from her. Just last week, she somehow glued Lyra to the ceiling; when Dad found her, she was hanging upside down, Lulu innocently tugging her hair and smiling around her pacifier.
You could say what you wanted about Liby and her approach to things, but even she was uneasy about her aunt's...ahem...pursuits. She didn't believe in God, but she did believe in a natural order, and with every breath she drew, Lisa Loud defiantly bucked it.
After her shower, Liby dressed in a skirt and a sleeveless white blouse. She put on her shoulder rig, tucked the Ruger into the holster, and slipped on a forest green blazer with the crest of a private school in Detroit (Ridgewood Academy) over the left breast. She spent a month undercover there last fall and kept the jacket because sometimes you need something to hide the fact that you're carrying. In the hallway, she went to the stairs leading into the attic and paused when Lyra came out of her room.
"Hey, there you are," the older girl said, her tone friendly, "can we talk for a minute?"
Liby assumed this was about her and Lacy. "I'm kind of in the middle of something. Maybe later." Her voice was sharper than she meant.
"Oh," Lyra said, her eyes darting down, "okay, well...when you're done, come hang, okay?"
Liby nodded. "Sure."
Without waiting for a reply, she climbed the stairs, the feeling of her sister's gaze hot on her back. Ar the top, a hallway opened off to the right. Doors lined either side. The woodwork was bare, unpainted, and the only illumination came from a series of ceiling bulbs closed in yellow plastic cages. Lana had been meaning to finish the third floor for years now, but never seemed to have the time for it.
Liby strode down the corridor, passing the rooms where her mother and aunts slept when they weren't spending the night with Dad. Lisa occupied the two at the very end, one on either side. Her experiments were through a third door, rows of abominations that Liby prefered not to think about. Music drifted from one of the rooms, and Liby stopped long enough to determine that it was coming from the room to her left, Lisa's personal quarters. She knocked and waited for an answer, but got none. She knocked again, then tried the handle.
It was unlocked.
She turned it and pushed the door open. Lisa was sitting at a desk, her back to Liby; a table lamp cast muted glow across the surface. The music emanated from a transistor radio that Lemy rebuilt and gave her for her last birthday. You'd expect a mad scientist to listen to classical composers like Bach and Mozart. Nope. Lisa liked disco. For some reason, that struck Liby as the strangest of her character traits.
I took my baby to the drive-in show
She turned the speaker down
And then she turned on the radio
I watched a silent movie, diggin' funky sound
A metal cage hung from a pole next to the desk. Inside a green and yellow parrot was perched on a little swing, facing away from her, its head banging against the bars as if seeking escape from Lisa's Disco Dance Party...permanently.
Liby cleared her throat. Lisa's head turned back and forth as she scanned a sheaf of papers spread across the desk. "Lisa?"
She's got the boogie fever
She likes to boogie down
Boogie fever
I think it's going around
"Lisa." Firmer, louder, still drowned out by the piano, horn, and woo, woo, woos of a dead language. Liby rolled her eye and started across the room.
I called the doctor on the telephone
Doctor, doctor
Said doctor, doctor, please
I, I, I
I got this feeling rocking and a'reeling
Tell me, what can it be
Is it some new disease?
Liby reached over Lisa's shoulder and yanked the cord out of the outlet. Lisa sat up, her features tightening in irritation. She whipped her glasses off and turned to Liby, her tongue prodding the inside of her bottom lip. "What are you doing, female nibling?"
Liby started to speak, but Lisa cut her off. "I do not appreciate interference with my discoteque."
Behind Liby, the parrot squawked. "In other words, don't screw with my disco. Squawk!"
The boogie loving scientist jabbed a stern finger at the bird. "I've warned you about providing translation out of turn, Renfield."
"Squawk, I just wanted to impress the pretty girl, squawk."
Lisa sighed and put her glasses back on, then looked up at Liby. "To what do I owe this unwanted interruption? I am in the middle of something of the utmost importance and -"
"I need help," Liby said plaintively. When you're Mystery Girl, you don't show your worry and fear, no matter how strong it may be. Unless, that it, it can benefit you. Lisa wasn't the most...heartfelt woman, but seeing the desperation in her niece's eyes made her face soften.
"What is the matter, Liby?" she asked soberly.
For a moment, Liby collected her thoughts. She opened her mouth to speak, but Lisa forestalled her. "I assume it has to do with the young Hispanic male you're holding captive in the basement."
Liby tensed.
"Bet'cha thought we didn't know, squawk."
Lisa shot the parrot a dirty look.
Should have known Lisa would find out somehow. She was a genius, after all.
Seeing the question in her eyes, Lisa explained. "I keep surplus supplies there...including socks. I descended theredown the day before yesterday and discovered him. I figured he was being restrained for a reason and left him. I meant to broach the subject with you but simply forgot. As I previously stated, I am currently in the middle of an intensive project that requires my full attention, which is why it slipped my mind."
Liby sighed. "Yes, it does have to do with him." She explained the situation, including her fight with Lacy and her idea. Lisa listened impassively, nodding here and there and humming when Liby brought up what she had in mind.
"I could do that," Lisa said, and turned back to her desk, "in fact I was working on a similar device just last month...it's around here somewhere. When would you like me to do it?"
"As soon as possible."
Twenty minutes later, Liby and Lisa stood in front of Hector; Lucy sat in a chair off to his side and spoon fed him oatmeal. He ate greedily, but winced after every bite. "I added salt," Lucy said, and the corners of her mouth twitched up, "lots of salt."
Lisa rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her ample chest, which was pushed against her green turtleneck and the white lab coat she wore over it. "Yet I'm the sadistic one."
"No you're not," Lucy deadpanned.
Taking out her phone, Liby shot Lacy a text: Come to the basement. We need to talk. She slipped it into the pocket of her blazer and crossed her arms, her posture so similar to Lisa's that you wouldn't be able to tell one from the other if you were standing far enough away...and partially blind...and forgot your glasses on the table at Western Sizzlin again. Anxiety clawed at the lining of Liby's stomach as she waited for Lacy to reply; after last night, she half expected her to delete it unread.
Shame and remorse flowed through her like bitter wine, and she took a deep breath. She remembered the feeling of Lacy's nose crunching under her elbow, and her heart ached so hard she nearly doubled over.
Lucy dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought it up. "Here comes the dick. Open up."
Hector blew a puff of air through his nostrils, but opened up anyway. Lucy thought she was sadistic for putting salt in his oatmeal, but Liby had her beat: She didn't even feed him. She gave him water, though. Can't piss on yourself - and thereby be degraded - on an empty bladder.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Liby perked up. Footsteps descended, and Lacy appeared, her head down and her hand trailing the bannister. Liby's heart squeezed as it always did when she saw Lacy, but this time the pressure was tighter, miserable. The younger girl looked up, and Liby swallowed hard: Her nose was pink and tender. Not broken, but definitely wounded.
I did that, Liby thought, and tears threatened to well in her eyes.
Lacy walked up and glanced around the room, her brow furrowing when she saw Lisa. "What's going on?" she asked, pointedly looking at Lucy and not Liby.
"I came up with a way we can let Hector go," Liby said, and Lacy turned to her; neither girl could meet the other's eyes. Behind Lacy, Hector's eyes lit up, and Lucy jammed the spoon into his mouth.
"You did?" Lacy asked incredulously. There was a challenging note in her voice that twisted in Liby's stomach like a knife
She nodded. "I did. It...it's a little complicated -"
"No it isn't," Lisa put in. She uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her wide hips. Everyone looked at her expectantly. "It's a simple matter, really." She gesture to Hector. "I surgically implant a tracking device into his cerebral matter and wire it to malfunction, thus killing him, if he comes too close to a second device. Think of it this way: A digital baby monitor uses the 2.4GHz frequency signal band. When it comes up against another device using the same frequency band and channel, interference happens. I can set a base unit here to the same band as the one in the tracking device, and if he comes within ten miles of it, his brain will explode."
The color drained from Hector's face.
"Wicked," Lucy breathed.
Lacy's brow furrowed and she looked at Liby. "This way we can let him go and not have to worry about him coming back," Liby said.
"Y-You can't do that," Hector stammered, "y-y-you'll kill me!"
"No I won't," Lisa said, "I've performed unsanctioned brain surgery on numerous occasions. In fact, I do it to unwind and relax after a stressful day."
Hector's mouth hung open...and Lucy filled it with oatmeal. "She's the best," Lucy said, "but you might die...if I got ahold of the base and switched it on before you left."
"If you touch it, Lucy, I'll see that your brain explodes as well." She looked at Liby and Lacy. "Prep him for the operation then bring him to my lab." She brushed between the two girls and went up the stairs in a white swish of coat. Liby and Lacy's eye met, but did not hold.
At this point, neither knew if they ever would again.
For a long time after making love, Gwen and Lemy laid on top of the covers, Lemy's arms around her and her body nestled into his. They held hands, neither speaking, both drowsing in the fading afterglow of their coupling. Gwen's legs were clamped firmly closed to keep as much of him in her as possible, but slowly his heat drained out and coated the insides of her thighs, where it cooled.
"I wanna ask you something," Lemy said at one point, starting Gwen from the hazy borderland of sleep. She was not the kind of girl who could fall asleep instantly - or even easily, for that matter - but she felt so warm and safe in his arms that she couldn't help but drift. It was his fault, really.
Humming sleepily, she shifted and snuggled closer. Any more and they'd become one - like Squidward and Spongebob that one time, an image that brought a tired smile to her lips. What are you doing with my leg, Freak? What am I doing with your hand? "What?" she asked.
There was a hesitation, and she was just beginning to think that he didn't hear her when he spoke. "Sometimes...when I look in your eyes, you...you look kinda...I dunno...sad. A-Are you sad?"
"No," she said, "I'm never sad when I'm with you."
Lemy didn't immediately reply, and Gwen found herself hoping that he wouldn't. "What about when you're not with me?"
She took a deep breath. Part of her wanted to tell him about her parents, and about her own feelings, but there was another part deeeep down that was afraid, even after the past six days, even after the religious experience masquerading as sex they had just shared, that if she did, he would think less of her...or even not want her anymore. She felt horrible for doubting him, but he was so precious that even the slightest possibility of losing him filled her with cold dread. She wanted to tell him, though; she wanted to share all of her secrets with him, and to hear all of his, but...right now she just couldn't. "Sometimes," she allowed, and that was as far as she was willing to go. "Do you?"
His hand squeezed hers and he nuzzled the back of her neck. "Always. I'm only really happy when I'm with you."
Warmth flooded her chest and a smile touched her lips. She turned in his arms and faced him. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and gazed deeply into her eyes. She was going to ask if he really meant that, but she didn't have to; he exuded it like a sweet fragrance...from his eyes, his fingertips, his lips, and definitely from his dick. "Me too," she said, then added, "when I'm with you."
He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose; she winced. "That tickles."
"Yeah?" He did it again, and she drew away with a laugh. He responded by laying his hand on her stomach and digging his fingers into her soft flesh. She jumped and squealed.
"Cut it out, Freak!"
He tickled faster and she thrashed away, hitting the edge of the bed and starting to drop. Her heart leapt into her throat and her life flashed before her eyes (at least I was happy at the end…), but Lemy shot out his arm and caught her around the waist. "Sorry," he laughed.
She slapped his arm. "You almost killed me, Freak," she said.
"I didn't mean to," he said and drew her to him. "I just wanted to make you pee on yourself."
Gwen was shocked into laughter. "Really?"
Lemy shrugged.
"Wow. Do you have a fetish I should know about?"
She laid her hand on his stomach and rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes rolled up to his and a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He blushed, looked away, and seemed to think. Finally, he shook his head. "Not really, no."
"No?" she pressed. "Nothing?"
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. "I-I mean, I guess, maybe, like, you know…"
Gwen laughed and patted his chest. "You're really cute when you stammer."
His blush deepened.
"Tell me a fantasy of yours and I'll tell you one of mine," she urged. Suddenly she very much wanted to hear what he desired...and wanted to be it for him.
He looked at her for a second, chewed his bottom lip in thought, then sighed. "I think it'd be kinda hot...you know...like …"
She smiled. "Come on, Freak. You can tell me." She ghosted her hand over the swell of his pubic mound and raked her fingers across the front of his pants. "You can tell me anything, Lemy," she said seriously.
He returned her smile. "Alright. I think it'd be hot, like, if you dressed up like a chick from the eighties."
Gwen's brow furrowed. "I don't know what they wore in the eighties." She grinned. "But I'll totally do it."
"Yeah?" he asked, a hopeful inflection in his voice.
"Yep," she said, "I'll do anything you want." She patted his chest. "Because I love you."
He smiled. "I love you too. What's your fantasy?"
Well, that was the thing: She had a couple. First and foremost was having sex with her father. That was a little specific, though, and she didn't know if she should bring it up. There were others, however. "Well," she started, "I think it would be really hot if, say, we were at a restaurant...and you were under the table...eating me."
He blinked.
"And everyone can see my face as I cum."
His jaw dropped, and for a moment she thought that she said something wrong. "That is pretty hot," he marveled.
"Yeah?"
He nodded. "Yeah. It'd be really cool if you could sit on my dick, you know, without us getting caught."
Hm. That did sound hot. "We can try," she offered. "Right now, though, I need to go clean up. My thighs are all sticky" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, then stretched.
"We can take a shower," he said, "together. If you want."
She glanced over her shoulder. "Sure."
He got up and grabbed his clothes while she waited. When he was done, she followed him into the hall, and bumped into him when he stopped. She leaned to see around him, and her brows furrowed.
Of all the strange shit Lemy had seen in his house over the years, this took the cake: Liby and Lacy lead a Hispanic dude up the stairs, Liby behind him and shoving a gun into the small of his back. His hands were bound and a piece of duct tape covered his mouth. His face was cut and bruised, and his steps were shaky, unsure. Lucy followed behind Liby, a bullwhip in her hand. She looked at Lemy and Gwen, her face blank and expressionless. "You saw nothing," she said.
They watched the strange procession march down the hall and then up the steps to the third floor. When they were alone, they looked at each other. "You're family is weird," Gwen said.
"I was thinking the same thing," Lemy replied.
Gwen shook her head and led the way to the bathroom. The Louds were odd, but Gwen had always envied them, even before she really knew them. When Leia would talk about her parents and all her siblings, she felt a rush of jealousy; they seemed close, and happy, and she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have a family like theirs...where your parents actually loved you and didn't say mean things to you, even if maybe you deserved it.
That line of thinking always led her back to her father: Where was he? What was he doing? What kind of person was he? Sometimes when Winston and her mother were arguing, she would sit by her window, stare up at the moon, and wonder if her father was also looking at it at that very moment. She could never be sure, but as she gazed upon its pallid face, she felt connected to him. He was under that same moon somewhere, under the same sky. And how she ached to be with him.
But that was mute now because she had Lemy, and she was so happy with him she felt like she could burst into a million pieces. Just as long as he kept loving her, she suspected, she would forget about her father and even her mother and stepfather; none of that would matter anymore because it would be a past life seen from the safety of a new life...one that centered around hers and Lemy's love for one another.
In the bathroom, Lemy shut and locked the door. Gwen pulled her sweater over her head and dropped it onto the closed toilet lid. He leaned against the door and watched her with a boyish grin. She cocked her hip playfully to one side and undid the top button of her shirt, then to the other side as she unfastened the second. "It's impolite to watch a girl get undressed, you know," she teased.
"I can turn around," he said and hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
Gwen hummed and shook her head. "No. I like it when you watch me."
"So you're not into politeness, huh?"
She udid the next button, exposing the flesh of her chest. "Nope," she said.
"Good," he said with a lopsided smile, "neither am I." He unbuttoned his jeans, and Gwen paused to watch him pull them down. His member sprang out and her eyes widened.
He was hard again.
Rock hard.
"Really?" she asked and flicked her eyes to his.
He shrugged one shoulder. "You turn me on."
"I see that," she said. She undid the rest of the buttons and slipped out of the shirt, her pert breasts falling free. Next she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and pulled it down slowly, fabric scraping skin and sending goosebumps racing up her ams. It dropped around her ankles, and she stepped out of it, entirely naked now, her nipples hard and the hairs on the back of her neck standing up; she loved being nude in front of him, seeing the lust in his eyes, feeling his gaze softly caressing her body from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. When he looked at her, she felt beautiful - more than that, she was beautiful.
She went to him, laying on hand on his shoulder and wrapping the other around his length: It was warm and full and pulsed slightly under her touch. "You turn me on too." She pushed up on her tippy toes and kissed him. "Now let's take that shower."
Funky music drifted from a radio on a shelf, the soulful rhythm masking the beeps, boops, and hissing of a dozen different pieces of medical equipment: Heart monitor, brainwave reader, other, less nameable things that Liby suspected were of Lisa's own devising. Lisa, dressed in a foam green smock, the bottom half of her face covered by a white surgical mask and her brown hair tucked up under a green cap, bent over Hector's supine body and made a series of incisions across the top of his forehead with a scalpel. Lucy stood on the sidelines, also in a smock and mask.
Keep it comin' love
Keep it comin' love
Don't stop it now, don't stop it no
Don't stop it now, don't stop it
Liby hugged herself against the deep chill permeating the lab. She glanced around at the antiseptic surfaces, all chrome and gleaming metal like the some futuristic torture chamber...or the probing room of an alien spacecraft. Lacy was across the room, leaning against a long metal cabinet and watching with something approaching revulsion as Lisa removed the top of his skull with a wet sound, and sat it aside. Liby caught a flash of his pink, quivering brain before looking away, her stomach twisting and bile touching the back of her throat.
Don't let your well run dry
Don't stop it now
Don't give me no reasons why
Don't stop it now
Without looking up from her victim - err patient - Lisa held out one gloved hand to Lucy. "Scissors."
Scissors? What in the name of God did she need scissors for?
Lucy picked a pair of metal surgical scissors from a tray and slapped them into Lisa's palm. "I am reminded," Lisa said as she did something Liby didn't see, "of the time we played doctor when you were eight-years-old."
"What?" Lucy asked.
"Doctor," Lisa said. "When we were under the influence of the phermonal agent I created so that Lincoln - oh, I wiped your memory. I forgot."
"You did what?"
Lisa held out her hand. "Tracking device?"
Don't build me up just to let me drop
Don't stop it now
Don't turn me on just to turn me off
Don't stop it now
Liby went over and stood next to Lacy; Lacy tensed slightly, and Liby sighed sadly. It was almost like Lacy was afraid of her.
Which she probably was.
For a moment Liby stared straight ahead, then turned to her sister. "I'm really sorry about yesterday," she said, "I...I get a little crazy when I get overwhelmed, and I was overwhelmed."
At the table, Lisa's hand slipped. "Goddamn it," she hissed, "there goes his short term memory."
Lacy stared off into the distance, and Liby's heart ached. "Please forgive me, Lace."
"It's not just yesterday," Lacy sighed, "it's everything. I feel like I don't even know you."
Don't tell me there ain't no more
Don't stop it now
Don't turn me down and just close your door
Don't stop it now ooh
Keep it comin' love
Liby looked away. She started to speak, but stopped herself and collected her thoughts. She didn't want to admit this, but she had to if she wanted to make things right. "I'm scared," she said, and Lacy looked at her, brows furrowing. "I didn't anticipate this, and now I don't know what to expect. You know how much you mean to me, how much everyone means to me, and...I just went a little crazy."
For a long time Lacy regarded her with a tight-lipped, sad-eyed expression...then slipped her arm around Liby's shoulders. She didn't speak at once, but simply held Liby. Her mind flashed back to the basement, to the things Liby did, and a tingle raced down her spine. She was only doing what it took to protect them. It wasn't pretty, but it was necessary. Right? "I know," she finally said, "I'm scared too. I just...I don't like seeing that side of you."
"I'm sorry," Liby said again.
Lacy rested the side of her head against Liby's, and Liby snaked her arm around Lacy's waist. "After this," Liby said, "I'm retiring. It's not worth it anymore."
Keep it comin' love
Keep it comin' love
Don't stop it now, don't stop it no
Don't stop it now, don't stop it
"No," Lacy said, "it's not."
At the table, Lisa was replacing the top of Hector's head, and for right now, things were okay.
All good things must come to an end; Gwen left shortly before six and Lemy felt like a piece of himself went with her - a big piece, the best piece. Sitting on the couch between Loan and Lyra, shoulders slumped and gaze downcast, he was the picture of misery. He knew she had to go sometime, but, man, it was hard: They stood at the door just hugging each other for a good five minutes, not speaking, not kissing, just holding on. Having her in his arms felt...right, you know? Good. And letting go was the worst thing he ever had to do.
"You two are getting pretty close, huh?" Lyra asked easily. She was watching TV with her arms and legs crossed. She glanced at him and then back. He saw something like hope in her eyes; hope for what he didn't know, but he could guess.
"Yeah," he said. Something else started to slip, but he stopped himself...then went ahead and said it anyway because it was true. "I'm in love with her."
Lyra turned to him, her face lighting up. "Yeah? That far, huh?"
He nodded. "Yeah. That far." He chuckled nervously. "Like all the way, I guess."
"That's great, dude, I'm happy for you."
"Thanks." He felt like he should say something about them - him and Lyra - about his feelings. He loved her still, but with every moment he spent with Gwen, his feelings for his sister shrank. And you know what? He was okay with that. "I feel for her like I used to feel for you."
Lyra froze. Loan glanced over and looked Lemy up and down. "Finally grew the nuts to say it."
Lemy ignored her and looked down at his lap; his forearms rested on the tops of his legs and his hands were laced together. His heart raced and he felt kinda sick. Even though he was all about Gwen now, it was still hard and awkward, you know?
"T-That's good," Lyra said, "I...I was hoping you would." She shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "I love you, man, but not like that and I felt bad."
Nodding, Lemy drew a deep breath. "I know. It was my deal, I mean, I knew how it was, which is why I never said anything." He twiddled his thumbs. It felt like a chapter of his life was beginning to close, and while it was kinda scary, it was nice, too. He looked up at her, and their eyes met. Hs heart jagged and he looked away. "I still feel it when I look at you, but...it's different. Not as strong, you know? I used to think about you all the time, now I think about Gwen, so...I'm getting over it."
She frowned and put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said. "You're a great guy, I just don't feel it, you know?"
He nodded. "I know. I get it. It's okay now, I'm really into Gwen. A lot."
"That's good," she said, "she's a lucky girl."
"Nah," he said, "I'm the lucky one." He thought for a moment. "I used to think that you and me were perfect, you know? Like...you get me. We like the same thing and..and all that. But that's surface stuff. With Gwen...I dunno, it's deeper."
Lyra nodded. "She kinda...she almost reminds me of you a little."
"Yeah, me too." He thought of the sadness he occasional glimpsed in her eyes, of her admitting that sometimes she was sad. When he said that he was sad too, he fibbed a little. I'm always sad when you're not here. That was true, but what he felt wasn't just that, it was more...stemming from his relationship with his father and from his innate feelings of isolation. He got the feeling that Gwen felt the same thing...maybe not coming from the same source, but the same feeling of alienation nonetheless. Like...you can be shot in your head or you can slam it on a cinderblock...two different causes but the same effect...a fucked up, hurting dome. She didn't want to talk about it, he guessed, kind of how he didn't really want to talk about his shit. Maybe it was dumb, but he was a little scared that if he sat her down and said I feel like I'm alone in the world and can't connect with other people she might think he was pathetic and leave him.
No, no, it was dumb, but emotions often are, aren't they?
"She really likes you, man," Lyra said and playfully nudged his arm with her elbow, "trust me, I'm a girl, I know things like that."
He smiled. "Yeah. I like her too. And I miss her already."
"Get married," Loan said.
Lemy started to say he'd been thinking on it, but decided against it.
After dinner, he went to his room, shut the door, and dropped into the chair. You ever hear that song Missing You from the eighties? This dude's talking about the girl who left him and saying I don't miss you, bitch in the chorus, but it's clear from everything else he says that he does. It didn't apply one hundred percent to him, but it was still playing in his head as he took out his weed. Maybe it did, actually, because dude was pretending to not miss his ex and Lemy pretended not to miss Gwen by, like, thinking of random shit (like eighties songs). It was his way of not thinking about her, you know? Of saying I ain't missin' you.
Or maybe he was full of shit. Who knows?
He sprinkled some grass onto a paper, licked the edges, and rolled it. He thought of Lyra and felt the familiar stir of longing in his chest. It was faint, though, and if he didn't focus on it, it didn't bother him. Not thinking of Gwen didn't help, though, because she was always there. I'll never be free...you'll always be a part of me Oh whoa ooh. That was another eighties song, he thought. A grin crept across his face as he picked up the lighter. People back then, man, I can relate to them, like...the songs talk about things I can identify with. These days it's smack my ho and let's eat cake by the ocean.
They don't write 'em like that anymore.
^ Another eighties song. Or maybe it was from the seventies. He couldn't remember. The point was he could reach into his head and there was always an old song for the occasion, someone singing his emotions and his thoughts. Maybe there were songs like that now and he was just familiar with the old stuff. Again, who knows?
He plopped the joint into his mouth, sparked it, and inhaled. We all like what we like, and that's just it. Take it or leave it. To paraphrase Stephen King: I write about monsters and shit, brah, and if you don't like it, all I can do is shrug...it's what I have.
And what I have is a love for old shit. New shit too, though, like...I couldn't actually go back to the eighties because Dude, your wifi sucks. Also, there's been some cool movies and songs since then, and it'd be kind of gay to have to wait around twenty or thirty years just to have access to them again. It -
Someone knocked on the door.
Oh. Of course.
"Come in."
The door opened and he glanced over his shoulder.
"Hey," Dad said, "I…" his smile fell. "Are you smoking pot?"
Aw, shit. Lemy assumed he knew; this wasn't the first time he'd burned in his room, and the smell doesn't exactly stay confined to one place. Sometimes the hallway smelled like 1967, and everyone commented on it. Guess Dad was too busy fucking his daughters to notice.
Typical.
Anyway...busted. "Yeah," Lemy said and glanced at the joint, "want some?"
Dad opened his mouth...then closed it again. "Sure."
Oh. I expected him to say no, lol. He held the joint out and Dad came over, taking it and sitting on the edge of the bed. He brought it to his lips, took a hit, and held it for a moment...then started coughing worse than Gwen, his face turning scarlet and his fist flying to his mouth. He bent and hacked like he just breathed mustard gas, and Lemy watched him with a bemused smile. "You alright?"
Dad waved his hand. It either meant I'm fine or heeeey. Lemy honestly couldn't tell which.
J/k.
"This is your first time, huh?"
Sitting up, his cheeks blood red and his eyes leaking, Dad shook his head. "No. It's just been awhile." He held the joint out, and Lemy took it. "You were a baby, I think. I didn't like how lazy it made me."
Lemy took a hit. "Did you do it in the middle of the day?"
Dad thought for a moment. "Usually," he said.
"Ah. That's why you do it at the end of the day. I'd be lazy too if I smoked at high noon." He took another drag and held it until his lungs were bursting, then let it out slowly, evenly, ignoring the tickle deep in his throat. This is how you do it, old man.
Dad nodded. "True." He patted his knees and looked awkward. Lemy watched him through a haze of smoke, feeling kind of awkward himself. What was it about this dude that women loved so much? I mean, look at him, he's goofy as all get out, fucking tan slacks and sweater vest like the father from Leave it to Beaver or some shit. He was gangly and just..fucking nerdy, man. But oh let's all jump on his disco stick. Woot woot.
You know what, though? Let 'em knock down his door. He had Gwen and...yeah, that was enough for him. Her and her alone.
Lemy took a third hit and held the joint out. Dad took it with a nod. "You wanted to see me about something, right?"
Dad took a rip and nodded slowly. This time he didn't cough. "I just wanted to hang out. Shoot the breeze a little."
Oh. Alright. Look, Lemy didn't hate his old man, he just kinda...resented him? And to be honest, he was hurt. You know, the whole I don't have time for you thing. And for Lizy and Lulu too. That kind of pissed him off. It's like if he can't smash he doesn't wanna do anything. "Okay," Lemy said and took the proffered joint.
"Yeah." His eyes darted nervously from Lemy to his lap and back again. "How's it going?"
Hit. Hold. Hbreathe out. Had to be alliterative there. Triple H, like the wrestler. Didn't he call himself The Game? Lol, that was probably Vince McMahon's decision. Because I play his ass like a game. LMAO! "I can't complain." Or maybe it was Vince Russo's idea. He had a track record of coming up with stupid names. Wasn't it him who named TNA? Because titties and ass, bro, lol. Dude had an eighth grade sese of humor. "You?"
"Good," Dad said. His eyes were pink and glassy now. "Everything's good."
"Nice," Lemy said and took a drag. He was over the rainbow and faraway (wasn't that from a song?), his brain swaddled in warm wool and his chest tingling like he just smoked a pipe full of Pop Rocks. Don't drink no Coke, son, you might wind up like Mikey from the cereal box. He handed the joint out to Dad, but Dad held up his hand. Heh. Lightweight.
"I was hoping we could do something," Dad said, "tomorrow or whenever you're free. I know you're spending a lot of time with that Gwen girl...and that's fine...just...I wanna…" he trailed off and glanced away. "I wanna be a better father."
The joint froze halfway to Lemy's lips, and his eyes rolled up to Dad. Uh...what did he say? Dad turned to him and were there tears in his eyes or was that the weed?
"I know I've been a fuck up," Dad said, "and it's my fault our relationship sucks. I don't want it to anymore."
Lemy took a puff and stared down at his feet. He searched his addled mind for a response, but couldn't come up with one. The closeset he got was, You're right. "You're fine."
"No, I'm not," Dad said, "I don't spend enough time with you, and I know that...that has to bother you. It bothers me."
Does it now? Ha. "Kind of," Lemy heard himself say.
Dad sighed. "I'm sorry. I never meant…"
Lemy cut him off, vaguely aware that something was bubbling up inside of him. "It's like because you can't fuck me you don't even want me around. Same thing with Lizy. You always have time for Lupa and Leia, but never any for us."
The words hung heavy in the air, thicker even than the smoke. Lemy couldn't see his old man's face, and he didn't want to. "You have to make time, you don't have to do that for Lyra or Liena. It's just naturally there." Pressure filled his chest and heat spread across his face. All of the hurt, pain, and anger was welling up; his carefully crafted dike was springing leaks left and right and it felt kind of good. "At least one day Lizy and Lulu are gonna grow up so you can fuck them. I'm not. I'm always fucking second best...ninth best...what the fuck ever it is and I FEEL LIKE GARBAGE!" Red hot rage exploded in his chest like a bomb, and he shot to his feet. Dad stared at him with a stupid wide-eyed expression. "Oh, I never fucking knew!" Lemy spat. "I had no fucking idea, man, poor me. I know it's your fucking birthday, let me drag your sister off to bed and happy birthday, son over my shoulder like you're a goddamn AFTERTHOUGHT!"
Dad flinched. "I-"
"Everyone fucking loves me! I'm Lincoln fucking Loud, look at my fucking log, everybody, come one come fucking all. Except you, Lemy, leave me alone so I can fuck my daughters!" He was shaking violently now. He threw the goddamn joint on the floor and stomped it into the carpet. "If I had a pussy you wouldn't be in here all stiff and awkward, man, let's shoot the fucking shit and make small talk. You'd be telling me how much you loved me and sniffing around my ass every fucking five minutes like you do WITH EVERYONE ELSE!" He jabbed an angry finger at the door.
Dad's face was white and drawn, tears sliding down his cheeks. "Yeah," Lemy nodded, his tone lowering, "you thought I didn't fuck notice or something, huh? You thought I just sat there and took it and didn't care. Well, I fucking do." He dropped onto the chair, his rage leaving him as suddenly as it came. He faced away from his father and blinked back tears of his own. "I do care and it fucking eats me up."
Then he was crying, his hand flying to his face and his shoulders hitching. "I know you dont care," he moaned, "just stop acting like you do. I'm used to it, man, I'm used to it."
He didn't realize Dad was next to him on his knee until he felt his hand on his shoulder. He turned, and Dad was crying too, his face twisted in misery. "I'm so sorry," he said, "I never k-knew I hurt you that bad."
No one ever does, Lemy thought but couldn't say through his sobs, one one ever does.
Dad cupped the back of Lemy's neck in his head and drew him close; Lemy resisted at first but gave in and allowed their foreheads to touch. "I'm so sorry," Dad whispered shakily, "I'm so sorry, Lemy."
Lemy cried harder.
"I love you," Dad said, "and I promise to show you that. You mean everything to me." He slipped his arms around his son's shoulders.
And for a long time, they simply held each other.