It's 1:00 in the morning and I'm sitting here staring at a pickle jar full of severed fingers. I think there's like eleven or twelve pinkies in there, I lost count.
I looked over to the coffee table where a bottle of scotch, a butcher knife and a bloody cutting board rested. I reached over and picked up the knife and began to saw through the knuckle of my pinky finger. Blood poured from my finger, trickling off the board, over the table, and then on to the plastic drop cloth I had laid down on the floor.
It only took a few seconds to cut through the ligaments and then all the way through the other side. I carelessly tossed the finger into the pickle jar, that wasn't what I was interested in at the moment. I watched the little stump at the end of my hand. Over the course of the next thirty seconds, I could visibly see bone, skin, and muscles grow, replacing the pinkie finger that I'd just hacked off.
I leaned back in my oversized lounge chair, still looking at my newly grown finger, watching as the skin, hair and finally the fingernail finished growing. I shook my head.
"So weird," I said out loud as I touched and pinched the newly grown skin. The weirdest thing was the lack of pain. I could still feel things. I mean even if I pinched myself, I could feel it. But when the knife cut into skin, severed nerves and muscle, I felt nothing.
I had been doing this for hours now. I'd burned myself -- cut and stabbed limbs and appendages. Everything I could think of and nothing seemed to hurt me. I still had a hard time believing all of it. I'd seen the proof so many times now that at this point I didn't even flinch when I did something to myself. But how was I supposed to believe I was indestructible? Things like that don't happen. But neither do pickle jars full of finger
What the hell am I going to do? I don't want those… people coming to get me. I don't want to die—but I really need to talk to someone about what's happened. How would they know if I told someone? What if they did know that I told some, what then? I can't tell anyone. I couldn't risk the chance they might find out.
I stood up and started pacing around the living room. I'm hungry, I thought to myself. And I need some air. I looked over at the clock and it was almost 1:30 in morning. I grabbed my coat and walked out into the cool night air.
Thank heavens for 24 hour convenience stores, I thought as I started walking to the 7-11 a couple of blocks from my house. The sky was clear and moon was almost full, giving me plenty of light. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to settle down. What the hell am I supposed to do with all of this?
Mr. Kristof said that they would contact me. I wonder what they wanted me to do; blow up some building or something… kill somebody. I'm in a no win situation. I'm going to be their patsy and when everything goes down, I'll be the one whose life is ruined, I thought and kicked at stone, sending it skipping down the sidewalk in front of me.
I walked into the empty parking lot of the 7-11. I could see the clerk sit up as she saw me walk toward the door. I opened the door and stepped into the fluorescent light.
"How's it going," I said as I walked by her. The woman was in her late forties with patchy dyed hair and was little more they skin wrapped around bone. Too much meth, I thought.
"Boring," she said and then went back to sitting, resting her head on her elbows.
I walked to the Slurpee machine, grabbed a cup and filled it with a Coke Slurpee. Looking around, I walked over to where a couple of sad looking hot dogs rotated in a heating machine.
Just for the fun of it I asked, "How long have these been here."
The clerk looked at me with annoyed contempt. "They're fresh. I put them in less than an hour ago."
"Right," I said and then went to the aisle with the chips. As I bent down to grab a bag of chips, I heard the bell on the door ring as someone walked into the store. I started to stand up when I heard a voice.
"Open the drawer. Now!" a man yelled.
"Okay – I don't really have much," the clerk said. I could hear her struggle to get the cash register open. "I can't –"
The store echoed with a single gunshot. Startled, I lost my balance and fell forward into the shelves.
"What the f— who else is here." he said. I could hear the clerk crying. Thank God she was still alive.
Marcus you are a feeb, I thought as I tried to steady myself. Okay what am I going to do? I looked around, noticing there really wasn't much to use as a weapon. Can't really throw a tube of Pringles at someone now, can I?
"Whoever you are get your ass out here."
I took my keys out of my pocket and grabbed a bag of flour. I could hear the robber slowly make his way to the aisle. This was it, I thought as I used my keys to cut a large hole into the bag of flour. God just let it be real. God just let it be real. God just let it be real and please keep her alive.
Just as the robber rounded the corner I stood and swung the open bag of flour back forth. A wall of flour erupted between me and the robber and without hesitating, I ran into the cloud. I heard several gun shots and I was pretty sure a couple of them hit me, but I didn't have time to notice as I collided with the robber, sending us both to the ground.
A memory flashed in my head as I fell to the ground. I remembered when I was eight my dad teaching me about fighting. He had told me that in a fight it wasn't the strongest or fastest person who won, it was the meanest. Hit the face and groin, he had said.
I hit the robber as hard as could in the face and heard the crack and squish of his nose. I grabbed his hair and slammed his head into the tile floor over and over again until he finally stopped moving. The flour slowly drifted to the ground mixing with the blood that spread from the back of the man's head.
I pushed myself up and looked down at the robber. He was maybe in his early twenties, wearing a hooded sweat shirt and jeans. He stared at me with blank dead eyes. He lay there motionless as I stood up and took the gun out of his hand.
I ran to the counter and found the clerk lying on the floor. Blood was slowly seeping out of a hole in her leg.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"I don't know. Is he?"
"Dead, I think, but not sure. Where's your phone?"
"You're shot," the clerk said pointing at my stomach.
"Don't worry about me. I'm fine. Where's your phone," I asked again, sparing a second to look over my shoulder and make sure the robber was still on the floor.
"Right there."
I grabbed the phone and dialed 911. The nasally tone of an emergency relay agent answered.
"911 emergency. What is your emergency?"
"The clerk at the 7-11 on Pine Street and 52nd has been shot. The robber is still in the store," I said and then placed the receiver on the counter top.
"The police and ambulance should be here soon," I said to the clerk and then turned and walked out the door.
Once I was outside, I began to run and didn't stop until I was almost back to my house. I looked down and could see three gunshot wounds in my stomach and chest. I reached into one of the holes in my shirt and found the gunshot completely healed. I sighed in relief. It wasn't until I reached up and brushed the flour from my hair and tried to clean myself up a little that I realized that I was still holding the robber's gun.
What the hell am I going to do with this, I thought. The thing that first came to me was to dump it into a trash can and just forget about it. But then it occurred to me that someone might find it, hand it over to the police, and it would have my finger prints all over it.
"I guess I just hold on to it," I said out loud and then started walking again. It was as I walked up my drive way that my cell phone rang in my pocket.
I took my cell phone out and found that the incoming call was "unavailable". This was it – the cops were calling me about the robbery. They were going to find out about all of it and then…
"Hello," I said
"Hello, Marcus. You're up late tonight," Mr. Kristof said on the other end of the line.
"Yeah…"
"I have to congratulate you, my friend. You're first endeavor was a resounding success."
"How did—"
"Because it's our job to make sure that you're a success, Marcus," Kristof said. I could hear the humor in his voice.
"Our little friend had been contemplating robbing that convenience store for the last month. When we saw that you were going to take a late night stroll, it was only took a little nudge to ensure he acted on his desires tonight."
"How the hell could you know that?" I said.
"This is our job, Marcus. I must say, you really did outstanding. However, in the future you might want to take a gun with you. It will make your tasks much easier."
"I'm not going to do that any—"
"I'll contact you again very soon, Marcus. Now go get some rest – we have a busy month ahead of us. "
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