A Likely Story: A Wayward Ink Publishing Anthology (4 page)

“It’s about fucking time,” he called from the kitchen. His voice was changed. Throatier. Harsh. “Were you out getting laid again? Did he have nice legs?”

I walked into the kitchen and stopped cold. He glared at me from a motorized wheelchair. His face was lined and withered. His legs had been severed above the knees.

“What the fuck are you staring at?”

“How’d this happen?”

“How’d what happen?”

“Your legs?”

“You know damn well how I lost my legs.”

“The explosion in Mosul.”

“Are you stoned again?”

“No, tell me how it happened.”

“When that fucking picture fell out of the letter you sent and everyone saw me kissing you, that’s how.”

“Shit, what did they do to you?”

“Quit being stupid. You know they punished my ass and sent me to Fallujah to be cannon fodder.”

“Shane, I’m so, so sorry.” I left the mail on the table and went to him. I squeezed his shoulders, kissed the top of his head, and inhaled the earthy scent of his hair. I couldn’t believe I was getting to touch him again.

He swatted at my hands. “Get away from me.”

I knelt and looked into his eyes. They were paler blue than I remembered. “Whatever’s gone on between us in the past, we’re going to fix. I promise.”

For a fleeting moment his face softened, and we were in 1998 again. But when his gaze hardened, I knew there was no going back there for us ever.

“You can’t give me back my legs.” He maneuvered the wheelchair’s joystick, and the motor made a brief dying whine. He palmed the wheels and backed away from me. “I’m going to bed.”

“Let me help you.”

“No.” He wheeled himself out of the kitchen.

“Mom’s bringing batteries,” I called, feeling useless.

“Thank god,” he said from the hallway. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

He slammed the bedroom door and turned on the TV loud.

My face felt hot with shame. What kind of sad life had we lived? I went to the bathroom, shut the door, and ran cold water in the sink. I cupped my hands, splashed my face, and reached for a towel. I brought it to my eyelids and rubbed, wondering how much of the past I could repair with him.

I put the towel down and nearly jumped out of my skin. He
had
followed me. I stared at his black-clothed reflection in the wall mirror. I held my finger to my lips to let him know to be quiet.

“I suppose you want your watch back,” I whispered.

He nodded.

I dug it from my pocket and handed it to him. “I’m not sure it works anymore.”

“Your travels sure affected this universe.” He strapped the watch to his wrist. “You don’t have to stay here.”

“What?”

“Let me take you away.” He rubbed my shoulders, kissed my head, and inhaled the scent of my hair. “I can make you happy. I have all the means in the universe to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Please come with me.”

Our gazes met in the mirror, and I swore I could feel his desire for me. It wasn’t mere sexual appetite. It came from his heart and warmed me to the core.

But I shook my head and stepped away. “I’m staying here. I love Shane.”

He looked down, and I knew I’d disappointed him.

“All right then. Give me a minute to change the batteries in my watch, and I’ll go.” He pressed a black push button and the face popped off. He emptied two small gold disks into his hand. He shoved them into one of his back pockets, reached into a front pocket, and pulled out two new disks. He inserted them into the watch and snapped the face back into place. Then he pressed three other black push buttons several times each.

“Ready, but first let me give you a birthday gift.”

“No, just go.”

“Please, it’s the least I can do for you.” He smiled and then lunged, throwing his arms around me. I fought to break his grip, but he was extremely strong.

“Stop thrashing. You’re going with me.”

“Let me go. I have to stay here and fix the mess I’ve made.”

“This universe isn’t going away. You’ll be here the rest of your life trying to fix things with Shane. But your present consciousness is coming with me.” He tightened his grip.

“No!” I yelled, knowing he was about to press the red button.

I HEARD people gasp and felt a hand pat my thigh. I was sitting in pitch-blackness. I blinked repeatedly to try to get my eyes to see with no light.

“Don’t panic, ladies and gentlemen.” The woman’s voice came from a loudspeaker. “Our next act likes to begin his performance in the dark.”

“My ESP tells me tonight is someone’s birthday.”

I shuddered. The voice over the loudspeaker was now Dante’s.

The hand resting on my thigh squeezed.

“When I count to three and the houselights come on, the birthday boy must come to the stage to be set free. One… two… three!”

His amplified voice rang in my ears, my arms shot out straight in front of me, and cold metal clamped my wrists. I was startled, but not surprised. Time travel had me believing anything was possible.

Lights flickered on. I was sitting in a theater, handcuffed in the front row. He was on stage in a black tuxedo looking straight at me.

“Wow, amazing!” The hand on my thigh reached for the handcuffs.

I turned and found Shane beside me. Grinning, he nudged my calf with his. “How’d he do that?”

I brought my bound hands to him and touched his cheeks. His face was young and unhardened.

“What year is it?”

He looked at me funny. “It’s 1998. Are you okay?”

I leaned toward him and softly kissed his lips. “Never been better.”

“Come up here, young man,” Dante commanded. He stood by a large black magician’s box.

I rose, and as I walked onto stage, I remembered bits and pieces of this night. Fire jugglers. Hungarian tumblers. Acrobatic show dogs. Shane had taken me to a show on The Strip for my birthday. But I hadn’t been handcuffed and forced onto stage.

A spotlight shined on me, and he raised my wrists up for the crowd to see. “Looks like you got yourself into a bind, young man.”

The entire audience laughed.

He touched an index finger to his temple, and I saw the watch on his wrist, its digits glowing red. “My ESP is telling me your name is… Nicholas.”

“Whoa, no way!” Shane exclaimed from the front row, causing the audience to laugh again.

“Yes, it’s Nick,” I said into his handheld microphone.

“Do you believe in magic, Nick?”

“Well, I didn’t used to, but—” I held up my wrists. “I do now.”

As the crowd laughed at my joke, our eyes met, and I nodded to let him know I was telling the truth.

“Good, because I have something magical to give you for your birthday.”

A spotlight shined on a feathered showgirl. Men whistled and catcalled as she wheeled out another big magician’s box. This one was wrapped and topped with a bow like a birthday gift.

“Folks, take note. There’s only one door into each of these boxes.”

He rotated the black box three hundred sixty degrees, and the showgirl did the same with the other box. They stopped so that the door to each box faced the audience.

“Only one way in, only one way out.” He opened the door to the black box. “Nick, would you kindly step inside?”

I entered the box, and when he shut the door, blackness engulfed me.

“Now let’s see what Doreen brought him. I might want to keep it for myself.”

The audience chuckled, and then I heard the door to the other box slam shut.

“Hey, let me out of here.”

The audience laughed again.

The interior of my box was suddenly illuminated, and he stood beside me. He spoke into his mic. “It looks like it’s going to take some magic to set myself free. Bear with me, folks, I have to look up this trick in my Houdini manual.”

He quickly switched off his mic and pressed a button on the underside of my handcuffs. They slipped right off, and he stuffed them into a pocket inside his tuxedo jacket. He grabbed my arm and whispered, “Let me see your hand.”

I opened it wide and felt a shiver run down my spine. The X that had always been etched into the heel of my palm was gone.

“No more cross. You’re fated to be happy the rest of your days. Just make the right choices.”

“Why’d you do this for me?”

He enclosed my hand with his. “Let’s just say in a parallel universe not far away, you were my Shane.”

“I’m dead over there?”

He smiled a sad smile and nodded.

“Shit… I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what else to do, so I kissed his cheek. “Thank you for giving Shane back to me.”

He let go of my hand and looked at his watch. “On the count of three, open the door and step onto stage.”

He pressed the red button, and blackness engulfed me again. I felt around and found the doorknob.

Over the loudspeaker, I heard him count: “One… two… three!”

When I swung open the door and stepped onto stage, the crowd applauded. I could see Shane in the front row. He clapped and whistled louder than anyone. I glanced over my shoulder. I’d come out of the box that was wrapped like a birthday gift.

The door to the black box opened, and Dante stepped onto stage. When he took a bow, the crowd cheered. He looked at me from across the stage and said, “Happy birthday, Nicky.”

I raised my palm to him, somehow knowing what he would do next, and waved goodbye. He tipped his head. Then he pressed the red button on his watch and disappeared into thin air.

In 2014, Eric Gober won three Reader Views literary awards for his debut novel,
Secrets of the Other Side
, including Best Fiction Book of the Year.

Eric’s short story “Out of Order” is featured in Wayward Ink Publishing’s anthology
Stranded
. He has written stories for other publications and anthologies, including
First Time for Everything
and
Best Gay Romance 2014
. He earned his MFA in creative writing from Wichita State University.

Eric grew up in Las Vegas, Nevada, the setting for his award-winning debut novel. He has lived in Arizona, Kansas, and the San Francisco Bay Area. Today he makes his home in Los Angeles, where he is at work on a new novel.

Eric Gober can be found at:

Website:
http://www.ericgober.com

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/GoberEric

Twitter:
https://twitter.com/GoberEric

LOGAN DIDN’T need to see the approaching wave to know it was going to be ripper. He was so attuned to the sea he could sense the ebb and flow of the waters, anticipate the ocean’s every move. A veritable Poseidon.

He paddled furiously, aware of the wave gaining momentum behind him, but still he waited. Finally, his senses told him the time had come and he maneuvered himself up into a standing position, expertly riding the wave, twisting his board from side to side.

Usually there would be crowds lining the beach to watch him, eager for a glimpse of the young pro surfer in action. But not today. He’d come out even earlier than usual, at the crack of dawn, for the rare chance to enjoy his sport alone.

He smiled for the cameras and hugged bikini-clad girls at tournaments, but the attention made him uncomfortable. His family would gather and coo over his mother’s scrapbook of press clippings; headlines proclaiming him to be the next big thing or describing him as some kind of surfing god. All that left him cold.

If he went out for dinner with one of the female surfers, a photograph would be in the local paper the next day, sometimes even on the front page if news was slow. Speculation ran high regarding which local beauty would one day catch herself the prize fish that was Logan Carter.

Little did they know.

The truth was, Logan didn’t swing that way; never had. All those dates were simply a façade; one that was getting harder and harder to maintain as the years went by. Throughout his teens he’d wondered if it was just a phase, but now he was in his twenties he could deny it no longer: women held no sexual attraction for him whatsoever. A well-toned male body on the other hand. …

He’d experimented at university. Encounters with women had been strained, awkward, and ultimately unsatisfying, but the one time he’d hooked up with another guy at a party had been mind-blowing. He’d not had better sex before or since.

University was one thing, but returning to the small Eyre Peninsula community and being openly gay was another. It just didn’t fit the surfer image. And he’d found image was almost as important as skill when it came to surfing success, at least where sponsorships were concerned. A few more wins at national level and he could think about hitting the international scene at last.

The wave petered out and he sank into the water. A few seconds later he had reclaimed his board and was paddling back out, eager for the next wave and the few moments of blissful adrenaline rush it would provide.

He moved farther from the beach, lost in thought and enjoying the solitude the wide, empty ocean provided; the only sounds being those of the sloshing water and the cries of birds overhead.

It therefore came as a great surprise when the water shifted, knocking him from his board, and he found himself staring into the gaping maw of a whale. A sperm whale, he realized, too stumped by the sight to do much other than stare for the first few seconds. It was only when he felt the tug, when he noticed that he was being drawn toward the mammal, that he truly realized the danger he was in.