Fifty-Four

Instead of dying quietly like he’s supposed to, Backward Cap screams. His eyes pop open, and blood spurts everywhere, over my clothes, my hair, my face. I muffle his mouth with my hand, but he bites down so hard that he breaks through skin. I leap away, howling, trying to shake off the teeth that are still clamped firmly over my hand.

“Shut up! Shut up!” I hiss.

He continues to shriek. His sounds echo down the street. My vision narrows. I drive the knife into his neck again and again and again. I slice and stab and cut until there is no more screaming, just a strange stillness that settles over everything. Not even the crickets dare chirp.

The body is slumped over. I bend down to look, exhausted, and then jump backward in shock.

It’s not Backward Cap. It’s George. I blink, dazed, my heart thundering in my chest. My breath comes out in ragged spurts. I stagger forward, grabbing his blood-soaked chin, and jerk his face up toward the moonlight.

No. It’s not George. It’s Geoffrey. But how? I drop my hands, teetering backward, and fall, landing hard in the dirt.

I crawl toward him, and only then does the illusion finally disappear. It’s the same boy from the coffee shop. This time, I’m certain.

My arms ache. My knees shake. Every part of my body hurts, but I use my remaining energy to wrench out his eyeballs, tearing them out of the sockets. They separate from the optic nerve easily. Trembling, I shove the first one in my mouth. When I bite down, it crunches and pops, blood rushing in my mouth, dribbling down my chin. I moan.

The second eye has rolled onto the dirt. The iris has become desaturated, tinted with a hideous gray. I pick it up, ready to devour it, but before I can get the satisfaction, a loud engine roars in the distance.

I crawl to the car as fast as my body will allow. There’s a vicious pounding in my head, but I force myself to move, to go.

By the time I make it back inside the car, I’ve made a mess. There’s a trail of brown and red across the road where I’ve dragged myself. It’s a clear line that leads directly to the spot where Backward Cap’s body is lying, spread-eagle.

I drop the eye in the cupholder. It falls with a soft plink among the coins and bobby pins. The pain in my head grows until I can no longer feel anything else. I put the car in drive and go without any sense of where I’m headed.

A mile down the road, I’m forced to pull over. Everything is white, blinding hot, and I can no longer ignore my hunger.

The eye. I need it.

I do my best to clean it with my shirt before cramming the entire thing in my mouth.

It’s good. It’s so good.

Tears roll down my cheeks. I run my tongue over it, break into its thick shell. It crackles and pops and reminds me of the crispy fish skin crunching loudly between my mother’s teeth.

After I’m finished eating, I lean my head against the window and cry.