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“Well,” he says, “you’ve got a sexy one on your back.”

  Her eyes shoot poison into his.

  “Okay. Okay,” he says. “Well, there is equilateral, where all sides and angles are equal. It’s a lot like the love a family has for itself. The parents and the children all love each other equally.”

  “That’s one,” Emma confirms, looking at him, beginning to dislike and resist him and his charm more and more by the second. But she knows the anger is unjustified and she’s more upset with herself for biting than at him for tossing the bait. “What else?”

  “Really?” he asks. “Then there is isosceles, that is where two equal lines extend from a shorter base. I guess you could say that your pussy is at the tip of an isosceles triangle. One of the best triangles I’ve ever known.”

  “And what’s the last one?” Emma fights a smile and tries to ask coldly.

  “A scalene triangle—”

  Charlie kicks the door in. Randy and Emma freeze. Charlie gives both their eyes a good two second stare, before examining Emma’s naked body.

  “A scalene triangle is a little like this,” Charlie says. He’s holding a kitchen knife. A big one. He’s naked, he’s hard. Randy has his socks on while Emma is naked, watching them both.

  “Charlie—”

  “Shut up. Let’s talk about triangles.” He points the knife first at Emma, then at Randy. “Looks like we’ve got quite a triangle right here. Look at this knife,” he says. “It’s so sharp, and it comes to this point, but look at this base, and the length and angles are all different.

  “I guess you could call this,” Charlie continues, shooting a quick glance at the two of them and then putting the point right in Randy’s face, “a serrated, stainless steel scalene triangle.”

  Randy trembles but answers, “Yeah. All the angles and lengths are different right?”

  “Exactly,” Charlie says, poking the knife closer to Randy’s face. “Let’s see how smart you are. A scalene triangle is pretty hard to spot or explain. You’ve got eleven seconds.”

  Randy hiccups and hesitates, knifepoint to his throat. His mind is blank. He racks his brain and comes up with a single abstract example.

  Randy looks at the point of the knife. It’s so close to that his eyes go crossed. “Pull that shit back a second and I’ll lay it out for you.”

  Charlie brings the knife back six inches. “Seven seconds,” he says, voice unwavering, icy as a glacier.

  “Okay, look, I’m gonna give you an example but you’re not gonna like it. Cool?” Charlie moves the knife a couple inches closer.

  “Stop. Okay. It’s like this. Here’s your scalene triangle,” Randy starts, looking between the three of them. “You love Emma right?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” Charlie says.

  “How much do you love her?” Randy asks.

  “Charlie,” Emma starts.

  “Shut up,” they both say at the same time.

  “See, Charlie, for a second there we were part of an isosceles.”

  “Shut up, asshole.”

  “How much do you love her?” Randy asks again.

  “Before tonight?” Charlie asks himself. “Before tonight, a lot. More than anything.”

  “That’s a lot,” Randy answers.

  “Yeah. It was.”

  “You think Emma loves you that much?”

  “I thought so. I don’t know anymore,” Charlie says, seeing it begin to take shape.

  Emma makes a defeated, caught noise. She’s crying now. Her attempts at words come out in nothing more than horrified sobs.

  “Emma can’t answer, so I’m not going to ask her yet,” Randy says.

  Charlie takes a step toward him, white-knuckling the knife.

  “I’ll tell you the truth, just chill with that fucking thing,” Randy says.

  Charlie holds it steady. Right at Randy’s throat.

  “I’ll tell you the truth if you promise not to stick me in the throat.”

  “I promise,” Charlie grins, lowers the knife, inches from Randy’s guts. Charlie sticks it in his skin. A small blood droplet rolls.

  “Okay. So you love her?” Charlie asks. And even with a knife point stuck in his stomach Randy doesn’t waver, cool as said knife blade.

  “I don’t,” Randy says. “And she doesn’t love me.” The knife jabs a little deeper. He winces.

  “I don’t love her, but I’m attracted to her. We’re attracted to each other. It’s a weird angle that doesn’t really make sense. We get on together, we like each other and we have great sex.” Knife goes deeper. “Easy,” Randy says. “I told you that you weren’t going to like it.” Thicker streams of blood run.

  “But that’s it. Not love. I just I don’t know what else to call it but strong attraction.”

  Charlie looks uncertain. He looks at Randy, looks at Emma.

  “So…” Randy starts.

  “Stop,” Charlie commands, they both look at the knife point, then lock eyes. “How is it that I’m the fucking crazy guy here?” Randy and Emma look at each other. Charlie isn’t sure what he sees, he’s having trouble comprehending the whole situation. He slides the knife down Randy’s skin.

  “How long?” Charlie asks.

  “A couple months,” Randy answers.

  Charlie stabs him with the knife. “Not time, I mean how fucking long?”

  “Stop it,” Emma wails.

  Charlie shakes his head, a sad smile crosses his lips. “I really can’t believe this, Emma.”

  Emma sobs.

  “Get on the bed,” Charlie tells Randy, prodding him along with the knife. Randy resists. “Get on the fucking bed or I’ll fucking gut you where you stand.” Randy climbs on next to Emma.

  “Since I’m not enough for you, let’s make it worth it. This one time you can have it. Your love and your attraction,” Charlie says. “Suck his dick.”

  Emma is sobbing, tears running down her cheeks, hair in wet, sweaty tangles. She’s staring at Randy kneeling in front of her, his penis erect, inches from her mouth.

  “Suck it,” Charlie says, holding the knife up. “I can’t imagine it being that hard for you.”

  She does. She sucks it on all fours, and then Charlie kneels behind her. Charlie, who has somehow become the bad guy, the good guy who comes to surprise his fiancé, is now at the shit eye of the hurricane, licks his fingers and rubs her. She doesn’t even need it. She’s wet at both ends for her student boytoy and her loving fiancée. A scalene love triangle.

  Knife still in hand Charlie stares at Randy, looks him in the eye. It feels good. For all of them. Really good. Charlie’s heard stories about men who pay other men to have sex with their girlfriends or wives, but he never understood the appeal until tonight. He can’t explain it, but something about holding the knife in his hand while he fucks his fiancé while she’s sucking a dick is overpowering. Celestial.

  He stares at Randy, who receives the blowjob in horrified ecstasy. Charlie moves the knife to his neck. He doesn’t need words, the gesture is enough. Charlie pushes into Emma harder, and harder, her cries of terror or pleasure muffled by the choking sounds she makes on Randy‘s dick.

  “This what you wanted?” Charlie asks. “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you.”

  Charlie knows how to get Emma off from behind, his fingers snaking around down her belly playing just above the slick spot. Works every time. Even easier and faster this time. She squirms, writhes, moans, and Charlie feels a sick satisfaction as he dictates her pleasure. As she begins to slither with orgasm, he has his own and he raises the knife high and watches Randy’s gaping eyes scream in protest. A horrified noise squirts from Randy’s mouth as Charlie brings the knife down, burying it to the hilt in the tattoo just above the base of Emma’s spine. A triangle, severing a triangle; severing a triangle.

  It makes an awful sound.

  Charlie watches Randy’s eyes shriek, not with pleasure, but with pain as Emma’s mouth clamps down on his dick. Charlie looks into Randy’s eyes,
then looks lower and smiles at the pain and blood, still entranced in his own orgasm. Emma falls flat, spine severed, dead or crippled, and Randy’s eyes bulge as her jaw locks onto his cock.

  Flailing in pain, Randy takes a healthy swing and nails Charlie right in his smirking mouth. Blind with pleasure, Charlie doesn’t see the punch coming. It hits and splits his lips. Charlie swings back, still slipping around inside of Emma but Randy dodges, his jerky movements finishing the job; ripping his dick off between Emma’s clenched teeth. The skin stretches and snaps and sprays chunks and blood. Paralyzed, Emma slowly chokes to death on the leftovers, her other half full of Charlie’s dying sperm. Charlie pulls out, stands up, puts one foot on her ass and pulls the knife out, jiggling the sharp edge through the maze of her spine and tailbone. It makes a grinding sound. Pulling it out is like riding the rumblestrip on the interstate. The sword from the stone.

  Dickless and bleeding, hopeless and pleading, Randy hunkers up against the headboard. One arm crossed over his face, his other searches for anything. He finds a Corona bottle on the nightstand. He swings with all he’s got left and the base of the bottle shatters against Charlie’s head leaving a jagged glass claw in Randy’s fist. When the bottle bursts, Charlie sees stars but doesn’t lose focus on Randy and as he falls he sticks Randy deep in the neck with the knife, splitting the jugular vein. While bleeding out, with no motive but vengeance, Randy jabs Charlie’s passed out body with the broken bottle. He aims at his groin. He stabs and doesn’t stop until he passes out. One of the stabs slits Charlie’s femoral artery.

  There are standing pools of blood on the bed. Red blood on black satin sheets. The bodies, dead and dying, cling and murmur to each other. All fearing death, the murderous and treacherous actions are forgotten as they seek any shard of comfort even between themselves. Later, rigor mortis sets into their entwining limbs. The blood coagulates, becomes a kind of glue and bonds the three of them even tighter. The sickest type of fusion. Emma, Randy and Charlie fused by limb and blood into a shape that resembles a triangle, the kind that is hardest to explain.

  BORDERTOWN

  Laura J. Campbell

  Dr. Anna Zidek pulled the cord on the bus, requesting the next stop.

  The man next to her eyed her suspiciously. He had a scar across his forehead and the fingers of his left hand were missing. “You’re going to Dew.”

  “Yes.”

  “You got a reason to go to a place like that?”

  “I’m a doctor,” Anna said.

  “Doing the Lord’s work might not help in a town like Dew.”

  “I’m a renal specialist. An old friend of mine offered me a position.”

  “You’ll be at Dew Central Hospital then,” the man said. “Where they do most of the emergency work. Mind you, I don’t recommend Dew to anyone, for any reason.”

  “Why?”

  “Cures can be worse than the diseases, sometimes.”

  What a thing to say, Anna thought. “I’ve heard that Dew is special.” Her old mentor, August Parker, told her that Dew had unusually low rates of many common diseases. No cancer in Dew. No tuberculosis in decades. Things got cured in Dew that couldn’t be cured elsewhere. Or so he’d said. He’d also told her to keep that information quiet, subject to a non-disclosure agreement that helped form part of her employment contract.

  The old man just stared at her intently.

  “My friend is a research oncologist there,” she continued. “He was one the one who convinced me to come to Dew. He also does some hematology—treats diseases of the blood.”

  “Dew’s secrets should stay secret,” the old man said. “Don’t let the numbers fool you. It’s not a healthy place to be.”

  He turned his eyes away, and Anna didn’t pay him further attention. She was looking at over two hundred thousand dollars in medical school loans; when August had offered her a job, she jumped at the opportunity. They need doctors in rural and underserved communities, he had told her. With no family left alive, and only a few friends scattered around the country, Anna saw no reason not to go to Dew. She packed her things the very next day.

  The bus stopped and Anna stepped off onto deserted pavement. It was getting dark, and she was getting very hungry. Her eyes started to look for a place to eat.

  The bus disappeared into the night.

  ~

  It was ten blocks to her temporary housing, according to the map August had drawn up for her. She hoped she could find a place to eat on her way. There were no people about; the stores were closed. The only restaurant she saw was likewise closed for the evening.

  There were little alleyways to her right as she walked, unlit and damp. There was a peculiar greasy smell in the air, like rotting fish and sun-tanning lotion. The scent seemed out-of-place since Dew was far away from any ocean. In the darkness, the unfamiliar distances took on a sense of extra length. Rustling noises echoed off the cold bricks of the buildings, devoid of their lives.

  Anna picked up her step, as if a determined gait would make everything all right. She sensed somebody near her.

  A man stepped out in front of her, wearing a loose covering around his face. He moved silently towards her, his heavy work boots making plodding sounds against the sidewalk.

  She backed up instinctively, inadvertently entering one of the dark, little alleys.

  As she moved back into the realm of darkness, more shadows reached out to grab her.

  A thick hand covered her mouth, stout fingers digging into her arms. Suddenly she was pulled back into the alleyway, the stench of coconut oil and decaying fish swirling around her.

  ~

  Anna had not anticipated being a patient at the hospital before she had the opportunity to report there for work. She sat on the edge of the bed. The thin hospital gown made her feel exposed; it did not ease the sensations following violation of her body. She longed to shower.

  “We’re all done, Dr. Zidek,” the attending nurse said. “The police have the rape kit you ordered all squared away.”

  Anna remembered the awkward swabs, the irritating scrapings. The samples seemed plucked rudely from her. Parts of her were now evidence, placed inside plastic bags. In the end, everything went into a large paper bag sealed with yellow evidence tape.

  “Can I shower now?”

  The nurse nodded; her bright blue eyes had a searing gaze. She left Anna alone.

  Anna went into the bathroom, carefully closing the door. The room seemed overly impersonal. The clinical and sterilized atmosphere offered no comfort.

  She looked at her reflection, analyzing her bruised face and dirty hair. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t that late. It wasn’t that dark. That part of town looked fine. No one warned me.

  She showered thoroughly, the soap lather and warm water washing some of her discomfort away. I will feel worse before I feel better. She had studied her symptoms in medical school, passing exams on emergency treatment of rape victims and how to counsel them. That knowledge was now a painful thing. It was one thing to intellectually know the medical facts; it was another to live them.

  Anna dressed herself, muscles aching from being restrained as she had struggled. Awful images flashed through her short-term memory. She tried to let them go, hoping that if they escaped now she would be spared their permanent residency in her mind.

  Anna picked up a cup of water, looking out of the hospital window. She was five floors up, and could see the vast, flat arid land laying low in the wintry grayness. The sunlight was a pearly iridescence in the sky.

  Below her she saw two policemen talking, one carrying the paper bag filled with her evidence. Little pieces of her, little pieces of her attackers, neatly cataloged inside. It seemed perversely unkind that so much pain could be organized so neatly. A municipal garbage truck pulled up, stopping in front of them. The policeman with her evidence bag paused, and casually threw it into the dirty green compacter. Then he and his partner climbed into their patrol car and pulled away.

  Anna gasped, watch
ing the garbage truck roll off. She bolted toward the door.

  An old woman stood in the doorway.

  Anna tried to push past her. The old woman backed her up into the room.

  Anna’s newly tender skin ached not to touch anyone else. She backed down.

  “You’re the new doctor,” the old woman said.

  “What?” Anna tried to figure out a way around the woman.

  “You should be treated very kindly now; we need to make some amends.”

  Anna was opening her mouth to speak, when the heavy sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention.

  Fear knotted up inside her. The woman turned and left.

  A moment later, a familiar face appeared in the doorway. “Anna?” he asked.

  “August!” she exclaimed. Her mentor was a welcome sight.

  “I was in clinic,” he said. “I got here as soon as I heard.” With his presence, August brought a hint of normalcy to her shattered perceptions.

  “I’m just so happy to see a familiar face.”

  Even with her bruises aching, she imagined the sunlight seemed a little brighter.

  ~

  Anna immersed herself in work, its anesthetic properties numbing her to the pain inside. Days had passed and she was feeling a little better. She even began volunteer work at a library to help ease her pain with a feeling that she was giving, and therefore strong enough to give.

  She had related her experiences to August, who had taken up the investigation of her attack and the apparent disposal of her evidence.

  He caught up with her in the hallway. “Anna,” he greeted, watching her face, as if trying to read her emotions.

  “August. I thought you had clinic today.”

  “I do, but I figured I would swing by on my way to make sure you were still doing okay.”

  “I’m doing as well as can be expected. Isn’t your clinic the other direction?”

  “I lied. I came by just to say hello, and then I have to race back to my patients. How are yours?”

  “Okay, mainly.” She was relieved he was talking about work. It was the one thing she wanted to think about. “I wish we had better equipment. I’m used to having everything state of the art and tons of disposables to work with. Here we apparently have to stretch things out.”