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The Rainmaker

Chris Butler

    I trudge down the long and lonesome road, dwarfed on both sides by fields of monstrous sunflowers. I refuse to look directly into their judging black eyes. Sheets of cold rain mercilessly batter my exposed skin. But the month is September - the dry season - it hasn’t rained in September around here in years. The temperature dips. My sopping backpack weighs me down. My joints creak and my muscles shiver with every step, like I’m coming down with pneumonia or something. I need to catch a lift, somehow, somewhere. But no headlights have passed in either direction for what seems like hours. The scene appears so strange and twisted, but at the same time so familiar. I think I may be lost. But I know that I am home.
    In the distance behind me, a roaring engine approaches. I recognize the car. I turn to spot the pair of headlights flash by me. The tires splash the raging river forming along the curb into my face. I pause to wipe the dripping water from my eyes, but as I do, my eardrums rattle with the piercing blare of screeching tires. I look up to see the bright red taillights of a rusted Trans Am turn white as the transmission shifts into reverse. Finally, a familiar face.
    “What’s up you crazy nomadic asshole! Only you would be wandering through this shit,” he shouts from the partially cracked window.
    “Is that you, Guy?” I ask with a quivering voice. I know him well, but I barely recognize him. Dark circles droop beneath his pitch-white eyeballs. He seems to have lost a lot of body weight.
    “The prodigal son has returned! I can’t believe it! I thought I would never see you again.”
    “The summer’s over, Guy. It’s kind of tricky backpacking across Europe in the snow, you know. Plus my wallet ran dry pretty quickly over there. I forgot about the exchange rate with that goddamn Euro. Anyway, I told you I’d be back.”
    “When the hell did you get back, Man?”
    “I just hopped off the bus.”
    “Well, why don’t you hop in tell me about your journeys.”
    “Did you get your license back yet, Guy?”
    “Just get in and I’ll tell you all about it. You’ll catch pneumonia or some shit in this weather.”
    I leap into the passenger’s seat, frantically seeking warmth. Water drips from every branch of my body. I brace myself against the leather seat, wrapping the safety belt securely across my chest. Guy peals out.
    “Just take it easy. I may have been gone awhile but I still remember how you drive.”
    “And how do I drive?”
    “Like a maniac.”
    “Oh yeah, that’s right.” A sly smile appears on his face. “But I’ve been taking it easy. There are no new dents or anything. I’ve been taking good care of her.”
    “Just keep it below the speed limit, all right? It’s getting pretty rough out there.”
    “I’m not concerned. So, how have you been, Man? How did the broads across the Atlantic treat you?”
    “They treated me pretty well. Especially in Amsterdam - they love young, impressionable American boys over there.”
    “Man, I wish I could get in on that action. I would have a ball in Holland. I’d never want to leave.”
    “I’ll tell you, Guy, it is the experience of a lifetime. I can’t wait to go back. I’ll be on the first plane out of here. But there’s more than just Amsterdam over there, you know. I went to Brussels, Lisbon, Madrid, Paris, Rome, Munich, Berlin, all over. It’s truly a peaceful continent over there. None of the bullshit like over here. It’s nice to get away sometimes.”
    “Yeah, it sure beats this dead-end town,” Guy utters.
    Guy’s arm squirms below his seat, his body dipping slightly forward, as his other uneasy hand grasps the wheel. He yanks a full pill bottle from the shadows. He pops the top, tips the container upside-down and pours a mouth full down his throat. He swallows them dry, with only mild discomfort smeared across his face.
    “What the hell is that? I hope you’re not all doped up again.”
    “It’s my medicine.”
    “Your medicine?”
     “Yeah, I got a prescription. Don’t worry, Man. It’s all legal.”
    “Just take it easy. You are operating heavy machinery.”
    “Easy is my middle name.”
    I slouch back, relaxing my cold muscles against the warm leather. Guy continues careening down the winding concrete, crushing countless toads darting across the glistening road.
    “So, where are we going?”
    “I was on my way to go see Dude. Want to come along?”
    “Of course. I haven’t seen that madman in months. How’s he doing, anyway?”
    “You’ll see when we get there,” Guy says.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Oh, shit!”
    “What?”
    “I’m totally fucked, Man.”
    He jerks the wheel violently towards the side of the road, slamming on the brakes. The car spins sideways, coming to a dead stop, with the tail end in the middle of the road.
    “I can’t believe they found me.”
    “What the hell are you doing? Who’s after you?”
    “The fucking cops. Can’t you see the flashing lights back there...?” I slowly turn my weary head to find complete darkness around the car. “...I knew I was going to get busted. They’ll never let me go this time. Three strikes and I’m out!”
    Guy’s eyes blink every other second. His bottom lip quivers. The muscles in his face spasm involuntarily as if he has lost control.
    “It’s all right, Guy. They’re gone now,” I say softly. “I think you lost them with your clever maneuvering.”
    “Really?” His frantic eyes glance back, double checking as if he doubts what his eyes are showing him. “I thought that was the end for me.”
    “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive? I don’t mind.”
    “No, I’m doing just fine.”
    Somewhere, deep in some cavity of my intestines, doubt boils. We accelerate down the road again, leaving behind matching black skid marks. He begins mumbling lyrics to some melody I cannot recognize. I listen and say nothing for the rest of the ride. I wonder what else has happened since I left.

    The Trans Am eases into the short gravel driveway directly in front of the small, dilapidated home. So many memories, and forgotten nights in this place, they wash over me like tidal waves. Before I realize, the engine’s rumble ascends into the cold night air and Guy is trampling through the front door.
    “Guess who finally returned!” He yells to someone I cannot see.
    I hop out and stride towards the door. It’s raining even harder now. I enter the two-room macabre scene. My nostrils sting with the stench of burning ether and drying urine. I stumble over crushed beer cans, boxes of moldy half-eaten pizza, overflowing litter boxes and hundreds of multi-colored car air-fresheners spread across the floor. I am barely able to balance over the debris strewn across what at one time must have been the floor. A dense fog of stale cigarette smoke lingers just above my head. A puddle forms beneath my feet from the dripping water. I realize I’m soaked from head to toe.
    “What, were you raised in a barn or something? Wipe your feet. I just cleaned up in here.”
    “I can clearly see that. How’s it going, Dude?”
    The grungy figure rises slowly from the stained couch. Several feral cats hiss at the disturbance as they leap to all corners of the room and out of sight. Dude constricts me.
    “Well, it’s good to see you too, Dude.”
    He hasn’t shaved since I left, and I doubt if he’s bathed recently. The odor emanating from his greasy, nappy hair cues my gag reflex. His skin is pale and pasty. Something has changed about him. I slowly push away. I notice Guy seated in the center of the room, probing his skin carefully for something that isn’t there.
    “So, how is everything going around here?”
    “It’s going, Man. We’re all glad to have you back. Things just haven’t been the same since you left.”
    “I can see that. So where’s your little Bro? I haven’t seen him in ages.”
    Dude’s face flushes as his joyous expression turns sour. His legs give out beneath him as he slouches into a pile on the floor.
    “Are you okay, Dude? Did I say something?”
    Guy snaps out of his trance and leaps to his feet. He wraps a consoling arm around Dude’s shoulders.
    “It’s all right, Dude. He didn’t know.”
    “What? What happened?”
    “His Bro snapped. Just went completely nuts. No one knows what really happened. They think he’s bipolar – but what do they know. Fucking quacks. He’s been under suicide watch at the hospital for two months.”
    “Jesus Christ.”
    “I know, it’s a tragedy,” Dude mumbles.
    “What about your folks? What did they say about all of this?”
    “My folks? They haven’t seen either of us since we got kicked out for growing.”
    “Didn’t they go visit your Bro in the hospital?” Guy butts in.
    “Yeah, I forgot. They paid him a little visit. And ever since then the orderlies took away his belt and his shoelaces. How is a man supposed to live hitching up his pants all damn day?”
    “It’s no way to live, Dude. I’m really sorry.” I try to change the topic. “How are you doing, by the way?”
    “Me? I’ve never been happier! Life is good, life is great,” Dude says, smiling.
    “Well, it’s good to see that you have such a positive outlook.”
    “Were you followed here?” His tone becomes sharply menacing.
    “What? What are you talking about?”
    Guy releases his embrace around Dude and darts towards the single window, peering shadily through the dusty blinds.
    “Were you followed, Man?” He emphasizes every syllable, like I was a deaf three year old.
    “No, Dude.”
    “There were some cops on us before, but I lost ‘em with my clever maneuvering,” Guy interrupts, smiling widely, turning away from the window. He reaches into a pile of filthy clothes, pulling out a five-pack of cheap beer by the vacant loop. He tears a can from the dangling plastic rings, cracks the top and chugs.
    “Well, good. I just wanted to make sure. It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Dude says, his mood elevating with every word. “What are we waiting for? Let us celebrate! This is a special occasion! It’s a reunion of some good-old boys from east Bum-fuck, U.S.A.!” He snatches the four-pack from Guy, tossing a can at my chest. It’s piss warm and covered in a sticky film. “We got nothing to do, nowhere to go.” He pulls off a can for himself. “So let’s get wasted!”
    “Yeah! Hey Man, close your eyes and you’ll get a sweet surprise,” Guy says.
    “I’m not falling for that one,” I say, laughing to myself.
    “Come on, Man.”
    “I haven’t forgotten the days of the original pranksters. You could toss anything in my mouth.”
    Guy holds out a mound of multi-colored pills in his palm.
    “Just close your eyes and open wide. You won’t regret it. Cross my heart.”
    I feel a longing for the days when life seemed simpler – when friends could get together and party without regret as if the apocalypse was the next day. I tilt my head back. My taste buds dance with chalky delight. I open my eyes to see Dude pouring his beer into my mouth, washing everything down into my stomach.
    “Feel better?” Dude asks.
    “I didn’t feel shitty in the first place.”
    “Well, you’ll be feeling right as rain pretty soon,” Guy says.
    “What the hell were those, anyway?”
    My palms feel clammy. The tips of my fingers go numb.
    “Just my medication,” Dude responds.
    “For what?”
    “I don’t know. I’m not a pharmacist.”
    “I like the blue ones. They taste just like Pez,” Guy blurts.
    “Is this all you two eat?”
    “Only on the weekends,” Dude says.
    “But today is Wednesday.”
    “Liar!”
    Dude’s outburst startles me.
    “It’s all right, Dude. No worries,” I say, patting his shoulder.
    “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just been rough around here lately, you know? What am I saying? You don’t know. You’ve been gone,” Dude begins whimpering. “The shit just keeps piling higher here. We really need you around, Man.”
    “Why? What’s wrong?” I ask, expecting the worst.
    “Nothing. I just get sick of hanging out with this retard all day long,” he says, looking over at Guy, his smile returning. Guy stands oblivious, returning Dude’s smile.
    The nerve endings in my head flicker. My blood feels as if it is bubbling. My muscles twitch. My vision blurs, all at once.
    “It’s great to have the crew back together again,” Dude says, smiling.
    “I know, let’s get some hash.” Guy interrupts.
    “Yeah, now you’re talking. Who can we call around here for some?”
    “I can’t call anybody these days. The phone got turned off. I guess you can’t get by on credit forever,” Dude says. I notice the telephone, wrapped in its own wires, stuffed in the corner of the room.
    “It’s all good. I’ll come up with something,” Guy says. He walks towards the kitchen counter, which is littered with a murky blender, empty liquor bottles, crushed beer cans and filthy plastic cups full of rotting fluids. He fractures the safety cap on a fresh bottle of vodka, and splashes several shots into the blender. He breaks open another beer and pours the contents. Dude walks over and dumps in a handful of pills.
    “We need something else.” Guy’s eyes scan the room, glowing as he notices a bottle of liquid Imodium. “This is for the morning-after. A little hangover relief, if you know what I mean.” Guy, the mad scientist, empties the entire bottle of the white sappy fluid into his concoction. His finger pushes a red button. The appliance shrieks. My head is pounding. I rub my temples counter-clockwise.
    “You gonna make it, Man?” Dude asks. “You can’t quit on us now. The party just started.”
    “Yeah, I just feel like I’m having an aneurism.”
    “I got your cure right here,” Guy says, handing me a dirty glass of the thick liquid. “Drink up. I call it the superman smoothie.”
    I chug the entire cup. It slips down my throat like a tepid stream of Ovaltine mixed with shards of broken razor blades. It swirls like the eye of a category five hurricane in my stomach. I can feel the liquid reforming into a solid as it moshes with my stomach acids.
    “Ah, that hit the spot.”
    “That’s what I’m talking about,” Guy shouts gleefully. “No more brain cells alive in here!” He taps my forehead with his pointer finger. The floor spins around my feet. I feel lightheaded. Everything fades to black.

    A jackhammer is pounding against my temples. My eyes peel open, just enough to be blinded by the single light bulb dangling directly overhead. My brain feels like melting mush, draining through my sinuses. I open my eyes a second time, but they burn with blood-shot aridness. I can barely make out a figure seated directly in front of me.
    “Goddamn, what the hell did we do last night?”
    “Drugs. A lot of drugs,” Guy says, laughing softly to himself.
    “My head is killing me...”
    “Yeah, I guess you turned into a lightweight ambling across Europe, huh?”
    “Uh, I guess so. How long have I been out?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.
    “I don’t know. I can’t tell time,” Guy says, humoring himself. “It’s been awhile, though. Things got pretty rowdy last night.”
    I peer behind me to find Dude swinging his arms sporadically.
    “What’s up with you, Dude?”
    “Flies! There are so many flies!”
    I don’t see any flies.
    “We ate all of his meds last night,” Guy whispers in my direction.
    “What?”
    “We ate his week’s supply of medication last night. Man, those sure were good times,” Guy says with a reminiscent smile.
    Beside me lies a plastic green pill box, with each day-of-the-week compartment empty. Dude continues swatting at his invisible enemy, his motions reminiscent of King Kong perched atop the Empire State Building.
    “Is he going to make it?”
    “Sure, he’s just fine. You want some breakfast?” Guy offers me the half-empty bottle of vodka.
    “I think I need some fresh air.”
    “Don’t bother going outside, Man. It’s still pouring.”
    “Still?”
    It must be late morning, or maybe the afternoon, but I can’t tell from looking out the window. The sky is charred black and thick raindrops continue to pummel the puddles.
    “What the hell is going on?” I ask.
    “The sky is falling,” Dude says, still swinging his arms through the air.
    “I wouldn’t worry about it, boys. Nature’s just a bitch sometimes. It will clear up eventually,” Guy says, his hopeful smile returning.
    “I don’t know. I’m beginning to doubt that,” I say, lighting a Lucky Strike. The smoke swirls inside my mouth. I exhale slowly, watching the smoke ascend in front of the window.
    I stare vacantly past the blinds, through the twisted branches and beyond the horizon, where the bleak storm clouds seem to stretch on for eternity.

    Day three. I think.
    “Are any of you guys itchy?” Guy asks as he digs his fingernails across his forearms. Blood seeps from his pores, caking against his arm hairs.
    “Hey take it easy, Guy. You’re bleeding!”
    “It’s all right, Man. I just got these teeny-tiny bugs all over me. If I keep scratching, I’ll get them all. I know it.”
    “Why don’t you just hop in the shower and wash them off? That should get rid of all of them,” I say, leading him towards the bathroom.
    “You know, you’re right, Man. You’re always right. You’re real level-headed, you know that? It’s good to see someone around here with their head on straight. I’m glad to have you back.”
    I find no comfort in his praise.
    “Don’t worry about it. Just hop in a nice, warm shower and all of those bugs will be gone.” I push him into the bathroom, and close the door gently behind him. I scratch my arms and neck impulsively.
    “Can you write me a prescription?”
    The wicked pitch of the voice behind me raises every hair on my body.
    “Oh shit, Dude. You scared the fuck out of me. You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
    “Answer the question!” He lowers his torn jeans and the tinged yellow briefs to his ankle, crouching in the squatting position. His bare ass hovers over the litter box in the center of the room.
    “What the hell are you doing?”
    “Just answer the goddamn question, Man.”
    “No, Dude, I can’t. I’m not a doctor, or a pharmacist.”
    “I’m all out of pills.”
    “I know, I know. Don’t worry about it. We’ll go see the doctor tomorrow.”
    “If you say so, Man.”
    Dude’s eyes wander downward as he defecates into the box. His left eye squints as he squeezes and strains. The grey and green crystal pebbles instantly stick to the brown coiled log. He lifts up his pants and straps his belt around his waist. He peers back down at his fecal pile, maybe to make sure in fact that he really did shit in a box in the middle of his living room. He jabs his finger into the pile. “Still warm,” he mumbles to himself.
    “Do you want anything to drink, Dude?”
    “No! Whatever you do, don’t drink the Kool-Aid. Kool-Aid is the devil!”
    “Kool-Aid, Dude?”
    “Yeah, that’s how they get to everybody. I mean, everybody drinks Kool-Aid. It’s just too sugary sweet. And everybody around here is lemmings at the cliff’s edge. They poisoned the water supply with something evil.”
    “What have you been smoking this morning?”
    “That’s how they try to control us.”
    “Who?”
    “If I told you I would have to kill you.”
    “Are you sure you’re all right, Dude?”
    “What’s the deal with the inquisition, Man?”
    “Never mind, you’re right. Don’t worry about it.”
    “I won’t. Just as long you stay away from the Kool-Aid.”
    “Dude, take it easy. I won’t go near the Kool-Aid. I promise.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “What? Why?”
    “Because you’re with them!”
    “I don’t even know who they are!”
    “Oh, you know very well who they are. They followed you all the way here from Europe. And now they’re going to drown me in a pool of Kool-Aid.”
    “Calm down, Dude, you’re freaking me out!”
    “I won’t let them get me.”
    His dilated black pupils flood his white eyeballs. He steps aggressively towards me. I hear the running water of the shower cease behind me.
    “Relax, Dude, no one here is after you. We’re all on your side.”
    He continues marching in my direction. I step backwards, colliding against the bathroom door. I notice a closing gap between us I can break for. I leap for my chance, but Dude’s hand clamps viciously around my throat. He slams my rag-doll body onto the floor, not relinquishing his hold on my neck. Damn, he is strong. His yellow teeth are clenched so tight they could shatter into his gums at any moment. The veins covering the top of his hands pulsate. I can smell the shit on his fingertips. Out of the corner of my eye, the bathroom door swings open. Guy, dripping wet, arms still crimson and wearing a stained white robe, several sizes too small, stands motionless at the scene in front of him.
    “What the fuck?” Guy asks, still standing in the doorway.
    “Help me, he’s going to kill me,” I shout, gasping for air.
    Guy bolts over to us and seizes Dude’s shoulders.
    “What’s wrong, Dude?” But before he can finish, Dude turns his raging attention on Guy. “Dude! Take a fucking chill pill!” Their arms and legs intertwine awkwardly, and they spiral through the front door and onto the cramped wooden porch. Dude ends up on top of the contorted pile of flesh and bone, and grips Guy’s throat. Behind them, the heavens continue to aggressively downpour. I grasp the breakfast vodka bottle next to me and scurry towards Dude, kicking over a dish of cat food. I raise the bottle over my head.
    But I am blinded by a furry body and a cat’s claws burrow deep into my scalp. The glass bottle drops to the floor. I scream, but only inhale flakes of dander and loose hair. I hear footsteps dash towards me.
    “Hey, Man! Stop trying to poison my cats!”
    I tear the cat from my face and chuck it at Dude’s torso. He yelps in pain as the cat sticks to his shirt. I rush to Guy’s motionless body, still sprawled in the doorway. His chest moves with slow exerting arcs. His throat begins to bruise as a stream of blood trickles down his cheek.
    “I won’t let them get Guy!”
    Dude’s hands jerk my body back into the middle of the room. Before I can gather my senses, he’s back on top of my chest, pinning my shoulders against the floor.
    “It’s all because of you!”
    “Get off you paranoid fuck! I did nothing to you!”
    “It’s all because of you! You’re pure evil! Ever since you got here it’s been raining! You allowed them to follow you here. Right to my home!”
    “No! No one followed me here!”
    “Lies! All lies! And you got my brother taken from me! My own flesh and blood!”
    “No! I loved your Bro!”
    “No! You abandoned all of us! You left us to die in this nowhere town! And now you come back, and you bring them with you! You’re dead to me!”
    He raises his whitened fist. Irrepressible rage floods his face, elevating the pulsing vein in his forehead. With my free hand I reach next to me and grasp the breakfast bottle. I smash it against Dude’s skull. Grains of shattered glass and Russian water splash across the room. His eyes cross. Blood sprays from the side of his head. Dude’s limp body crashes in a heap to the floor. Choking for air, I rise sluggishly to my feet. I hesitate, surveying the horror in front of me; broken glass, puddles of cheap liquor, an injured cat and two battered and bloody psychopaths among piles of garbage. I should stay and try to save my friends. But no, I have to get out of here. I force my legs to budge. I realize I’m running.
    I float down the road, swimming through the raindrops. What the hell just happened? Maybe Dude was right. Maybe I was followed here. Maybe I brought all this rain along with me. Maybe there were flesh-eating microscopic bugs crawling all over my body. Maybe Kool-Aid is a mind-controlling device. Maybe I am one of them.
    My legs burn. My lungs contract rigidly in my chest. I stride by the massive sunflowers – I can’t let them know that I know that they’re watching. Ignore their glare. Avert my eyes. Run. Don’t stop.
    I think I hear an engine approaching behind me. Run faster. Flashing red and blue lights catch the corner of my eye. It can’t be. I must be hallucinating. Don’t panic. It’s all okay. No clever maneuvering required. Just keep moving. No turning back.

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