Double Helix

by Fanny Adams

Hard Core Logo

R-rated

All the usual disclaimers: Do these characters belong to me? Nope. Am I going to make any money on this? Nope. Infringement intended? Nope. Have I covered it? Your call.

Thanks go out to Taz, who midwifed the idea, and to Mairead Triste who suggested I give it just one more push.

Double Helix

by Fanny Adams

"a helix or spiral consisting of two strands in the surface of a cylinder that coil around its axis; especially : the structural arrangement of DNA in space that consists of paired polynucleotide strands stabilized by cross-links between purine and pyrimidine bases" Webster’s Dictionary

So much for a man’s final rest.

The coffin wasn’t my idea of a nice place to spend eternity, but being propped up in Bucky’s hay barn like this is only marginally better. Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m not actually stuck here. I mean, that thing he’s got hidden between hay bales is just a body I used to inhabit. Just so much meat. But I get kind of a kick out of hanging around to see what in the name of sweet, bleeding Jesus Bucky seems to think he’s going to do with it now that it’s vacant. Apart from the obvious, of course, which, I gotta tell you, had me laughing my ghostly ass off. You haven’t seen sick until you’ve watched Bucky Haight try to fuck the mortal remains of Joe Dick.

I watched him try to stroke himself hard which took forever until he thought to turn around and stare at a hay bale instead of me, which should have alerted the dumb fuck to the fact that his heart wasn’t in necrophilia…unless you count fucking Naomi. So once he gets it up, he just stands there, right? I think he was trying to decide whether I’d give good head in my condition, but he opted for fucking me up the ass. Excuse me, fucking my corpse up the ass. Got the head of his cock in after some panting and pushing, and I’m out here in the ether watching everything and screaming with laughter because the poor old fucker is being so uncool about this desecration crap. He’s even starting to gag because the whole thing is making him sick. Good old Bucky, as big a phoney as ever, and deader than I ever could be on my worst ethereal day.

And yet… I find myself thinking "I’m not there, I’m not there," as if all this matters. There is, now, no separation between the façade and the soul.

Never mind that. Lemme tell you about this, about the reason why I decided to hang around when I could be off playing a fucking harp on some big, white cloud: The only problem with suicide is that you pretty much have to figure you’re not gonna get to see what happens next, right? Only I get stone dead and suddenly I’m outside of my body watching everyone run around trying to save my life, which they should be able to see is seriously fucking over because my fucking brains are decorating the pavement! You don’t get better from something like that. There are no pills to fix that sort of lead poisoning.

I really like watching Bruce puke up when he realizes that that isn’t just blood down there but hunks of brain. Hey Bruce, there’s the piece where I stored my memories of you! Nice to be rid of that; fuckin’ hypocrite. Then once I get used to being out here, it’s nothing to keep popping in and out, checking out places I used to like or attending my own wake, staring at my body, amazed at what good embalming can do for someone who has a couple of big holes in his head. Like, how are you going to make that look peaceful, right? But they’ve got some, I dunno, stuff that looks like wax in the holes and it’s covered with makeup and they shaved off my fucking hair and put a goddamn ugly fucking wig on me. Jeezuschrist, you’d have thought I had a reputation to preserve! And the suit…cheap ass thing; and it’s not as if my parents couldn’t afford better but I know my father. "I’m not paying five hundred dollars for a suit that’ll spend the rest of eternity in the ground!" Which of course it didn’t, so I had a good laugh at his expense over that. But for Chrissake, I don’t know why they bothered. If they’d fucking cremated me in my favorite shirt and an old pair of jeans the way I wanted, none of this would be happening now. My parents never did get a clue.

I never thought I’d miss them. There were things left unsaid, things I only now see were important. I never thought I would miss them...

So anyway I see them tuck me away in a nice coffin at least, but I’m only in it for a while and then there’s someone coming to get me…well, it. You know, my body. Anyway, guess who’s out there in the cemetery in the middle of the night, digging me up? Pipefitter. Yeah, the fuckin’ asshole got money from Bucky! Bucky hired Pipe to steal my fuckin’ body! Man, is life just plain weird or what? So what’s the first thing Pipe does when he opens the coffin? He spits in my face. He horks up a big gob and splat! And I want to say, "How original you fuckwad felcher; how long did you practice that in front of the mirror?" But I can’t which is just as well because the complete lack of response disappoints him, I can tell. What a moron. Did he think I’d sit up and fuckin’ cry because he spit in my eye? At least he took the wig off me and kept it as a souvenir.

So he hauls me off to Bucky’s farm and gets paid for his Burke and Hare gig. I was hoping the money would finance a lethal bender and that I’d be talking to him again soon, telling him what a clueless, fucking, sorry-ass piece of shit he really is. No such luck.

My body sits in Bucky’s barn for what seems like ages and I get really bored because every day, old Bucky comes out and gives me crap, like I never showed him respect, I used him, I hurt him… an ugly cross between my parents and some cunt that got herself knocked up and then comes around crying because she wants you to do the "right" thing. I mean, did he dig me up just to win some fuckin’ argument?

Finally one night I hear him making a call. Waits until Naomi is asleep to do it, which is a tip-off that something’s up, and sure enough, he’s phoning Billy. I can hear Bucky saying: "I heard that you’ve got a legal thing going on." (Pause.) "I keep up on what’s going on. (Pause, laugh.) "So you must be pretty sure of winning." (Long pause. Bucky is smiling now, and it looks hideous. My face looks better than his.) "I heard you asked for a DNA test." Suddenly I realize what’s going on; Billy is suing Mary over Billie. He thinks it’s his kid! There is one born every minute, and my Billy is one of them. He knows Mary was with all of us, he knows she fucked the roadies; Christ, she even did Ed Festus!

Mary in her prime was a human, fucking mattress. This is what is called "butch assurance" as in "Of course I’m straight! See my kid? I kept it hard long enough to get a woman pregnant!" Of course she named her kid Billie; she was in love with my Billy. That doesn’t mean he’s the kid’s fuckin’ dad!

"What if the testing proves you can’t be the father?" (Short pause.) "Don’t get so…it was just hypothetical. Yes, I do have a reason for calling." Like Billy, I would love to hear this reason. "I’m guessing, Billy, that you’d also like to know if the child belongs to Joe.."

I knew it was possible, but it never seemed important. Mary is settled and married now; what difference would it have made to me? Billie seemed like a sweet kid, but would I…did I want her? Why would Billy care?

"Why do you say that?" Bucky is asking Billy. I start to pay attention again because I’m losing the thread here. "Everything gone? Not one strand of hair? Billy, you’re too excitable!" So there’s nothing to test; that’s just as well. But then I realize where Bucky is going with this and while half of me sort of applauds his balls, half feels vaguely sick. "I may have something that can help."

Don’t do it, Billy, don’t fall for this. It doesn’t matter. Trust me, it doesn’t matter. v "Yes, you could say it belonged to him. It’s certain to yield some useable DNA." (Pause.) "No, I’d rather not." (Pause.) "No, you’ll have to come to me." (Long pause.) "We’ll discuss what I want when you have what you want."

Don’t do it.

"I think it should be soon. The end of the week is fine. See you then."

Oh Billy, this is stupid. What the hell has made you so stupid? I promise myself I’m not going to be here, not going to watch this transaction, but in the end I can’t help myself. I’m there with them in the kitchen and for just a moment, there’s a look on Billy’s face that says to me that maybe he senses that I’m there. But then it’s over and I have to think it was just wishful thinking on my part. The crazy thing is that seeing him again makes me feel all these weird, tender things that I never could let myself feel when I was alive. Being dead has made me a better human being, I guess, or maybe it’s made Billy easier to cherish.

So much left undone, unsaid between us. So many loose ends. My life was sloppy and now come the regrets.

Bucky is playing with him, making small talk and talking around the reason why Billy is there until finally Billy gets pissed and says, "What do you have and what do you want for it, Bucky? Spit it out or I’m leaving."

"You won’t leave; you want to know."

"If I want to know that badly I can get his mother’s DNA."

"Then why did you come here?"

"Morbid curiosity maybe," Billy says, but I know that there’s something more. He wants to know what possession of mine Bucky could possibly have. He’s still jealous. Christ Billy, don’t you know there was never any reason for jealousy? Certainly not over Bucky. Yes, once I felt something for him; even now I don’t know what it was, but it was nothing compared to what I felt for you.

You were part of me, didn’t you ever realize that?

So then come the negotiations, and what Bucky wants is Billy. What’s said is that he wants to do an "I’m Still Alive" tour, which I have to admit is pretty funny. What’s unsaid is that he wants Billy. He wants Billy’s sweet ass. My perspicacious Billy says to him, "If I take what you’re offering I’ll do the tour, but don’t ever think I’ll let you touch me, Bucky." That’s my boy!

Finally they agree, and Bucky takes him out to the barn. I swear I have not a clue as to what Billy is going to do when he sees my body. Anything could happen. He’s the least predictable person I’ve ever known which is one reason why he’s so fucking exciting to be around. What happens is this: Billy sees me sitting there and his face just freezes like he’s the one who’s dead. Bucky says, "Now you see why I was so sure that I could help?"

"What have you done?" Billy whispers.

"Billy… you disappoint me. I was sure you’d see the beauty in this plan."

Without looking at Bucky, Billy says, "Can you give us a minute alone?" and Bucky walks out of the barn looking pretty smug.

"Jeezus Joe, I thought it was some freaky kid who dug you up. How the hell did you get here? Bucky would never have the balls to rob a grave." He takes out his cigarettes and puts one between my lips, one between his own and lights them both. "I told you Bucky was a fuckin’ loser, didn’t I?" he asks me, pitching the lighted match into the hay at my feet. Then we both watch as the flame creeps across the hay and up into the bales where I’m sitting. He waits until the flame catches my clothes and then he strolls out to join Bucky.

"Well?" Bucky asks.

"No deal, you ghoul. Don’t ever call me again." Then he walks to his car and drives off. It’s just about then that Bucky smells smoke. I begin to laugh.

What’s so fucking funny? Well for one thing, Bucky remembers just as he’s about to dial for the fire trucks that if they come out and find a body in his barn, he is in a lot of deep shit. He can’t call for help and now he’s got to tell Naomi why he’s letting his hay barn burn. Better go move the goats out of their barn and into the pasture, and hose down the house, Bucky. Hey, maybe the wind will shift. Fuckin’ cunt.

****************

Cut to Billy driving down that lonesome highway. He drives for almost an hour, then pulls off the road, lays his head on the steering wheel and cries like a kid who’s lost his candy. It’s strange, really, that even though I don’t have a body or a heart left, I still feel this where my heart used to be like some phantom pain. I ache for him because he is so alone in his own skin now. I know he can’t see or hear or feel me, but I wrap my arms around him as best I can, and kiss the back of his head.

Oh Billy, don’t tear yourself up like this.

And then he lifts his head up and wipes his face with his hands, and he says, "Joe?" Just that. "Joe?"

Silence except for the sound of a car passing. Billy pulls back onto the highway. I stay behind. I can’t be a ghost for him.

I hover for the rest of the day and night at Bucky’s place. Naomi’s gone; I guess the revelation of who’s been staying in their hay barn was too much for her. I can’t feel anger any longer, as if the fire has burned away more than my body. Bucky and I watch until the barn is little more than embers, then he hauls this stinking hunk of Joe Dick-shaped charcoal out of the ashes and plants it under an oak at the far edge of his property.

No service for Joe this time, no prayers or weeping, just cold earth and silence. Blessed silence. Bucky walks back to his empty house. Billy drives on west.

- end -