13. Ode to Madeline: Brad

Ode to Madeline: Brad

“I’M UNHAPPY!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

He immediately dropped to the floor, growling in agony… and manic laughter. “HAHAHAHA! HEEHEEHEEHEE! HOOHOOHOOHOO! YOOOOOWWCHHH!!!! HOHOHOHOHO!!!! I’M SOOOOOO HAPPPPYYYYY!!!!!!! I CAN PLAN BIRTHDAYS AGAIIINNNN!!!!!!”

Okay, this is it, Madeline. Make it or break it. I slightly hovered my hands over his burning body, testing to see if I could be affected by the Divine Flame. Okay, just a little bit more… Just a little… And…

I’m good.

Yes!

The flame doesn’t hurt me; it only hurts him. With the newfound knowledge, I rolled up my sleeves and put both hands on his collar. Okay. 1… 2… 3…

“Urrrggg!!!! Ooooohhh!” I must have taken fifty breaths while trying to drag his worthless ass to the cashier as fast as possible.

Everyone at Costco was still dazed. The guards plopped themselves on the yoga mats and got into meditating poses. The older ladies who were kneeling passed out from shock… or heart attacks… I have no clue. Anyway, I DO NOT have the luxury to dilly-dally around and find out. We have to get out of here! Right now! Before they call the police on this demon clown!

“Hi! Hello! I’d like to ch-check out, please!” I spoke with the raspiest voice, still reeling from the pressure of dragging Mr. BP’s dead weight across the warehouse all the way to the cashier.

The cashier seemed entranced, too. But after a few seconds, she slowly returned to sanity.

“Oh, uh… Yes, of course!” The cashier smiled, but slowly scrunched her brows in confusion. “Umm… Where are your… purchases?”

“Oh, shoot!” I spun around. Where are the bags? Oh, no. Did I forget to take them with me? Where did Mr. BP drop them????

I slapped Mr. BP across his skull with a satisfying “thwang!” The impact shook him only a little, but he had the audacity to sprawl on the floor, putting both hands on his belly like he was a funeral corpse.

“WHERE ARE THE BAGS, BP?!” I kept slapping him back and forth, each hit harder than the last.

Still grinning his stupid, toothy smile, Mr. BP dug into his coat pockets and pulled out our shopping bags, filled with milk, butter, and my depleting patience.

“COULD YOU NOT, MISTER?” I planted my palm on his skull one more time for good measure. “Hand it over!” I snatched the contents from his hands.

The cashier flashed a nervous customer-service smile. “Haha… Your husband must be a real handful!”

“HE’S NOT MY HUSBAND!” From the corner of my eyes, I could’ve sworn Mr. BP grinned harder.

“Oh? Apologies,” she started scanning the items. “Are you two still engaged? That’s okay! We all have ‘couple-troubles’ from time to time.” She winked.

“Nonononono! This is a misunderstanding!”

“Alright! Do you have a Costco Gold Star Membership card?” The cashier has already finished putting our stuff in the bags.

“Uh… No, I don’t! I’d like to p-pay with debit, please.” I said, shaking and tapping my foot repeatedly against the register table.

“Okay!” She clicked a few buttons and motioned me to tap the card. I swiped it in half a millisecond.

“Okay! All done, thank you for your patronag—”

I didn’t hear the rest. By the time she finished that sentence, I think we were already halfway across Costco’s parking lot. I bolted to the car and dragged Mr. BP by the collar, shopping bags fluttering in the wind.

The rest were a blur. I remembered shifting the car into gear and speeding down the road, frantically tapping my fingers on the wheel while waiting for the red light to turn green. I was also hurling the worst swear words I knew at Mr. BP, sizzling with smokes, lying dazed in the back, and probably dreaming about birthday parties.

And before any of you say I’m breaking my own rules by swearing. SHUT THE HELL UP!

☆☆☆

The street sign read “Kitsilano” when I turned left and drove down the road. The crisp ocean air filled my lungs, granting me a well-deserved calmness. The car radio was playing some Ghibli piano music, and honestly, if it hadn’t been playing, I would have remained a hot mess. From the shore, I could catch a glimpse of huge cargo ships. They were moving so slowly it felt like they weren’t moving at all. Next to the side, the soft green flora of Stanley Park stood in stark contrast to the clear, blue ocean. I couldn’t see too many bikers or walkers, but on every weekend, everyone you know, from bikers, elderly couples, skateboarders, to skaters would roll along the Stanley Seawall. I could barely see them, but I could hear their shouts, their joy, and their energy from a mile away, carried by the wind to my home, Kitsilano.

Hard to believe we’ve only moved here a year ago. It felt like a millennium.

A house with a navy blue roof stood out from the modern-style houses of the area. Before I bought it, I heard about an older couple who used to live there, but due to an accident, they passed away. Struck with grief, their son sold it dirt-cheap. I could hardly believe it at first—he was practically giving away this gorgeous seaside-view house. Perhaps, some memories were hard to carry…

The walls had a sandy-yellow colour, which Asha was so excited about. She called it our “beach home.” The gardens always exuded a vibrant red and violet from all the tomatoes and berries. I could tell the old couple had a love for fresh fruits, so I tried my best to maintain the garden. There are still downsides, of course, like the house’s near-broken pipes and heaters, but I love it nonetheless.

But all this goodness would come crumbling down brick by brick. By the time I reached my door and fumbled for the keys, I still couldn’t believe how sideways this morning went.

“We’re home…” I stepped inside, as my legs gave out in tandem. I flopped ungracefully to the floor.

“YES! WE ARE INDEED!” The demon sprang through the door and began prancing around the house, whistling the melodies to “Happy Birthday.”

“Sit down. I’m unhappy,” I was too drained to raise my voice.

He smashed to the floor, falling in the exact spot where he had wrecked from passing out yesterday.

“We need to talk, BP.”

“YEOOOOOWWWWWCH!!!! WHAAAAATTT! IS THERE! TO TALK! ABOUT?!”

I managed to crawl over to him. Gripping his horns tightly, I could feel the rough ridges and grooves of his ugly demon headpiece. I pulled his head closer until our faces were inches apart.

“Our souls are linked by the Blood Contract.” I tried to glare, but it looked more like I was tripping on shrooms. “Do you wish not to get hurt? Then all you have to do is make me happy. What part of that do you not understand?”

He violently gagged and coughed like Asha when she caught the flu, which made the flame enter his lungs, enflaming his insides mercilessly. That is, if he even has organs and guts. Like a human. But we all know that’s not true.

“I… have limits, Mr. BP,” I threw his head down and propped myself against the wall. “You demons may have infinite energy, but I don’t.”

“Hoooo… Haaaaa… Yeeeeaaaah… Screw you, Madeline.”

“Screw you, too…” I flipped the bird.

“BUT! You can’t stop me! I know Asha has a birthday coming up! Muahahahahaha!” He cackled maniacally.

“You KNOW I won’t be happy if you keep at it with your stupid birthday planning. If you so much as GRAZE my daughter’s hair, I will burn you. So… Why even try?”

“When a man has a goal, dear Madeline, he will stop at nothing! Nothing! To taste that success and swallow it whole!”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

I facepalmed, massaging my eyes to keep myself sane. “Listen. I know you demons don’t have human brains, but you’re smart enough to know that you are under MY control. So, for the sake of Christ, behave.”

“...”

“Alright. Fine. Stay silent. I will burn you as many times as it takes.”

“Well… Do your worst! I am passionate! Unlike you!” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, his head turning the other way.

“Sure. Ahem,” I cleared my throat, preparing to say “unhappy” a thousand times.

The doorbell rang, stopping me in my tracks.

“Huh?” I checked the clock. It was one hour past noon. If I were inviting anyone over for supper, it would be too late.

“Who’s that?” He asked, suddenly interested.

“Shut up.”

I rushed to the door. Before I even leaned in the peephole, a noxious fume of alcohol permeated through the door cracks. Oh, no. It could be him. That chilling sensation had returned, and my body refused to lean closer and see.

“Well, who is it?” Mr. BP dashed over. “Lemme get a look.”

He peeped through the hole for an uncomfortably long time.

“Well, I haven’t a clue who this bozo is. Do you, Madeline?” He pointed to the hole.

The doorbell rang one more time. And I… I can’t let him in.

“Step away from the door, Mr. BP,” I said, walking over to the fridge. If I remember correctly, my shotgun is around here somewhere…

“What are you… Oh. OH! HOLY MOLY, YOU HAD THAT?”

“Open the door, Mr. BP.” I cocked the shotgun. If I also remember correctly, I should mount my gun like… this. Perfect.

“Alright,” he turned the knob. “We ‘bouta have a good show.”

The door creaked open slowly, and shadows made their way in. My nerves were crunched into pure concentration. Make it or break it, Madeline. Do not let down your aim.

One hideous man stood in the doorway, his presence alone staining the landscape of my home. And just as I thought: this man was pissed drunk.

“Heeyyyy!!! If it isn’t Baddie Maddy!” He bellowed.

“Brad. What are you doing here?” I barely blinked, so my line of sight could be straighter.

He stared at me with his big, beady eyes that always seemed to pop out. They were bloodshot. In the corner of his mouth, brownish drool dripped down his bulbous lips. He was more animal than man.

“Woah! What’s that big th-thin-ing you got, baby girl? It’s so th-thi-ick! Like my d-dd-dddick!” He staggered, spits sputtering from his trap to my floor.

“Watch your mouth. The next word you say may be your last.”

“Maddy… It’s like you’re an action-movie actresssssss! Like from the films we watched!”

“Get off my property. Or else.” I stepped closer, gun aimed at his head.

“Y-your property? That’s s-s-s-soooooo funnnyyyy, Maddy! When did your wh-who-ore mouth learn to say such h-hurtful words?”

I almost flinched. The coldness ran across my arms freely, threatening to break my posture. “I will c-call the cops,” I actually flinched, biting my tongue. “Ow... ”

“Urp! Uh. Urrpppp!” He let out a revolting belch, belly rumbling like an avalanche. “Nope! I don’t give a shit! I’m here to stay! ‘Cuz my thicky dicky neeeeeeeeeeeds a good licky!”

“Leave. Now.” Before the chill retakes me. Please.

He flicked forward without warning, forcing me to take one step back to maintain line of sight.

“Ha! Made you flinch! Hahahahahaha!” He howled in laughter. “After all these years, you’re still just a little ssssssssslut!”

“I’m warning you, Bra—”

“Baby, I d-ddon’t th-think so!” He stepped closer, a noxious stench flowing around him like he had just rolled out of the landfill. “D-did you ffffffforget who plowed your assssssssss that n-night? Urp.”

“I told you to GET OUT! Don’t make me say it twice!” I gritted my teeth, feeling long-lost emotions I’ve learned to suppress. They were trying to take over my mind. And I don’t know if I can hold them back for long.

“F-fuck yo—Wait a second… Who’s that fella?” Brad stopped, his feet just halfway through the door frame.

Mr. BP was sitting cross-legged on a nearby chair. “Yo. Mmmm… Nom, nom, nom, nom…” he mumbled, chewing… wait… popcorns?! When did he…?

“Mr. BP! What are you—”

“Shut up, slut! Heyyyy, what’s good, my dude? How you doin’? Also, don’t tell me you’re…” Brad paused and scratched his greasy blond hair, “... her newest fuuuuuuckboy?”

“Nom, nom, nom, nom, nom… Darn, this stuff’s good,” Mr. BP kept chewing.

“Oh, man! Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man, oh, man! Shit! I was so g-gullible! Urp! You’re such a whore, Maddy! I was gone for… what? One day? Two? Who the fuck knows? And you already got yourself a new man! What the ff-fffffu-uck, bitch? Werp.” He belched.

Shit! Mr. BP still got his human disguise on!

“This is a misunderstanding, Brad! Get your shit and get out—”

He punched the doorframe, leaving yet another crack for me to fix. But now I could see what was in his right hand—a broken, sharp Heineken bottle.

“Maddy! C’mon! Give Daddy a big ol’ hug!” Brad stretched his beastly arms open, strolling toward my gun’s muzzle. “Like a gooooooooood girl!”

I’m at my wits’ end. Do I shoot? Do I not? Nononono… I will have another body to clean and dispose of. I guess I can get Mr. BP to eat him? Maybe? What am I thinking? No killing!

“I will shoot! Don’t come closer!” I took one more step backward. “I will—”

“Yap, yap, yap. Yappity-yap-yap. Open wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide!”

His awful words formed a tight knot in my guts, and my aim was trembling. I tried taking one more step back, but my feet refused to move! They were rooted to the ground, frozen, as the chill climbed to the edge of my face. I could feel my cheeks tingling, like piles upon piles of glass were thrown at me, shattering everywhere.

C’mon… C’mon… SHOOT! SHOOT HIM! Madeline, SHOOT HIM RIGHT NOW! Do you hear yourself? LISTEN TO YOUR GUTS. SHOOT THAT BASTARD! THIS IS YOUR CHANCE! SHOOT!

“Brad, please… get away from me…”

“Daddy’s coming! Urrrrrggggggg! I’ve missed your mouth, you wh-whoooore! Urp. It was like a vvvvvvvacuum!”

“Stay away…”

I stood frozen in the far corner of the house. A mountain of snow towered over me again. Again. Again and again. I can’t. I had to forget. I told myself I had to. But before I knew it, I was already tasting a salty liquid, pouring from my eyes, burning my retinas…

“Ahhh… Awwww… Whatchu crying for, baby girl?!” Brad roared, staring at everything but my eyes. Just like back then.

In the midst of my icy hell, I remembered Asha. The day she was born. The hour she was placed in my arms. She doesn’t know. She mustn’t know. I’m sorry, Asha. I’m sorry for birthing you. How can I ever make it up to you?

“Click.” I gripped the barrel. He was inches away. Asha, I know what to do now. I will finish it. Once and for all.

But before I could pull the trigger, the demon swooped in between us.

“Hey! What the hell, dude? Get ou—”

“CUT! CUT! BRAVO! HOLY MAMA MARY RULE 34! You guys are the BEST actors of the modern ages that I have ever laid my eyes upon! Y’all are a DEFINING example for the industry! If you know what I mean!” He winked with both eyes consecutively, grinning his stupid toothy smile.

Brad scrunched his dirty brows as he sized Mr. BP up and down. “Wanna go, bro? I box, bitc—”

“10 OUT OF 10! WOW! EVEN WHEN THE CAMERA AIN’T ROLLING, YOU’RE STILL IN CHARACTER! Perfecto! Anyway, I just got one teeny-tiny, very, very small problem.”

“Wha—”

“Umm… So the script seems pretty lazily written to me,” he flipped over an imaginary script. “Like, my brother in Satan, look at this: who in the absolute Hell is this Brad fellow? Did this bozo just stroll on the stage? Like, whaaaaatt?”

“Urp. What did y-you say—”

“Yo, Maddy!” He completely ignored Brad. “Who is this idiot?”

“Don’t call me that,” I replied, wiping my eyes. “He’s just someone that needs to GET OUT right now, you know?” I glanced at Brad.

“Agreed, Madeline. But like, who is he? To you?”

“What do you mean?” I played dumb. Mr. BP, don’t you dare…

“Like, is he your one-night fling or something?” He pointed at Brad’s chest with a thumb.

“I’m unhappy.”

“AAHAHHEHEHDWCWOWODOODODOSKIWJO!!!!” He burned in agony.

“Yo, what the fuck, dude?” Brad flinched back. He probably has never seen a live immolation before.

“Do not. Ever. Ask this again. Roger?”

“YYESSSSSS!!! MA’AM!!!!! OWWWW!!! OOOOOHH!!!” He sizzled.

“But if you must know…” I closed one eye and swirled the gun at Brad.

“He’s my daughter’s father.”

Mr. BP stopped flailing his arms and immediately stood straight up, flame still burning on his back, chest, and head. And his toothy jaws contorted into the widest grin.

“NO WAY! I DID IT! I solved the code! I PREDICTED THE PLOT! YEEEAAAAHHH!!!” He yelled, raising his arms in pure, unadulterated amazement. “ABSOLUTE CINEMA!”

I let out a tired sigh. This guy, I swear.

“BRAD IS ASHA’S DADDYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!”