Semper Prixus (pt 9).

Kyle does as he is told. The bread is in his mouth – his dad gave him the small baked cube and told him that the Shark had to eat it. It’s got to be one of you kids he touched that does it, his dad told him. We were already men when we went to war, so it can’t be one of us. You get him to eat that, and we’re on our way.

Kyle blinks, coming back to the present moment; he is standing under a shower head, the front of his swim suit soaked with warm water that is making him piss. What do you have there? the Shark asks him. He reaches over and flicks the bread out of Kyle’s mouth, holding the wet lump of it in his hand. Oh, he says, and chuckles. That’s cute. You don’t even know what it is, but that’s real cute.

He lets it fall to the tile, where there shower water disintegrates it.

Listen, the Shark says. Don’t fuck with me. He kisses Kyle hard, forcing his tongue into his mouth; it is large and violent, thrashing against his teeth. Kyle gags and moans.

The marine leaves the shower and pads to an open locker; they are leftovers from the ‘50s, repurposed from their time as storage boxes at the mill and are practically coffin sized. Kyle is already charging before the Shark drops his suit and kicks it away, before Kyle can see the rest of the tattoo and try to veer off at the last second but it is too late – he skids on the tile and drives right into the Shark, whose body is solid enough to rattle every tooth in his skull but still momentum does the trick and pushes the old man right inside his locker. As Kyle scrambles to get to his feet, something clamps down on his arm, molten lances piercing the limb as he screams. He pulls free with all of his might and gets the locker door closed, hooking the padlock through the eyehole just as the Shark rams against it mightily.

His voice is low and guttural. Kyle, he said, banging against the door. Kyle, let me out of here and I won’t hurt you. I like you Kyle. Didn’t you like me, Kyle? Let me out, Kyle.

Kyle is frozen, staring at the rusted and dented metal.

LET ME OUT OF HERE YOU LITTLE CUNT, the Shark roars, battering the door with his fists, I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU KYLE I WILL RIP YOUR BALLS OFF AND FEED THEM TO YOU BOY

One of the teenagers that works here walks by, does a double take, and then walks back. Everything all right? he asks Kyle. Your locker stuck?

For a moment Kyle doesn’t know what he means, and then dumb understanding floods him; he laughs. You can’t see him, he says. You can’t fucking see him.

The teen, smiling uncertainly, shakes his head. I don’t know, he says. And all the while the Shark is raging against the metal and promising Kyle all the inventive death he can muster, the door clattering so much that Kyle can barely hear anything else – but the teen doesn’t react at all, just gives Kyle a little wave and exits towards the pool deck.

Everybody knows, Kyle says to the locker, but nobody sees and nobody says nothing. I remember that, motherfucker. I tried to tell somebody what happened but I couldn’t, I mean I actually fucking couldn’t.

Kill you, the Shark mutters from behind the door.

We’ll see, Kyle says, snapping the padlock closed and backs away; when he reaches the doorway he turns and runs for the lobby, jamming a quarter into the payphone and counting one-mississippi-two until his father picks up on the other end.