"Incessant Smile" by A. Craig Newman(© 2012)
Writer's Notes:
I've never had this story published, but I think it's one of my best. In the least, it's one of my most ambitious stories, as I was intentionally trying channel a bit of Edgar Allan Poe. Also, this story won me my favorite compliment. After reading this story at a conference, I sought out my father who was in the audience. When I found him and asked him what he thought, he said, "I'm never smiling at you again. There's something wrong with you." HA! Best praise ever! -ACN
I've never had this story published, but I think it's one of my best. In the least, it's one of my most ambitious stories, as I was intentionally trying channel a bit of Edgar Allan Poe. Also, this story won me my favorite compliment. After reading this story at a conference, I sought out my father who was in the audience. When I found him and asked him what he thought, he said, "I'm never smiling at you again. There's something wrong with you." HA! Best praise ever! -ACN
I am Edward J. Kane. This statement will be my final confession. (Does a lunatic’s confession matter to anyone?)
Many years ago, I was "Eddie Jay", always joking, always smiling. My wife and I lived comfortably in a Boston suburb. I had been a successful lawyer, and later, a judge. I had what men want: respect, power, money, and love. The life I lived was perfect.
No life is safe from misfortune. I lost everything, starting with my job. The district reorganized and my judgeship vanished. Many of the top firms in the area had lost cases I adjudicated. I was blacklisted. No one would hire me.
Then, the truth about my wife came to light. I started hearing rumours that this good, loving woman of mine met strangers for anonymous sex. Friends and family reluctantly told me the tales. One day, I confronted her. She said these rumours were the truth. I started divorce proceedings the next day. As we settled our affairs, she would recount sordid details, and blindside me with all sorts of revelations of encounters, never failing to mention that each was better than any she had with me in every conceivable dimension. Each account would be peppered with a grating, high-pitched, staccato laugh I once thought melodic.
Eventually, I found a job teaching at a law school in Boston. After working at the school a month, things were starting to look up. Then, early one evening, someone sprayed mace in my eyes and bashed me on the head with a pipe. The perpetrator proceeded to kick me in the back, head, ribs, and stomach as I tried to curl into a protective ball. Emboldened by my lack of resistance, he knelt over my cowering body and continued the brutal assault, beating me with the pipe. Eventually, he took my wallet, watch, briefcase, and laptop and casually walked away. I lay there in the dark for some time, wincing from the throbbing pain of cuts, bruises, and broken ribs, grateful only for the rainwater in the gutter that washed the chemicals from my eyes.
The last of Eddie Jay was washed away, too. After I recovered, my house became a shelter and a prison. I rarely returned calls and stopped letting in well-meaning visitors. I shut them out, and myself in. My only excursions were for work or buying necessities. The first necessity I bought was a 0.38-caliber Ruger Snub-nose which I kept holstered in the small of my back.
In September of that year, I met Nikko Hohoemi. She was the Japanese piece of work who sat in the second row in my International Business Law class. Every minute of every class, dead center of my view, she sat with the most distracting smile I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing. Its presence was constant though some details changed. Sometimes, just curl of her lips. Other times, flashing each perfect tooth. Often accompanying the damned thing was a familiar, irritating laugh that I hated before I met her. Usually, the rest of her face held uninterested or bored expressions like the other students. Nevertheless, every time I was in the class, I saw that smile. She seemed immune to having depressing bad days, smiling all the time without help from drugs or delusions. Every class, for the entire class, that smile was present as sure as she was.
After classes, I made a habit of going to the campus library to avoid student interaction. In an isolation booth in the rear of the main floor, I was able to shut out the world. Every now and then, a wisp of a conversation would find its way in to spoil my solitude. Such disturbances were usually transitory and ignorable. But one day, Nikko took up a position right outside my door and proceeded to blather with someone.
A male voice said, "So that's it? You two are done?"
"Yeah, we broke up Saturday." I could not see the participants, but I knew that voice. Worse yet, I could hear it in how she spoke that she was smiling.
The guy asked, "Are you…ok? You know…feeling ok about this?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." She spoke back without any hesitation.
There was a small pause. When he spoke again, the position of his voice had changed. They may have been looking for books as they talked. "You loved him, didn't you?"
"Well, I did. I do. I'm not happy that we broke up, but I know why it happened. It was a good choice. He wants me to stay and I know I'm not going to be able to. He wants a woman that I've never been able to be. I want to be with him, but I know that it would never really work in the long term." When I closed my eyes, I could see her standing there chatting vapidly, grinning like Buddha.
"You seem to be handling this pretty well."
"I saw this coming a long time ago. I've had plenty of time to get used to the idea. I'm not going to waste any more tears or time on it. Let other people cry their hearts out over doomed relationships. For me, reacting that way at this point would be foolish."
So casual. Calloused to the pain of others. I hated her more. Each grin-wrapped word was another log to the fire in my heart. This fire would not just burn in me. She had to burn, too.
Nikko was a driven, straight-A student in the running for valedictorian at the end of next semester. Having seen her ambitious nature in action, I figured killing her chances at that prestige on graduation day would give her a frown. I could make this happen.
In the next round of testing for her class, there were three different sets of exam questions: Regular Questions A, Regular Questions B, and Nikko Questions. Sets A and B were on 40 different exams in different orders and combinations. But Nikko Questions were only on one exam. Her test was not blatantly planned against her. I was careful. The questions in her set were similar to the questions in other sets, just off by a critical word or phrase, easy to overlook or explain away.
I offered Nikko a position as my assistant. This position would keep her under the microscope. I would know when that smiled was dead. Also, no charge of bias brought against me would stand under the weight of a kindly offered employment position. I wore the guise of an honest professor, grading against a student due to substandard work.
Nikko had an amazing ability to learn and adapt. Her 4.0-GPA was well-earned. The more I aimed for weaknesses, the more she volleyed back with work of improving quality. Yet, as the fall semester drew to a close, I had to give her an 89, a high B. Her perfect GPA and her shot at valedictorian were no more. After working so hard for so long, she would miss perfection by one point so close to the end.
The day after the grades were reported, I walked with a touch of joy. It was short lived. When I entered the office, she looked at me with a brilliant smile. I moved directly to discussing her grade.
"Nikko, I just wanted to apologize for the way the grade turned out."
"Professor, it's okay. You put me through my paces this semester. You really challenged me. I would have liked an A, but that was one hard-fought B. Frankly, I'm proud of it. Besides, now I get to relax. I don't have to be perfect any more. Vying for Top Dog can be so stressful, you know? "
Her words and tone spoke of resignation, but that accursed smile betrayed her unflinching glee. Defeated, I grinned and nodded and walked away, scheming anew.
I was careful to maintain a positive relationship, chatting with her on a regular basis. These talks kept the appearance that I was a good friend, as well as helping me gain valuable insight into her life. Wading through the dross of her conversation, I found the instrument of my next attack.
Lincoln was the name of Nikko's German shepherd-husky mutt. Actually, the dog belonged to the aunt and uncle with whom she stayed, but Nikko's love and affection for animals made the dog hers in her heart. With the school's Christmas break approaching, I realized that I could make use of Lincoln.
I waited until the last week of classes. She would come to work one more time before the break. I drove to her house, a rancher that sat on a fenced-in corner lot in a suburban family neighborhood. The east side of the house faced a heavily wooded park. Wearing hunter's camouflage, I stayed far back from the road and under the cover of the leafless trees, but still within view of the house's backyard if I used my field glasses. After a while, the backdoor of the house opened and Nikko appeared, leading a quiet, but spirited, dog. She took him to a leash near a doghouse by the street-side fence. When she went back inside, I emerged from the woods and made my way over to that part of the fence. I brought a bag of special doggie treats. Each mini-meatball was wrapped around one of my prescription sleeping pills. I had about thirty of these and I fed that furry mongrel as many as I could get to him through the chain-link without drawing attention. He swallowed more than half of my stash before losing interest. Quickly, I moved back to hiding in the woods. No one saw me. I watched Lincoln stagger about. Drunkenly, he made his way inside the doghouse and lay down. I watched intently, counting the seconds between the dog’s breaths. The interval grew until I found myself counting with no apparent end in sight.
I wondered if I would get a teary call explaining that she couldn’t come in to work. What I got was her smiling face greeting me at her desk. That blasted grin caught me like a buck on a dark road staring down an SUV. She was even on time. I could have screamed the moment I saw her, but I forced myself to remain calm.
"Hi, Professor." I noticed a hitch in her voice and saw her cheeks shined a little more than usual. She had been crying. In fact, she was crying still. Yet, even through tears, the smile remained.
"Hello, Nikko. How are you?" I asked, careful not to reveal any unusual concern.
"Well, I've been better," she said in a sigh. "Lincoln died last night."
"No!" I said, exaggerating my surprise. "Oh, Nikko, I'm so sad to hear that. I know how much you love Lincoln. You must feel terrible." I had practiced that bit, hoping to hit that right combination of concern, disbelief, and shock and to help to bring some of her sadness to the surface.
At first, she only shrugged. And smiled. "Lincoln was great, but he was old. Everyone knew his time had to be coming soon. But then, he goes out, lies down, and goes to sleep. That's how we found him. No pain. No suffering. Just…off to sleep. How could the end come any better? He just took a nap. "
Defeated again, I grew desperate. "Well, I know Lincoln was very important to you. Not having him must feel very empty. If you need to take some time off and mourn, it's okay with me. I can handle things around here."
"No, I'm fine," she replied, her voice solemn but her face scarred with that damned grin. "It's better that I'm at work. It gives me something to do. It's a good diversion, you know?"
My defeat was complete. Not only did I not make that smile fade, I provided her with a means of working through her pain and filling some empty hours of her day.
"Oh, Mr. Kane, did I tell you that I'm not going to be back next semester?"
The sentence sliced through my musings. I took a quick second to collect my thoughts before answering. "No, you didn't tell me. Why aren't you returning?"
"I need to return home. The family business needs me." She said it like she was going home to work the farm. In truth, her family owned a leading industrial plastics manufacturer. "My father says I need to begin stepping in as the family's legal advisor. I'll have to finish my education in Japan."
I was to be free of her. Let her family deal with her perpetual beaming and idiotic perkiness. She was no longer to be my problem.
Over the holiday break, I was haunted by that smile. I dreamt of it. I would awake to find the image of her smile displaying as real as life then fading before my eyes. Every stupid smiling Santa reminded me of her. The smile would never let me be free. I thought of one thing that could kill her joy.
I followed her day and night. From before the first light of morning until her lights went out at night, I knew where she was. Watched her moves. Trailed her steps. I rented cars of different sizes, and colors. My technique was perfect. She never looked twice at me.
My patience – perhaps my last virtue – was tried. Nikko was often with family and friends in this holiday season. She had a near-constant stream of visitors; all spending moments with their friend whom they may not see again. She was alone a few times during the day while running errands, but the light and the activity about her discouraged me. I could only watch her scurry about. At night, the best time for me, she rarely ventured out alone. For days, I followed, waiting for the moment when she was alone and out at night.
After two weeks of tailing her, I got my chance. It was a Wednesday night and the prayer meeting at her church had just ended. I waited in the pharmacy parking lot across the road, watching her car. Around 10 o'clock, the congregation made their way out and drove off, leaving Nikko's car as one of the few still in the lot. Soon, lights began to shut off inside the church. My target emerged, arms full of wrapped boxes and gift bags. Apparently, they had thrown her a going away party. One man, perhaps the pastor of this flock, and one woman came out with her, carrying gifts and locking up.
I realized the man and woman could possibly leave before Nikko. This could be my moment. Careful not to draw attention, I exited the car, and made my way across the highway.
By a tree just outside the range of a streetlight, I spied her actions. She set her gifts down and hugged each of her companions. The woman set down the few things she carried, received her hug, spoke some parting words, and was off to her car. The gentleman offered to help Nikko pack her car, but she turned him away. They hugged, there were some more parting words, and then off he went to his vehicle.
Finally, Nikko was alone.
After a deep breath to calm my nerves, I took a ski mask from my coat pocket and pulled it over my face. I drew my 0.38 and peeked at my target, whose back was to me as she packed her trunk. Staying away from the light, I walked quickly but quietly. Each step made my heart beat faster. I wanted to sprint over and grab her, but I reined in that impulse. She moved the last gift into place, closed the trunk, and turned. That was the first time she noticed me, a masked man aiming a gun at her face. She gasped and flinched, dropping her keys and backing up to her car's trunk.
"Pick 'em up," I said in the deep, gruff tone I had practiced. She did not move at first. "Pick 'em up!" She finally moved, grabbing the keys off the ground, and then retreating to her place on the trunk.
The lot faced the highway and was too open a space. The back of the church, however, was much more secluded, surrounded by a field on two sides and a wooded area on the third. "To the back. Let's go."
She started to cry, "No…No…No." Her face was too much in shadow. I couldn’t see if she smiled or not.
"Move to the back, now." She started moving, but stopped to plead some more. I cocked the gun. She went silent when she heard the click. "Move it, Bitch!" Sniffling, crying, and pleading, she led our procession. I made her stand under a lamp illuminating the backdoor. When she moved into place, I saw the smile. Even through the tears and terror, she smiled.
I stuck with my plan. "Open your purse and put all your jewelry in it."
She whined, but proceeded to follow my instructions. First, her earrings, good luck charms given to her by her mother before coming to college, went into the bag. Her high school class ring was next. Finally, the watch, with its inscription "To my Light, Love Daddy" clinked in the bag. She held the bag out to me.
"And, the locket." I knew she would try to hold on to it. The locket she always wore was the last gift to her from her late grandmother. It was handcrafted and held the only picture she had of her grandparents. Her blouse and coat hid the locket from view, but I knew she always wore it.
Still weeping, she loaded it into the bag. She held the bag out, and I got another good look at her face. The smile shone. She was crying a waterfall, but that smile never showed it.
Before that moment, I had never struck another person in anger in my entire life. Not even a slap of a beaming, wanton Jezebel provoking me. The vapid beaming enraged me like nothing ever had before. I acted on animal instincts.
With one smack with the gun, she fell back against the church, the bag of jewellery falling at her feet. Each time I struck her, I felt stronger, more powerful, more the victor, knowing I would not be denied my success in this mission.
In the church's light and the winter's night, she turned her face to me and froze my violent spirit cold with a smile created by lunacy. Blood flowed, but that smile was clear, unabated or obscured. It showed no signs of damage; the rest of her face showed few signs of health.
Stepping away from her and that demonic smirk, I screamed, howling at the heavens in frustration and futility. There were no more tricks. No more weapons. Nothing.
"Damn you, you smiling bitch! It's not fair!"
"Professor Kane?" she asked. In my rage, I dropped my verbal disguise, and she clued in on my identity. I pulled off my mask, but stayed out of the light.
"How dare you? Has it ever occurred to you that's fucking rude? Real people with real lives have real problems and they really fucking frown! And you come along and rub your smile in everyone's face. What gives you the right? What do you have to smile so fucking much about? What have you done to deserve being so happy?
"For years, I made things fair. I made things right. I balanced the scales. I tried to make things better and I lost my job. I tried to make my wife happy and the whore stabbed me in the back. I get beat like a dog and no one catches the bastard. For years, I busted my ass making life fair! That wasn't just my job. It was my life! Who's here to make life fair for me? No one! So, fuck everything I've done because it doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I'm getting nothing for it.
"But you. You. You smile all the livelong day. Nothing's ever wrong for you. You break up with your boyfriend and lose your perfect GPA and your dog is killed and never a frown. Always smiling. I kick you like a damn soccer ball, and you keep smiling. It's not fair! You don't deserve it! What have you done to earn to right to be so fucking happy? Stop smiling at me, goddamn it!"
Using the church wall for support, she picked herself up. Still stooped and leaning against the building, she looked at me. "Killed?" she said. The word hung in the air between us. Behind it, her eyes changed from innocent and scared to accusing and spiteful. The smile never dimmed. "I told you my dog died. Why did you say 'killed'?"
I teased her by speaking in a mock care-free tone. "Because I killed it. Fed the little bastard sleeping pills."
She breathed heavy as she took in the information. "You stole my 4.0, didn't you? You rigged it, you sick son of a bitch."
I nodded enthusiastically. "You bet your ass I did. So why don't you stop smiling about it?"
She wiped her face with the palms of her hands and held them out for me to see. They were covered in blood, tears, and dirt. "I'm not smiling!"
The smile on her face grew wider. It twisted and waved and stretched out towards the horizon. The world warped like the reflections in funhouse mirrors, centered entirely on this impossibly long smile, undulating and coiling like tentacles that reached for me. I could no longer see her face behind the serpentine malevolence of the grin, but I heard her voice ringing like broken bells in my head. "I'm not smiling, you fucking psycho. When have you ever known anyone to cry, bleed, and smile? I can't believe you killed Lincoln. And what boyfriend are you talking about?"
I heard her continue to sob and scream, but all I could see was this otherworldly thing that seemed to warp the universe around itself. I fell backwards trying to move away when the clank of metal on stone reached my ears. My hand still held the forgotten revolver. I aimed for the center of the mouth and fired all five rounds in quick succession. Silently, the smile burst, blowing into the wind like streamers and confetti. The world I knew had corrected itself. Before me, the only thing standing was the church.
The body of my victim lay on the ground. At least two of my shots passed through her mouth. So much of her face was gone from the now grotesque figure that used to be Nikko.
Then, it was back. Her face was unrecognizable, but the smile was clear, perfect, and undamaged in any way.
When the police found me, I was on my knees over her body, striking at the smile, never hitting the target, but hearing the squish-squish-squish of blow after blow landing somewhere behind it. My hands were cut and bloody, but still I tried to eliminate the everlasting.
Shock and confusion followed as everyone asked why and how this could happen but no one understood the answer. I was convicted – guilty of a dozen crimes (murder, assault, and kidnapping to name a few) – and sentenced to life in prison. Such is my life penalty. Forced to live, forever haunted. Every face, every dream, every scene, every instance, every moment—I see it. Floating in space, caught in my vision like a camera flash. Attached to the faces I see. Every face smiles with the grin of the dead girl. I shall live a long life of fear, madness, and solitude, accompanied only by that incessant smile.
Many years ago, I was "Eddie Jay", always joking, always smiling. My wife and I lived comfortably in a Boston suburb. I had been a successful lawyer, and later, a judge. I had what men want: respect, power, money, and love. The life I lived was perfect.
No life is safe from misfortune. I lost everything, starting with my job. The district reorganized and my judgeship vanished. Many of the top firms in the area had lost cases I adjudicated. I was blacklisted. No one would hire me.
Then, the truth about my wife came to light. I started hearing rumours that this good, loving woman of mine met strangers for anonymous sex. Friends and family reluctantly told me the tales. One day, I confronted her. She said these rumours were the truth. I started divorce proceedings the next day. As we settled our affairs, she would recount sordid details, and blindside me with all sorts of revelations of encounters, never failing to mention that each was better than any she had with me in every conceivable dimension. Each account would be peppered with a grating, high-pitched, staccato laugh I once thought melodic.
Eventually, I found a job teaching at a law school in Boston. After working at the school a month, things were starting to look up. Then, early one evening, someone sprayed mace in my eyes and bashed me on the head with a pipe. The perpetrator proceeded to kick me in the back, head, ribs, and stomach as I tried to curl into a protective ball. Emboldened by my lack of resistance, he knelt over my cowering body and continued the brutal assault, beating me with the pipe. Eventually, he took my wallet, watch, briefcase, and laptop and casually walked away. I lay there in the dark for some time, wincing from the throbbing pain of cuts, bruises, and broken ribs, grateful only for the rainwater in the gutter that washed the chemicals from my eyes.
The last of Eddie Jay was washed away, too. After I recovered, my house became a shelter and a prison. I rarely returned calls and stopped letting in well-meaning visitors. I shut them out, and myself in. My only excursions were for work or buying necessities. The first necessity I bought was a 0.38-caliber Ruger Snub-nose which I kept holstered in the small of my back.
In September of that year, I met Nikko Hohoemi. She was the Japanese piece of work who sat in the second row in my International Business Law class. Every minute of every class, dead center of my view, she sat with the most distracting smile I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing. Its presence was constant though some details changed. Sometimes, just curl of her lips. Other times, flashing each perfect tooth. Often accompanying the damned thing was a familiar, irritating laugh that I hated before I met her. Usually, the rest of her face held uninterested or bored expressions like the other students. Nevertheless, every time I was in the class, I saw that smile. She seemed immune to having depressing bad days, smiling all the time without help from drugs or delusions. Every class, for the entire class, that smile was present as sure as she was.
After classes, I made a habit of going to the campus library to avoid student interaction. In an isolation booth in the rear of the main floor, I was able to shut out the world. Every now and then, a wisp of a conversation would find its way in to spoil my solitude. Such disturbances were usually transitory and ignorable. But one day, Nikko took up a position right outside my door and proceeded to blather with someone.
A male voice said, "So that's it? You two are done?"
"Yeah, we broke up Saturday." I could not see the participants, but I knew that voice. Worse yet, I could hear it in how she spoke that she was smiling.
The guy asked, "Are you…ok? You know…feeling ok about this?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." She spoke back without any hesitation.
There was a small pause. When he spoke again, the position of his voice had changed. They may have been looking for books as they talked. "You loved him, didn't you?"
"Well, I did. I do. I'm not happy that we broke up, but I know why it happened. It was a good choice. He wants me to stay and I know I'm not going to be able to. He wants a woman that I've never been able to be. I want to be with him, but I know that it would never really work in the long term." When I closed my eyes, I could see her standing there chatting vapidly, grinning like Buddha.
"You seem to be handling this pretty well."
"I saw this coming a long time ago. I've had plenty of time to get used to the idea. I'm not going to waste any more tears or time on it. Let other people cry their hearts out over doomed relationships. For me, reacting that way at this point would be foolish."
So casual. Calloused to the pain of others. I hated her more. Each grin-wrapped word was another log to the fire in my heart. This fire would not just burn in me. She had to burn, too.
Nikko was a driven, straight-A student in the running for valedictorian at the end of next semester. Having seen her ambitious nature in action, I figured killing her chances at that prestige on graduation day would give her a frown. I could make this happen.
In the next round of testing for her class, there were three different sets of exam questions: Regular Questions A, Regular Questions B, and Nikko Questions. Sets A and B were on 40 different exams in different orders and combinations. But Nikko Questions were only on one exam. Her test was not blatantly planned against her. I was careful. The questions in her set were similar to the questions in other sets, just off by a critical word or phrase, easy to overlook or explain away.
I offered Nikko a position as my assistant. This position would keep her under the microscope. I would know when that smiled was dead. Also, no charge of bias brought against me would stand under the weight of a kindly offered employment position. I wore the guise of an honest professor, grading against a student due to substandard work.
Nikko had an amazing ability to learn and adapt. Her 4.0-GPA was well-earned. The more I aimed for weaknesses, the more she volleyed back with work of improving quality. Yet, as the fall semester drew to a close, I had to give her an 89, a high B. Her perfect GPA and her shot at valedictorian were no more. After working so hard for so long, she would miss perfection by one point so close to the end.
The day after the grades were reported, I walked with a touch of joy. It was short lived. When I entered the office, she looked at me with a brilliant smile. I moved directly to discussing her grade.
"Nikko, I just wanted to apologize for the way the grade turned out."
"Professor, it's okay. You put me through my paces this semester. You really challenged me. I would have liked an A, but that was one hard-fought B. Frankly, I'm proud of it. Besides, now I get to relax. I don't have to be perfect any more. Vying for Top Dog can be so stressful, you know? "
Her words and tone spoke of resignation, but that accursed smile betrayed her unflinching glee. Defeated, I grinned and nodded and walked away, scheming anew.
I was careful to maintain a positive relationship, chatting with her on a regular basis. These talks kept the appearance that I was a good friend, as well as helping me gain valuable insight into her life. Wading through the dross of her conversation, I found the instrument of my next attack.
Lincoln was the name of Nikko's German shepherd-husky mutt. Actually, the dog belonged to the aunt and uncle with whom she stayed, but Nikko's love and affection for animals made the dog hers in her heart. With the school's Christmas break approaching, I realized that I could make use of Lincoln.
I waited until the last week of classes. She would come to work one more time before the break. I drove to her house, a rancher that sat on a fenced-in corner lot in a suburban family neighborhood. The east side of the house faced a heavily wooded park. Wearing hunter's camouflage, I stayed far back from the road and under the cover of the leafless trees, but still within view of the house's backyard if I used my field glasses. After a while, the backdoor of the house opened and Nikko appeared, leading a quiet, but spirited, dog. She took him to a leash near a doghouse by the street-side fence. When she went back inside, I emerged from the woods and made my way over to that part of the fence. I brought a bag of special doggie treats. Each mini-meatball was wrapped around one of my prescription sleeping pills. I had about thirty of these and I fed that furry mongrel as many as I could get to him through the chain-link without drawing attention. He swallowed more than half of my stash before losing interest. Quickly, I moved back to hiding in the woods. No one saw me. I watched Lincoln stagger about. Drunkenly, he made his way inside the doghouse and lay down. I watched intently, counting the seconds between the dog’s breaths. The interval grew until I found myself counting with no apparent end in sight.
I wondered if I would get a teary call explaining that she couldn’t come in to work. What I got was her smiling face greeting me at her desk. That blasted grin caught me like a buck on a dark road staring down an SUV. She was even on time. I could have screamed the moment I saw her, but I forced myself to remain calm.
"Hi, Professor." I noticed a hitch in her voice and saw her cheeks shined a little more than usual. She had been crying. In fact, she was crying still. Yet, even through tears, the smile remained.
"Hello, Nikko. How are you?" I asked, careful not to reveal any unusual concern.
"Well, I've been better," she said in a sigh. "Lincoln died last night."
"No!" I said, exaggerating my surprise. "Oh, Nikko, I'm so sad to hear that. I know how much you love Lincoln. You must feel terrible." I had practiced that bit, hoping to hit that right combination of concern, disbelief, and shock and to help to bring some of her sadness to the surface.
At first, she only shrugged. And smiled. "Lincoln was great, but he was old. Everyone knew his time had to be coming soon. But then, he goes out, lies down, and goes to sleep. That's how we found him. No pain. No suffering. Just…off to sleep. How could the end come any better? He just took a nap. "
Defeated again, I grew desperate. "Well, I know Lincoln was very important to you. Not having him must feel very empty. If you need to take some time off and mourn, it's okay with me. I can handle things around here."
"No, I'm fine," she replied, her voice solemn but her face scarred with that damned grin. "It's better that I'm at work. It gives me something to do. It's a good diversion, you know?"
My defeat was complete. Not only did I not make that smile fade, I provided her with a means of working through her pain and filling some empty hours of her day.
"Oh, Mr. Kane, did I tell you that I'm not going to be back next semester?"
The sentence sliced through my musings. I took a quick second to collect my thoughts before answering. "No, you didn't tell me. Why aren't you returning?"
"I need to return home. The family business needs me." She said it like she was going home to work the farm. In truth, her family owned a leading industrial plastics manufacturer. "My father says I need to begin stepping in as the family's legal advisor. I'll have to finish my education in Japan."
I was to be free of her. Let her family deal with her perpetual beaming and idiotic perkiness. She was no longer to be my problem.
Over the holiday break, I was haunted by that smile. I dreamt of it. I would awake to find the image of her smile displaying as real as life then fading before my eyes. Every stupid smiling Santa reminded me of her. The smile would never let me be free. I thought of one thing that could kill her joy.
I followed her day and night. From before the first light of morning until her lights went out at night, I knew where she was. Watched her moves. Trailed her steps. I rented cars of different sizes, and colors. My technique was perfect. She never looked twice at me.
My patience – perhaps my last virtue – was tried. Nikko was often with family and friends in this holiday season. She had a near-constant stream of visitors; all spending moments with their friend whom they may not see again. She was alone a few times during the day while running errands, but the light and the activity about her discouraged me. I could only watch her scurry about. At night, the best time for me, she rarely ventured out alone. For days, I followed, waiting for the moment when she was alone and out at night.
After two weeks of tailing her, I got my chance. It was a Wednesday night and the prayer meeting at her church had just ended. I waited in the pharmacy parking lot across the road, watching her car. Around 10 o'clock, the congregation made their way out and drove off, leaving Nikko's car as one of the few still in the lot. Soon, lights began to shut off inside the church. My target emerged, arms full of wrapped boxes and gift bags. Apparently, they had thrown her a going away party. One man, perhaps the pastor of this flock, and one woman came out with her, carrying gifts and locking up.
I realized the man and woman could possibly leave before Nikko. This could be my moment. Careful not to draw attention, I exited the car, and made my way across the highway.
By a tree just outside the range of a streetlight, I spied her actions. She set her gifts down and hugged each of her companions. The woman set down the few things she carried, received her hug, spoke some parting words, and was off to her car. The gentleman offered to help Nikko pack her car, but she turned him away. They hugged, there were some more parting words, and then off he went to his vehicle.
Finally, Nikko was alone.
After a deep breath to calm my nerves, I took a ski mask from my coat pocket and pulled it over my face. I drew my 0.38 and peeked at my target, whose back was to me as she packed her trunk. Staying away from the light, I walked quickly but quietly. Each step made my heart beat faster. I wanted to sprint over and grab her, but I reined in that impulse. She moved the last gift into place, closed the trunk, and turned. That was the first time she noticed me, a masked man aiming a gun at her face. She gasped and flinched, dropping her keys and backing up to her car's trunk.
"Pick 'em up," I said in the deep, gruff tone I had practiced. She did not move at first. "Pick 'em up!" She finally moved, grabbing the keys off the ground, and then retreating to her place on the trunk.
The lot faced the highway and was too open a space. The back of the church, however, was much more secluded, surrounded by a field on two sides and a wooded area on the third. "To the back. Let's go."
She started to cry, "No…No…No." Her face was too much in shadow. I couldn’t see if she smiled or not.
"Move to the back, now." She started moving, but stopped to plead some more. I cocked the gun. She went silent when she heard the click. "Move it, Bitch!" Sniffling, crying, and pleading, she led our procession. I made her stand under a lamp illuminating the backdoor. When she moved into place, I saw the smile. Even through the tears and terror, she smiled.
I stuck with my plan. "Open your purse and put all your jewelry in it."
She whined, but proceeded to follow my instructions. First, her earrings, good luck charms given to her by her mother before coming to college, went into the bag. Her high school class ring was next. Finally, the watch, with its inscription "To my Light, Love Daddy" clinked in the bag. She held the bag out to me.
"And, the locket." I knew she would try to hold on to it. The locket she always wore was the last gift to her from her late grandmother. It was handcrafted and held the only picture she had of her grandparents. Her blouse and coat hid the locket from view, but I knew she always wore it.
Still weeping, she loaded it into the bag. She held the bag out, and I got another good look at her face. The smile shone. She was crying a waterfall, but that smile never showed it.
Before that moment, I had never struck another person in anger in my entire life. Not even a slap of a beaming, wanton Jezebel provoking me. The vapid beaming enraged me like nothing ever had before. I acted on animal instincts.
With one smack with the gun, she fell back against the church, the bag of jewellery falling at her feet. Each time I struck her, I felt stronger, more powerful, more the victor, knowing I would not be denied my success in this mission.
In the church's light and the winter's night, she turned her face to me and froze my violent spirit cold with a smile created by lunacy. Blood flowed, but that smile was clear, unabated or obscured. It showed no signs of damage; the rest of her face showed few signs of health.
Stepping away from her and that demonic smirk, I screamed, howling at the heavens in frustration and futility. There were no more tricks. No more weapons. Nothing.
"Damn you, you smiling bitch! It's not fair!"
"Professor Kane?" she asked. In my rage, I dropped my verbal disguise, and she clued in on my identity. I pulled off my mask, but stayed out of the light.
"How dare you? Has it ever occurred to you that's fucking rude? Real people with real lives have real problems and they really fucking frown! And you come along and rub your smile in everyone's face. What gives you the right? What do you have to smile so fucking much about? What have you done to deserve being so happy?
"For years, I made things fair. I made things right. I balanced the scales. I tried to make things better and I lost my job. I tried to make my wife happy and the whore stabbed me in the back. I get beat like a dog and no one catches the bastard. For years, I busted my ass making life fair! That wasn't just my job. It was my life! Who's here to make life fair for me? No one! So, fuck everything I've done because it doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I'm getting nothing for it.
"But you. You. You smile all the livelong day. Nothing's ever wrong for you. You break up with your boyfriend and lose your perfect GPA and your dog is killed and never a frown. Always smiling. I kick you like a damn soccer ball, and you keep smiling. It's not fair! You don't deserve it! What have you done to earn to right to be so fucking happy? Stop smiling at me, goddamn it!"
Using the church wall for support, she picked herself up. Still stooped and leaning against the building, she looked at me. "Killed?" she said. The word hung in the air between us. Behind it, her eyes changed from innocent and scared to accusing and spiteful. The smile never dimmed. "I told you my dog died. Why did you say 'killed'?"
I teased her by speaking in a mock care-free tone. "Because I killed it. Fed the little bastard sleeping pills."
She breathed heavy as she took in the information. "You stole my 4.0, didn't you? You rigged it, you sick son of a bitch."
I nodded enthusiastically. "You bet your ass I did. So why don't you stop smiling about it?"
She wiped her face with the palms of her hands and held them out for me to see. They were covered in blood, tears, and dirt. "I'm not smiling!"
The smile on her face grew wider. It twisted and waved and stretched out towards the horizon. The world warped like the reflections in funhouse mirrors, centered entirely on this impossibly long smile, undulating and coiling like tentacles that reached for me. I could no longer see her face behind the serpentine malevolence of the grin, but I heard her voice ringing like broken bells in my head. "I'm not smiling, you fucking psycho. When have you ever known anyone to cry, bleed, and smile? I can't believe you killed Lincoln. And what boyfriend are you talking about?"
I heard her continue to sob and scream, but all I could see was this otherworldly thing that seemed to warp the universe around itself. I fell backwards trying to move away when the clank of metal on stone reached my ears. My hand still held the forgotten revolver. I aimed for the center of the mouth and fired all five rounds in quick succession. Silently, the smile burst, blowing into the wind like streamers and confetti. The world I knew had corrected itself. Before me, the only thing standing was the church.
The body of my victim lay on the ground. At least two of my shots passed through her mouth. So much of her face was gone from the now grotesque figure that used to be Nikko.
Then, it was back. Her face was unrecognizable, but the smile was clear, perfect, and undamaged in any way.
When the police found me, I was on my knees over her body, striking at the smile, never hitting the target, but hearing the squish-squish-squish of blow after blow landing somewhere behind it. My hands were cut and bloody, but still I tried to eliminate the everlasting.
Shock and confusion followed as everyone asked why and how this could happen but no one understood the answer. I was convicted – guilty of a dozen crimes (murder, assault, and kidnapping to name a few) – and sentenced to life in prison. Such is my life penalty. Forced to live, forever haunted. Every face, every dream, every scene, every instance, every moment—I see it. Floating in space, caught in my vision like a camera flash. Attached to the faces I see. Every face smiles with the grin of the dead girl. I shall live a long life of fear, madness, and solitude, accompanied only by that incessant smile.
