Free I Love You, Beth Cooper by Larry Doyle Page B

Spirit Room
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    So now his possessions were mocking him too. Goddammit, Denis muttered as he dropped the iPod in a pocket, goddammit, and joined the party to his execution.
    THEY WERE GATHERED in the living room, in violation of house rules, gawking out the front window at the tremendous roar. Denis slunk up and peeked out around Treece.
    The source of the roar was a five-ton H1 Alpha Hummer, with 300 horsepower, 520 pound-feet of torque, a MSRP of $140,796 and seating for five assholes. The earth-killing machine was painted black diamond , murkier than pure black and slightly more frightening, named for the insane ski slopes and not, as Denis might have guessed, for the moon gem Eclipso used to possess Superman in Action Comics #826 (Denis no longer collected comic books, and hardly ever went through his sixteen boxes of meticulously Mylared back issues, arranged by publisher and title, but AC #826—who wouldn’t know that?).
    The Hummer was currently off-road, in the middle of the Cooverman lawn, on top of a Beauty of Bath apple tree Denis and his father had planted together that Arbor Day.
    The monstrous vehicle snarled a final time and fell silent. Three doors snapped open and corresponding military figures disembarked synchronously. They wore civilian clothes, but identical civvies, a habit that was apparently hard to break. The uniform of the night was black khakis, black polos and black loafers, making the trio look like an elite unit sent into a downtown club to terminate a rogue DJ. None of them had enough hair to gel, but their heads glistened menacingly nonetheless.
    Treece waved happily at her date-rapist. “Sean!”
    Denis had hoped to go out with some class.
    â€œShaw-on!” Treece yelled much louder, waving in wide semaphoric arcs, signaling I’m here! I’m here! Oh, and here’s that guy you promised a penilectomy!
    The lights went out on the upper floors of Denis’s brain, leaving the lizard in charge.
    â€œGet down!”
    Denis hugged Treece and threw them both to the floor. Treece’s body recognized this as foreplay and her lips parted in Pavlovian response.
    â€œ Everybody down!” Denis screamed in a barely audible squeak.
    The three left standing regarded him with odd curiosity.
    â€œWhy?” Beth asked.
    â€œHe’s going to kill me!”
    â€œSo?” asked Cammy.
    â€œHe’s not really going to kill you.” Beth sighed. “He just likes to be scary.”
    â€œHe’s scary,” Denis confirmed.
    â€œThe most he’s going to do is maybe beat you up a little.”
    Denis had been beaten up a little, thrice by Greg Saloga and once by Dawn Delvecchio, whose premature chest he had momentarily ogled in the fifth grade. Being beaten up a little meant bruising but no breaking, twisting but no tearing, and loss of less than a tablespoon of blood. Denis suspected Kevin would not adhere to these guidelines, or even, based on news reports, the Geneva Convention. Given what the military did not even consider abuse, Denis shuddered at what might constitute a little beating under the U.S. Army Code of Conduct:
    27–3. Procedures applicable to ‘Beating, Light’
    a. Splatter zone limited to 10 feet (3.048 meters)
    b. No detachment or removal of extremities or organs;
    c. Extremities or organs inadvertently detached or removed must be left with original owner for possible reattachment or implantation;
    d. Extremities or organs inadvertently detached or removed and not returned to owner cannot be
    (1) Fashioned into a necklace, or
    (2) Devoured to gain the owner’s power, unless approved in writing by commanding officer;
    e. Derisive pointing at genitals prohibited, except to aid owner in locating of same.
    As usual, Denis was letting his imagination run wild, shriek and knock things off shelves. Also as usual, he was allowing this to distract him from more immediate practical concerns.
    â€œThe door!” Denis