Vernon God Little

Goosens raises a hand, and smiles gently. 'Alrighty, let's see what we can discover. Please continue to be candid – if you open yourself up to this process, in good faith, we won't have a problem at all. Now, tell me – how do you feel about what's happened?'

'Just wrecked. Wrecked dead away. And now everybody's calling me the psycho, I know they are.'

'Why do you think they might be doing that?'

'They need a skate-goat, they want to hang somebody high.'

'A scapegoat? You feel something intangible caused the tragedy?'

'Well, no, I mean – my friend Jesus ain't around, in person, to take any blame. He did all the shooting, I was just a witness, not even involved at all.' Goosens searches my face, and makes a note in his file.

'Alrighty. What can you tell me about your family life?'

'It's just regular.' Goosens holds his pen still, and looks at me. He knows he just found a major bug up my ass.

'The file notes that you live with your mother. What can you tell me about that relationship?'

'Uh, it's just – regular.' The whole subject drags a major tumor out of my ass, don't fucken ask me why. It just lies there on the floor, throbbing, glistening with gut-slime. Goosens even leans back in his chair, to avoid the heaving tang of my fucken family life.

'No brothers?' he asks, wisely steering east. 'No uncles, or – other male influences in your familial network?'

'Not really,' I say.

'But you had – friends…?' My eyes drop to the floor. He sits quiet for a moment, then reaches over to rest a hand on my leg. 'Believe me, Jesus touched me too – the whole affair touched me deeply. If you're able, tell me what happened that day.'

I try to dodge the spike of panic you get when you hear yourself fixing to bawl. 'Things had already started when I got back.'

'Where had you been?' asks Goosens.

'I got held up, running an errand.'

' Vernon, you're not on trial here – please be specific.'

'I needed the bathroom on the way back from an errand Mr Nuckles sent me on.'

'The school bathroom?'

'No.'

'You took a leak outside school?' He leans his head over, as if the information might splat in his face.

'Uh – not a leak, actually.'

'You had a bowel movement, outside school? At the time of the tragedy?'

'Sometimes I can be kind of unpredictable.'

Silence fills the forty years Fate gives me to recognize the import of things. This would never happen to Van Damme. Heroes never shit. They only fuck and kill.

A shine comes to Goosens's eyes. 'You told the court this?'

'Hell no.'

He blinks and folds his arms. 'Forgive me, but – forensically, doesn't a fresh stool, situated away from the scene of the crimes – automatically rule you out as a suspect? Fecal matter can be accurately dated, you know.'

'I guess that's right, huh?' You can tell Goosens is giving me extra service. He's only supposed to suck information for the court, but here he is, prepared to take a chance and give me a revelation along the way. He clamps his lips tight, to hit home the significance of it all. Then his eyes fall.

'I hear you say you're kind of – unpredictable?'

'It's no big deal,' I draw circles on the floor with a Nike.

'Is it a diagnosed condition – sphincter weakness, or suchlike?'

'Nah. Anyway, I almost don't get it anymore.'

Goosens runs his tongue over his upper lip. 'Alrighty, so tell me – do you like girls, Vernon?'

'Sure.'

'Can you name a girl you like?'

'Taylor Figueroa.'

He chews his lip, and makes a note in the file. 'Have you had physical contact with her?'

'Kind of.'

'What do you remember most about your contact with her?'

'Her smell, I guess.'

Goosens frowns into the file, and makes another entry. Then he sits back. ' Vernon – have you ever felt attraction towards another boy? Or a man?'

'No way.'

'Alrighty. Let's see what we can discover.'

He reaches for the stereo and presses 'Play'. A military drum beats out, softly at first, but growing in power, threatening, like a bear coming out of a cave, or a bear going into the cave, and you're in the fucken cave.

'Gustav Holst,' says Goosens. 'The Planets – Mars. This'll rouse some glory in a boy's soul.' He walks to the bed and smacks it with the flat of his hand. The powerdime takes a reckless shift.

'Get undressed for me, please, and come lie up here.'

'Un-dressed?'

'Sure – to finish the exam. We psychiatrists are medical doctors first, you know – don't confuse us with your everyday psychologists.'

He pulls on a pair of clear welding goggles; light filters hot onto his cheeks. Folding my Calvin Kleins takes a while, in order to stop loose change falling from the pocket. Even though my loose change is in a plastic bag at the sheriff's office. Brass stomps black and twisted over the drums from the stereo as I climb onto the bed. Goosens points at my underwear.

'Off, please.'

A thought comes to me; it is that a breeze on the butt, in the presence of supermarket lighting, should only be felt by the dead. I'm a naked fucken animal. But even naked animals need bail. Especially naked animals need it.