The Disappearance of Jim Sullivan by Tanguy Viel

Author:Tanguy Viel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dalkey Archive Press
Published: 2021-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 2

THE DOCTORS TALKED about war-induced post-traumatic stress disorder when, at the base where he was stationed, Dwayne began smoking in secret and giving a nervous start whenever he heard a noise, exactly the same as the symptoms of Vietnam veterans are described. But Vietnam or not, everyone agreed: he shouldn’t have reacted like that. He shouldn’t have silently turned his back on Milly’s ass or walked away so serenely, as if he had envisaged the scenario for months and was therefore mechanically enacting what ensued step by step, gesture by gesture.

He walked past the grubby diner windows. He crossed the parking lot and then Van Dyke Avenue at the crosswalk. He then entered the small store at the front of the service station. He headed to a section in the back to get a one-gallon gas can, he paid for it with a couple of bills he found at the bottom of his pocket, he walked towards pump number four, inserted the nozzle in the gas can, and filled it with gas.

With a slightly heavier tread, now that the gas can was full, he crossed back over the avenue, then the parking lot. Then he passed in front of the diner again and entered not the shack, not the set of the film that must still have been in progress, but the video store, a dozen feet further along, among the five thousand films that seemed to be waiting in the somber light of late evening.

He seemed to reflect for a moment on how to proceed; and then, still mechanically, he unscrewed the cap of the gas can, which he calmly placed on the cashier’s desk. Next, he poured out the slightly syrupy, slightly smelly contents over every shelf of video cassette cases; the gas slowly trickled over the breasts of actresses and dripped to the floor, soaking into the carpet. He went around the whole store like that, evenly distributing the gas that soaked into everything up to the curtains, shaking the last drop out of the gas can before casually tossing it in the corner. Then going back to the cash register, he took the ten- and twenty-dollar bills that filled it, slipped them in his jean pockets, then opened the drawer below and removed the small book of complimentary matches emblazoned with the logo of a gun shop (two small crossed revolvers in a black circle against a yellow background). Next, he headed to the exit, coming to a stop in the doorway, where he lit a match, which he flicked into the middle of the store as a finishing touch.

The flame of the match traced an ornamental arc through the air before hitting the floor and multiplying itself a thousandfold, tracing lines of fire over the pink carpet and travelling the length of each aisle like an army of light, which by now had erased the actresses’ faces, devouring them in the flames, engulfing every case before Dwayne’s emotionless gaze. Now he turned, leaving to

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