by Jim Johanson
“I have... I have a white-knuckle grip on the bars of the cage of my community and I am tearing the bolts out of the hinges with my fingernails. If I find that I cannot break the bars of this cage, then I will rip my flesh as I claw the steel, and when my flesh is all but gone I'll gnarl the bones of my fingers against the metal until the bars are gone until I banish this hellfire back to the abyss with gruesome bats and winged horrors."
Northcote removed his hand from his head to reveal red marks that he had made on his forehead from pressing. He made eye contact with a visibly terrified Mary. For just a moment, she saw something in Northcote’s eyes that she had never seen in any person before. The soft blue tint of his eyes portrayed for just a moment an inner sadness and humility, emotions that had been long paved-over by his gruff exterior. She had caught him in a moment of vulnerability.
Northcote took a deep breath and relaxed. His demeanor returned to normal, and he began speaking with his regular voice again.
"Mary, it is not my intention to allow you to suffer any more at the cruel hand of your family and their distaste for the rules established by scripture. I've spoken with our history teacher, Mr. Michael Consolo, and he has agreed to watch Billy for a period of time after school each day, to ensure that he is not getting himself into trouble. I won't have our town run amok by that brain-damaged brother of yours. Consolo will drop Billy off at your house after he completes his extra-curricular activities each day. I've spoken with other leaders in our community and we feel that this is the best course of action."
Mary's lips parted softly as she contemplated an attempt at speaking, but she failed to overcome her timidity, remaining silent. Northcote considered her silence to be the seal of an agreement.
"Go now, sweet child, back to class with you. We will make your burden lessened, so that you might better devote your time to Godly things. I expect to see you at service on Sunday. It is the least that you can do in return for what we have decided to provide for you."
Mary was dizzy. She felt as though she had become one with the chair where she sat, the chair slowly floating upward into the room at an odd angle. Her pulse in her neck was overly apparent. Her stomach twisted inward on itself.
"Mary... go back to class now, dear."
Chapter Six
Mary was especially tired after school. Her hangover had still not worn off completely and she found herself unwilling to eat. She decided to take a nap and let the day pass by without her.
Between the thin white curtains of her bedroom window she could see the sun setting in the distance. It slowly sank below the tops of the trees, becoming a pallet of red and orange hues, matching the colors of the autumn leaves. For a moment, Mary forgot everything and became at peace with the setting sun. She wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep but could not yet part herself from the beauty outside her window.
Feeling satisfied, she allowed her eyes to close, the red tint of the sunset staying with her behind her eyelids. She rested peacefully for a while before her stomach began to grumble to an intolerable degree.
Maybe food will help.
She decided to force herself to eat something small. Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled into the kitchen where she found a box of old graham crackers in the back of one of the cabinets. She did her best to stuff some of them down her throat. Like a squirrel gathering a hoard of acorns, she absconded back toward her room with the rest of the crackers.
Mary paused on her way and blinked her eyes a few times when she heard Billy making strange noises in his room. Hesitant, she moved toward his door to indulge her curiosity.
"Billy? Are you okay?"
Billy's lights were out but there was enough light coming in through his windows for her to see him standing up. Bent over awkwardly, he had one of his hands stuffed down the front of his pants, zipper up but unbuttoned.
"Billy, what are you--"
Billy removed his hand from his pants. It was covered in blood.
"Billy! What did you do?"
Billy groaned uncomfortably. He turned to the wall, where the wallpaper from his childhood was still affixed, a display of smiling, cartoon bears, dressed in sports uniforms. Billy slapped his hand against the wallpaper then drew his hand in an arc, smearing the cartoon bears with blood.
"Oh my gosh! Billy, are you hurt?"
Mary moved forward into Billy's room. She assumed that he had cut his hand. Grabbing him by the wrist, she turned his hand over to check for cuts. Mary was horrified to find one of her used tampons resting in the palm of his hand. She gagged and felt the undigested graham crackers trying to force themselves up out of her throat. She retracted her hand, taking a step backward away from Billy. There was a streak of Mary’s own dark blood streaked across her forearm. She dropped the pack of graham crackers on the floor.
"Billy, what the hell are you doing!"
"I like the smell... like the smell of it."
His voice had taken on a muffled, blunted, stuttering quality, presumably due to brain damage caused by his gasoline accident.
Mary's eyes opened wide with unabashed terror when she noticed the erection in his pants. Revulsion overcame her as she realized that her brother had been masturbating with her discarded bloody tampon, retrieved from the garbage.
"Oh, oh God! Why... ugh!"
Mary ran toward the bathroom to wash the spoiled blood from her hands. She used her clean hand to turn on the hot water faucet and begin scrubbing fervently. Her stomach continued to try to force itself up and out of her mouth. She clenched her jaw to keep from vomiting. It was no use. The mush of graham crackers exploded out of her mouth and into the sink where they collected around the drain.
The unmistakable crashing sound of glass breaking came from Billy's room, followed by what sounded like furniture being thrown around and broken. Billy began to scream unearthly sounds not unlike the animal noises Mary had heard in the woods on her walk home the previous night.
Mary looked at her face in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from vomiting. Tears were welling up in the corners. She heard Billy step out in the hallway, still screaming. Mother was screaming now too, though she did not yet have an understanding what was happening.
Billy's shadow appeared in front of the bathroom doorway. Mary spun around and slammed the door shut, then turned and pressed the button on the doorknob to lock it. Billy knocked his head against the door and belted out one long, hoarse wail before retreating to his room and slamming his own door shut. Moments later his door shot back open. Billy ran toward the kitchen, his arms thrust out in front of him clawing at the air. Turning a corner, he tore straight through the mesh of the closed screen door, then he was outside and running into the woods, his hands still covered in Mary’s blood.
Mary turned off the faucet and waited until she could no longer hear Billy screaming or stomping around. She slumped down onto the bathroom floor. Cradling her stomach, she began to rock back and forth, attempting to slow her breathing. Mary allowed herself to tumble over slowly onto her side where she curled up like a cat on the rug in front of the sink.
Chapter Seven
Billy sat on the cold grass of the football field. His eyes looking dead in their sockets, he watched the clouds drifting, oblivious to the moisture of the grass seeping into his jeans, making it look as though he’d wet himself.
Michael Consolo had the football team running laps up and down the field. They paid no mind to Billy. Since Consolo had begun watching Billy after school, Billy had become a novelty of the football practice field, like a disinterested pet dog. Just an inanimate object, discarded on the sidelines.
Consolo stepped off the field, making his way to where Billy sat. Three Vicodin painkillers rattled around in a prescription bottle in Consolo’s pocket as he walked. Like a Pavlovian dog, he responded to the sound by sticking one of his fingers into his mouth sideways and biting it, a habit he’d developed to ascertain how strongly the painkillers were affecting him. He took one pill out
of the container, chewed it, and swallowed the crumbled bits dry. The addictive prescription prevented him from feeling his otherwise crippling back pain, the result of a neglected herniated disk.
Consolo leaned down and looked into Billy's eyes. Billy’s face glazed over in a stupor, barely noticing Consolo.
"Five times seven," said Consolo.
Billy stared blankly. Consolo repeated himself.
"What's five times seven?"
No response.
"Hey, you in there?"
Consolo snapped his fingers.
"Five times seven!"
Billy's lips twitched for a moment. He cleared his throat.
"Twelve," he muttered.
Consolo looked out across the field, checking to make sure that he was out of sight. He held out his hand in front of Billy's face, his index finger curved and extending outward.
"Put it in your mouth."
Without changing his demeanor, Billy obliged him.
"Bite down."
Billy sunk his teeth into the flesh of Consolo's finger, his lips parted, teeth bared.
"Harder. Harder."
Billy began coughing and opened his mouth to release Consolo’s finger. He pulled back away from Consolo, tilted his head downward and placed his hand on his chest in an attempt to abate the coughing fit.
Consolo looked down at the fresh teeth marks in his flesh.
Excellent.
"Billy... you're a good boy, right?"
Billy didn't respond. He seemed preoccupied with the position of his tongue in his mouth, opening and closing his jaw awkwardly.
"Listen... here..."
Consolo unzipped his fall jacket and reached into the inner pocket to retrieve a flask filled with vodka. The rickety latch on top unscrewed with a clatter. Consolo took a swig from the bottle, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then handed the flask to Billy.
Billy took the flask from Consolo and put it to his lips, gently sucking down two shots worth. He swallowed and began to move the flask away from his mouth, but was interrupted by Consolo's hand gripping the flask. Consolo lifted the flask back up and pushed it back in. Billy gagged as the remainder of the flask poured into his mouth.
Consolo placed the flask back in his jacket and zipped back up. Billy ran his hands through his hair and began humming an odd tune.
"Billy... don't tell anyone that I gave you that little treat just now. You want more, I can give you more, but I need you to help me. Got a special project I've been working on.
“Now that Northcote has got me taking care of you, I got to know that I can trust you. But I don’t need other people stickin’ their noses where they don’t belong. So when we talk, I won't be telling anybody about you, and you don’t tell them about me, you got it? We're buddies now, you and me."
After football practice, Consolo drove Billy back to the Consolo residence, a modestly sized blue house with lead paint flecking off the siding. Consolo's truck crunched over newly fallen browning leaves in the gravel driveway.
Consolo exited the vehicle and walked in through his open garage. He paused and turned around to see Billy still seated in the passenger seat. Consolo waved his arm in a beckoning motion, but Billy did not move. Shaking his head at the ground, Consolo sighed and walked back over to the car and opened Billy's door.
"What, you need crutches now? Come on, get up out of there."
Billy turned his head. His bottom lip hung open blankly.
"Did you forget how to exit a vehicle? Am I gonna have to breathe for you too, to keep you from suffocating yourself?"
Billy reluctantly hopped out of the car. He misplaced his foot on the ground and stumbled but caught himself against the door. Consolo grabbed Billy’s shirt by the arm and tugged at it, pulling Billy in the direction of the house. Consolo kicked the truck door shut.
"The way kids are these days, I can't tell if you're retarded or just lazy. I suppose I should take some consideration into your condition."
Consolo sighed. His breath was visible in the chill evening air.
"What did you go and do to yourself, anyway? Huffing gasoline? That what Northcote said? You're lucky you didn't burn yourself to death. You'd be no use to anyone."
Consolo led Billy in through the garage, unlocked the door to the interior, and shuffled Billy inside. The heavy metallic door to the garage closed itself under its own weight behind them with a slam that echoed. Consolo locked the deadbolt.
Chapter Eight
Mary fetched a can of corn from the cabinet, opened it and set the corn to cook on the stove. She wasn't hungry herself, but mother needed fed. It was difficult to get the wasting Mrs. Greer to eat even once a day. Starving herself was her flagellation, a way for her to see God's proper punishment delivered onto her. She had lost most of her muscle mass and her skin hung loosely over her bones, giving her a ghostly appearance not befitting of a woman of only forty years of age. Her teeth were yellow from lack of care. Her hair had grown long and twisted into knots. The wrinkled skin on her face looked as though it were about to slide right off of her skull, giving her a countenance resembling a witch in a fairy tale.
It was nearly eight o' clock in the evening and Billy had not yet returned home. Mary was beginning to worry, but after their last altercation, she was glad for every minute that Billy was gone. She’d been keeping her door closed and locked for the majority of the time that she was home, making every attempt to avoid her brother.
Mary turned off the stove burner and strained the corn. She dreaded bringing the food in to her mother. It was all she could hope that her mother would be asleep, that she could just leave the food on her mother's nightstand. Mary pushed open her mother's door slowly, peeking in and trying not to spill the bowl of steaming corn.
Mrs. Greer's cold eyes locked directly onto Mary's as she entered. It gave Mary a startle. She tried to hide her trepidation, but it was no use attempting to hide her feelings from her mother. For a woman whose eyesight had begun to waver, she saw straight into Mary, right down to the cask of anxiety in the basement of her soul. Evelyn Greer’s voice slithered out of her mouth as a callous whimper, like an injured animal defying a predator.
"Hoping I was asleep, weren’t you, child?"
"No, Mother."
"Place it on the nightstand. I need a glass of water."
Mary moved hesitantly over to the nightstand on the far side of mother's bed, taking care to step around a wet spot on the floor. Whether the spot was spilled water or urine, Mary didn't want to know. She added it to the list of things in her head about which she did not want to think.
Mary set the bowl down on the nightstand, but before she could retract her arm, mother's hand shot out from under the blanket like a snake, latching her withered hand around Mary's forearm with surprising strength. Mother's overgrown fingernails dug slightly into Mary's pale skin. They sunk deeply enough not to draw blood but to inflict significant pain.
"I know what you did with your brother. I heard everything. I heard him screaming. It's a sin Mary! A mortal sin!"
"Mother, I didn't... Billy was..."
"Don't you lie to me! Don't you lie in front of Him!"
Mother turned her eyes upward at the mention of “Him”, paying homage to the two-foot tall porcelain figure of Jesus nailed onto a wooden cross hanging above her disused vanity.
"Billy was doing it to himself! I didn't touch him!"
Mother slapped Mary in the mouth.
"Filth! Filth! My sexual deviance has poured into you. My original sin made flesh!"
She swung at Mary again but Mary tore herself away from her mother's grasp, avoiding the blow.
"You won't avoid the Lord's punishment for your lechery! The whore of Babylon burns in hell, Mary. I have seen hell! I have been there! I saw great demons with the faces of pigs and the strength of Goliath, formed red in the blackness of the void, bodies of flame and slick black wickedness like oil! Oh Lord, how have I allowed my only daughter to become so corrupted? Please fo
rgive me!"
Mother smacked herself in the face, eyes locked onto the figurine of her savior. She smacked herself twice more until the long, crooked fingernail of her ring finger caught her eyebrow, tearing a gash across her forehead.
"Give onto us your blood and body, Lord! Forgive us our trespasses and let us walk freely from this evil!"
Mary skulked backward out of the room, closing the door behind her. Her mother continued shouting. She pounded her arms on the bed, lurching back and forth, causing the bed to knock into the adjacent table. The bowl of corn fell to the floor. Blood from the gash on her forehead dripped down into her eye, obscuring her view of the room in a red haze.
"I'm not through with you, child! The Lord will follow you! He sees what I cannot! Harlot! You'll bring the devil into this home! Do you hear me?"
Chapter Nine
Consolo retrieved a half-emptied bottle of cheap gin from the tall cabinet in his living room. There was an old big-screen TV covered with dust centered between the first cabinet and another identical cabinet. The electric company had disconnected the power to Consolo's house more than three months prior, and as a result, the TV had become a useless piece of furniture. Consolo had money to pay the electricity bill; it simply hadn’t crossed his mind to pay it. One day the electricity shut off and he thought very little of it.
The floorboards creaked under Consolo’s boots as he walked to the breakfast bar that separated his kitchen from his living room. Two stools stood in front of the bar like grim witnesses, not sat in by guests since Consolo's wife’s death in a violent car wreck six months earlier. All the regular visitors to the Consolo residence had been visitors of Mrs. Consolo. The surviving Mr. Michael Consolo had taken to preferring contemplation over companionship.