Brain Matter

by Clive Carpenter

deserve whatever it is hell has in store for you,” he said. “And I hope it comes sooner than you expect.”

  I turned my eyes toward him. Then, slowly turned my head towards him. I smiled. “Me, too.”

  “Don't you fucking smile at me,” Charlie was letting his emotions get the better of him. He stopped the recorder. “I could choke your ass out right here.”

  “You probably could, Charlie,” I said. “But you'd miss the rest of my story. And right now I've got you too curious to screw that up.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Charlie was just a bit disturbed. “I can't figure you out, but that's probably something I'm better off not trying to do. How the hell could anyone do what you claim to have done to your children and live all these years without telling a soul? Like it was no big deal. I can't imagine a mother like that.”

  “Oh spare me, Charles!” I looked at him, again. “You’re a big boy. You’re telling me you’ve never heard of a mother killing her own children? I suppose your parents never did anything to hurt you. How the hell do you explain that burn mark on your arm? Looks like it's been there a while. Mommy give you that?”

  It was barely visible, peeking out from under the long sleeve of his button-down shirt. The burn scar ran from his left wrist and disappeared under the sleeve. He rubbed it.

  “I pulled a pot of boiling water from the stove when I was three,” he explained with fevered conviction.

  “Mm-hmm,” I kept at him. “And that scar on your chest? Just below your neck. Looks like a stab wound.”

  The two top buttons on his shirt were open and made the scar visible on the right side of his chest. Nearly faded, but it was there.

  “I fell off my rocking horse when I was two, impaled myself on several pieces from my brother's Erector Set. And how dare you?” He seemed a little offended. “My parents were loving people. I had a happy childhood. Fuck you, lady,” he pressed 'record'. “Let's finish this so I can turn your ass in. Maybe we can get those children some justice before you croak.”

  I smiled weakly, again. I looked out the window at a family coming to visit someone they had abandoned in this hellhole of a nursing home. Fuck them! Damned, ungrateful kids.

  Another deep breath:

  “Nineteen seventy-nine. My second husband, Tony, was a DJ at one of the biggest disco joints in Houston. We had twins that year; Derek and Dewayne. They were a handful, I tell ya.”

  I coughed a bit as pain shot through my head and down my chest. For a quick second I thought I’d black out. Charlie, in spite of his disgust, leaned in and helped me drink some water, my hands we too unsteady to hold the cup myself.

  “Sorry,” my voice was a little more strained; weaker and raspy. Charlie pulled his chair closer and leaned in so he could hear me a little better.

  I took another deep breath:

  “The boys were almost four years old when I'd finally grown tired of them. I took them for a walk. There was this wooded area in the neighborhood and a trail that passed an old junkyard with a hurricane fence. That junkyard had three of the meanest sonsabitchin’ Doberman's that ever walked the earth. You think I'm evil?” I chuckled. “These hounds had to be straight outta hell.

  “Some of the pot-head teenagers from the neighborhood had pulled the fence away at a section furthest from the road... far and away from anyone's view, probably so they could sneak in and smoke their weed and do God knows what else.

  “I stood there, near the small opening in the fence, pulled at it to make the opening a little bigger, then, made the loudest commotion you ever heard. The boys started crying and those damned dogs came fast and fierce.”

  Charlie was thoroughly sickened by this incident. He knew exactly where the story was going and stood up, holding his stomach. For a moment, I thought he was about to puke all over me. My shaking hand offered him a drink of water from my cup and he looked even more disgusted.

  I put the cup down and finished the story:

  “As I ran down the path, back to my house, I heard the dogs come through that fence,” I stared at Charlie as he locked his terrified eyes with mine. “And those boys justa screamin' away.”

  He turned away and walked toward the foot of the bed, staring at that shitty floral print. That damned thing was such an eyesore; I was a little embarrassed.

  “I got home and called the police, crying, of course. Told them that the boys wandered away from the house. They gathered a search party. Blah, blah, blah,” I chuckled, again. “And, you know, they killed those dogs. Which was probably a good thing,” I took a deep breath. “I can't compete with that kind of... evil.”

  My last statement got his attention and he shot a glare at me that sent a slight chill down my spine. He walked over and leaned in close. The tone in his voice had turned. It was darker, a little more menacing. “I cannot begin to fathom how you went almost 60 years and never got caught. You're going to burn in hell. But not before you pay for what you've done, you piece of shit.”

  Charlie turned and picked up his recorder. “I'm taking this to the cops.”

  “Don't turn that thing off, just yet, Charlie,” I pleaded. “I've got one more.”

  “One more? You said there were five.”

  “No,” I took a deep breath. My vision was beginning to get a little blurred, my breathing labored. “I said there were six children... I killed five.”

  He cocked his head at me. Perhaps there was as much curiosity in this cat as I had hoped for.

  “Sit, please, Charlie. Believe it or not, this story has a happy ending.”

  Charlie sat back down, but this time he put the recorder on the bed next to my head to catch my ever weakening voice.

  “Tony and I moved to Missouri to be closer to his family after the boys died. He was so saddened by it and I finally got a glimpse of humanity through his grief. He cried for days and every holiday season we bought Christmas presents for them; usually something small.

  “It broke my heart to see him that way and the time came when he finally decided he was ready to have another child.

  “In nineteen eighty-six, we had another son, Gavin. Good Lord,” I huffed. “Why he chose that hideous name is beyond me, but I let him have his way.

  “Gavin was a good boy. Quiet. Smart. But something wasn't right; I just didn't feel like we were a family. I felt empty, like I needed to tell Tony about the twins. But I couldn't.”

  Charlie was all ears. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the bed.

  “One night, when Gavin was three, I drugged Tony's dinner and while he slept, I stabbed him about a dozen times with a kitchen knife and lit a fire in the living room.” I took a deep breath. “Then, I went to Gavin's room and stabbed him several times.” I looked at Charlie. “Five to be exact. I left him in his crib and skipped town that night as the house burned.”

  Charlie was puzzled. “Wait, you said you only killed five of your children. What the hell kind of happy ending is this?”

  I ignored him:

  “I was long gone, in some little roach motel somewhere in Arkansas, I think, when I caught the story on the news the next day. The fire department had come, fought that fire and, wouldn’t you know it, they pulled out a tiny survivor... Gavin,” I finally got a little smile, a glimmer of hope, out of Charlie.

  “I've always wondered what ever happened to him. Did he die later at the hospital? Did he grow up and become a doctor? Lawyer? Policeman?” I chuckled as I said, “A fireman?”

  I took another deep breath. I was getting weaker. “Anyway, according to the news, he suffered some burns. Pretty bad ones,” Once again, I locked eyes with Charlie. “I believe to the left side of his body.”

  That's when the light went on in Charlie's eyes and for a moment I lost his gaze as he rubbed his left arm, then, his chest, caressing the stab wound just above his collar.

  I watched the tears well up in his eyes as he stared at the floor and began to vaguely remember something that had been locked away in his brain for
twenty-six years. Somehow, something clicked and he knew the truth about how he got that burn scar on his arm and those five scars on his chest.

  Then, I asked, “You were adopted, weren't you… Gavin?”

  Something in him snapped. He looked at me with a blank face, his eyes piercing, pupils dilating. I knew what was coming next and I let it happen. I welcomed it.

  He leaped from the chair and came at me, grabbing my throat. That grip... such a strong boy.

  “You fucking devil!” Charlie's voice echoed in the room. “I'll kill you right here, you bitch!” There was no doubt that the nursing staff would come soon, what with his big mouth and all. I had to act quickly.

  With my right hand, I clutched the back of his head and pulled him close. My left hand came from under my blanket with the knife I had taken from the cafeteria earlier in the day and I shoved it in his throat.

  He loosened his grip on my neck and stared at me for a moment. A tear streamed down his face.

  My senses were fading. This was it. I was dying, but not alone.

  I looked into his eyes for what seemed an eternity and I sent a chill down my own spine as my weakened voice, deep and raspy, whispered, “You almost got away, you little shit.”

  With my last bit of strength, I ripped the knife across his throat and felt his warm blood all over my face and neck.

  He slumped to the floor, gurgling in his death throes. I think I could barely hear him as he clawed his way towards the door. Then, silence.

  The taste of his blood filled my