Love, Ken
Page 7
said. He walked out of the room and up to his ARO. “They won’t go peacefully.”
“What do we do?”
Chuck looked uneasy. “Bring in the Enforcers.”
“Are you sure? Tranquilize all these people?”
Chuck wiped away tears and said, “I have no choice.” He walked away and headed for the next building.
Dear Missy,
I’m sorry Missy. I don’t know why I asked about Mom. I think the headache I had the last time I wrote you made me a little delusional. She went to the retirement home last year. The people there make sure she follows doctor’s orders. Does she like it there?
How was the wedding? You must be so blissful. James has always been a great man and I’m so happy that you two found each other. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. I’m just not ready to leave here yet. I wanted to come, truly I did. I feel so horrible that I missed it. You’ll have to send me pictures. I’m sure you were beautiful. You definitely got the looks in the family. I’ve never worn a suit well. Ah, I’m crying thinking about the girls. I hope you had Belle and Tammi as flower girls. That would’ve been the sweetest. Please, send me pictures soon.
Writing about the girls makes me think of a story I wrote when we were young. It was about you and Mom. I told you about it once before. Do you remember? You were going door to door with Mom, trying to sell cookies and Dad—
Never mind. I’m not going to write about him. I have to get back to work. My head is starting to hurt. I look forward to your next letter and the pictures.
Love,
Ken
Lover
The warm glow of the lamp beside me was comforting. I looked into the night, seeing an abandoned street corner. There was an old warehouse, a closed down restaurant building, and an empty, decrepit apartment building. There sat one lonely car. It was parked in front of the storage house, about a block away from me. I stood atop the stairs that came from Everett Park and led into the intersection of James Lane and Cyril Street. It was a familiar scene for me. I liked to stand on the steps and look out over the town buildings at the city. Myer City was so close, but at the same time so distant.
The steps were perfect: each brick aligned perfectly and they were all the same shade of gray. The town maintained them well. They were, after all, historically important. Cyril Myer was walking down them the evening he was stabbed to death. Ravenstown was renamed Myer City in his honor, yet our little suburban town of Crowsville was all but forgotten.
Cyril was regarded as a great man who fought for citizens’ rights. He was a defense attorney-turned-politician who took a radical view of democracy. He firmly believed that the citizens of any town, city, state, or country should have complete authority over everything they did. Although people did not share his view, most respected him for standing up for his beliefs.
I had studied him for years and at times he became an obsession for me. I strived to emulate every aspect of his character and personality in everything I did. I was not a politician, however. I was the owner of the old restaurant at the street corner. At least, I used to be. The town building inspector had deemed my restaurant unsafe three times. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t have the necessary funds to keep it up to code, but I saw no reason people still couldn’t get their food to go.
Cyril Myer was stabbed to death by a mad woman. She had been his lover once, or so Cyril had insisted. She had accused him of rape and tried to ruin his career and campaign. She could never prove it, of course. Her sick obsession with her fantasy must have driven her to insanity. She brutally attacked and killed him the night before the town election.
The building inspector resembled Cyril Myer’s lover quite well. They had the same blonde hair, hazel eyes, and full lips. I watched her walk down James Lane in her jogging outfit. She was sweating and breathing heavily. She stopped to drink from her water bottle.
That was my chance.
I walked down the steps and approached her. Before she could swallow, I shoved her to the ground with all my strength. Water sprayed from her mouth. I kicked her in the stomach and she screamed in pain.
She shouted, “I’ll tell everyone!”
I said, “Over my dead body.”
“Why can’t you accept ‘no’?”
“Nobody denies me!” I screamed.
I kicked her again and she cried out in pain. I looked around and everything was different. I saw my lamps and my street signs. How were they mine? I looked down at the building inspector and there was blood coming from her mouth. I looked back at the old lamps and signs. They were just as they were when I was atop the stairs.
I picked up my lover and carried her, kicking and screaming, into the shoe factory warehouse. I threw her hard onto the ground, face up. I got on top of her and shouted, “You will do what I tell you! You are going to tell everyone that we were lovers for one night. You agreed to meet me and you wanted to be with me.”
She struggled underneath me, screaming, “I hate you! I’ll tell them all! You’ll be finished!”
“No!” I shouted back. “You’ll ruin my campaign! My career will be over!” She grabbed a shoe and hit me on the side of the head. I smacked her across the face. The rock went flying across the empty room.
The building inspector said, “That place was a disaster waiting to happen. I did the town a favor by shutting it down.”
I had heard enough. I tore her clothes off and I raped her. I threatened to kill her if she told anyone. That would keep her quiet. She agreed.
I let the building inspector go and she ran for her car. As I watched her go, I remembered what my lover had done to me. She killed me. I would not let the building inspector get away with it, too.
I grabbed the rock she hit me with and ran after her. I hit her head with it over and over again. Her head and the ground were covered in blood. I looked at her car. She had dropped the keys a few feet away. I looked out at the stairs. Cyril Myer was dead. I was a killer. I picked up the keys, got in the car, and drove away.
Dear Missy,
It’s too hard. I thought if I could get away from home it might help. That it might take my mind away. I see her everywhere. I can’t go down to the lake, build a fire, or walk through the woods without crying. We never even did those things together. It seems like the more I try to forget, the more I remember. I can’t look out the window at the bird feeder without thinking how much she loved birds. I went outside to rip it down but couldn’t bring myself to. I came back in and cried for hours.
I even see her in my stories. I find myself writing her into them. Characters with her name, looks, personality. Each time I go back and rip up the pages. It’s too hard to see her face with the other characters. Why should they have her if I can’t? Okay, I know what you’re going to say to that, but I still can’t handle it.
The more I write, though, the more I see into myself. My characters are suffering. With each page I write, something more terrible happens than on the page before. It scares me. Before I came up here I never wrote anything like that. I never thought about writing anything like that. I always want to rip those pages up, too, but I never can. I feel like the stories need to happen that way. I can’t explain it.
Please tell Mom that I love her. I don’t know if she’ll remember you when you see her but please try anyway.
Love,
Ken
Monsters, 3
Teddy saw Billy’s mom come through the front door. He was happy to see Billy follow her in. Teddy was sitting in the living room next to his toy chest. He didn’t get up, but he said “hi” to Billy. Billy took two dinosaur toys out of the chest and gave one to Teddy. He took it and Billy sat down. Billy started playing with his dinosaur, making roaring sounds. Teddy tried to play, but his pretend roaring didn’t sound mean enough. Billy asked Teddy what was wrong and he told him that a monster tried to hurt him. Teddy’s mom looked at him. She looked surprised.
Teddy’s mom came over to him and asked him what he just said. Teddy didn’t say anythi
ng. His mom walked back over to Billy’s mom.
Billy asked Teddy if it was scary. Teddy told him it was. He said he didn’t know if he was going to get away. Teddy’s mom looked at him again. She watched him talk to Billy. Billy asked him what the monster looked like. Teddy couldn’t answer. Billy asked him how he got away. He said he bit the monster’s hand.
Talking to Billy made Teddy feel better. He played with Billy for a few hours. He didn’t talk about the monster anymore.
The next day Teddy’s parents took him to a doctor’s office. They brought him into a room with some chairs and a couch. Teddy asked his parents what they were doing there and they told him he was going to get help with the monsters. A doctor couldn’t help Teddy with the monsters. Nobody knew what the monsters were.
Teddy didn’t say that to his parents. He couldn’t tell them what the monsters were. He couldn’t talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about it. He waited patiently for the doctor to come in.
Finally, the door opened. A monster walked in the room. Teddy was so exhausted from being scared that he couldn’t scream. He buried his head in his dad’s coat and cried quietly. His parents asked him what was wrong and he asked them to take him away from the monster. They walked Teddy out the room and started whispering with the monster. He tugged on his dad’s coat and told him to get away from the monster. Teddy’s dad told him that the monster wasn’t a monster,