“I haven't done anything like that in a long time,” responded Robert, proudly.
“I would disagree. It wasn't all that long ago that you assaulted a nurse. Your previous doctor's notes dismiss the altercation, but I am not inclined to do so.”
The doctor didn't look at Robert. Not directly. When he did look up from the file, he looked more at the wall behind than he did the man. In return, Robert averted his own gaze. He had learned the importance of face-to-face communication, but the man before him had apparently not learned the same lesson.
The doctor continued, “Also, it says here that you were petitioned for release, and I believe that is premature. With your obvious violent tendencies still present, I believe we still have quite a bit of work ahead of us before we can think about release.”
“I will soon be twenty-two. That is the day that I was going to see the world again.”
“Not anymore.”
Robert, who had previously been trying to hold a smile, an important skill that a man needed to learn, was visibly crushed. He now had a look of someone staring through a deep fog.
“I understand that you may be a little down about this, Robert, but if you look at the bright side, you will see that this is the best thing for you.”
No response.
“You simply aren't ready to tackle the trials of the outside world.”
No response.
“We can revisit your situation in another few years or so. Until then, I will be checking with you once a month to see about your progress. Keep your head down, take your meds, and just try not to interact with anyone that may make you angry.”
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
FORTY SEVEN
Bill was the first to react.
He had let Sylvia's hand slip, and she could feel the weight on the couch shift as he began to rise. She moved to stop him, but her outstretched hand grabbed only air. Bill lunged at the killer, attempting to tackle him, as a football player would, but Robert was quick.
Robert shifted his body to the side just enough so Bill couldn't get a good hold around his waist. Then he brought his elbow down on the back of Bill's head. Drops of blood flew off Robert's arms, a few splashing against the white painted walls. Sylvia had a strange thought about how she always wished that her father would allow them to paint their walls a different color than white. The blood wouldn't have shown so much if he had listened to her.
When Bill's body hit the floor, a sound like cracking bones hit Sylvia's ears, though she may have imagined it. She no longer felt as if she were looking through her own eyes. Instead, she was a bystander, with no real stake in what was transpiring.
Her father stood then and attempted the same move that had failed Bill. In Sylvia's eyes, his body left a trail as it moved, as did her mother's as she ran in the opposite direction. Each moment moved slowly for Sylvia, as if she had somehow slowed time, though she knew deep inside that only a few seconds had actually passed.
Her brother, The Strawberries Killer, raised his hand into the air, palm out. This was enough to stop her father in his tracks. Franklin didn't sit back down, but he moved no closer to Robert.
Bill lay still on the floor, and Sylvia's mind was too blurry to tell if he was breathing or not. She now regretted the decision to take more pills in the car. She didn't know if Bill were alive or dead because she was too doped up. Then, her brother began to speak. This at once made her mind clearer.
“Please stop what you are doing. Do not fight me. We are together. We are family. If you all be very nice and sit right down, there will be treats for everyone!”
He laughed and laughed at that, his child-like demeanor in direct contrast to the scene before him. As he laughed, he spun around in place, moving faster and faster with each revolution, sending his glee bouncing through the house.
Merrily, merrily, we all fall down.
But, he didn't fall.
On the mantle was a marble statue of Atlas, the Titan who had held the planet on his shoulders. Her father had gotten it before Sylvia was born, and it must have weighed close to fifty pounds. As Robert spun, he grabbed the statue in one hand without missing a beat, never stopping his laughter.
Finally he froze, statue in hand. “Everyone, really. Please sit down. I know that you are all concerned with this man on the floor, but he is of no consequence. What is important is what is right in front of you. Our family is all together.”
He straddled his legs over Bill, moving the statue from hand to hand as easily as if it were a tennis ball. One hand to the other, and back again. Each time, making Sylvia's heart flutter in her chest, frightened of its inevitable fall.
“My dear parents, if you do not sit down, I may be very mean to the man below me. I may just drop this pretty rock onto his soft skull.”
Both of them sat down on either side of Sylvia, who had yet to move from her spot on the green love seat. Though her vision had cleared, her mind had yet to catch up. It was strange to her to be in total realization of her shock, and yet not able to do anything about it.
“What do you want from us?” Franklin asked.
“I already have it father. Right here. I want us to be together. I want my family. It's what I need to be whole again. With you, I can be just like everyone else. With no pain.”
“It has been a long time Robert, we…”
“Do not call me Robert! That is not my name,” he snarled, “A nice reporter told me that people have been calling me Strawberries. I like that. You may call me by that name. I can remember, you know? As a boy, you would grow strawberries in your garden, mother. You told me that they were a hearty plant. You said that they could live through the harsh winter and still make fruit each year. They are strong, as I am strong.”
“I'm sorry,” their mother said. “I didn't know. I won't say it again. I promise.”
“You have forgotten me. I know. I had forgotten you too, Mother. And you, Father. And my sister, whom I have never met. But, we are together now, and I will remember it all. You sent me away, but I have forgiven you. A man forgives.”
Strawberries was still holding the statue, but he stepped back over Bill and took a few steps toward them. Sylvia could now focus enough to see that Bill's back was subtly rising and falling. He was alive.
“Now that we are together, we can be happy,” Strawberries said. “I want to be happy. Happiness is what a man needs, and he gets that from his family. You will make the pain go away.”
Blood was still casually escaping cuts on his arms, occasionally stippling a spec of crimson down to the carpet.
“What pain?” Sylvia asked, surprised to hear her own voice.
“The pain that I feel deep inside when the energy is gone, Sweet Sister. You will be my energy now.”
Sylvia didn't know what her brother meant. She was unsure of everything in that moment. Her mother was sobbing uncontrollably, and her father looked numb–defeated. Bill had not moved. Could she get to him? What hope was there for her, if Bill couldn't pull it off?
Strawberries beamed, and then began to spin in place again.
Pure joy.
FORTY EIGHT
Love had already vanished past where he could see. Behind the house, he assumed. Robert Kirkman had already walked up the sidewalk to the house. Harry now hurled his old frame from the Hummer, and as his feet hit the pavement, his knee popped. At first, it was just a sound and nothing more, but the sound morphed into pure pain, and his body crumbled.
He picked himself up as quickly as he could manage, and though his agony threatened to cause him to black out, he willed himself to hold it together. With no time for finesse, he punched his knee as hard as he could, popping it back into its rightful place and causing him to scream.
Now move it, Old Man.
Half hobbling, half running, he made it to the front door of number 15 Butterscotch Avenue, and the way was already open to him.
Once inside, he saw a laundry list of th
ings happening in quick succession. First, he noticed the man on the ground who was stirring slightly. Further into the doorway he saw Robert Kirkman, his back to Harry. The remainder of the family sat on a couch to his right. Then, he saw Love enter from an archway at the other side of the room, gun drawn.
Robert hurled some sort of heavy object at Love, and crouched to the ground like a crab. Love managed to dodge the throw, and the object shattered against the archway, breaking off a large chunk of drywall. He scurried across the carpet and was on her before Love could recover fully. Her hands were still on her gun, but Robert closed his around hers, and they each tried to wrestle the weapon away. Love used her knee to hit Robert in his sides and stomach, but to no effect.
Harry ran toward them, ignoring the bonfire in his knee socket, but just as he got close, Robert managed to get the prize. Harry was now staring into the barrel of the gun, and a moment later, it fired. The sound of the bullet bursting from the chamber bounced around the room, thunder loud. He dropped to his ass before he even realized that the bullet had struck his flesh.
He could see the people on the couch holding their hands to their ears. Harry would have done the same, but he felt the ringing was never going to go away. He fell backward then, his body in agonizing undulation. Still, he could see. He wasn't dead yet. Not yet.
Harry rolled to his side in time to see Robert strike Love across the head with the butt of the pistol. She keeled over, a light, but constant stream of blood flowing from her head. She was crawling to him. They were so close. She reached out to him, and he reached back.
Robert used his foot to push Love over onto her back before their fingers met.
“I despise these things, you know,” Robert said, gesturing to the gun. “They are so impersonal. So messy.”
Harry willed his body upward, managing to make it to a seated position. Then he laughed.
“Messy,” he said, “You of all people think a gun is messy? I've seen what you do to the people that you kill.”
“What I do is a song. I move the flesh on the waves of the energy. It is not a mess. It is harmony itself. You would know nothing of it.” Then Robert pointed the gun at Love.
“Who is this person to you? Is she someone important? She must be, as you went to so much trouble to come to her aid. If I were to end her life, would you be able to feel her inside of you as I do? No. No, you couldn't. I have seen you. I remember. I saw the energy touch you, and I saw you ignore it. I don't think you could feel it now, either. Let's see.”
Two bullets entered Love's chest before Harry's ears registered the sound of the shots. She quivered, her blood bubbling up from inside, and out her mouth and wounds. She was dead almost immediately.
Robert threw open his arms. His grin a spectacle of psychosis. “Feel the energy of her life as it fills you, if you can. Let your pain be washed away, and rejoice in it.”
He crouched down in front of Harry, the gun resting on his knee, but still pointed at its mark. “I am going to leave you to die with this woman. I will let you die slowly so you will know what it is to feel her. It is my gift to you. Do not waste it.
Then Robert went to where the first man was laying, his body now threatening to recover. Robert picked the man up and slapped him across the face until he regained consciousness. He held the man there until he was able to stand on his own. “You will help me. I am told that a man needs friends just as he needs family. Maybe.”
Robert instructed the man to grab the ties from the curtains and use them to bind the wrists of the rest of the Kirkman family. “Now you will lead them to one of the cars outside. I do not care which. Put them gently in their seats and buckle them up for safety. Then you will drive us to where we belong. Do you understand?”
The man nodded, and did as he was told. Robert followed behind them, gun still in hand, and grin still affixed to his face.
Harry scooted himself to where Love lay, and pulled her into his lap. Her skin had always been cold to him, but now it was of a different sort. She seemed to grow colder with each moment, her warmth flowing out with her blood. He held her tight, ignoring the soggy mess between them, and he kissed her cheek and eyes.
He had heard so many people say that a lifeless body seemed so peaceful, but Harry had never gotten that notion. He had seen many dead bodies in his lifetime, and to him, they all appeared confused; as though they could not understand what had just happened to them. Love was no different, and Harry longed to join her in her confusion.
You could have saved her, you worthless shit.
He reached up to his left shoulder and felt the bullet hole there. Then he reached around to his back and felt the exit wound. He wasn't going to die if he bound the wound now. He could keep on living. Alone.
He laid Love's head down gently on the carpet, kissing her one last time. He ripped a piece of his shirt off and tied it around his shoulder. That would work. Temporarily. Right now, he needed to help the Kirkman family. It's the whole reason they came here, and if Harry could help, he would.
He got to his feet, stumbled, and then got to his feet again. He took Love's keys from her front pocket, apologizing as he did so. At the front door, he looked back at her one more time, hating himself for leaving her there. He knew, though, that she would forgive him.
She would have always forgiven him.
FORTY NINE
Sylvia sat in the backseat of the Honda struggling to get free of her bindings. Bill had attempted to tie them loosely at first, but after a swift pistol whip, tied them how Strawberries had wanted. She could feel her hands grow steadily numb, and with each bump they hit, the bindings grew tighter.
At first, her brother had taken them on a normal paved road, but after a time, they had turned off onto something that could barely be called a road at all. This turned into something that was decidedly not a road, just open field. Sylvia knew where they were, approximately, but wasn't sure until they made a turn and she was able to see the lake before them.
Her parents sat quietly next to her, both with their heads down in shame. Neither was putting up a fight. Tears were still sliding down her mother's cheeks, but she wasn't making any noise, save the occasional catch in her breath. Her father sat passionless, the bumps in the drive causing his head to knock against the window having no effect on him.
Sylvia attempted to make eye contact with Bill, but he was staying strict to his orders and never looked back. She knew that he didn't want to risk her safety, and judging by his actions back at the house, was either plotting his next move or feeling defeated. She guessed that neither was going to do them much good. Their only hope now was to do as Strawberries had told them, and hope for help to come.
Yet, help had come hadn't it?
She didn't know the fate of the man who had come through their front door, but she was positive that the woman was dead. Watching the two of them on the floor then, she could see that whoever they were, they meant something to each other. They may have even loved each other.
She was spending too much time thinking on people she never even knew. Now was not the time to mourn strangers. She needed to figure out what her own next move would be, because if those two were the cavalry, then they were very well screwed.
After an extensive drive, Bill was instructed to park the car. They were in front of a small house that looked as though it was only held together with cobwebs. The outer edges of the building were crumbling off, termites most likely. The roof actually dipped down in the middle, and there was a puddle of water that had accumulated within the indention. The puddle had become the breeding ground for mosquitos so numerous that she could actually see the cloud of them swarming from her back seat view.
Strawberries ordered the lot of them out of the car, and no one put up a fuss. They all knew who was calling the shots now. Sylvia was finally able to catch Bill's eye, and she could see that there was no fight left in him, either. He looked away from her, probably not wanting to show their true connection to her brother. St
rawberries may not like his newfound sister having a boyfriend. He had said that Bill could be his friend, and that may be the only reason that he remained alive.
“Open the door,” Strawberries said, motioning to Bill.
The door wasn't locked, but the settling of the house made it difficult to open. Bill had to put a lot of force against the door with his shoulder for it to give, and when it finally did, the house shook. Some of the water from the roof splashed down the front, and a conglomeration of rotted shingles fell to the ground. The old wooden steps that lead to the front door creaked below their feet as the family climbed them, small chunks falling away.
An old couch was the only piece of furniture inside the house, and even that seemed to have sagged and morphed into a part of the house itself. When the light from outside struck the wooden floor, all manner of roach and rodent scurried away in fright, and above them, the ceiling housed an entire arachnidian cityscape, its webs blowing in a slight breeze causing its inhabitants to stir.
“Sit my dear parents. Sit down on the floor. Back to back.”
Her parents showed their first signs of life, neither wanting to take rest with the vermin that called the floor home. They looked to their misbegotten son to protest, but his look stayed their words. They sat back to back, as instructed.
For a moment, Strawberries disappeared into a back room, and then reemerged holding several thick pieces of wire. “Use one of these to bind them together. Make sure that it is nice and tight. If you don't, I may be forced to reevaluate the necessity of friends.”
Bill crouched near her parents. Sylvia could not see what he was doing precisely, but at one point, her mother shrieked. Bill apologized to her and then finished his task. When he stood again, Sylvia could see a small smattering of blood on his left hand that didn't appear to be his.
“Very good. Very good, indeed. Now you and my sweet sister shall sit in the same manner.”
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