by J. R. Brule
“Hey!” Chad said.
“Get off me!” Rudy said, working his arm free.
“What’d you think of that?”
Rudy swallowed on a lump in his throat. “It was you, wasn’t it? You sick bastard.” With those words, Rudy paused.
(i know what you’ll do to him you sick bastard)
Rudy pivoted to see the school and the swirling police lights.
Then the explosion, the vision he’d had for so long, happened.
The parking lot rose as if a wave passed underneath it, and for the next minute, everyone felt the rumble. An officer ducked and turned, holding a hand over his head. The school’s walls crumbled and burst, hurtling giant fragments of twisting cement blocks through the air. Two consecutive blasts spouted from the roof like violent volcanic eruptions. The brick wall near the flagpole squirted like a fire hydrant at maximum power, blowing out the office entrance doors, along with all the mortar that held them in place.
Rudy stared upward as an onslaught of his school rained on buses, police cars and ambulances, sounding like giant hail. Windows and windshields shattered. Unfortunate souls got clipped by falling or exploding debris, some losing entire limbs. One officer went splat beneath a chunk of heavy shingle. An auditorium spotlight protruded from the windshield of an SUV.
The crowd stormed past Rudy, people screaming and running for their lives. He saw panic and blood. The dream of Chad flashed in his memory, Chad with that match by the hissing gas, and he wondered how the explosion had happened if Chad wasn’t inside.
Rudy joined with the fleeing crowd. He ran and ran, and he didn’t stop until he got home.
---
He brought out his key and fumbled trying to get it inside the lock, missing three times before slipping it in. He ran up the steps to his room two at a time and locked the door, panting, his forehead dripping sweat, and his chest burning. His head was spinning—or was it the room?
He tried to shut his eyes, hoping to fix his tornado vision. It didn’t work, so he lumbered over to his desk, one hand catching the top of the chair to stop a fall.
He wanted to leave, to run. He wanted so badly to be away from here, but knew he’d never make it, not feeling like this. So he wobbled to his bed and fell face first onto the mattress, and within seconds his eyes shut and his mind conked.
---
When Rudy came to, he threw the bed sheets away and bolted to his feet. The clock read 3:15 a.m. He went to the door and opened it cautiously, not wanting to make too much noise and wake his father, whose bedroom was on the first floor. The hallway lights were off and the house was dark.
He put his blue Middleburg gym bag on his bed and packed it full of shirts, pants, socks and underwear. He zipped the bag and went to the bathroom, tip-toeing along the carpet. He eased the door shut, flipped the light, and took a piss, hitting the side of the bowl to keep quiet. Then he opened the mirror and shoveled deodorants, shampoos, Band-Aids, lotions, toothpaste, and a toothbrush into his bag. He scanned the rest of the contents of the cabinet, wondering if he should take the Tylenol, Rolaids, and aspirin as well. He scooped them, too, and closed the mirror.
He froze. His blood ran cold.
Reflected in the mirror, he saw something that hadn’t been there when he came in: those familiar twin nooses, swaying gently in front of the shower curtain.
The doorknob jiggled and Rudy’s eyes moved to watch the door open. His heart raced. His fingers tightened around the edges of his gym bag, clutching the polyester like the edge of a cliff, and he knew his dad was coming inside. Together they’d hang—together they’d die and join their mother, wherever she was.
Then he blinked.
The nooses were gone.
He whipped around to the door, seeing it was still shut. He hesitated for a moment, his heart thumping, before grabbing the knob and twisting it open.
The hall was empty, and the house was still dark. No one had come to the bathroom, and no one had prepared the nooses.
Those nooses . . . they’ll happen, just like the explosion happened.
(have to leave have to get out o—)
He heard his dad’s bedroom door open.
The downstairs wooden floor creaked and the kitchen light turned on. Rudy heard the fridge door suck open and the rattle of bottles as his father searched for a drink.
“Rudy?” his dad called out. “Rudy?”
(not him, not him)
Rudy heard footsteps come toward the stairs. It wasn’t until later that he realized he could have run for it right then, down the steps and through the front door. But in that moment, he felt too scared to move. Felt trapped. Felt his dad coming to him like a spider to a fly.
“Ruuuuudy,” his dad said, looking up the staircase now with a stubbled shadow of a grin. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he was wearing a grey bathrobe. “I dreamed you’d try and slip out tonight. It’s in our blood, you know. Your mom and I gave it to you, and here we are, just one big happy fucking family.”
(not himself, this isn’t)
His dad took a step up.
“Mom saw this coming, didn’t she?” Rudy asked, holding his gym bag closer.
“Who knows what your mother saw? Her visions were weak. Too many times she worried and cried for things that never came. Not me; not mine. I see clearly.”
Another step up.
“What do you see, dad?” Rudy asked, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. “What do you see?”
His dad’s smile widened. “I see it wouldn’t be safe to let you leave here.” He climbed another step. “After what happened to your school, I think it’s best you stay close.”
“You did it!” Rudy shouted.
“Oh,” his dad guttered, “your sight is cheap, like your mother’s. You can’t see past Friday, can you? I see it all, kiddo. I see it all. And you . . .” He climbed another step. “You’re going to make one hell of a nice toy. A little sip of sanity in the midst of all the crazy.”
“I’m not staying,” Rudy cried, taking a step back and cradling his gym bag like a baby.
“Oh?” His dad cocked his head to one side, but he took another step up. Only three left. “Just how do you plan to get away now?” He untied his robe, and it fell open to show his almost naked body. “You’re like your mother . . . in so many ways. Don’t you want to make me happy, son? Don’t you want to be a family?”
His dad hopped up the two remaining steps and lunged forward with outstretched arms. Rudy stepped back and panicked, swung his bag
(just like john)
up into his dad’s chin, knocking him back, sending him staggering and groping for balance.
Then Rudy turned and ran into his room. He locked his door and rammed his desk chair under the doorknob while a flurry of fists pummeled his door.
“Gonna get you!” his dad shouted from behind the door. “Going to use you up, kiddo!”
Rudy scanned his room.
The window.
He swung his bag so the blue strap went diagonally across his chest, and he picked up his Geometry book. Behind him, his door splintered as a fist broke through it. Rudy turned and saw his dad’s bloodshot eye move into the slit, to peek inside.
Rudy hurled his textbook into the window. The book crashed through, blowing handfuls of shattered glass out into the night. A light turned on in his neighbor’s house.
“You dumb little fuck!” his dad screamed, punching another hole in the door. “You’re waking the neighbors! How impolite! I’ve got three lessons to teach you for that one!”
Rudy looked out the shattered window, seeing the drop was dangerously high. He glanced back at the door and saw his father’s arms moving like tentacles inside his room, searching out the lock and chair against the knob. Rudy kicked out the remaining glass and hopped up into the window frame like Spiderman. He took a deep breath, heard his door open, and jump . . .
34:
. . . ED INTO FINCH’S SUBARU. On his way to Mr. Earl’s.
<
br /> Rudy stopped the car outside the house, got out, and closed the door as quietly as he could. There was only one light on in the top left window. He expected to see a silhouette appear in the yellow glow, but none came, so he crossed the street and went into the woods, moving toward Mr. Earl’s house.
The leaves were dry and crisp—not good for sneaking around. Canada’s autumn started soon, so a lot had fallen. He did the best he could, trying to use the gaps between the brush, and trying not to bring his whole foot down. Any time he’d feel something start to snap, he’d jerk away and step somewhere else. And from between the trees, Rudy was able to see the freshly varnished back deck, reflecting the moon’s shining pallor.
Rudy crouched, wondering if Mr. Earl might be paranoid enough to have a motion sensor in his back yard.
Maybe even one in these woods—maybe he already knows I’m here.
Nothing moved inside or outside, and no new lights turned on, so it seemed safe.
Rudy stalked across the yard to the deck, and climbed its two steps with catlike efficiency. He scanned the luminous windows, his body hunched and his pulse quick. Just before he grabbed the doorknob, he thought
(what if its locked)
that Mr. Earl would be one to keep his house in order, to double check every lock and window latch. Regardless, Rudy tried the door, twisting it slowly, not wanting it to rattle.
It was locked.
God dammit, didn’t you see that coming?
He ducked down, strode off the porch, and went around the side of the house, past a humming air conditioner.
Maybe he doesn’t keep the front door locked, maybe he relies on that motion sensor.
Rudy stepped into soft mulch, climbed up onto the concrete front stage with its dual white pillars and located that beaming red eye shooting its laser point across the entryway. He avoided it and went to the green door, with its brass knocker made to look like a lion holding a ring in its mouth.
He tested the doorknob. It turned.
Yes, yes, yes!
He opened the heavy door slowly, peaking into the dark house and hoping against odds the hinges wouldn’t creak.
He saw no one inside and heard no movement, so he shimmied in through the crack, sucking in all the bulk he could, the wood scraping his stomach. Once in, he closed the door.
Something thumped violently on the floor above. Another thump sounded, and he heard a man’s muffled voice.
No dog to greet me? Old Chester doesn’t exist, does he?
He figured he ought to have a weapon—not to kill, Jesus no, but in case Mr. Earl lashed out. He’d threatened to use his shotgun before.
Rudy walked past the darkened room with all the covered furniture, and into the kitchen. The counter was cleared—no bread bags or Barbies. He found a butcher block for knives and drew the biggest one, its blade ideal for slicing tenderloin.
He climbed the steps, one by one, those thumping noises getting more frequent and the man’s voice becoming clearer. The top hall was carpeted, leading both left and right. To the left was an open room with its lights off, but on the right was a closed door with yellow light fanning out beneath.
Something slammed up against the closed door, shaking the whole wall. Rudy ducked, holding the knife up, his heart racing.
What in the actual fuck am I doing right now?
(think of mom think of mom)
He gulped, and then crept forward, holding the knife out and staring at the door, half expecting it to explode open and Mr. Earl to come charging toward him with his double-barreled shotgun.
Rudy got close enough to reach the knob, his heart pounding in his chest.
This is for you, mom.
---
When Rudy landed the jump out his bedroom window, his knees buckled under his weight. The force slammed his teeth
(one gone missing)
down into each other. His back felt like it had been banged with an iron pole, though nothing seemed broken. He looked up, hearing his dad laughing with his head poking out of the broken window like a mole.
Rudy got to his feet and ran across the backyard, past their fire pit and lawn chairs, and into his neighbor’s yard. His neighbor had heard the commotion and was already coming out the backdoor.
“The hell’re you doing?” the neighbor said, also in a bathrobe.
“Please!” Rudy yelled. “Help me! He’s trying to kill me!”
Rudy saw his dad come out from the side door in the garage, spot Rudy, and stride across the lawn.
“Please, don’t let him take me.”
The man grabbed Rudy’s shirt in a hurry. “Come inside.”
Rudy followed him into the kitchen. But the man did not close the door. He stood there, watching Rudy’s father approach.
“What are you doing? Lock the door! He’s coming!”
Looking back at Rudy, the man grinned, his hair a mess of bed head. “I know.”
Rudy felt his heart drop, his throat clench.
He’d been tricked.
(don’t know who anyone is)
---
Rudy opened Mr. Earl’s upstairs door quietly, carefully.
Golden light flooded the hallway. Mr. Earl had his back turned and didn’t hear the door open. He was standing in front of a girl, with flowing blonde hair and a tattered dress, who couldn’t be older than twelve. Her neck was wrapped with one end of rope, the other end knotted to a hook in the ceiling.
“Think you’re being cute, eh?” Mr. Earl asked, and backhanded the little girl. She went flying to one side and the rope pulled taut. The girl coughed as it strangled her.
Rudy felt sick to his stomach.
Mr. Earl was a monster.
Rudy came forward, holding the knife up. The girl saw him, and her eyes went wide; Rudy could see the raw red lines of her jugular.
Mr. Earl must have seen her look, because he turned, questioningly.
Rudy made a snap decision and slammed the bottom of the knife down onto Mr. Earl’s forehead. The old man stumbled backward, his arms went out into cruciform, and his eyes rolled back. Then he fell over on his back, groaning, and Rudy rushed forward to the little girl.
“I’ve got you,” he said, cutting through the rope. “Gonna get you outta here.”
The girl only stared, her eyes glistening.
The rope split, the undersides ruddy with dried blood and grainy to the touch. The bindings fell to the floor with a clunk, and Rudy grabbed her hand.
“Come on!”
As Mr. Earl clambered to his feet, he moved dizzily, reaching for his cane and yelling incoherently.
Outside the room, Rudy accidentally stepped on the hem of the girl’s dress, causing her to fall. Her hand tightened in his, and she dragged him down with her. The two of them somersaulted down the risers and rolled into the wall at the bottom.
The world got dreamy, and then everything went black.
---
A new scene played before Rudy’s eyes—or maybe it was inside his head—but he was looking in the bathroom mirror, the nooses reflected over his shoulder.
The door opened, and a shadowy figure entered.
The face was indeterminable, somehow censored. But the hair—Rudy could see the hair was done up in a golden ponytail.
---
Rudy’s dad entered the neighbor’s house casually, in his own grey bathrobe. Rudy thought his dad and the neighbor looked like twins—disgusting looking twins that were staring right at him.
“You were right,” the neighbor said. “Kid came right into my arms, just like you said he would.”
“That’s cause deep down, he knows he wants this, knows he needs it,” Rudy’s dad said, palming his own crotch. “Just like his mother did.”
The neighbor laughed. “He’s so young. You think he even touches himself yet?”
Rudy backed up against the fridge. There was nowhere to run—the only way out was past them. He’d never make it.
“Let’s set him up, get him squealing.
”
The two men moved forward.
Rudy didn’t know what to do. His entire body trembled against the cold steel of the fridge. He slumped down, hoping he’d become small enough to disappear.
(listen)
(listen listen)
Nothing to listen to!
Their hands found his shirt and yanked him up to his feet.
“You ever been with a man, kid?” his neighbor asked, his breath sour, his tongue stained yellow. “Ever walked on the wild side?”
Rudy felt fingers grope his chest and pinch his nipples. He screamed, shuddered, and looked anywhere and everywhere for a way out, a way to end this nightmare. A hand ran down his belly, over his waistband, and stopped on his groin.
---
Kid, kid! Mr. Kloom shouted, from this place of nothing.
It’s you, you’re going to hang me! Stay away from me!
That’s right, Chad Stevenson said. He’s played you for a fool, Rudy. He let you get taken by your father. I wouldn’t let that happen to you . . . would never let that happen to you. I’m the only one you can trust now.
---
On the staircase at Mr. Earl’s, Rudy came to, looking up into the double barrel of a shotgun.
“Get up,” Mr. Earl said, from the other end of the barrel. He held the gun with one hand, his cane with the other.
Rudy stood, helping the girl.
“Probably think you’re some kind of hero, don’t ya?” When Rudy didn’t answer, Mr. Earl shoved the barrel into his shoulder. “Answer me!”
“What are you, a pedophile? An abusive uncle?”
“You have no idea what you’ve done, kid. Who else knows you’re here?”
“My partner. I believe you’ve met him.”
“That hippy with the ponytail?”
The executioner with the ponytail.
“That hippy is going to call the police, and you’ll be in jail.”
There was a knock at the front door.
“That’s probably him now.”
Mr. Earl frowned, then ushered them away with the weapon. “You’re going to get him out of here or I’ll blow you to stringy pieces. Get it?”
“What will I say?”