Jimmy

by William Malmborg

  Hawthorn Family Asked Not to Attend Funeral

  The funeral of Megan Reed, which is expected to draw many mourners tomorrow afternoon, will not be attended by the Hawthorn family due to a request by the Reed family. It is also unclear at this time if Samantha King, recently released from the hospital, will be in attendance. When asked how their daughter was doing, the King family said she was ‘recovering slowly’. The events of Samantha King’s captivity have not yet been made public, and investigators refused to comment…

  * * *

  Alan had just given himself a pump from his pain medication device when there was a knock on the door followed by Tina stepping into the hospital room.

  “Hi Alan,” she said.

  “Hi,” Alan replied.

  Tina took a seat next to his bed, her face and body looking completely worn out, which, of course, was to be expected after everything she had been through.

  “How’s your leg?” she asked.

  Alan glanced down at the leg, which had been encased in a futuristic looking device and said, “I would be lying if I told you it was fine.” He sighed. “Thankfully I got this nifty little thing.” He pushed the button on the pain pump to signify what it was, his mind knowing this time around the press would be useless because he had already used up his ration of afternoon pain killers.

  “Does it really work?”

  “It takes the edge off and makes you loopy to the point where you don’t care, but doesn’t really kill it completely.” He yawned, a nice swirl of nothingness filling his head. “They should really call it a Pain Duller or Memory Masher or… I don’t know.”

  Tina smiled.

  “It really helps when you want to try and sleep at night.” He yawned again.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Tina asked. “If you need some rest I could go.”

  “No,” Alan shook his head. “Please stay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Aside from the police and that really grumpy detective you’re the only one who has visited me.”

  “What about your parents?”

  Alan shook his head. “I think… I don’t know what’s going on with them.” He knew they were having a difficult time in town with locals and reporters.

  A quiet rumble came from foot of the bed.

  Tina twisted toward it.

  “It’s just my blood-clot thing,” Alan said. “It tightens every now and then. The nurses keep getting mad at me because I take it off, and because I’m not blowing in this thing every couple of hours.” His hand motioned toward an odd looking clear device with a blue mouth piece and measuring scale. “They—” he stopped when he saw the look on her face and softly asked, “How are you doing Tina?”

  “I’m tired,” she said. “The police keep asking me questions and today I actually had to talk to the FBI, and these stupid reporters keep hounding me wherever I go.” She hesitated. “You know they are pretty sure Jimmy was the one who kidnapped those girls.”

  Alan didn’t reply.

  “Do you think they’re right?” she asked.

  Alan nodded.

  Tears welled in the corner of her eyes. “But he was so good to me. How could he do that to them and then be so good to me?”

  Alan didn’t have an answer for this. Instead he kept playing over the events in his mind, angry with himself for not putting all the pieces together.

  “I knew about it,” Alan said without much thought.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “Deep down inside I knew and I should have realized it because I had seen his video.”

  “One of the bondage videos Brett had?” Apparently the tape Tina had seen had been just one of many.

  “No. The tape he made when he was younger. I found it when looking for a tape to record…” he thought for a second but the title didn’t come to mind “… I don’t remember what, but I couldn’t find a blank tape by the TV in the basement and went into his room to see if he had one because he was always taping stuff and found one that looked good because it didn’t have a title on it and put it into his VCR to see if it really was blank.”

  Tina nodded.

  “It wasn’t. Instead it was full of scenes of girls hanging from their wrists, one right after another, that he must have taped from TV. I was so young I didn’t really understand it, but now that I look back, it makes so much sense. And I should have put it together with how strange he was acting and the girls disappearing and all his bike rides.

  “And you know what’s worse,” Alan said before Tina could reply. “I don’t even care and get mad when I see the people on TV saying all these bad things about him and the nurses talking in the hallways. I just want to scream at them that he was a good person and whatever it was that made him do those things, it wasn’t who he really was.”

  Tina stared at him for several seconds and then said, “I feel the same way, but then when I hear what he did I get angry at myself and at him because I feel like I was tricked and lied to.” She also felt cheated, but didn’t want that to slip out.

  “I’m really sorry,” Alan said.

  “Why are you sorry?” Tina asked. “You had nothing to do with it.”

  Alan looked away for a while and then started to say, “I know I just…” but stopped because the words weren’t there. He couldn’t express what he felt.

  “But really, why make a big deal out of it right? I mean, I finally find a guy I really like who seems to like and respect me, but just happens to be a blossoming serial killer who has two girls locked up in a secret underground chamber. No big deal.” She put a hand to her face and started crying. “Why did he do this to us?”

  Alan didn’t have an answer for that.

  “And why did he force the police to shoot him right in front of us? I can’t get it out of my head.”

  This was another reason why Alan liked the pain pump. It helped push aside memories like that when they became too much to bear. Watching Jimmy’s body vibrate with bullet impacts, and then turn and look at them before collapsing had been a chilling sight, one which would stick with him for the rest of his life.

  Tina wiped at the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I know you’re supposed to be resting and now I’m stressing you out with all this.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Alan said. Like him, she had no one to really talk to. “You can talk to me whenever you need.”

  “Thank you,” Tina said. “It goes both ways, okay.”

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  The next morning the FBI came to talk to Alan again but once again he couldn’t really tell them much, which seemed to frustrate them and made them accuse him of hiding something.

  Eventually they left.

  Alan watched the door after that, wishing Tina would come back, but she never did. A few hours later, however, a nurse came in and started disconnecting all his IVs and his pain pump.

  “What are you doing?” Alan asked. His voice was panicked. He didn’t want to lose the pain killers.

  “You get to go home today.”

  “No one told me that,” Alan said.

  The nurse shrugged. It was the same one who had let him sit in bed with a full bed pan for over two hours the other day, one who seemed to think he was responsible for the things his brother did.

  Would that always be the case? he wondered. Will I eventually have to change my last name so no one knows who I am?

  It was a troubling thought, mostly because he didn’t like the idea of being forced to sever himself from his older brother despite the awful things he had done, things he still couldn’t see his brother doing.

  “Ahhh,” Alan cried as the nurse yanked the IV from his arm.

  “Sorry,” the nurse said with a smile.

  Alan watched her like a hawk after that, his mind wanting to be prepared for any pain she attempted to cause.

  * * *

  Eight hours later Alan wished he was back in the hospital because the pain killers they had prescribed him
were nowhere near as effective as the ones that had gone right into his blood stream. He also didn’t like getting in and out of his bed without being able to raise it up and down. Worse, his parents weren’t easy to get a hold of when he needed something, though they were still better than some of the nurses had been. Bottom line, he wished his leg were all better and pain free.

  I wish Jimmy hadn’t shot me.

  This led to a long line of wishes of things he wished Jimmy hadn’t done, though none of them concerned his suicidal attack against the police because, having thought about it, he was glad his brother was in the grave rather than a prison cell, one which he would have rotted in for the rest of his life.

  At nine o’clock he popped an extra pill to try and help him sleep. Within minutes the extra dose kicked in and he felt himself drifting.

  Glass shattered.

  Screams followed from his parents downstairs.

  Alan opened his eyes and saw light dancing on the dark bedroom wall, light that was coming from down the hallway.

  “Mom!” he cried.

  There was no answer.

  “MOM!” he screamed again.

  “Alan!” Kelly Hawthorn cried. Her voice sounded very far away.

  He could smell something burning and a second later the first tendrils of smoke drifted into his room.

  Oh god!

  Alan reached around in the dark for his crutches; ones which barely helped him walk thanks to the pain in his leg, and the heaviness of the device holding everything in place, and forced himself to his feet.

  The room swirled when he did this, the pain killers having really started to kick in.

  “MOM!” he cried again.

  This time no one answered.

  Thick dark smoke started to follow the path left by the thinner smoke.

  Alan tried to duck beneath it as he made his way to the bedroom door but couldn’t due to the crutches.

  His taste buds suddenly examined the flavor, while his nose desperately tried to suck in fresh air.

  Smoke filled his lung and he fell to the floor, his leg screaming despite the pain killer, the sounds of something cracking, maybe one of the support pins on the device reaching his ears.

  “MOM! DAD!” he screamed around his choking sobs. “HELP ME!”

  No one came.

  Knowing he couldn’t use the crutches, not with the heavy smoke at head level, he started to crawl into the hallway.

  Smoke was billowing up the stairway and into the hall without any resistance and he realized it wouldn’t be long until the entire second floor was toxic.

  GO! his mind ordered.

  He crawled as fast as he could toward the stairs, the smoke getting lower and lower.

  His parents’ bedroom was to the left of the hallway.

  Alan looked in and saw that it was empty, the bed still not slept in since that morning given the decorative pillows, which meant his parents had probably been downstairs when the fire started.

  But why didn’t they come for me?

  The answer to that didn’t matter at the moment, and he twisted himself away from their doorway and continued toward the stairs, the sounds of stuff burning now reaching his ears.

  A part of him could also feel the heat of the flames even though he couldn’t yet see them, almost as if his skin were simply anticipating the burn that would arrive.

  Alan made it to the top of the stairs.

  Flames had reached the bottom steps.

  His heart sank.

  The front door was only four feet away from those flames, but the chances of him making it there and getting out without the flames scorching him weren’t good.

  Two tall windows boarded the doorway. Through one he thought he saw movement.

  If you just get to the door they can pull you out.

  You will be burned.

  The smoke continued to get lower and was now only two feet above his head.

  If you stay here you’ll be dead.

  Alan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his mind not relishing the thought of the pain that was about to come.

  He pushed himself forward, his shattered leg screaming as the metal contraptions bounced on each step edge.

  A thick cloud of smoke hit.

  Alan tried to get out of its line, but couldn’t and started gagging as it filled his lungs.

  Next his hand slipped as he tried forcing himself out of it and his body went sliding down the second half of the stairs, the metal device clanking away, excruciating pain speeding back and forth along his nerves.

  When Alan hit the bottom of the stairs he felt himself go into a daze, one which he couldn’t force himself out of right away.

  And then the flames touched his left arm.

  He felt the skin start to cook and managed to pull it away, but the flames followed, hungry now that they had tasted flesh, and came at him.

  Alan tried twisting himself back around so he could climb up the steps, but couldn’t maneuver himself like that.

  Screams touched his ear drums.

  He didn’t even realize they were his own.

  At the same time he heard someone say the door was locked. It was his father. Beyond that he could hear his mother screaming for him to open the door and get Alan.

  One of the windows next to the door shattered.

  An explosion followed and the last thing Alan saw was a burst of flames coming toward him, the fire racing down his throat and scorching his lungs as he tried to scream. A blissful blackness followed.

  * * *

  News clipping from Ashland Creek Weekly Chronicle collected by Tina Thompson:

  Deadly Fire at Hawthorn House

  Arson is expected in a fire that destroyed the family home of the late Jimmy Hawthorn last night, the young man responsible for the kidnapping and torture of two high school girls, one of whom died before being rescued by sheriff deputies. Jimmy Hawthorn was also responsible for the shooting death of high school senior Brett Murphy. Alan Hawthorn, little brother of Jimmy, who was recovering from wounds sustained in the shootout with police during what is now known as the Prom Night Shootout, died in the fire, his charred remains discovered just steps away from the front door. Jimmy Hawthorn’s parents could not be reached for comment though witnesses say the two were seen fleeing the back door of the house shortly before the fire was called in by them, and that they raced around to the front of the house to try and rescue their youngest son. A false alarm 911 call made from a payphone at a gas station on the outskirts of town shortly before the fire started is being investigated, and is being blamed for the delay in fire fighter response to the blaze. No suspects in the arson have been named yet.

  * * *

  Two months later, sitting in the locked bathroom of her parent’s house, Samantha King stared at the pregnancy test she had secretly bought earlier that day, after it became clear that her missed periods could be more than just a result of great emotional stress and pain.

  A moment later she screamed while throwing the item against the wall, the broken pieces falling to the floor. Tears followed.

  “Samantha, are you okay?” her mother asked while rattling the knob.

  “Yes,” Samantha said around her tears, her eyes staring at the new opened bottle of sleeping pills she had set on the counter before peeing on the stick. “I’m fine.”

  About The Author

  William Malmborg has been publishing short stories in horror magazines and dark fiction anthologies since 2002. In addition to JIMMY, two of his novels, NIKKI’S SECRET and TEXT MESSAGE, are both available, as is a short story collection titled SCRAPING THE BONE that features five previously published and five original tales of horror. When not writing William caters to the whims of Toby and Truman, two cats who reside with him in DeKalb.

  To learn more about William Malmborg check out his webpage at:

  http://www.williammalmborg.com/

  You can also friend him on Facebook at:

  http://www.facebook.com/wlma
lmborg

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2011 by William Malmborg.

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author.

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