by Tim O'Rourke
Before the cop had even rapped on the door with his huge knuckles, it flew open to reveal a thick-set man. He stood with his back straight and shoulders back. He was dressed in smart black trousers and a pale blue shirt. His greying hair was combed immaculately back off his brow and he had a neatly trimmed moustache beneath his broad nose.
He glared over the cop’s shoulder at Ray, then back at the cop.
“What’s he done now,, Constable Freeman?”
“Stealing from the library,” the officer explained.
Looking at his son with a grim stare, Ray’s father said in an icy voice, “You are a disgrace. Now get inside.”
With his head still resting against his chest, as if unable to meet his father’s frozen stare, Ray slipped past him and into the house.
“I am so sorry, Constable Freeman. I am deeply ashamed of what has happened,” Ray’s father said.
“It’s the third time this month that I’ve had to bring your son...”
“I can promise it will be the last, Constable,” Ray’s father said, rolling back his shoulders and puffing out his chest. Then as if wanting to change the subject, he looked at me and said, “And who might you be?”
“Says his name is Isidor Smith,” the officer answered for me.
“And were you stealing books?” Ray’s father asked me.
“Erm, no – I don’t think so,” I said, knowing that I had taken the library book but just to borrow it.
“I don’t think he is the sharpest tool in the box,” Constable Freeman said, looking at Ray’s father.
Then, the officer’s radio began to make a squawking noise and a cracked and garbled voice started to come from it. Constable Freeman snatched the radio from his belt and held it to his ear. With his brow becoming a series of creases, he looked at me and said, “It’s your lucky day, sunshine. There’s been a fatal crash up on the main road – you’ll have to make your own way home.” Then, placing his radio back onto his belt, he leaned into my face and breathed, “Be warned, boy, don’t ever let me catch you pricking about in my town again.”
“Yes,” I said, lowering my head.
Then he was gone, running back down the garden path and wedging himself back behind the wheel of his car. In a blaze of flashing lights and screaming sirens, he sped away. I looked back at the house and Ray’s father was staring at me.
“Get out of here,” he ordered and slammed the door on me.
I made my way back down the path. It was as I reached the front gate, I realised that Ray still had my coat. I would need that. I had a long walk back to the woods and I didn’t want the humans to see that I was different. I wanted to hide my arms. So, turning around, I headed back up the garden path. I reached the front door and just as I was about to knock, I heard shouting come from inside. The voice sounded so angry, that it made my blood chill in my veins.
With my back hunched, I climbed into the flowerbeds that ran alongside the house, and crept around the side. Hidden from view, I slowly eased myself up into a crouching position and peered through a window set into the side of the house and I was so shocked by what I saw, that I ducked my head down again. With my heart racing in my chest like a trip hammer, I took a deep breath and peered back through the window again.
Ray was standing in the middle of the room, which was well furnished with comfy-looking chairs and expensive-looking pictures on the walls. There was a cabinet fastened to the far wall and it had a collection of guns in it.
For some reason, Ray had stripped naked, apart from a pair of blue boxer shorts that hung from his narrow hips. Just like his face, a spattering of sore-looking pimples covered his chest and bony shoulders. His father stood before him, tall and straight, and he had something in his hands. From my hiding place, I could see the fear in Ray’s eyes as he looked front at his father.
“Listen in, boy! Listen in!” His father said in that voice that would have frozen the warmest of hearts. “You are a disgrace. Do you have any idea of the position that I hold in this town? Do you have any idea of the respect that I command? I fought in the desert for boys like you. In fact, I fought alongside boys not much older than you. But unlike you, they were men. You’re pathetic. You disgust me.”
“I’m sorry, sir” Ray mumbled, and I saw his legs wobble as if he were going to fall over or faint.
“What did you say, boy?” his father screeched, his voice sounding nasally and high-pitched.
“It wasn’t me, sir,” Ray pleaded with him. “I didn’t steal that book.”
“Don’t lie to me, boy! You know what will happen to you if I find out that you’ve lied to me?”
“No, sir,” Ray replied even though I suspected Ray knew very well what was coming. The fear I could see in his eyes told me that.
“I’ll tell you what will happen. You’ll be having a meeting with Mr. Persuader! You know who Mr. Persuader is, don’t you, boy?” his father hissed, their noses now just inches apart.
“No, sir,” I heard Ray say.
His father then brought into view a large rubber sole which looked as if it had been removed from a pair of sneakers. He slapped it repeatedly against the open palm of his hand in front of Ray’s face.
“Do you know why this is called Mr. Persuader, boy?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Ray whispered, his bottom lip trembling.
“Because with the help of Mr. Persuader, I could persuade you to do anything for me, boy!” his father seemed to gloat with excitement.
I cringed at the thought of what he might have had in mind as he stared at Ray with his hard, grey eyes.
“Now get upstairs so I can punish you before your mother gets home,” he barked.
Without saying anything, and with the look of acceptance in his eyes, Ray silently turned and walked slowly from the room. His father followed, Mr. Persuader swinging from his fist. When they had gone, I crept away from the window and made my way back down the road with a sinking feeling in my heart and a sickness in my stomach.
Chapter Thirteen
Isidor
I stepped off the road and into the woods. Part of me wanted to go home, back to The Hollows. I had seen enough and I couldn’t get those images of Ray cowering in his boxer shorts before his father out of my head. He seemed a completely different person to the one I had seen hurting Melody and the person who had stolen my coat. But it wasn’t just Ray and his father that I couldn’t get from my head – it was Melody, too. What had happened to her today? Why hadn’t she turned up at the lake?
Wondering – or was that secretly hoping – that she might be there, I headed away from the hole in the ground that led home and started through the woods to the lake. I sat alone on the sandy shore, and as the white winter sun touched the edge of the lake on the horizon, and the water took on the appearance of black coloured velvet, I heard a rustle in the trees behind me. The sound was so sudden in the stillness of the approaching evening, that I jumped to my feet, half expecting to see that cop once again. To my relief it was Melody who appeared from within the dense foliage. My delight at seeing her was short-lived, and my sense of annoyance at having to wait for her the entire morning raced to the fore. Melody must have sensed my irritation, as before she had even reached me, she was offering an apology.
“Isidor, I’m sorry.”
“I waited all morning! I was freezing, Melody!” I moaned. “Where were you?”
“I’m really sorry,” she said, gently placing a hand on my forearm. “You are cold.”
“So you gonna tell me what you’ve been up to?” I asked her.
“Your ears are almost purple!” she tried to joke and change the subject all at the same time.
“What do you expect; it must be at least three below zero out here, and stop changing the subject!” I moaned.
“Aw, c’mon, I’ve said I’m sorry, haven’t I?” she half-smiled at me, and when she did, her face looked real pretty.
“It’s not the fact that I was left waiting in the cold. I ran into Ra
y and his friends and they stole my coat.”
“He stole your coat?” she gasped. “Poor Isidor. No wonder you’re so cold.” Then, she came forward and gently wrapped her arms around me as if trying to warm me. I met her gaze and those blue eyes of hers glistened in the cold. It was impossible to be angry with her. “Do you want to talk about it?” she smiled.
“I should be getting home,” I said, feeling a little uncomfortable as she held me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her holding me – it felt nice – and that’s what made me feel uncomfortable.
“You can stay awhile, can’t you?” she pleaded, looking up into my eyes. “I don’t want to go home just yet. Mother is there, but she will be going to a prayer meeting later. Stay with me a little while. I’ve got some cigarettes.”
“I don’t want to smoke,” I told her. “I don’t like it. But I’ll stay with you if you really want me to.”
“I really want you to,” she said, taking my hand and leading me up the shore to our camp.
The thick bushes and branches offered some protection against the chilly wind that blew in off the lake. Taking a box of matches from her apron, Melody bunched together a small pile of dry leaves and twigs and lit a small fire. Huddled together, we warmed ourselves in front of it. I crossed my arms over my chest to hide those scars. As the smoke circled up from the fire in a thin stream, I told Melody about my adventure. It felt kinda magical to be sitting beside her in front of the fire because at last I was telling a story and that’s something I’d always wanted to do. Just like all good storytellers, I made up my own ending. I didn’t tell Melody what I had seen through the window of Ray’s house. I didn’t think it would be right or fair. Not because I owed Ray any favours, but because I wasn’t meant to have seen that. That was Ray’s secret.
“So you got into all that trouble because you went to get me a book?” she said, pushing a loose piece of hair back under her bonnet.
“Yes,” I said, watching her light a cigarette.
“Why?” she asked, looking confused.
“Because you said that your mum threw your other book into the fire,” I explained.
“What was the book about?” she asked me, blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth.
“It had a rose on the front.”
“Okay,” she said with a curious frown. “So what was it called?”
“I don’t know,” I told her and looked into the fire – anything so I didn’t have to stare into her eyes. “I just got it because it had a rose on the front – just like your name.”
“So you don’t know what the book was about or what it was called,” she giggled.
“Are you laughing at me?” I whispered, not taking my eyes off the flames.
“Well, it’s kind of a dumb thing to do, don’t you think?” she giggled again. “Who would choose a book if they didn’t know what it was called or what it...”
“You’re just like the rest of them,” I moaned.
“Sorry?” she said, her smile fading.
“You think I’m stupid, just like the others do – my friends back home. Yet they’re not really my friends.” Then, turning to face her, I added, “Real friends don’t call you stupid because you can’t read or write.”
As if realising the mistake she had made, Melody’s mouth dropped open, and she said, “Oh my God, Isidor, I didn’t realise. You didn’t know what the book was about because you couldn’t read the title, could you?”
“No,” I whispered, looking back into the fire. “So now you know, I’m thick, stupid, a joke.”
Melody threw her cigarette into the fire and gently placed her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” she whispered.
“No?” I snapped. “So what do you think?”
“I think you are the sweetest guy that I’ve ever met,” she said, gently placing her hand against my cheek and turning my face towards her. “You are the only person in this town who doesn’t avoid me because of the way my mother makes me dress. Even the people in church keep away from us. No one dresses the way we do. You didn’t judge me, Isidor, and I’m not judging you. You helped me mend my necklace, you went and chose a book for me – it had a rose on it just like my name. No one has ever done anything like that for me.”
“Why did you laugh then?” I asked, looking into her eyes.
“Because I wanted to cry, but I just couldn’t let it show,” she whispered and looked away.
“Why did you want to cry?” I asked softly.
“Because I just can’t stop hurting....that is...” she trailed off.
“What?” I pushed gently. “What stops you hurting, Melody?”
“You do, Isidor,” she said. “When I’m with you, I stop thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
Then, taking my hand in hers, she stood up and said, “Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Melody led me through the fading daylight. Both of us bent forward against the cold, icy wind that had crept up and twisted itself around the streets. It was gone eight p.m. and the town had closed down for the night. We were the only people on the streets apart from the occasional car which drove slowly past, the tyres crunching over the cobbled roads.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked her.
“Home,” she said, not letting go of my hand.
“Will your mum mind me coming over?”
“She won’t know. She’s at a prayer meeting tonight.”
Although I had never met Melody’s mother and I only had the snippets of information that she had told me about her, I still felt incredibly apprehensive about going to her home. Even though I knew she wouldn’t be there, I couldn’t help but get cramps in my stomach with nerves. Just as we reached the outskirts of town, Melody took a sudden turn to the right off the main road and led me up a narrow track and into the darkness. We walked silently in the dark for several minutes, until I could just make out the shape of a squat-looking house on the horizon. Melody steered me towards this and I guessed it was her home. The sudden sound of a startled bird screeched and flapped its wings against the night as it soared out of the trees that lined the path on either side of us. I jumped.
“Jeezus, Isidor! I’m meant to be the girl here,” Melody laughed nervously.
I could sense that she felt anxious, but I suspected it wasn’t the dark or our current surroundings that made her feel like this, but the act of taking me back to her home for the first time and whatever it was that she wanted to show me.
Melody’s house sat in a small plot of land which was surrounded by a waist-high wooden fence. She swung open the gate which whined on its frozen hinges and led me across the front yard to the porch. Although it was dark, and the moonlight only shone intermittently through passing clouds, I could see that Melody’s home from the outside looked well-kept. It was only when Melody pushed open the front door and flipped on the hallway light that I immediately got the feeling something was odd about it.
“Holy moly!” I whispered through my teeth as I stepped inside and looked around in bewilderment. The short hallway was covered in an array of pictures, twelve in all. Like I’ve already said, I knew a little about the man named Jesus, and each of these pictures was of him. They weren’t beautiful pictures, they were ugly. They depicted him suffering in a way that I hadn’t contemplated before when I had heard stories about him. In each picture, he had been drawn in a skeletal and emaciated fashion. His eyes looked odd, and it was only as I stared at them, I realized they had been penned deliberately to look too big for his face. This gave him an almost alien-looking quality, which I found haunting. These were in stark contrast to paintings that I had seen of Jesus before, in books brought down to The Hollows by those who had adventured above ground. Those books had illustrations of him with a loving smile, locks of honey coloured hair, and angel-blue eyes.
“This way,” Melody whispered, her voice dragging me out of the weird trance the pictures had placed me in. Beneath the stairs there was a door whic
h Melody opened. I peered over her shoulder and could see a set of wooden stairs leading down into darkness.
“I’ll show you what’s down here,” she whispered, making her way down into the pitch black. I silently followed. I held onto a rough feeling banister with my left hand and held my other directly out in front of me. The stairs cried out beneath us as we placed our weight on them. At the bottom, my hand struck Melody on the shoulder as she suddenly came to a halt in front of me. For a moment there was silence, stillness, nothing. Then I heard a ‘click’ as Melody pulled on the light switch which hung from the ceiling just above us. My new surroundings appeared dimly before me in the murky glow of the naked light bulb.
My throat made a shallow wheezing sound as I sucked in a mouthful of air in complete shock at what had just been revealed to me. The basement had been turned into a tiny chapel. The smell of melted candles and incense hung heavy in the air. There were two small pews in front of an altar which had been covered with a crimson cloth. There were rows of candles down the length of each wall, and at the end of the rows there was a large statue of Jesus. Positioned behind the altar was a huge cross which hung about four foot from the floor and protruded by about a foot from the wall.
“This place is creepy,” I whispered.
“It’s where my mum locks me away,” she said softly.
“What?” I couldn’t understand what she had just said to me.
“When I was a kid, if I was bad, she would bring me down here. I had to stay for hours, sometimes days, kneeling on that little box,” she said, pointing to a small crate at the foot of the cross.
“Get out of here!” I breathed.
Melody stared at me without replying. I looked into her eyes and that brilliant blue had faded. My stomach lurched with a sickening feeling and I knew that she was telling the truth.
“Why?” I tried to find the right words.
Melody settled into one of the small pews, and in a hushed and broken voice, she told me everything.