Crucifax

by Ray Garton

  "When is he taking you away?"

  "He's not sure yet, but he says he'll know when the time is right."

  Lily frowned. "Do you feel all right, Nikki? You sound … different. Weird."

  "I feel fine." She swept the covers back, swung her bare legs off the bed, and stood, suddenly lively. "In fact," she said, slipping the tank top over her head, "I feel great." Naked except for panties, her breasts moving slightly as she crossed the room, she tossed the tank top onto her bed and smiled at them. "I'm gonna take a shower. I've gotta go soon."

  Jeff felt himself blush, and he turned toward the door to leave, self-consciously clearing his throat.

  "Jesus, Nikki," Lily snapped, "what's happened to you?"

  "Nothing," she replied cheerfully.

  Out in the hall, Jeff heard movement behind the closed bathroom door; Mrs. Astin was throwing up. He went out to the living room and listened to the muffled voices coming from Nikki's bedroom. A few minutes later Lily came out, walking fast.

  "Let's go," she said, her voice tense.

  As they left the apartment Nikki called, "See you guys later!"

  She sounded very happy.

  J.R.'s first thought that morning was of Sheila. He'd dreamed about her all night long. His dreams were muddled, confused; some of the things Jeff had told him the night before were intertwined with events that had surrounded Sheila's death.

  In his dream, J.R. saw his sister off in the distance, standing before a dark building. It was the Old Red Barn that had burned down just outside of El Cerrito the week after Sheila died. She went inside, moving slowly. J.R. was suddenly frozen with dread because he knew what was beneath that building. He couldn't see it, but he sensed it: filthy, winding tunnels and huge, dark rooms, cold and drafty, thick with cobwebs and black, smelly slime that dribbled down walls and pillars, alive with things that crept in the dark in wait for someone to enter. He ran to the building, his feet heavy as lead, and burst through the door, only to see flames licking the walls and ceiling, his sister standing in the middle of it all with a tall, pale, silver-haired man who turned to J.R. and smiled. J.R. called Sheila, but she seemed deaf to his voice, oblivious to the growing fire around her. The man opened his mouth, still smiling at J.R., and a long, fat snake with smooth, shiny scales oozed from between his lips. The head was not that of a snake, however; it was the small head of a pale, bushy-black-haired woman with cold, calculating eyes. She opened her little mouth and said, "You lose, big brother…."

  There had been several variations of the dream, and he'd awakened suddenly after each one. None of them made much sense, but they all contained odd mixtures of familiar and unpleasant images.

  J.R. knew very well that there were no tunnels or rooms beneath the Old Red Barn; those were images borrowed from Jeff's story of the night before. What disturbed him the most was the snake with the very familiar human head….

  He got out of bed, fixed coffee and toast, and tried to read the Times, but he was preoccupied with Jeff and Lily.

  Something had happened to so deeply upset them, but how could it have possibly been what they claimed? To satisfy its need for a logical explanation, his mind kept returning to drugs as an answer; surely they'd had some grass last night, maybe some mushrooms. Even if they had indeed seen everything they'd described, there was no explanation for the presence of Reverend Bainbridge. And if he did have a reason to be there, why didn't he try to stop what was happening? How could someone who professed to care so much about young people stand by and watch something so horrible?

  The more he thought about it, the wilder it all seemed.

  He couldn't finish his toast, and he quickly lost all interest in the paper. Listening to the rain against the window, he went to his briefcase and removed the Calvary Youth brochure Nikki Astin had given him. It gave the address of the Calvary Youth House, as well as the phone number and an invitation to the meetings and the Saturday brunch held every week. He decided to give Bainbridge a call and arrange to see him.

  After dialing the number in the brochure, J.R. listened to the monotonous burring ring at the other end. It went on and on, and he was ready to hang up when he heard a thick, weary voice say, "Yes?"

  "Hello, is this the Calvary Youth House?" he asked uncertainly.

  "It is."

  "My name is J.R. Haskell. I'm calling for Reverend Bainbridge?"

  "That's me." He coughed, smacked his lips, and said, "What can I do for you?" His words slurred together, as if he'd been asleep.

  "Hope I didn't wake you."

  The reverend mumbled something, then coughed again.

  "Uh, I'm a counselor at Valley High School, Reverend, and some of my students are members of your group. I'm pretty new in the area and unfamiliar with what you do. I thought maybe we could—"

  "Exactly what would you like to know about the group, Mr. Haskell?"

  "Well, nothing specific, 1 guess. I just wanted to meet you, mostly. See, um, see how you're getting along with the kids, that sort of thing. I've heard a lot about you since I got here."

  "All good, I hope." There was no humor in his voice.

  "Well, one of my students gave me your brochure. Sounds like you're working pretty hard with those kids."

  "I give it my best. Which… which student might that have been?"

  "Nikki Astin."

  Silence.

  When J.R. realized he was going to get no response, he went on. "She was very enthusiastic about the group. In fact, she invited me to drop by some time."

  J.R. waited, but the reverend still said nothing.

  "According to the brochure, you hold a brunch at the house on Saturdays. Would you, um, mind if I dropped by today and joined you?"

  "Well," the reverend said, his voice hoarse. "We, uh, yes, we usually do, but this—this weekend we've postponed the brunch because I've been, I've been a little, uh, under the weather. I just thought it, uh, would be best to… to…"

  His words trailed off absently.

  Bainbridge was obviously very uncomfortable; J.R. had sensed a change in him at the mention of Nikki's name. In a perverse, shameful sort of way, J.R. was enjoying himself.

  "Nikki says you two are very close," he went on. "That's good. I understand her mother drinks heavily. Nikki could probably use the good influence."

  "Yes, well, I try, uh, to, to maintain a good relationship with all of my, my kids because… well, it's best if they feel I'm one of, of them."

  Speaking as casually as he could, certain he was about to strike a major nerve, J.R. said, "By the way, Reverend, when was the last time you saw Nikki?"

  "All right!" Bainbridge hissed. "What do you want with me? Why are you doing this?"

  J.R. flinched, not expecting such an angry response. "I'm, I'm, I was just—"

  "Are you a friend of his? Is that it?"

  "Whose?"

  "Don't play with me, Mr. Haskell."

  "Hey, I'm not—"

  "I don't appreciate being harassed, and if you feel I'm—"

  "Reverend!" J.R. snapped firmly, losing patience with the man, "I am not harassing you. I'm not. I just… I'm… What do you know about a man named Mace, Reverend?"

  Silence again.

  "Something happened last night. I'm not sure what. Two of my students claim they saw Mace do something to Nikki Astin. They say… well, they say that you were there. Believe me, I'm not harassing you, I'm just concerned about—"

  "I'm going to hang up now."

  "No! No, please don't do that. I want your help, Reverend. You know, I didn't believe them at first, I figured they were on drugs or something. But you make it difficult not to believe them. If you can tell me what's—"

  "I'm afraid… I can't… help you, Mr. Haskell."

  J.R. sighed with frustration. "You know, Reverend, if what I've been told is true, you could be in a great deal of trouble. They said Mace… that he performed an abortion on Nikki last night. That you were the father. And that you stood and watched."

&n
bsp; J.R. heard a breathy coughing sound and realized the reverend was crying.

  "If that's true, Reverend, I'm going to find out, and there are a lot of people who won't be too thrilled about it. Especially Nikki's mother. Not to mention the parents of the others in your group."

  The reverend took a deep breath and said, "You don't understand. You weren't there, you… don't know…."

  "Then tell me."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Haskell," he whispered.

  "I'll go there myself," J.R. said quietly. "I'll go to the old health club myself and find out."

  "No. Don't do that. Whatever you do, don't… go… there."

  Reverend Bainbridge hung up.

  Jeff and Lily came over a couple hours later, and J.R. made coffee for them. They told him about their brief visit with Nikki, and he recounted his conversation with Bainbridge.

  As Jeff and Lily sat at the kitchen table J.R. paced around them, saying, "I have to admit, I thought… well, I thought at first that you two were seeing things, okay? I admit it. I mean, what you told me last night, that was pretty loopy, you know? But now… I know something's up. I just don't know what." He sat down at the table with them. "Jeff, how soon can I talk to your mother?"

  "She's out all day and then goes to work until about two-thirty. In the morning, I mean."

  "Mm. Maybe I'll catch her tomorrow. What are you doing today?"

  "Lily and I were going to go to a movie. Get our minds off things, you know?"

  "I don't want to be a party pooper, but I think it would be a good idea if you stayed home. If Mallory shows up, keep her there. Don't let her go back to Mace."

  "Okay."

  "And above all, don't worry yourselves into an ulcer. This may not be as bad as we think right now, so—"

  "It is," Lily said quietly. "You didn't see what we saw. It is."

  "Well, let's try to keep in mind that whatever's going on, we're doing the best we can to stop it. That's not much right now, but it's our best. Try not to worry too much." J.R. could not hide the emptiness in his words.

  He was already worrying too much….

  Twenty-One

  October 16

  Kevin was awakened by a portly man in a white uniform who seemed unable to stop smiling.

  "Rise and shine," the man chimed, patting Kevin's mattress with a beefy hand. He opened the curtains and let in the gray light of the morning. "This is your first full day here, and it'll be a busy one. I'm Phil."

  Kevin rolled over and tried to cover his head with a blanket.

  "Ah-ah-ah. Breakfast is served soon. You don't want to miss it because there's no eating between meals here."

  "Jesus H. motherfucking Christ, Phil old buddy old pal!" Kevin suddenly bellowed, sitting up in bed. "How old do I look, man, six? Five, maybe?"

  Phil's chubby smile disappeared, and his face became stern.

  "You'll be treated like a child if you keep acting like one," Phil said. "Now get up and get ready for breakfast. That's the rule here. From now on you follow all the rules here." Slapping his big thigh as he left the room, Phil said, "Let's get to it, fellas."

  Kevin moved stiffly. His left eye was still swollen from the fight; his lip had been cut, he had two stitches in his chin, and his ribs hurt. He was in better shape than he'd expected to be, but there was pain with every movement.

  He looked at the other bed in the room. Sitting on the edge was his roommate Leif. He'd met him when he arrived the day before. Leif was bony and pale, and his head was completely shaved. He moved incredibly slowly, and when he was spoken to he took several seconds to reply.

  He smiled groggily at Kevin. "Welcome to Laurel, man. If you're lucky, they'll give you medication. Elavil, dude. Elavil all the way."

  The Laurel Teen Center was situated on a pleasant green hill just off of Laurel Canyon Boulevard. From the outside, it looked more like a school than an institution for troubled teenagers. His parents had brought him there the day before and registered him with the supervisor, a man who looked like he used to coach football. His name was Luke, and he assured Kevin that his stay at Laurel would not be easy.

  "You're here to work, Kev," Luke said. "Work out your problems. And we're gonna help you. You're gonna work till you sweat, then work some more. When you go home, you'll be a new person. Together. Leakproof, I sometimes say. And you, Mr. and Mrs. Donahue, will be unable to believe the difference in your boy."

  "I'd like to get one thing clear," Kevin's dad said firmly. "Our insurance will cover this…"

  "Like a blanket. Health insurance. Because technically, Kevin here is ill. And we're going to make him better."

  The center had three wards. Those who were simply depressed and just needed some therapy or counseling were put in Ward A. Ward B was for those who'd gotten into trouble with the law or had otherwise been a nuisance before their admittance. Ward C was the worst. There were a lot of locks on Ward C, restraints were used frequently, and, except for the receptionists, most of the staff was male and big, imposing, authoritative. That ward was for the violent ones, the suicidal ones.

  Technically, Kevin was supposed to be on Ward B, but when he arrived, there were only two beds available. Both were on Ward C. They promised to give him the first available bed in Ward B, but they couldn't promise how long that would take.

  Despite the fact that Ward C, which was located in the back of the large building that made up the center, was brightly lit, there was a darkness about it. Teenagers roamed the corridors, aimlessly shuffling in and out of the TV room and the recreation room. Some leaned against the corridor walls biting their nails, cracking their knuckles, or just staring. There was a girl who liked to sit on one of the vinyl-upholstered sofas in the corridor and watch people pass. Her eyes were deep-set, and patches of her auburn hair were missing. She had bruises on her legs—they were always visible because she wore the small nightshirt provided by the center with only a short robe over it—and her wrists were bandaged. Sometimes she would look up at passersby with big, watery brown eyes and say, "I hate daddies." She said it very quietly, so quietly that some never heard it. "I hate daddies…."

  Leif wandered the halls slowly, his slippered feet making shh-shh sounds, his eyelids drooping heavily, his jaw slack. Sometimes he would say hello to people who passed, but by the time he got the word out, they were gone.

  Sometimes shouting broke out.

  It seemed that someone was always crying somewhere on the ward.

  Kevin didn't have to stay on Ward C. Since he was a B patient, he was allowed to walk down to B and use the TV room, but he didn't. It didn't seem right. He felt he should stay on C, someone should stay on C, someone who didn't have to be there. He wasn't sure why he felt that way, but he did. He went to the Ward C TV room and spent most of his time there.

  In the middle of that Sunday afternoon, Luke came into the TV room looking for him.

  "Just wanted to chat with you a little, buddy," Luke said with that big macho football coach smile, patting Kevin on the back.

  Kevin hated being called "buddy."

  "Now," Luke went on, "I gave you the schedule sheet yesterday. You know that you're supposed to be in group at four. Remember, that is one of the most important parts of your stay here, so don't, under any circumstances, miss it. Dr. Morley will be in this evening to talk with you, examine you, determine whether or not you'll need medication."

  Elavil, dude… Elavil all the way…

  "There's a chance we may have a room for you in Ward B within the next three days."

  "Three days?" Kevin asked. "How… how long am I gonna be here?"

  Luke gave him that smile again. "As long as it takes, buddy, as long as it takes."

  After he left, Kevin stared at the television without seeing the picture. Mace had promised the band they'd play Fantazm next Wednesday night. Kevin had no intention of missing that show.

  He had no intention of staying at the Laurel Teen Center.

  He touched the place on his chest where his Cr
ucifax had been. He would get it back. He would get out. Mace would learn where he was and come for him. He prayed he would….

  When Jeff awoke, his mother was already showered and dressed and was in the kitchen making Belgian waffles. She gave him a big smile as she poured his coffee.

  "Morning, handsome," she said.

  "Hi. What're you so dressed up for?"

  "I have to go shopping with Kyla. We're going to get some material, then we're going to her place to work on clothes for the puppets. But"—she raised a finger—"I'm coming back later this afternoon. And I don't have to work tonight. So let's do something, the three of us. Whatever you two want to do. Is Mallory up yet?"

  "Mom," he said hesitantly, "a few days ago—last Thursday—something happened between you and Mallory…."

  Going into the kitchen to tend the waffles, she muttered, "We had a fight, that's all."

  "It must've been bad."

  "They're all bad," she sighed.

  "Did you know… that she hasn't been home since then?"

  "Wha… what?" She turned to him slowly, stunned. "Where is she?"

  Don't tell her, Jeff thought. Not yet.

  "I'm… not sure."

  Walking toward him: "You knew all this time?" Leaning toward him at the table: "And you didn't tell me?"

  "Jeff, she could be hurt, she could be—be, well, we should call someone, the police…." There was panic in her face.

  "No, no—" He thought fast then, tried to come up with something that would keep her from calling the police. "—she's with Kevin, I know that much. She'll… she'll probably come back soon."

  "Oh, Jesus, what have I done?" She seated herself and began chewing on a knuckle.

  "Look, she's okay for now. But my counselor from school, J.R. Haskell, he wants to talk to you about it. He's—"

  "He knows? You told him?"

  "We talked about it, and—"

  "But you didn't tell me?" she hissed. "Jesus Christ, Jeffrey, this is—well, it's my fault, and you could've at least—"