"Well, we know the situation" Samantha complained as she got Tony out of the chair. "Besides she has a retarded son who only looks at your tits instead of your face..."
"What?" Mom interrupted.
"Yes. I talked to him the other day, but he kept looking at my tits. I think he has a screw loose" Samantha wiggled a circular finger around her temple.
"I'm afraid that complaints will be forgotten from now on" Louis said, sitting in one of the free chairs in front of the table, as if preparing to have breakfast again. "You, Samantha, will have to wear something on those tits." He pointed at her with a jaded motion.
"Daddy! Tony’s here..."
"You mentioned it first, so..."
And that was the beginning of that day for the Candralls.
For Tom, it would be different.
52
"Get up! Dammit!" Stella cried, almost trembling and growing yellow, her eyes narrowed.
Tom did not move at all.
"I said get up!" She shouted again, approaching the bed. She walked to Tom with unsteady steps, held by the small strength of her legs that looked like chopsticks stuck in a small olive.
Tom moved a little, just his big ass. Behind Stella, the computer monitor flashed a jungle of colors barely visible as the sun's rays streamed through the window.
"That man told me everything"
"Uhmmm... grrrr... zzzggg" the first answer from Tom's lips was a string of grunts and meaningless noises. A burp would have been better.
"What?" Stella tapped Tom on the shoulder in an insignificant noise, as her fist sank in his mass of flesh as if she were kneading bread. "Now you're spying on your neighbor? Have you seen anything? Have you sinned, bastard?"
Tom shifted on the mattress. His face was swollen and reddened, as he had kept his face in the same position for so many hours without moving.
"Tom!"
"What? Bloody wino slut. Have you lost the bottle of bourbon? Why don't you throw yourself downstairs?"
It was not Tom who spoke, but Charlie.
Stella opened her mouth in a grotesque and disfigured O, as if she was suddenly paralyzed, and her legs stopped shaking. Now she was a twig planted on the ground in a place with no wind at all.
She did not have time to tell him that masturbating was a sin...
53
The psychiatrist raised his eyebrows. He was silent as Stella told him what she had heard and how it had sounded. The psychiatrist wrote with a nibbled pen on a piece of paper the word "DID".
Stella's tirade ended as Donald finished writing that word, and she nodded. That was another consultation without Tom's presence.
Initially he attended, but he no longer did. Stella visited the psychiatrist many times at first, then not so often, and this was the last time she did.
54
"Be... before fooorty there's thi... thirty."
Tom liked to count back, and a part of him knew something was about to happen. He knew it was not a random countdown. There was something about him that indicated it. Was he losing more marbles? No. Tom was starting, in a bad way, to present his long-explained dissociative identity disorder. He was not going to begin to show it, but he was already suffering it. Jack, Charlie, and William were a few examples of it. But Tom did not remember them, and this in a way enabled him to be at the beginning of the manifestations of the disease. Did not it? Well, now it was sure that Tom would know about them, even if by flashbacks. Yes. Contrary to the psychiatrist's theory, Tom might have the ability to discover his identities from now on, because in fact he was already doing so.
Bloody wino slut!
The memory came to his mind like a fleeting noise, but he had heard or remembered each word clearly. And that was not Tom, he thought eagerly as he stared for the first time, his gaze distracted, from the window of his room.
"That's nuh... not... me" he whispered to the soft breeze of the morning and the heat of the sun. Since then, Tom started stuttering more.
On the first floor, planted as a stake, was his mother with her hands clasped before the giant Christ, praying, sure that he would answer anytime, anywhere.
"Lord, have mercy on him. He’s just a retarded boy..."
Come on Stella, where's the bottle of Bourbon?
And she kept praying aloud in the shadows of the room that was locked. She always locked the door when she needed to talk to God.
The Candralls, meanwhile, remained oblivious to what the future held. Soon, they would know. Very soon.
"It's no... not me" Tom whispered again. He began to sweat.
55
A week later, everything was still the same. The hottest summer sun in the last ten years in all of Maine had looked especially at Road House, and the lizards, if any, with their pink tongues out of their open snouts, were gazing up at the sky, restlessly immobile .At night, all the stars of the universe shone.
Tom kept looking at them. All of them, those who tried to enter through his window. Purple hands. And then he took two pills of Sedum to try to stop seeing them. He already knew where momma hid the pills. He saw things, some more things. For example, he saw a hand holding a large knife, blood, and red panties that reflected in the mirror.
"It's... not muh... me" he said again and decided that it was time to have whiskey.
Samantha had put a curtain on her window, and Tom stopped seeing her nipples until...
56
With his right hand, he reached for the firm weight of her breast and began stroking it over her shirt. Almost instantly, the nipples became hard. On her chest, Tom's hand was a beautiful contact that he knew to be good, a sedative contact. She shivered on the bed, arching her back.
Tom continued to caress her breast, gently stroking with the tip of his thumb through her nipple, and then she let out a soft moan. The thing worked well. Everything was going well. Tom lifted his hand a little and unzipped the first button on her shirt. So far, everything had been caressing her over her sweaty pink shirt. She shifted her legs slightly, as a reflex. Suddenly, the jeans seemed too tight, and they became a bit uncomfortable, but in a good way. He felt the moist beneath her white panties.
Now Tom's hand came down to the second button of her shirt, and with a deliberate simplicity he unbuttoned it, revealing the groove between the woman's breasts. He continued to unfasten buttons. Now, through the wide V of the open shirt, her breasts came out, and Tom leaned over her and rested his lips around a nipple. It was hard and erect.
She was more than aroused, and the wetness between her legs was growing. But now there was the woman's nipple. Tom ran his tongue over it several times, the way he knew she liked it. The woman moaned again, beneath the crushing weight of Tom, arching her back.
Tom lifted his head a little to say something, but thought it best to focus on the task and put her other nipple in his mouth.
Already totally aroused, the woman leaned toward him, not without effort, her breasts escaping out of her shirt, and it was when Tom had the sudden impulse to twist one of those breasts until she cried out in pain and pleasure.
Tom, amazed and with sparkling eyes, rose heavily and turned to go close the door of his room. The woman had taken off her shirt and was now waiting for him on the bed, her belly flat and her breasts pointed to the ceiling, her fingers playing idly with her nipples.
And then Tom saw her face clearly.
"Momma!" He screamed hard as his cock deflated under his fly.
Tom suddenly woke up from a bad dream, drenched in sweat and wanting to scream to the sky. His wild heart was pounding beneath his greasy chest. He clenched his fists and remembered. He felt sick. In the dream, he thought she was Samantha, but it was his mother.
He had something to tell Amelia the next day. Something that he did not want to remember, but that was struggling to leave at every moment of out his head.
57
The pointer on Facebook's window blinked at Tom's stunned stare. Amelia was writing on the other end of the line. After a time o
f waiting, the message appeared in the window of Facebook.
"Tom. I still can't go to your house. Your slut mother won't let me visit you. But you worry me, dear cousin. I see you've gotten worse or maybe you're changing into something. Lately I don't see the usual Tom and I'm scared at certain things. Oh! And I'm glad you discover new things, too. That means that you're maturing and coping with your illness pretty well. Do you feel anything else? And with respect to your dream, don't worry, it's nothing, it will never happen."
Tom was slow to read because his disability did not allow him some relief such as reading fast or writing well.
"but it gros" Tom wrote with the slowness of his chubby fingers. He wrote worse than he spoke.
"I imagine. To touch and suck your old mother's boobs, which instead of two breasts seem like two bags full of water, snuffing her belly. It must be disgusting. Oh, Tom, I'm so sorry. It's a bad experience, cousin. But as I said before, ignore the dreams."
"Dont write fazt" Tom wrote slowly.
"Oh! Okay, cousin."
"Am gonn be sic"
And he stopped writing. The pointer moved again, showing three dots dancing inside the Facebook window, but Tom did not read it. Instead he had risen with nausea and fell on his bed. A dull plaf sounded, and his gaze fixed on the ceiling that was beginning to turn yellow. The computer screen flipped Amelia's new message. But nobody read it, not at that exact moment.
58
Louis had a stethoscope, a gadget to listen to the heart rhythm of Tony's heart. The boy was born with a slight malformation of no concern, but that created a murmur in the heart. In most cases, this goes unnoticed and disappears over the years. But Tony was growing up and was very active that summer, playing with maybe too much intensity.
"It's cold!" Tony grumbled as his dad pulled the stethoscope to his chest.
"Breathe," he said at the same time, sharpening his ear.
Tony listened. Louis at first did not notice anything strange. He heard no noise, but when he was about to remove the suction cup from Tony's chest, he sensed something. A whistle. Like a machine rattling in there. His eyes widened more than usual and a wave of cold sweat filled him.
"Tony? Are you doing that?"
Tony looked at him with small, curious eyes.
"What is it, Louis?" Eillen was alarmed.
Louis shook his head and sharpened his ear without answering his wife. The boy's heart was chirping now. It was a hard murmur.
"Are you all right, Tony?" Dad asked, and Tony nodded and added.
"I'm just a little dizzy."
Eillen, alarmed, pointed at his lips with her index finger and a freshly painted pink nail.
"Louis, look at his lips!"
They were slightly purple, with a dull color that was complemented by the pallor of his face.
"Are you really all right, son?" Louis insisted, pulling the stethoscope from his chest.
"Yeah," Tony whispered from the chair he was sitting on, shirtless.
"We have to take him to Dr. John," Louis told her, looking more slowly at his wife's watchful eyes. “You have to make an appointment Eillen, as soon as possible. I don't like this."
What was happening to him was not good at all. It was simply abnormal in cases of murmurs, but it could happen.
"What's wrong, dad?" A pale Tony asked, his eyes slightly muffled.
"Nothing. It's time to visit Dr. John, remember?" Louis gave him a forced smile.
"Yes. The doctor who's always telling bad jokes," Tony said, sliding off the chair and pulling on his T-shirt.
"It'll be a trip for a couple of days, then we'll be back. All right, Tony?" Louis explained.
"Hi-five!" Tony said, opening the palm of his hand and pointing it at his dad's stump.
But things got complicated. At the moment, they had to make an appointment and prepare the trip. Louis, Eillen, and obviously Tony would leave. Samantha had everything to stay home alone for a couple of days.
And what was about to happen...
Outside, the sun shone as usual.
59
"John, I'm Louis. My son's chest sounds like an orchestra."
There was a long silence on the other side of the mobile communication.
"Come over, Louis. I will take a look. But don't worry."
Louis was pacing around with the cell phone glued to his ear, which was beginning to warm.
"Perfect. I trust you, John."
"That's what friends are for, right?"
Louis nodded, believing that John would see him on the other side of the line.
"Oh! Yes, of course, John."
"Come tomorrow, Louis. Any time. As soon as you arrive, let me know."
"Okay."
"You'll see it's nothing, Louis. Your child will see that ailment disappear." There was silence, and he added. “Well, let's call it incidence."
Louis grinned as he turned around again with the cell phone still attached to his ear. It was already reddened, and a more intense heat exploded in his eardrum.
"Sure!"
"It's recommended that you come to me because I know your boy well, and in Road House there are no heart specialists. I believe there's only a medical center of family medicine..."
"Exactly," Louis interrupted.
"And here in Portland, we have everything within our reach. You know."
"Yes. I know John. Thank you. I'll be there tomorrow with my little Tony."
"Ok, I will be waiting."
"Goodbye Tom. Well, see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
Louis pressed the button of the mobile phone that finished the communication. He noticed that a small fire burned inside his left ear. After all, 120 kilometers was not many kilometers. It was a rather a short trip. Pretty short. It was shorter than the trip to get to the new house when they moved. They had come from northern Maine. But Dr. John was farther south.
60
By the time the Candralls, or at least almost the entire family, was preparing to make the journey of their life, Tom took a new identity and showed it to his mother. Although after that, only vague memories remained, only flashbacks and confusion.
William appeared out of nowhere.
61
The radio played the song "Amazing" by George Michael. It started with a very catchy chorus "dara dara dara" that Williams whispered as his body moved to the rhythm of the chorus. He was wearing only red panties and a black bra that formed bags in the flakes.
Stella's first impression was of choking and wanting to die right then. Then her heart sank beneath her drooping breasts and she was afraid.
Tom, now adopting William's identity, was still dancing sensually, like the lyrics of the song that George Michael's melodic voice sang. The music was catchy. And William crossed his legs and took his hands to his greasy breasts as he brushed a nipple with the tips of his fingers.
The song was still playing on the radio, and William moved closer to it to turn up the volume. The refrain came again. Dara dara dara. Now he ran his tongue over his lower lip.
Stella put her hands over her eyes and began to pray. Her rickety body was among the open door of Tom's room. Uneasily motionless, her lips moved.
"Lord, don't contemplate this. My son is ill. He's sick."
William began to take off his bra to the rhythm of the music.
"Lord" There was a silence on her lips and, lowering her hands, she added. “Punish him!"
William now had the unbuttoned bra at the level of his bulging belly. Stella's turbid eyes widened. Is this a dream? She wondered with a stunned and angry look at the same time.
"Lord. Lord." Her lips twitched and parted constantly, and her eyes, with a yellowish background, widened. Outside, the heat was insidious.
The bra fell silently to the floor like a dead oak leaf. William was still wiggling and dancing to the rhythm of the chorus. Then, the soft voice of George Michael echoed. He was beginning to lower his panties.
"Oh, lord!" Stella's voi
ce rose in pitch and this time she put her hands to her head, but she remained motionless under the door frame, like a scarecrow.
A dark patch of dark hair appeared just below the belly. William was still dancing and crossed his legs as he continued to lower his panties. He showed her more pubic hair.
Stella wanted to faint or wake up from a bad dream. But her trembling legs kept her standing, all horrified and stunned.
Dara dara dara.
Now she could see part of the flaccid penis that soon William hid in the crotch so that it looked like a pu...
"Tom!" Stella's scream was louder than the song. A dilated front vein, pulsating horribly, appeared.
"You like me?" William stepped backward, dancing. “I’m not Tom, I'm William."
Stella opened her mouth wider to say something, but she could not. She felt she was suffocating and remembered the psychologist's tirade. Now instead of a vein beating wildly on her forehead, she had two. She thought for a moment that her heart was going to explode. How much sin there was in him? Lord, lord, lord.
"Who's Tom? Is he hot?"
William's questions fell on her like a pitcher of cold water.
Then the song ended up, giving way to a crazy and squeaky voice from the station broadcaster, announcing the next song, also by George Michael, was White Light, this one was faster.
62
"Lord, forgive my son for he has sinned." Stella had fallen on her knees before the Christ. “He doesn't know what he's doing."
For a moment, it seemed to her that Christ showed her some compassion through his eyes carved in wood, painted bright white. She thought it was alive.
Stella continued praying for her son.
63
"Good-by, daughter," Louis said, his lips pursed.
Samantha nodded in the sunlight that began to overheat that morning, as usual. The sky was clear and there was a blue color in the sky. The house of the retarded neighbor was silent. A dog barked in the distance and started to run. Tony was on mom's lap, looking at her impatiently.
"Take care of Chumy," Tony said with a smile on his face, while mom caressed his straight and blond hair.
Samantha walked over to him and kissed him on the forehead. Then she hugged him.
"See you in two days," Samantha said as she kissed her mother's cheek.
Tom´s Story Page 10