Bad Things

by Tamara Thorne

“That is disgusting.” She made a face. “How could he? I mean, besides it being incest and all, how could he lay—sleep with that old bat?”

  Gonna make more little Piper boys. You can fuck her, too, icky Ricky.

  “Dad? Are you okay?”

  Rick rubbed his temples, a futile effort to exorcise his brother’s voice.

  My voice?

  “Da-ad!”

  “I’m sorry.” He smiled. “It’s hell getting old. What were you saying?”

  “Why would your brother go to bed with that shriveled-up old bat? Was he crazy?”

  “I think maybe he was so angry about his deformity that it made him a little crazy. It made him hate me, too. Here I was exactly like him but complete—I had legs. No wonder he spent most of his time torturing me. It was very important to him to prove himself worthy physically. He always wanted to race down the stairs—he could go faster on his hands than I could on foot. And he thought of himself as a—” Rick floundered for a word other than cocksman—“a lady’s man,” he finished lamely.

  “It sounds like your brother was a certified jockstrap.”

  Rick laughed. “I think you’re right.”

  “Dad? Did your parents know he was mean to you?”

  “I think they might have suspected,” he replied as old pain welled up.

  “You didn’t tell on him?”

  Shifting uncomfortably, he glanced at his watch. “Shelly, it’s getting late, and I really need to catch a shower before dinner.”

  She studied him a moment, then rose. “Okay. Thanks for telling me that stuff, Dad. It sure is weird.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ll see you downstairs.”

  She left, and a few moments later, he stood in his dressing room and pulled a change of clothes from his knapsack. His gaze fell on the corner where he’d hidden the night he and Robin overheard their parents discussing them. He shivered as he turned to look at the low cabinet that contained the passage door they had entered through. Though he hadn’t blocked this memory, he had filed it very deeply.

  A moment later, he stood under the hot water, letting it beat down on him, washing away the grime, but not the memory of the night he spent in his parents’ dressing room. Brought to the surface by an innocent question from his daughter, it refused to sink again.

  June 7, 1975

  “Come on, baby brother. We’re going to have some fun.” Before he opened his eyes, Ricky felt Robin’s eyes boring into his flesh and smelled his Tootsie Roll–scented breath. There was no reason to pretend to be asleep: Robin would only get rougher and rougher until he could force him to reply.

  “What time is it?” Ricky murmured, trying to sound unafraid.

  “It’s almost ten, icky Ricky, almost ten, and we’re going for a run.”

  Ricky opened his eyes as Robin yanked him upright. “I’m sleepy.”

  “Come on, come on! Get in the closet, sleepy Ricky.”

  “Okay.” Rubbing his eyes, adrenaline waking him up, Ricky crossed the room, Robin cavorting around him, herding him. He climbed into the closet, and Robin hand-flipped in after him, then pushed the hidden lever to open the passage.

  There was no point in refusing to go with him any more than there was a reason to ask him where they were going, so Ricky crawled into the darkness after his brother. As they passed the staircase that led down into the bookcase opening in the living room, Ricky heard the television set: His parents were still up.

  That meant they wouldn’t be going down to the kitchen. That was one of Robin’s favorite things to do, ever since Halloween almost three years ago. Ricky had seen him leave on his midnight excursions any number of times. Usually he disappeared into their closet and took the passage down to the bookcase door, sometimes he took the stairs, front or back, and other times he went right out the window and down the tree.

  Several times Rick had been forced to go with him. To make him go, Robin threatened to do all sorts of horrible things to him, including throwing him out the window and being smothered in Saran Wrap.

  Robin often spent half the night roaming the house. He liked to start in the kitchen, first going through the refrigerator and tasting almost everything in it. Ricky had seen him spit in the milk, and once, he peed a little in a fresh pitcher of lemonade. The next day, watching Mom and Dad drink it, Ricky was almost sick, but Robin had reminded him that they were already pretty sure Ricky was crazy and would think it was his idea.

  But the worst was the night that Robin had held him down and forced gobs of raw hamburger into his mouth. He’d thrown up bloody red meat into the toilet, and it looked and smelled like guts. He could barely think about it, even now.

  “Come on,” Robin whispered. He led him away from the comforting sounds below and into a dark, claustrophobic crawl space. Ricky was entirely lost, but Robin moved quickly and easily through the dark, almost as if he possessed a sixth sense that let him see in the dark. He’s a greenjack Ricky reminded himself. He probably can see in the dark.

  They descended no stairs tonight, just crawled through the passages hidden on the second floor. “Here we are, sleepy Ricky,” Robin said at last. “You go first.”

  Knowing that argument was useless, he slipped past his brother and found himself in a small cabinet, empty except for a couple pairs of Mom’s shoes.

  Robin made him climb out. They were in their parents’ bedroom—their dressing room, to be exact. “Hide there,” Robin ordered, pointing at a dark corner behind a rack of coats. He did as he was told, then Robin cozied in next to him. “Now we wait,” he said. “And if you make a noise, I’ll tell them you made me do this.”

  Soon their parents arrived. Ricky cringed into the darkness upon seeing their feet, seeing them slip their shoes off. He looked away when Mom’s hand appeared, rolling down a stocking, but Robin craned his head, wanting to see more.

  A minute later, the feet disappeared into the bathroom, and as soon as the shower came on, Robin said, “They’re gonna do it tonight.”

  “Do what?”

  “It, stupid. They always do it Friday night.”

  “Do what?” Ricky’s insides were crawling.

  “Sex, asshole, sex. They’ll turn on the radio and then they’ll do it.”

  Ricky and Billy Galani had been walking home from school last spring when they saw a little dog and a big dog stuck together on old man Clegg’s lawn. When Billy finally stopping laughing, he told Ricky they were having sex. That was pretty much all he knew about sex except for the kissing and hugging stuff, which he thought might almost be sex.

  As soon as Mom and Dad were in bed, Robin moved to the very edge of the dressing room so that he could see them. Ricky stayed where he was, a horrible sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “Shall I turn on the music, Grace?”

  Their father’s voice was easy to hear and understand.

  “In a minute. I don’t think I’ll be able to relax until we make a decision about sending Robin away to school.”

  Ricky saw his brother’s back stiffen.

  “I know, Gracie. We have to make a decision.”

  “There’s something I haven’t brought up that might be important to our decision” She hesitated. “It’s about Ricky.”

  They’re going to send me to the funny farm instead! His heart in his throat, legs cramping, Ricky almost lost his balance.

  “What about Rick?”

  “I think he’s afraid of his brother. I know that sounds silly, but . . .”

  Robin’s head swiveled, and his hateful gaze fell on him. Ricky shrank farther into the corner.

  “I don’t think it’s silly,” Dad said. “I’ve noticed it too. It’s just that the boy’s afraid of so many things.”

  “I know. Frank, do you think that Robin’s scaring him on purpose?”

  “Well . . . I never mentioned this before, you know, boys will be boys, but Robin does have a mean streak in him.”

  “What do you mean?” Mom asked.

  “I caught hi
m with a nest of baby birds. They didn’t even have feathers yet. He was—” Dad’s voice cracked. “He was doing things to them.”

  “What things?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Tell me.”

  “He was tearing them apart with his bare hands. Tearing the wings off.”

  Mom made a shivery noise. “All the more reason to send him to the special school. He needs counseling for his handicap.”

  “Yes, I agree.” Dad was quiet a moment. “About Rick. You know, he’s always been terrified by those greenjack stories Pop used to tell. I wonder if Robin repeats them.”

  “To scare him?” Mom asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But why would he want to scare his own brother?” she asked.

  “For the same reason he maimed the birds,” Dad explained. “He has no legs—so he cripples the birds. With his brother, it’s jealousy. Poor Robin. He looks at Rick and sees a perfect mirror image—except that it’s more perfect than he is.”

  I want your legs legs legs, Icky Ricky, and your eyes, too, boo hoo! His brother’s voice in his head was so real that Ricky jumped before he realized Robin wasn’t really speaking.

  In fact, his twin was paying no attention to him now. Robin splayed his hands on the carpet and began pushing himself up and down in the slow, controlled way that always meant he was angry. Ricky didn’t dare move, even when a charley horse knotted one of his calf muscles.

  “Robin’s always so concerned about Ricky,” Mom said. “You know that Ricky’s been asking to move into Carmen’s room after the wedding?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Robin came to me and cried, saying he didn’t want to sleep alone.”

  “Now, that’s interesting.” Dad’s voice got a little louder. “He came to me, too, but he didn’t cry. He said that he didn’t think Ricky should move because he shouldn’t be alone when he has nightmares. Grace, I think Robin told us each what we wanted to hear. Robin’s the one who doesn’t want him to move. Robin also told me that Ricky sleepwalks. Is that true?”

  “I’ve never seen him sleepwalk,” Mom replied. “I think that’s an out-and-out lie.”

  “Let’s tell Rick tomorrow that we’re going to let him move. It won’t hurt anything, and it might help.”

  “What about the boarding school?”

  Dad cleared his throat. “It’s a good school, expensive, but within our means. I’ll call them tomorrow and get Robin’s registration going.”

  Robin settled down onto his body and made fists with his hands. Sparks seemed to fly from his eyes when he turned a slow, deliberate stare on Ricky.

  “Good,” Mom said. “You know, Frank, I hate to admit it, but sometimes I’m even a little afraid of Robin. He’s always so sunny and happy, but sometimes there’s something so cold in his eyes.”

  “I guess we should have had this talk a couple years ago,” Frank said. “I should have seen it sooner. When Rick’s with me out in the workshop, Robin’s never around, and Rick is so . . . so normal. When he’s not afraid, I think he’s far more normal than his brother.”

  Robin silently slapped a fist into his open palm.

  “Then separating them is the right thing. It’s settled.” Dad’s voice dropped a little. “A little night music, my dear?”

  “I’m ready.”

  Ricky heard a click, then the radio came on, filling the air with classical music.

  Even after the soft moans and whispers began, Ricky didn’t dare move. He couldn’t even feel his legs anymore. Robin remained by the doorway, never glancing at Ricky, his attention utterly on their parents’ activities. His face was hard-set in an ugly, frightening scowl.

  Time passed. Soon Ricky’s mind’ felt as numb as his legs. Despite his fear of his brother, he was nodding off when a hand touched his shoulder.

  “Shhh!” Robin hissed in his face.

  The music was off and Dad’s soft, steady snore filled the room. Dazed, Ricky looked around, his eyes coming to rest on his brother’s, a foot from his face. The look in them brought him to full terrified alertness.

  “Into the cabinet, icky Ricky,” Robin whispered.

  Carefully he tried to move, but his legs were rubbery. An instant later, the pins and needles started, and Ricky groaned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My legs are asleep.”

  Robin started to laugh. He covered his mouth with his hands and shook with glee, little raspy sounds escaping. Finally he stopped and grabbed Ricky by his pajama collar. “They think they’re gonna send me away, icky Ricky, and it’s all your fault! You know what that means?” he whispered hoarsely.

  Ricky stared dumbly at him.

  “You know what that means?”

  He shook his head no.

  Robin pulled him forward until they were nose to nose. His breath stank. “It means you’re dead. I’m gonna getcha, icky Ricky, and I’m gonna getcha soon. Way before school starts. Not even gonna wait for Halloween. Crazy hazy Ricky, numb and dumb. I’m gonna kill you. Nighty-night.”

  He let go of Ricky, then slipped silently into the cabinet and was gone.

  Rick turned off the shower and stepped out, pulling the towel roughly over his body. He’d spent the rest of the night hiding in the dressing room. His fear of Robin, and what revenge he might take, overrode the joy he had felt over his parents’ words.

  He pulled on his fresh clothes and drew the comb through his hair. It was a wonder, he knew, that he had survived.

  “Dad!” Cody called from the hall. “Carmen says come and eat!”

  He smiled at the sound of his own son’s voice. “Coming, kiddo!”

  17

  It was nearly midnight, and Rick lay on his bed, exhausted, yet unable to sleep in this roomful of memories. He was also concerned about the cat, who was acting decidedly strange. Not only had Quint refused to leave the room again after the one foray downstairs, but he hadn’t even left his hiding place under the bed when Rick had come back upstairs. Silently he cursed Jade’s poodles.

  On his way down to dinner, he worried a little about dealing with open drapes and windows because he just didn’t have enough energy to deal with his neurosis or psychosis or whatever the hell ’osis he had. But he needn’t have worried: All the drapes were closed. Silently he had blessed Carmen, who had remembered. He blessed her again at dinner as her cooking rekindled his appetite: He’d forgotten that Carmen was a killer cook.

  The only negative thing at the dinner table had been Jade. Evidently she’d used up her day’s supply of nastiness, as well as any brain cells that were still functioning properly, and this combination put her in a bizarrely jovial mood that was harder for Rick to tolerate than her previous nastiness and hostility.

  He was almost certain she’d forgotten his warnings about mentioning Robin, because she brought him up about every five minutes, usually to remark obscenely on his prowess as a lover. Shelly seemed to find it disgusting yet funny, and Cody was too busy building things out of his mashed potatoes to pay the least attention.

  Rick, however, hated every last minute and was grateful that Carmen hustled her back to her quarters as soon as they were done eating.

  Then, after she showed Shelly and Cody how to operate the TV set in the living room, the housekeeper had turned her attention on him.

  “Come on, Ricky, you help me clean up and I’ll give you a treat.” She nodded her head toward the kitchen, and he followed her, happily remembering all the other times she’d said that, then shared a private stash of cookies or cupcakes with him.

  They did the dishes by hand, she washing, he drying, and when they were done, she brought out the treat: a fifth of Sauza Gold and two shot glasses. She brought them to the kitchen table and poured two shots.

  “This isn’t what I expected.” He grinned and tossed back a shot.

  She matched him. “Yeah, you thought I was gonna give you a Snickers bar, right?”

  “That’s right,” he said with total
honesty. “So how do you stand doing dishes by hand?”

  “There aren’t that many dishes, Ricky. Besides, I’ve always done them this way. I don’t know what I’m missing.” She patted his hand.

  “Dishwashers are a necessity of life. Mine broke down once and I couldn’t get it fixed for a week. After three days, we were out of dishes. We had to buy paper plates and cups and plastic forks.”

  She laughed. “You’re supposed to wash the dishes every day, buster.”

  “Well, I tried. I put them in the sink with hot water and soap, then I went to write my column. By the time I was done, the water was too disgusting to put my hands in.”

  Carmen snorted. “So what’d you do? Hire somebody to do it?”

  “Well, yeah. Shelly said she’d do it for twenty dollars, so—”

  “Twenty dollars? Ricky, you must have money growing out your butt!”

  “No, but it seemed reasonable. It was such a disgusting job and all.”

  “Boy, that girl sure knows how to work her daddy!”

  “Yeah, I know. Anyway, tomorrow we’ll order a dishwasher.”

  “I’m not gonna argue with you!” She poured another round. “One more to help us sleep. I read your column every week, Ricky. It’s good. You’re pretty funny, you know that?”

  “Thanks. I enjoy it.”

  They talked for a few more minutes, she bringing him up-to-date on the repair of the house, Hector, and the neighbors, he telling her about his life in Las Vegas.

  “Carmen? Does Jade always talk about Robin so much?”

  She studied her hands. “Tonight was worse, but she’s never stopped talking about him. The dirty old woman.”

  “Do you think she’s dangerous? To the kids?”

  Carmen considered. “Only her mouth.”

  “Good.” Rick twined his fingers behind his head and stretched against them. “I’m bushed. Shall we call it a night?”

  “In a minute. Ricky, I want to ask you something.”

  The tone of her voice gave him a chill. He said nothing.

  “Did you see them?”

  “Them?” he asked, knowing very well what she meant.