The Boy Who Would Rule the World

by Brian Toal

  Chris spoke, his head still lowered. "My mother and father don't beat me."

  "Well, that's good. So, your parents are alright folks are they?"

  "Yes."

  Chris' head was still lowered and Jon gently reached across the small car and put his hand on Chris' shoulder. "So, what is the problem? Why are you out here in the middle of no-where hitch'in rides?"

  "I have to get back to Detroit."

  "Detroit? I thought you were going to Seattle."

  "I am. That’s where my grandparents live, and I need their help to get back to Detroit."

  "Why Detroit?"

  "I live in Detroit."

  "Shit! Then you are a hell of a long ways from home."

  Chris nodded.

  "Well..." Jon paused uncertain of what question to ask next. "...how the hell did you get way out here in California?"

  "I was travelling with my parents."

  "You were with your parents... Well, where are your parents now?"

  Chris sat silent for a moment, Jon's hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "Jon?" Chris spoke, his voice low and husky.

  "Yeah?"

  "Do you remember, you were talking about good people and bad people?"

  "Yeah. Stay away from the bad and party with the good." Jon tried to inject some levity into the situation, but Chris didn't move from his hunched over position.

  "You said you didn't want to have anything to do with bad people."

  "Yeah, I try to avoid em."

  "What if you couldn't avoid them?"

  "I don't know, I guess I’d try and make the best of the situation."

  "What if you met a bad person, who wasn't so bad?"

  "Then I’d have made a mistake - wouldn't I? What’s this leading up to, Chris?

  Chris spoke softly, so quietly that Jon had to lean down towards him in order to hear. "I might be a real bad person. A real, real bad person. Someone you wouldn't want to help."

  Jon heard the quick intake of breath as the boy choked on his own words and he felt the boy's shoulders quiver under his hand as he cried. "Aw, Chris..." He rubbed his hand lightly over Chris' shoulder, "...nothing you could have done can be that bad. You’re not a bad kid. I can tell that just by looking at you."

  "But, I am. I did some real bad stuff. I didn't want to do it. I didn't mean to do it. But, I did though..."

  "Chris. Nothing you did can be that bad. Sometimes kids get mixed up and do stuff they know that they shouldn't do. That's part of being a kid. People forgive them. Everybody knows it is tough being a kid, parents especially."

  "What if the kid killed his parents?" Chris moaned, his head slumped against his chest.

  "Fuck! Well that is a might serious, I don't..."

  Chris reared up from beneath his hand, grabbing Jon's arm and tearing it off his shoulder. "Yes!" He screamed. "It is a might fucking serious!" Then his eyes closed, tears pouring out from beneath the lids, his jaw clenched tight, trying to hold the sobs within.

  "Chris...Chris." Jon didn't know if he should put his hand back onto Chris' shoulder, so instead he placed his hand lightly on the boy's arm. "Chris, come on kid, what’s going on with you? Tell me about it."

  Then, much to his surprise, the boy launched himself at his chest, wrapping both of his arms around Jon's body and hugging him tight. He could feel the young boy's body spasm in his arms as the boy wailed, his whole body contorting in pent up agony.

  "I killed my Mom and Dad." Chris sobbed, his tears wet against Jon's shirt. "I killed them both and everyone else and I couldn't stop it. I killed everyone and I kept killing them and killing them and killing them..." He pulled himself tighter against Jon's chest, his fingers clutching and digging into the material at the back of Jon's shirt. "...and everyone was screaming......and I couldn't stop it...and this little girl was screaming and I was killing everybody...and then I wanted to kill more...and I couldn't stop it...and then I made a fire...I made it huge...to kill them...to kill them all...and...and then everyone was dead. And my Mom and Dad were too!" Chris screamed the last sentence his fingers tearing at Jon's shirt, his arms crushing his face and neck against Jon's chest.

  Jon sat stunned. His arms automatically holding the boy. Allowing his body to be abused by the boy’s pain. He had no idea of how to respond. What to say. Chris held him tight, sobbing hysterically, rubbing his face against the front of Jon's shirt. Jon sat, twisted in his seat, the arm-rest digging painfully into his back as tried to calm the shattered child. He rubbed Chris' back with his hands, held his young body tight against his chest - just like he did with his four-year-old nephew when he was upset. But, he had no idea what to say.

  How do you say to someone, 'it will be alright'. When you know it never will be alright for them ever again. Indeed maybe this child was a monster. Like the ones he occasionally read about in the paper. Five-year-old strangles two-year-old brother. Ten-year-old tortures and rapes three-year-old neighbour. The type of kids that make for interesting reading, but who you would never, ever want to meet.

  Or be in the same car with!

  He looked down at the dark head buried against his chest.

  "Chris!" He pulled at Chris' arms still hugging his body tight. "Chris, let go."

  Chris relaxed his grip slightly, but still pressed his face against Jon's chest, seeking comfort from his anguish. "Chris, we need to talk about this." He felt Chris nod his head against him and then the boy spoke softy.

  "Do you think I should be alive?"

  "You mean, do I think you should kill yourself?"

  Chris nodded his head against Jon's chest and Jon felt some compassion return. "I guess that depends on why you killed your mom and dad."

  "I didn't want to. I didn't mean to. I didn't want to kill anyone..."

  Jon waited while a fresh burst of sobs racked the young body in his arms. "Why did you kill them?"

  "The police...the police scared me. They were going to take away my Mom and Dad and I got scared. I knew that I should never get scared. It always gets bad when I get frightened."

  "What gets bad?"

  "The things that I can do."

  Jon stroked Chris' back one more time, then hugged him tight for reassurance. "Chris, sit up. I have trouble understanding you, when you are bunched up against me like this."

  Slowly Chris dropped his arms from around Jon and pushed himself back into his own seat. His eyes were molten red, his face puffy and flushed. Jon reached down in between the seats and pulled out a crumpled McDonald's napkin. "Here." He handed it to Chris.

  Chris wiped at his eyes and then noisily blew his nose. "Thanks." He murmured, his eyes cast downwards although his body was twisted in his seat, so that he faced Jon.

  "Chris, this is mighty serious stuff you’re talking about. Either it’s a whole pack of lies, which I don't think it is, or you are in a real heap of trouble."

  "It’s no lie."

  "No, I didn't figure it was. But, I have got to make some sense out of this. I mean, if you really have killed some people, then you got to get some help."

  "You mean jail."

  "Well...no, maybe not."

  Chris raised his head, his voice firm. "I don't care about jail. I don't care about nothing! But, a thing made me like this and I’m going to find out why, and then I’m going to kill it too. Because it made me kill my Mom and Dad."

  "A thing. What thing?"

  Chris waved his hand in dismissal. "A thing back in Detroit. But, you wouldn't understand."

  Jon nodded absently, planning his next statement. "Well...Chris, I still think you are a nice kid and something real bad must have happened to you to make you do what you did. But, if you killed your Mom and Dad, then I don't have much choice, but to report you. I mean, now that you have told me, I'm an accomplice too."

  Chris looked directly into Jon's eyes and then spoke, his voice emotionless. "I like you too Jon, but I wouldn't let you do that."

  Jon felt a burst of adrenalin charge through his body. The boy'
s voice was so composed and certain. He tried to keep his voice light. "What are you going to do, try and kill me too?"

  "No." Chris spoke in the same voice. "I don't want to kill any more people. But, I can do almost anything I want to do, and no one can stop me."

  Jon moved his left hand across his lap and let it hang beside him, just in case he had to make a quick grab for the door handle. "What do you mean?"

  "This thing in Detroit...it changed me, did things inside my brain. No one knows why and no one knows how. But I can control people. I can make them do whatever I want. And I can break things too."

  "Is that so?" Jon had now decided that young boy he had picked up by mistake, was definitely an insane homicidal maniac. He was cautiously moving his hand upward towards the door handle, when he heard a brittle snap and the metal door handle fell into his palm.

  "There." Chris spoke, "and..."

  The window crank, by Jon's knee, twisted on its axis, the side window sliding up by his ear."

  "Holy fuck!" The expletive exploded from his mouth and the entire car rocked as Jon flung himself upright in his seat, reaching downwards for the window crank.

  "Don't or I’ll break it off too." Chris said pleasantly, scrunching himself up against the passenger door, his eyes watching Jon. "I like you. I appreciated the way you tried to make me feel better and I don't want to hurt you."

  Jon sat rigidly upright in his seat, both hands now resting on his thighs. He didn't quite know what to do next.

  "What I need is a ride to Seattle." Chris continued, "I don't expect you to drive me all the way there. It’s too far. But I would like it if you would drive me to Portland. Then I could phone my grandparents and maybe they will come and get me."

  "And if I don't?" Jon asked quietly.

  "Well, I was kind of hoping you would, because you seemed real nice before and...and I’d like to talk with you more, because I’m a bit scared and... Well, if you don't drive me, then I’m going to have to do something to you to make you unconscious for a few hours and I'm not exactly sure how to do it."

  Jon glanced over at Chris, for the first time since he had become aware of his own personal danger. He could detect no malice in the kid's expression, just an earnest desire for his help and company. "All you want me to do is give you a ride up to Portland?"

  Chris nodded.

  Jon sucked in a deep breath. "Okay, I'll drive you up to Portland."

  Chris slowly reached over with his own hand and briefly touched Jon's shoulder. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

  "No problem." Jon still sat rigidly in his seat, not daring to make further eye contact with the boy beside him. This is what it feels like when you are abducted by kidnappers or terrorists, he figured. "What do you want me to do next?"

  There was silence in the car for a few seconds, then Jon felt the boy's small hand once again on his shoulder. "Jon..." the boy spoke hesitantly. "...I didn't mean to scare you and I really, really don't want to hurt you. In fact, I won't hurt you." He added, "but I need a ride up north and I don't want you calling the police on me. But, I won't go with you if you are going to be scared all the way. I'll get out."

  Jon glanced over at the kid beside him. He looked totally sincere, an earnest desire to convince Jon of his benevolent intentions. "Okay." Jon sagged in his seat, relaxing slightly.

  "I mean it, Jon. I just want to travel with you, I don't want to hurt you."

  "Right, I believe you." Jon spoke, some of his self-confidence returning. "But please don't break anything more on my car."

  "I promise, if you give me a ride, I won't break anything else in your car."

  "Okay, you got a deal." Jon reached down towards the ignition and then stopped.

  Sitting back up, he allowed himself a small smile as he turned to directly face the boy beside him. " Now are you going to start the car or should I use my key?"

  Chris smiled and then laughed. "Use your key, it would be safer for both of us."

  NINE - FIVE

  For the first thirty minutes after pulling out of the McDonald's parking lot, Jon had said relatively little. Upon reaching cruising speed he had asked Chris to find a particular Led Zeppelin tape. Chris had spent a fruitless couple of minutes searching among the litter of cans and cups on his side of the car, until Jon had selected another tape from the dozen stacked between the seats. Then, with the volume turned up, he had said nothing.

  But he smoked two cigarettes, one after another. Which Chris knew was unusual. That’s why the two of them had been forced to sit in Jon's car at McDonald's. Jon had said he only smoked after meals or when drinking beer and he tried hard not to smoke at other times. Finally the tape finished and Jon reached across to turn the stereo off.

  "I better know more of what is going on." He started, "you forced me into this, kid, but if your story is really good, I'll help you out as best as I can."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. Maybe I got a soft spot for kids that are all messed up. Did I tell you I used to volunteer at a Boy's and Girl's Club?"

  "No."

  "Well, I did. It was good fun too. I don't quite know why I quit." Jon paused, getting his thoughts in order. "Anyway, some of the kids there were pretty fucked up. And strange as it sounds, those where the ones that I liked talking with the most." Jon turned and smiled at Chris. "Pretty weird uh?"

  Chris nodded. "So you think that I am pretty..." he paused at the word "...fucked up?"

  "I'd say that. In fact, you are possibly one of the most fucked up kids I have ever come across." Jon smiled, to soften his words. "Back in the parking lot, I even thought you might be dangerous."

  Chris spoke, his words flat. "Oh, I am definitely dangerous. I really can do almost anything and now I will, if it's necessary."

  Jon, slumped in his seat, looking at Chris from the corner of his eyes. "You’d better tell me about it."

  Chris drew in a deep breath, his eyes looking beyond the hood of the car and into the past. "It all started this summer, when me and my cousin..." And as he spoke, Jon dropped the speed of the Datsun and the resulting noise level, down to a sedate fifty-five. Chris told him of their find. Waking up later in the hospital in Toronto. Then going back to school with his incessant need to read and learn things. Jon asked some questions and Chris did his best to answer. He told him of Ben Able and the spaghetti and they both shared a laugh. He told him about Mr. Clifford and the fiasco of his last day in school and Jon even thought there was some humour in that. He told him about Dr. Murance and his findings and why he and his Mother had to leave Detroit. Jon found no humour in that. Then he told him of his travels with his parents and finally with many tears he told Jon the story of the Truck stop. Then he was done and Jon handed him another crumpled napkin from some other take-out restaurant and there was silence in the car.

  "Well..."Jon finally spoke. "...that is the most goddamn, wildest story, I’ve ever heard. And it’s all true?"

  "Yeah. It's true."

  "And you can move things, break things, and even make people do what you want."

  "Telekinesis. But I'm not very good at making people do things themselves. I didn't have much chance to practice when I was travelling with Mom and Dad. Especially after I promised Dad, I wouldn't make the drivers change lanes."

  "So, when you broke my door handle...how did you do it?"

  "Just like I said. I picture it in my mind, exactly like it is and then change the vision to what I want it to be - then I let it happen. But, remember when you put your hand on the window crank and I said I was going to break it off too?"

  Jon nodded.

  "That was a very dangerous time for you. I didn't have a good picture of the position of the window crank and to make something happen I have to know exactly what it looks like and where it is. My mind was mostly full of pictures of blood spraying and tearing skin. Your skin. Not pictures of the crank."

  "Fuck!" Jon exclaimed, thinking back to the moment he was tempted to try and roll his window back down.


  Chris nodded seriously. "I have a problem when things change position fast. Then I can't keep up and it is like some other part of my brain turns on. The pictures move into hyper speed and I loose control of what I want to do. It happens when I get really mad or scared too."

  "Does it happen often?"

  "No. Hardly ever. Just...sometimes."

  Jon looked across at Chris who was staring vacantly out the front window. "So, what do you want to do?"

  Chris continued to stare out beyond the hood of the car. "I want to go up to Seattle and visit my grandparents. I want to talk to them and maybe convince them to help me. Then I want to go back to Detroit and find out what that thing is and why it did this to me. Then..." his voice hardened "...I want to destroy it."

  Jon sat silent for most of a minute. Then he spoke, "well, Chris, if you want, I'll help you out. I don't know exactly what I can do besides drive the car, but I'm not working and I got nothing else to do. Seattle is only about three hours north of Portland. How about you stay at my place tonight and then tomorrow I’ll drive you up to your grandparents. I won't promise I’ll come with you to Detroit - it's a hell of a long ways from here - but I will promise I'll get you up to Seattle. Besides, I'm always into to having a good time, and there could be some fun in this little adventure you got planned."

  Chris' gaze moved from the roadway and focussed on Jon. "Thanks." He said simply, and as Jon began to talk with great enthusiasm about their future plans, he added under his breath. "But, I doubt if it will be a good time."

  CHAPTER TEN

  ONE

  They were having a meeting. It was rare they needed to actually confer together, but many of them still had difficulty expressing their thoughts through the medium that linked them. Sometimes it was just more expedient to gather and talk in the old ways. Then certain of their tasks, depart and communicate their successes later. This evening, as fall descended on Detroit and the first of many cool rains washed the dust of summer away, nine cars, minutes apart, turned onto Oakwood and parked in front of the Rutherford's house. In months past, the cars would have caused considerable comment among Beth and Charlie's neighbours. Three Cadillacs, two Lincons, a BMW, two Mercedes and by comparison, a rather ordinary Buick parked on either side of the street in front of the Rutherford's. Some of their occupants might have caused comment too, among the Rutherford's rather gentile neighbours: The Deputy Commissioner of the Detroit Police Force - accompanied by an officer in Uniform, two elected members of the City Council, a massively fat man whose picture was often in the paper - for defending criminals of some notoriety. The others probably wouldn't have been recognized except in circles of great distinction.