by Aven Jayce
“You’re wearing a hole in my floor, come over here and sit down so we can talk.”
“When do I get a gun?”
Shit. I thought I created a monster with Jules, but he’s far worse than her. “Jack, sit.”
“Seriously, Dad. So when we lived in Vegas you did this too? Did you ever have bodies in our garage when I was a kid? Holy fucking Christ, I can’t believe I even fell asleep last night with all the thoughts twisting in my head. And those cars last year? Did you kill those people too?”
He reclines in the chair with his legs over the arms once again, kicking his feet eagerly with a cheerful grin. “I can’t wait to tell my friends.”
“No!” I say with force. “You can’t tell anyone, ever. This is between family members, no one else. The moment you tell one of your buddies, it’s all over. You should never trust a soul with information about our lives. Only those already involved. It’ll get us all arrested or dead.”
“Not even—”
“Jack,” I order. “No one. And I’m not going out each night to slay people, so get that image out of your head.”
“Jules explained some things. I get most of it.” He picks at a broken toenail, ripping it off and flicking it across the room, then continues swinging his legs like a four-year-old.
“Don’t,” I utter. “That’s disgusting. Sit up straight. You wanted to talk so we’re gonna talk.” He asks about his mom again while setting his feet to the ground, his voice cracking when he mentions her name, as it will for some time.
“She knew a few things.”
“Did she help?”
“No, you still don’t understand. This is about—”
“But you enjoy it. Jules said you like to kill.”
I rub the back of my neck, looking down at my bare feet. I guess the old saying’s true—careful what you wish for.
“Can I have some weed as payment for the job last night? I already know you smoke, so you must have some in here.”
Careful what you wish for.
“Oh, and what you said yesterday, about us being closer because of this? I didn’t understand what you meant, but after the cleanup and finally hearing some shit about your life, holy fuck! Don’t you feel closer? I do. I get it. To think, my dad killed a guy to protect his woman and I got to help by putting the body in that tank, oh, and the access cover was frozen shut. Jules had to bring hot water out after we shoveled, then it took awhile, but we finally got it pried open... I did that, for you. It was amazing! Like, we all had death hands.”
“Death hands? What the fuck does that mean? You need to slow down and breathe for a moment. I’m serious. And I believe you meant to say ‘blood on our hands.’”
“Yeah, we all played a role. Was that my initiation? Am I good to go? Do I get a name? Weapons? And what about the pot? This is crazoids, I’m wide awake now.”
“Stop.” I raise my hand, in need of a break. Careful what you wish for.
“If I can dispose of a body I should be allowed to smoke. I haven’t had any in months.” He holds out his hands, palms up. “Dead guy,” he raises one, “and weed,” then raises the other higher, teetering them up and down. “Dead guy, weed, dead guy, weed. Fuck, I’d say the dead guy could be more harmful to my future than smoking a little pot.”
“Little fucking... you know, I’ll do more than slice your ears if you get out of line again. And, no pot. I’m not providing a minor with drugs and alcohol. I’m opening up about my life so there might be a chance for us to be father and son. It’s okay to protect and defend, and that’s what you experienced in my garage, but drugs aren’t a form of defense.”
“For some people they are.”
My voice raises, “If I get arrested, it’s not going to be for pansy-ass shit like being my son’s supplier... don’t laugh! Don’t open your mouth again until I’m finished speaking.” I put my gun away and dress while he sits in silence, covering his bed head with his hoodie. Hopefully, he’ll start to unwind.
I forgot what it’s like being his age until just now. An endless amount of energy flows freely from every pore of your body and keeps you awake all night. You feel invincible and experience each conversation, drink, road trip, and fuck like it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to you. You overreact and are obnoxiously boisterous, especially around your friends and family, not only for attention, but because your hormones are out of control, causing you to act like a dumbass... fuck, I think I just described myself in my late thirties.
And now, the kid has a mile-wide smile. I sit before him and he slowly presents a more balanced expression. “Better,” I exhale, remembering Jules’ words about loving him. I’ll give it a shot, but so far, life was more relaxing when we hated one another.
“Let me try and explain this to you in a way you’ll understand. If someone broke into your house back in Philly and was attacking your mom, would you call the cops?”
“Fuck no, I’d take one of my swords and cut his head off or use my zombie gutter to take him down. The cops wouldn’t get there fast enough to help, and even after they arrived, the guy could escape in some way and never be caught.”
Our eyes link and he copies my nod. I knew my son had issues, all teens do, but when did he become unsympathetic to the life of another human being? He should’ve awakened as a more timid, fearful kid after dealing with the body. Someone I could manipulate and train. Again, I get the award for being a shitty parent... here son, let me slice your ears, now dispose of the dead guy like a good little boy. Well, fuck me. Closer together meant he’s supposed to be under my command. Double fuck me.
“Look, buddy, my father played a role in my ability to turn cold when taking a man’s life, he was an evil man, but I also felt the need to kill before I was initiated into his world. I had craved it for years, yet I knew how to control it. That’s important and something you need to learn. Take an asshole down when it will make the world a better place or when you’re protecting a loved one, but random kills are bullshit. Don’t search for them. We’re better than that. A Jameson isn’t a cowardly serial killer. Jameson’s are vigilantes who protect people... I can tell by your endless nodding that you understand. Now, remember I don’t ever seek men out—I let them come to me. If you’re like me, you’ll be able to sense the wickedness that hides inside of people. You’ll hope their foul ways don’t come into contact with your loved ones, because that’s when things turn to shit.”
He listens closely; his body reclined with his hands entwined in his lap, his eyes disappearing under his black hood while his tongue incessantly moistens his full, cracked lips. I pat his knee, leaning forward as I speak, trying to offer some fatherly advice, whatever the fuck that means.
“Real men kill to protect love, serial killers kill to destroy it, and the average man won’t get involved in either of the two because he’s a pussy.”
He laughs and says that’ll be his next tat.
“I’m serious.”
“I think I get it. But when are you going to tell me about your dad? You never talk about him... you said he’s evil. Did he kill a lot of people too? Thousands? More than you? Were you guys a dark duo?”
“Your grandfather told me what to do and I followed orders without opening my big mouth... most of the time.” I point to his face, trying to get him to understand the pecking order. “Paul Jameson is six-feet under and he’s not resurfacing, ever. Leave him there.”
“Can I ask Aunt Sophia and Uncle Cove about him?”
“Never. I’ll explain more about my life in time, but not him. It’s bad luck to talk about the dead.”
“Why?”
“Jack, enough about it.” I check my watch and wince at the time. I can’t believe I slept seven hours. Fuck, I’ve got a lot to do. “Change your clothes. I’m taking you to register for school. The local high school’s okay, right?”
“Fine,” he groans. “Don’t you need an appointment or something?”
> “I guess we’ll find out when we get there. And afterward, we’ll pick up the driving handbook from the DMV. The world outside my septic tank still exists and I want you to stay focused on other things besides killing people. Keep your ears bandaged, and if anyone asks, say they’re infected from having them pierced.”
“Plugged. I wanted to get plugs, but that won’t be possible now.” He removes his hood and tightens his jaw with a serious expression that slowly changes to a warm grin. “I think I love you,” he whispers. “You’re finally starting to act like you care.”
Wow, I can’t remember the last time I heard him say those words. My heart races, then plummets into a dark hole. I hated my father because he was a malicious bastard, but I also loved him for it, and I coveted his power. My son might feel that he loves me now, and I bet it’s for the same reason. He sees me as some dark hero he can admire. I’m sure he also desires my power, whether it’s in this environment, in some biker club, or out on the open road.
“What do you want out of our relationship?” I should’ve asked him that years ago, and maybe I did but never got an answer other than his request for material objects or cash. And asking now probably originates more from Jules than me. Love him, she says. I’m done with him, I say.
He bites the dried skin on his lips while staring over my shoulder.
“To be noticed and not tossed aside or forgotten about like I have been for years.” He swallows hard and rubs his chin with his index finger before scanning the room. “For you to accept the fact that I may not want the same things or have the same goals in life as you.” Our eyes meet and I can tell he’s practiced this moment. The words are precise, like they’ve been written and reread over and over again. He’s been waiting for center stage, but it feels unnatural, calculated, and fake.
“To be respected for who I am and not punished all the time for who I’m not.”
“Oh,” I exhale, hearing an immediate disappointment to my one-worded response.
“Is that too much? What the fuck? Then why’d you ask?”
“Keep going.” I motion for him to continue.
“All I have left to say is that I want to feel loved. Okay?”
He sounds perturbed. I bring him to my chest and cradle the back of his head, hoping he can sense that I’m listening. I said those same things to my dad, only I was called a wimp and had my face slammed into the wall.
“Jack, don’t confuse your love for an illusory, dark superhero, over your true feelings for your father.”
My embrace stops his disagreeing headshake. “Dad,” he mumbles into my chest. “If you had to eat all the shit that came out of your mouth, you’d be the size of your hotel.”
“Sounds like something Jules would say,” I laugh with a kiss to the top of his head. “Welcome to the family, son.”
ARTIFICIAL SON
JACK FAILED TO TELL ME he hasn’t attended school since last June. Well fuck, buddy, that would’ve been nice to know before we walked into the office to get you enrolled.
His mother allowed him to stay home this fall because she knew she was dying. She hired a college co-ed to tutor him who he claimed was a good fuck. Yes, my son seduced some twenty-year-old when he was supposed to be reading The Great Gatsby. I shook my head incessantly when he told me, explaining it’s illegal in most states for him to be screwing women, to which he responded in the same way he did with the pot. Pussy’s less harmful to my future than the body in the septic tank.
Snarky smartass. That’s going to be his new line for everything.
So now, it looks like he’ll be attending summer school to make up for lost time. Plus, the local high school doesn’t want him to start until after the holidays. That’s two weeks. Two fucking weeks until he’s back on a schedule.
I’ve got to figure out how to keep him busy with something that isn’t illegal; otherwise he’ll get caught in a power trip thinking about what a badass he is, or worse, a downward spiral over the loss of his mom. I asked him if he wanted to get a model kit, like a plane or a car to work on to pass the time, and he responded in a typical Jack Jameson way... “Only if it comes with the good glue.”
Screw that idea. No model kits for my son. He’s too old for them anyway. Fortunately, he became enthusiastic when we got the driving manual at the DMV, and even more so when he saw all the kids his age at the ski resort. After purchasing a season pass, it took him two long hours to pick out a snowboard, jacket, and boots. Fuck, I haven’t spent so much money since the gondola lift reservation for Jules. But it was worth it. That was three days ago and he’s been living at the resort ever since.
Jack’s a social butterfly and kids fall in love with his dirty mouth, graphic sex stories, big grin, and the confidence he exudes wherever he goes. He stands with his head held high, legs apart, and hands on his waist when he’s around his buddies. And the past two days I’ve seen girls hanging on his every word as I wait for him to get his ass into my Tacoma. He nonchalantly brushes against them, puts his arm over their shoulders, and sweeps his hand across the back of their necks. He’s a scabby eared, confident, cocky player.
I’m unsure if he’s actually snowboarding or just hanging out at the snack bar and goofing off, but frankly, who gives a shit? As far as I know, he hasn’t been drinking or getting into any fights, so the cost of the pass and equipment to keep him occupied is a win-win. He’s busy, I’m busy, and life’s finally getting back to normal. We can now be an ordinary, habitual, bland, piece-of-shit family. Call me average Joe. Yep, that’s all I can think about as I recline in my lobby chair, watching my guests check in for the evening. Hello, I’m average Joe, welcome to my goddamn hotel, you motherfuckers. Hope you brought the entire family for an extended stay. Don’t forget to piss in my pool, vomit at the bar, and deposit cum all over my sheets.
“You in a foul mood?” Jules asks, placing a hand on my jerking leg.
“Ya think? I can’t believe you trapped me into this.”
“It’s talked me into this.”
“No, trapped.”
The doors open and I look up, thinking it might be her parents, but it’s only a group of twenty-something-year-old women. They ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the thirty-foot pine covered in white lights and gold bulbs that towers next to the burning fireplace. My head shakes and I grimace as they track snow through the front door. With a stomp of their boots on the lush entryway carpet, they leave piles of white fluff that quickly melts into a slushy swamp.
“Wipe that irritated look off your face,” Jules whispers. “You love your guests. Don’t be such a fucking baby by taking your personal life out on them.”
“Why here?”
“Would you have gone to dinner with us if it was downtown?”
“Nope,” I exhale, rubbing my forehead to relieve the tension. “I deserve a big reward later tonight.”
“This okay?” Jack walks toward us with his hands raised, showing off a grey button down shirt tucked into dark blue jeans and a black sport coat.
“Hell, you invited Jack?” I stand and tuck his shirt collar under his coat. “And when did you get a haircut?”
His thick hair is cut to a decent length and combed slightly to the side and forward with short wavy pieces framing his face. He takes mint ChapStick out of his front pocket and applies it leisurely across his thick lips while sitting across from Jules in one of the leather club chairs.
“He wanted me to take him somewhere to get it cut today, so I cut it.”
“You did this? I’m impressed. It looks damn good.”
“Thank you.” She tilts her head with a confident smile. “And he’s not coming with us, he’s got a date.”
“With who?” I turn to him.
“Her name’s Emma. Just wait ‘til you see her and her monster rack. She’s got long black hair and wears violet contacts that are killer. Violet, Dad. Fuckin’ hot! She’s like the kickass characters in my favorite Manga comics. And she’s not afraid to s
how off some skin either. I could stare at her cleavage all day,” he responds.
I scan the room to make sure my guests aren’t listening and realize the lobby music is off. No wonder Jack’s voice is echoing through the space. After multiple finger snaps to get the attention of my front desk staff, I point to the overhead speakers and a moment later the sounds of vintage Christmas music fills the room.
“What else do you know about her besides her breast size?” I ask.
“Well, thankfully she’s not a prude,” he laughs. “And her mom works in the restaurant at the resort. I think she’s a hostess. Emma said her mom lets her smoke and can stay in one of the cabins on the slopes for free. She can walk out her front door and ski all night if she wants.”
“How old is she?”
“Sixteen. Smart and funny too.”
Sounds like my dream girl at his age.
“If I’m lucky, her friends will be open to a threesome. I could use a little ménage in my life.” He rolls his cuffs with a serious face, but a few minutes later, smirks and winks in reference to his comment. “I’m kidding.”
“I’m not amused,” I state. “Just keep your pants on tonight.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Yeah, if she’s okay with it, why?” Jules questions.
I don’t have an answer. There’d be something wrong with a sixteen-year-old who didn’t have pussy on his mind twenty-four seven, so I decide to change my words... “Keep your pants on when you’re on my property. Besides the illegal shit we’ve already discussed, I also don’t want child services pounding at my door.”