by Platt, Sean
Desmond said, “Maybe John’s right. Just for lunch. Okay, buddy?”
“Okay” The boy looked down, then over at Dog Vader. “Come on,” he said.
The impostor turned to the group, “I’m going to keep watch on the second floor if you don’t mind. I’m a bit worried about what’s happening outside, and not too hungry.”
“Sure thing, John,” Desmond said.
Luca led Vader to the far side of the kitchen, opened the door, gently ushered him inside, patted him on the head and said, “See you soon!” then closed the door behind him.
This couldn't be it.
This couldn't be the end.
Vader barked, hoping Luca would come back.
The impostor would be coming soon. Dog Vader had to stay alive, at least long enough to get to the boy’s dreams, where everything would be okay and he could finally tell him everything; finally finish what he’d been brought along to do.
Vader pawed at the outside door.
Maybe he could get everyone’s attention if he could get outside and circle back to the front of the hotel. He never should have let Luca lock him inside the kitchen. It was only a matter of time before...
The doorknob turned and the door swung wide.
He smelled the air, but nothing was there.
No... something was there: faded... tired... dehydrated... rotten.
The impostor entered the kitchen and leaped at Dog Vader, before he’d even had a chance to growl.
Dog Vader’s world went dark.
* * * *
CHARLIE WILKENS
October 19
Morning
Pensacola, Florida
“Who the fuck are you?” Bob said, rising from the floor, buttoning his jeans.
“Boy, you ain’t a good listener; I already told you my name was Boricio. I know class was in session, so that must mean you were staring out the window. I sure hope you don’t get held back, but rules is rules, and your attention span might not leave Mr. Boricio with much of a choice.”
Charlie stared at Callie, on the ground, sobbing. Bob had tried to rape her, which made Charlie wonder if he saw what he’d thought he saw in the pool. Perhaps Callie wasn’t a willing participant, after all. It wasn’t like he hung around long enough to get a good look. He’d been so disgusted by the thought of a girl he liked being with Bob, he ran. Now, as he looked down and saw the look in her eyes, he felt horrible. If Bob was raping her then, Charlie could, no should, have done something. Instead, he fled like a pussy.
“What the hell is going on here, Charlie?” Bob said, face red and eyes aflame.
“Why don’t you tell me?” Charlie said, his voice a third as confident as he wanted to sound. He imagined returning to slap Bob into place, armed with the barrel of motivational speeches Boricio delivered over several hundred miles.
“The only way to get power,” Boricio had said on the ride to Florida, “is to step to the fuckin’ plate and swing your bat in its fat fuck of a face. That’s how shit’s done on Team Boricio. Fuckers who don’t like it, get squashed.”
Charlie agreed. He’d been scared of bullies his entire life. Now was his chance, to take control of his life, courtesy of Boricio. He felt like he could do it, felt brave all the way to the house, through the front door, and even up the stairs. But now, seeing Bob again, some part of him fell into the familiar role — where Bob was the man of the house, and Charlie, the bitch. A familiar, and Charlie realized with some sickness, comfortable role. After all, if someone else were responsible for keeping you down, you couldn’t blame yourself when life was shit.
“Take your little friends and get the fuck outta here,” Bob said in an annoyed voice, pointing at Charlie, and completely ignoring Boricio.
“I’m not leaving without Callie,” Charlie said.
Bob laughed.
“Ha! You think she likes you? The minute you were out the door, she was on my cock like a dirty whore.”
“That’s not true!” Callie cried, “He drugged me.”
“Drugged you?” Boricio said, mock indignation on his face, “Bob, Bob, Bob, I’m shocked. A big stud like you needs to drug a lady?”
Bob said nothing, probably hoping he could will Boricio from existence.
“Come on, Callie, we’re getting out of here,” Charlie said, holding out his hand.
“She’s staying,” Bob stepped between them.
Callie stepped around him, then rushed toward Charlie. Bob reached out, grabbed her by her hair and yanked her back. She screamed out as she fell to the ground, still in Bob’s grip like a dog on a leash.
“Let go of her,” Charlie said, stepping forward meeting Bob’s enraged eyes. He wished Boricio had let him bring a weapon, but he said he had his reasons, and it wasn’t like Charlie could argue.
“Or what? You’re gonna have your goons beat me up? I’ve got a better idea; why don’t you and your little butt buddies go back to whatever queer little fuck fest you got going on.”
Boricio laughed, “Goons? Hey, pardner, I resent being called a goon. I’m fucking captain of this team. Besides, I’m pretty sure Charlie can take care of you just fine. Us boys are just here to watch. You know, though if you’re interested in some butt buddy shit, I’m sure we can accommodate you, handsome.”
Boricio winked playfully at Bob.
“Don’t make me tell you again,” Charlie said, trying on a bravery that felt five sizes too big. “Let go of her.”
Bob stared, then glanced at Boricio and Adam, who hadn’t budged. “Fuck you, kid. She’s not going anywhere.”
Callie pulled away, this time successfully, stood up, and ran to Charlie. “Fuck you!” she screamed.
Bob came at Charlie.
Charlie, recognizing Bob’s intent too late, dodged, but not quickly enough.
Bob’s fist slammed into Charlie’s forehead, sending a bolt of thunder between his temples, though Charlie was sure it would have hurt far worse if knuckles had landed on his nose.
Bob fell forward with the momentum of his swing. He regained his balance then scurried out the door and toward his bedroom. Charlie raced after him, seeing Bob’s target a moment later: a pistol on the dresser.
No!
Panic ignited the fuel in Charlie’s veins. If Bob got the pistol, Charlie was done for. He could hear Boricio and Adam following behind him, but he was the only person who could stop Bob in time.
He reached out, grabbed the collar of Bob’s shirt and yanked back, causing them both to roll to the floor.
Bob cried out as he hit his head on the dresser. His eyes met Charlie’s, full of a fiery hate Charlie had only glimpsed before now. If any doubt had been in his mind that Bob wanted to murder him, it evaporated that second.
Bob kicked out, hitting Charlie in the chest, clearing his lungs of air and sending him reeling back into the bed.
Bob stood quickly, grabbed the gun and took aim at Charlie, who closed his eyes and waited for death. But instead of a gunshot, he heard a thunk followed by a scream.
Charlie opened his eyes.
Bob had dropped the gun.
Boricio’s bat was on the floor beneath him.
Boricio had thrown the bat at the gun. “Okay,” Boricio said, looking down at Bob, “I lied. I helped him just this once. Now you’re on your own, Charlie. Take that fucker out.”
Bob’s eyes narrowed on Charlie as he bent over to grab the gun.
Charlie dove to the floor, grabbed the bat, and without thought, swung at Bob’s knees. Hard.
Bob fell to the ground in agony, but still held the gun in his quivering hand.
Charlie rolled over and swung again. Harder. As the bat connected with Bob’s right wrist, a sickening crunch preceded the gun’s descent to the floor. Bob cried out, left hand now cradling his broken right hand.
“You fucker!” he wailed, threads of saliva stretching across his wide-open mouth.
Callie, who had just entered the room, ran past them, then grabbed the gun and aimed it at Bob, who sat, hunch
ed over, crying, “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you little brat.”
Charlie looked back at Boricio and his giant grin. Adam was staring next to him in the doorway, in wide-eyed disbelief.
“You hear me? I’m gonna hunt you down and fucking kill you!” Bob cried out, head down, staring at his broken hand.
“You’re not killing anyone!” Callie said, as she marched forward and put the gun to the top of his head.
Bob looked up, stared at her, his eyes equaling the hate he held for Charlie. A sick smile spread across his face. He turned. “Gonna let a girl do your job for you, Charlene?”
Why the hell is he goading us? Shut up, Bob. Goddammit!
Charlie couldn’t understand why Bob was pushing his buttons. Didn’t he realize what was happening? How much the odds were stacked against him? He was backing Charlie into a corner, forcing him to respond. Though Charlie had come here seeking revenge for all the shit Bob had ever done, now that he was staring down at the crippled version of a pathetic man, his hunger for vengeance had soured.
If Bob would just shut his mouth, Charlie would be happy to leave with Callie, even if it meant disappointing Boricio.
Callie looked at Charlie, as if waiting for approval. He shook his head no. “Let’s go.”
“You’re not gonna finish the job?” Boricio said. “Goddamn, kid, you’re a better man than me.”
“I just want to leave,” he said, taking the gun from Callie and hugging her. It felt so good to have her in his arms, even if they were just friends. “He’s not worth it.”
“But this fucker raped her,” Boricio said, “And he ruined your mother’s life. You said it yourself! You’re just gonna let that go?”
Boricio’s eyes looked like those of a child who’d just been told on the night before Christmas that Santa wouldn’t be making the rounds this year.
Charlie felt pangs of guilt. They’d driven all this way with Charlie all pumped up to take care of Bob once and for all, and now he was letting the team down. And though he barely knew Boricio and Adam, their bonds were forged in fire at the compound.
“He ruined your mother’s life,” Boricio pleaded, working Charlie’s guilt.
Boricio was the first man since Charlie’s father to show him respect. But when it came right down to it, Charlie wasn’t a murderer. While he’d fantasized many times of shooting every bully in school, he’d never actually plotted to do it. Despite his bravado and his darkest fantasies, Charlie didn’t think he could snuff out someone’s life unless he was defending himself or someone he loved.
He handed the gun to Boricio and started toward the bedroom door with Callie behind him.
“He said I ruined his mother’s life?” Bob said, laughing.
Why won’t he just shut the fuck up?
“I was the best thing that ever happened to that bitch. She was a goddamn mental case when I met her! Always whining about her dead fucking husband and shit. What guy wants to hear that kinda crap?”
Something shifted in Charlie. His blood ran cold and his skin started to tingle. Tears glossed his eyes with everything he’d been holding back for too many years.
He turned to Bob, jaw quivering, “You shut your fucking mouth.”
“About your bitch mom or your dead bitch daddy?”
“Woah!” Boricio said sounding like Al Pacino. “You did NOT just say that about the boy’s daddy!”
Charlie swung the bat and hit Bob in the left knee. It popped and Bob screamed.
“You aren’t even a tenth of the man my dad was, you piece of fucking shit!” Charlie screamed, spit flying from his mouth at Bob.
“You sucked the life out of my mother like a fucking vampire! She didn’t love you. She was scared of you, you piece of shit!”
Bob laughed.
“Stop laughing!” Charlie screamed, tears streaming down his face.
Bob looked up at him, eyes wild, manic, chest heaving in mocking laughter.
“Stop fucking laughing!” Charlie said, swinging the bat again, this time hitting Bob’s left arm above the elbow.
Bob screamed out, but still forced a laugh from his lips, meeting Charlie’s eyes. Daring him to strike again.
“Let’s just go,” Callie said from behind, putting a warm hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “He’s not worth it.”
Charlie glanced back at Boricio, who smiled and nodded approvingly. Adam’s eyes were wide, scared. Callie’s were sympathetic, sorry for Charlie.
But he didn’t want sympathy.
As Bob’s laughter grew, it dug into Charlie’s core, pulling a plug on a bucket of memories. As the self denial and selective amnesia flowed down the drain, Charlie was forced to remember all the shit Bob had ever done. All the little insults, orders, exploitation, and the many ways he slowly murdered his mother — a woman who had been so sweet and full of life. Charlie remembered a time before Bob, when he was putting on a puppet show for his mom. She laughed so hard. Smiled at him. Yeah, she missed her husband, and Charlie missed his daddy. But they had each other. And that was enough.
Until Bob.
Bob’s laughter mocked everything that was pure and good in Charlie’s mother. Mocked his father’s memory.
Charlie turned to Boricio, Adam, and Callie, and said, “Get out.”
“What?” Callie said, trying to meet his eyes. But he couldn’t look at her.
“Go out there and wait for me. Bob and I have some shit to work out.”
Boricio smiled the widest smile Charlie had ever seen, as he put his hands on Adam and Callie and led them from the room. “Come on, team; let’s give our boy some privacy.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Callie said, looking back.
Charlie turned away. “Please. Leave.”
Boricio led them out and shut the door softly behind him.
Charlie turned to Bob. They were alone.
And only one would leave the room.
* * * *
LUCA HARDING
“Boy, your dog was really getting worked up,” Paola said.
“He didn’t mean any harm. He’s a good dog,” Luca said, arranging his battleships on the board.
“He’s cute.” Paola said. Luca looked up to see her smiling. She had a pretty smile.
“What was school like where you were from?” Luca asked Paola, trying to make small talk and avoid any more conversations about scary stuff.
“Sort of boring,” she said. “I just started middle school. I sort of liked it better because we changed classes and teachers, plus the school was bigger so there were more friends to talk to and play with at recess, but it’s still pretty boring.”
“Why is it boring?” Luca asked. “Didn’t you get to learn neat stuff? I was already in division for my Rocket Math. I was almost on Q.”
“No, not really,” she said. “I mean, I guess you’re supposed to learn stuff. But most of what we learned at my new school I already knew when I got there.”
“How come?”
“Because I used to go to this school called Oak Hill, kindergarten through 4th grade. It was really good, but I stopped going two years ago.”
“How come?” Luca asked.
“Because my dad said that only rich people went to that school, and he didn’t want me to be a spoiled brat like most of the girls who went there. But that wasn’t the real reason. Almost all of the girls at Oak Hill were actually really, really nice. I think my dad didn’t want me to go there because he couldn’t afford it, which meant my mom had to pay for it. I don’t think he liked that, even though he wouldn’t admit it.”
“You liked your old school?” Luca asked.
“Actually, I really like my school. The people are nice and I have, or had, a lot of cool friends. It was just boring. I couldn't learn anything there that I couldn't learn from reading books, and I’ve been reading everything I could ever since I knew how.” She looked at Luca. “Do you like to read?”
“Yeah, I just started reading chapter books this year,” he said.
“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite?”
“I started reading Harry Potter, but I didn’t like it very much.”
“You don’t like Harry Potter? Something is definitely wrong with you! What are you reading now?”
“How to Eat Fried Worms. Have you read it?” Luca said.
“No, but I saw the movie. Is the book any good?”
Luca nodded. “Yeah, I liked the book better than the movie.”
Luca felt Paola trying not to stare, could feel her thinking how odd it was that they looked the same age.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” she said, as though reading his mind. “I know it’s strange, but whatever happened to you only happened because you helped me. That makes it a good thing, right?”
Luca nodded, but felt like he was going to cry.
“It’s okay!” Paola laughed and gave him a playful slap on the knee. “Everything will be fine.” She changed the subject. “What do you think Dog Vader was so upset about?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll be able to find out as soon as I fall to sleep.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh,” Luca said. “You didn’t know? Dog Vader isn’t really a dog.”
“What?!”
“Well, I guess he is a dog, but he’s not just a dog. He’s also an Indian.”
Paola looked at Luca cross-eyed. “An Indian?”
“Yes,” Luca said, “but only when I’m sleeping.”
“If you’re not messing with me, then you’ll have to tell me everything, starting from the beginning.”
“Dog Vader is a dog and an Indian. Not the kind from the other country, but the ones you’re not supposed to call Indians, Native Americans. He’s the one who led me to Will.”
“And he talks to you in your sleep? Like you and Will talk... and like you talked to me?”
Luca nodded, staring at his shoes, still embarrassed, though not quite sure why.
“How do you know you’re not just dreaming something that isn’t really true?” Paola asked.
“Because he’s always right.”
“Oh,” Paola said. “So he’s a psychic dog/Indian?”