Suzie sat down in her old chair and picked up the glass of whiskey.
It was only two o’clock in the afternoon.
“So, is Leah really at your house?” Suzie asked Gloria as she took a quick sip of whiskey.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been home all day.” That was the first time Gloria had spoken since arriving at Suzie’s—other than “Sprite, please.”
Toby guessed she couldn’t believe that anyone could drink so early in the day. But the glass of whiskey in Suzie’s hand was proof.
“Well that’s where she told me she was going. Probably lied to me. She’s probably off getting drunk or high. I mean, who knows what they get up to when they’re with Dwayne and his lot. Speaking of which, how is the charming young lad?” Suzie continued sipping her amber drink, seemingly unaware of how hypocritical she was being.
“He’s fine, I guess,” Gloria said, softly.
“I’m sorry, hon. I know she’s your sister and all. But I really don’t know what she sees in that creep. I really don’t.”
Gloria flashed a smile. She looked almost as uncomfortable as Toby felt.
Being inside the Wilmont house was worse than he had expected—but for an entirely different reason. It felt foreign, like he had never been in here before. And it wasn’t just that the house smelled dirty, like ash, old liquor and sweat, or that there were clothes strewn over the floor and mail piled high on top of the coffee table in front of them, unopened. No, the house itself felt different, like it had morphed into some bizarre parody of its former self. Toby felt claustrophobic and he couldn’t wait to leave.
“So, how have you been, Tobes?”
“Fine,” Toby muttered. He was tempted to remind Suzie that he had seen her only yesterday, but he kept quiet.
“Hmmm, that’s good. Say, have you gone around to Mr. Joseph’s and thanked him yet?”
Toby glanced at Gloria, gave her a look; she offered a slight shrug, and then he turned back to Suzie. “Um, no, not yet.”
Suzie tipped the rest of the whiskey down her throat.
Toby winced, remembering how fiery the drink was. He watched her grab the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and with shaky hands, pour herself another glass—half, no ice, no water, not even Coke. Then she fired up a Camel Light and took a long, thirsty drag.
Toby opened his mouth to protest her drinking, but he clamped his mouth shut. Was it really his place to speak up? Suzie was an adult, she could do what she pleased in her own house. Toby just hated seeing her wasting away like this.
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to go over and talk to that man,” Suzie said, breathing out smoke.
Toby frowned. “Sorry?”
“Well he is weird, Tobes. You have to admit that. I know what he did for you. And we’re all grateful for that. But it still doesn’t hide the fact that he’s... well, a freak.”
Toby was shocked. Was Suzie really saying this? His Suzie?
“But I thought you liked him?” Toby said. “You were always one of the few people who treated him with respect.”
Suzie cackled. Tipped more whiskey down her throat. “The only person I feel sorry for is Frankie. My dear Frankie. Not some deformed freak who couldn’t even save my little boy. Not him!”
Toby felt like a steam train had crashed into his body. Suzie used to be a kind person, with warm, clear eyes to match. Now, her eyes held fire, her face cruelty, even hatred.
“Oh sure, he saved your life,” Suzie spat. “He found you and made you all better. While my poor little Frankie lay dying. Where was he then, huh?”
Toby flinched when Gloria took a hold of his hand.
“Ms. Wilmont,” she said. “Please, don’t talk like that.”
Suzie’s eyes were now runny with tears. “Why not? It’s my house. I can talk however I want! Don’t tell me what to do.”
Toby was dumbfounded.
“Where’s my Frankie now, huh? Dead! That’s where. Why couldn’t that nigger freak save him as well? So don’t talk to me about respect, Toby. I spit on that black freak. And I spit on the black fucker who killed my boy. I shit on him!”
“We don’t know for sure it was that stranger,” Toby muttered.
“Well of course it was that nigger! Who else could it have been? The cops think it was him, and so do I. Well fuck him! And fuck Mr. Joseph! Fuck the black nigger freako motherfucking-nigger-fu...” Her words trailed off as she buried her head in her hands and wept, her glass of whiskey dropping to the floor, liquid spilling over the carpet.
“Come on, we’d better go,” Toby said and pulled Gloria to her feet.
They left the Wilmont house. Suzie’s sobbing was cut off when the door closed.
Outside, surrounded by half-dead flowers and thirsty-looking shrubs, Gloria said, “Toby? Are you okay?”
Toby shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I can’t believe Suzie said all those things,” Gloria said.
“She was drunk. She didn’t mean any of it. Once she sobers up, she’ll come around and apologize.”
They walked away from Suzie’s house, a place he’d been too afraid to venture into, for fear the flood of memories would be too much. He needn’t have worried—all traces of the once cozy, familiar house were gone. All those memories were now safely locked away inside Toby’s head.
“You look tired,” Gloria said.
“I feel all right,” he lied. He was tired, and in pain; he felt like crawling into bed and sleeping for a week.
“You’re a bad liar, Toby Fairchild. I think you should go home and get some rest. It’s been a big afternoon.”
He sighed. “Maybe going home isn’t such a bad idea,” he admitted. “Okay, I’ll go home and rest. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I get to walk you home.”
Gloria smiled. “Okay.
They took their time walking to Gloria’s house.
Hand-in-hand they walked, chatting comfortably about nothing much of importance, but it felt good, it felt right, and when there were silences, they weren’t filled with unease.
“So, that was quite an afternoon,” Gloria said as they approached her house, a large white double-story colonial. “I would say let’s do it again tomorrow, but I promised Emma and Danny I’d spend the day with them. Sorry.”
“Hey, don’t be sorry,” Toby said. “They are your best friends, after all.”
“You’re my friend,” she said, in that wonderful shy way of hers that Toby found irresistible.
Sometimes Toby could hardly believe that he and Gloria were friends. “But why?” he asked. “You have so many friends, you’re one of the most popular girls in town, yet you still spend time with a busted-up dork like me.”
They stopped on the sidewalk in front of Gloria’s house.
“I spend time with you because I want to,” she said. “Because I like you. A lot. And because...” She stopped, cast her eyes to the ground.
“Because you feel sorry for me?”
“No,” she answered. “Well, a little, I guess. It’s just, when I heard about what happened, I felt so sad. About Frankie, sure, but I admit, I felt even worse for you. You had lost your best friend, you were all beaten up...” She stopped to take a breath. “When I came over and saw you lying there...” She tried to smile, but the tears got in the way. “I couldn’t imagine how you must be feeling. I’ve never lost anyone that close to me before. I felt for you. But I also wanted to be your friend. I’ve always liked you, thought you were cute, but I was too shy to do anything about it.”
Toby blinked.
Gloria’s always liked me?
“You were too shy to do anything about it?” he said. “I didn’t think girls got nervous around guys. I thought we had that market cornered.”
“Well you’re wrong.” She looked up and smiled at Toby, a wonderful, glowing smile. “Girls are human, too, you know.”
Toby hadn’t thought about doing it. All of a sudde
n he found himself leaning in towards Gloria. He planted his lips on hers. She seemed taken by surprise; her lips were initially tight, but they soon loosened and then her mouth parted and her tongue slipped into his mouth.
Toby’s head went giddy; a bulge grew in his pants. He slipped in his tongue and soon they were kissing with their mouths wide apart, their tongues exploring.
She pulled Toby closer. So close their bodies were pressed up against each other, which embarrassed Toby; he was sure Gloria could feel his erection. But she didn’t pull back. Toby in turn could feel her soft breasts pushing against his chest, and the heat radiating from her body.
It was the most incredible moment of Toby’s life, and he didn’t want it to end. Unfortunately, it did end, and sooner than he hoped.
“Hey lovebirds.”
Toby and Gloria pulled away fast and turned to see Debbie up on the porch, leaning against the doorframe. She was wearing a tight halter-top and especially short cut-off jeans that showed off her long slim legs.
“I hope you’re not trying anything dirty with my little sister,” Debbie said, her lips smacking as she chewed gum.
“Deb,” Gloria sighed. “What are you doing, spying on us?”
“As if. I’m just looking out for my little sister. I know what guys are like.” She glared at Toby. “All guys.”
“Well Toby’s not like all guys,” Gloria said. “So why don’t you just go back inside and leave us alone.”
“All guys are the same. They’re all cheating, lying pricks. Why should young Mr. Horn-bags be any different? They only want one thing.”
“Let me guess, you and Dwayne had another fight?”
“What do you reckon,” Debbie huffed. “So anyway, what have you kids been up to? Nothing too naughty, I hope.”
“I was just walking Gloria home,” Toby said, trying hard not to stare at Deb’s body.
“Looks like you were doing more than walking her home,” Debbie said, sporting a wicked grin. “You know you’re her first boyfriend, don’t ya, Toby? Little princess has never been with another guy.”
“Get lost, Deb,” Gloria said. “Leave us alone. Just because you’re angry at Dwayne, doesn’t mean you can take it out on us.”
“Ohhh. Little sis is talking back. Trying to impress your little boyfriend, huh? And I’ll bet he is little, if ya get my drift.” She laughed and her ample breasts jiggled.
“Shut up!” Gloria said. She faced Toby. Her eyes were narrow, her mouth pinched tight, her cheeks were flushed. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Toby nodded and then Gloria turned and stormed up the path, up the porch steps and when she reached her sister, she stopped, said, “God, you’re pathetic. Just because your relationship is hopeless doesn’t mean you have to ruin mine,” then stormed inside.
Debbie winked at Toby, blew him a kiss, then followed her sister inside, slamming the door as she went.
“Bitch,” Toby said. He sighed.
Though his embarrassment at being caught lingered, as he turned and started home, all embarrassment vanished as he thought about the kiss. It was his first real kiss; a proper, tongues and all kiss, and it was everything he had dreamt it would be.
If anyone were to walk past, they’d probably think he was slow in the head due to the lop-sided grin painted on his face and the stiff walk.
It had turned out to be the best day so far since the attack and as he neared his house, he felt, for the first time in a long while, good. Not great, not healed in every sense of the word, but still a lot better than yesterday, or the day before that.
He arrived home, was about to make his way inside, when the idea occurred to him. He stopped at the edge of his front lawn. He gazed over at the beaten down old house across the street.
He had put it off for too long, and he figured if he was going to do it, then today was the day.
Why not make Mom and Dad—and Gloria—proud and go over and see him? Say thanks. You wouldn’t have to stay long.
He glanced back at his house, thought about how, if he chickened out and went inside, it’d be that much harder to muster up the courage to leave the safety of his nest and go over and see Mr. Joseph.
Toby ran a hand through his hair.
Come on. If you don’t do it now, you’ll never do it.
He blew out hot, tired air.
He turned away from his house and crossed the street.
The warm fuzzy feeling from the kiss had been replaced with a nervous tingling sensation.
He arrived at Mr. Joseph’s, and as he started up the short path leading to the porch, he licked his lips in an attempt to lubricate his dry mouth.
This is the man that saved your life, buddy-boy. He’s not the scary monster from your childhood; he’s just a harmless old man who did a good deed; a very good deed. There’s nothing to be nervous about.
Then why had he put off doing it for so long? Why were his hands suddenly slimy with cold sweat and his heart pounding?
He walked up the porch steps, remembering the night he had seen Dwayne’s posse deface the house and kill a chicken. He looked to the boards, but saw no traces of blood.
At the front door, he paused and gathered his composure.
Maybe he’s working today. Yes, that would be a relief… No, it wouldn’t. I just want to get this over and done with.
He reached out, plucked back the screen door and knocked.
He waited and soon he heard footsteps from inside.
Not at Barb’s, he thought.
He licked his lips once again, and when the door eased open, he smiled thinly at the ancient head that snaked around the edge.
“Monsieur Fairchild,” the old man said. He sounded tired, like he hadn’t slept in days, and Toby immediately smelled the stink of booze on the old man’s breath.
Is everyone drinking today? Toby wondered.
“Ah, hi,” Toby said, and noticed his own voice sounded shaky. “Is this a bad time? I can come back some other...”
“No, no, it’s fine, please.” The old man eased the door the rest of the way open. And there he stood, Toby’s savior and lifelong boogeyman. Mr. Joseph wore long white pants and a Hawaiian shirt; his curly white hair looked unkempt.
“I, ah, well...” Now that the time had come, Toby didn’t know what to say. A simple thanks didn’t seem enough.
“Would you like to come in?”
Toby hesitated. He knew that once upon a time, if such an offer had been put forward to him, he would’ve screamed and ran away, thinking how close he had come to having his head bitten off and the blood drained from his body.
But that was nonsense. Toby knew that now. It was the stuff of kids’ fears, not reality. And in reality, Mr. Joseph had saved Toby from death, so if he was some blood-drinking devil worshipper, then he would’ve seized the opportunity that night a month ago and Toby wouldn’t be standing here before the man himself, appearing rude at not answering his question...
“Sure,” Toby said, and Mr. Joseph stepped aside, letting Toby take the first, and hardest, step into the nest of a very strange and foreign bird.
The screen door banged shut, and when the wooden door closed behind him, Toby flinched, and he immediately regretted doing so and hoped Mr. Joseph hadn’t noticed.
“Please, follow me.”
Toby followed the old man as he shuffled down the hallway.
The hallway was bare, except for two large bookcases filled with old books, most with spines creased and torn. A quick scan of some of the titles garnered no familiar names; a few even seemed to be in French.
Toby followed Mr. Joseph into the family room, which was almost as vacant as the hallway: only an old style TV, its screen like a pregnant woman’s belly, one ratty looking chair draped in a red and blue quilt, and a chipped wooden coffee table. And that was it. There were no pictures of family hanging on the walls, there wasn’t even a DVD player or a VCR.
The house was nothing at all like what he had imagined.
He’d imagined it to be filthy; a smelly mess of a place, piled high to the ceiling with old food containers and papers dating back fifty years. (His idea of what Mr. Joseph’s house looked like mostly stemmed from photos he once saw when he was about ten—old black and white pictures of a filthy, crowded farmhouse of some serial killer named Ed Gein. One of the kids at school had a book, and the photos in that book had unnerved Toby—especially the one of a naked woman strung upside down from the roof of a shed, like a deer waiting to be skinned; which is what he had always imagined would be found inside Mr. Joseph’s shed if it was ever opened.)
All those notions seemed ridiculous now; it was just a house, as boringly normal as any other.
Mr. Joseph led Toby into the kitchen, where an image of the old man standing by the kitchen bench, lips wrapped around his gun, flashed through Toby’s mind. He glanced at the window he had peered in through a month ago and felt a surge of guilt wash over him.
“Please, have a seat,” Mr. Joseph said, taking a bottle of rum off the table and placing it on the kitchen bench.
There were two chairs parked at the table. Toby pulled one out and sat down. The chair was hard, creaky, not at all like the cushiony ones at home.
“Would you like a drink? All I have is water or green tea, I’m afraid. Oh, and rum, but I can’t offer you that.”
Toby smiled politely; his lips quivered. He was having difficulty dousing his nerves. “Water’s fine,” he said.
The tap ran for a bit and then Mr. Joseph came over and sat down, placing a glass in front of Toby.
“I’m glad you came over,” Mr. Joseph said. “I hadn’t seen your parents in a while, so I was wondering how you were getting along.”
Toby looked sideways at Mr. Joseph. The old man looked intensely sad, troubled, his eyes glazed. Toby glanced over at the bottle of rum—something called Barbancourt—and he shifted awkwardly in the chair. “Look, if this is a bad time, I can come back tomorrow.”
Mr. Joseph frowned. “Why do you say that?”
Toby shrugged. “I dunno.”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “You mean the bottle of rum? Well, that’s just an old friend who keeps me company. So, to what do I owe this honor?”
The Awakening Page 20