Stacy set Brendan in the crib and stepped back. She studied her giggling boy and felt disgusted with herself. He was adorable, and he couldn’t speak. He was one, and she was high. She bent down to nuzzle her son’s cheek, whispered his name lovingly.
A sick grin spread across his face. “Why are we whispering?”
Stacy stifled a scream, reminded herself she was still experiencing the drugs. She looked at the chair next to the crib. “Did you get out of your crib last night?”
Brendan nodded. “And you aren’t going to say a word, are you, Mommy?” His voice was so deep.
Stacy gasped and pinched herself, hoped the pain would snap her out of this horrific illusion. When it didn’t, she said, “What were you trying to do?”
“Let’s just say that prick got lucky. If it weren’t for these fat baby fingers, his brain would have been mush.”
“H-harry!”
“What now?” he asked from the other room.
“He’s doing it again.”
“Get out of there, Stace,” Harry ordered. “You’re tripping. Drink some water and fix some goddamned eggs. And don’t make ’em all runny.”
Brendan waved a mocking goodbye as Stacy backed out of the room. In the living room she noticed the pot, cracked and on its side next to where Harry had been sleeping.
“Oh my God. The pot.”
“Relax.” Harry covered his face with the blanket to hide from the morning sunshine. “I think I kicked it when I got up. It’s your fault though. You scared the crap out of me when you yelled like that.”
“You broke it?”
“Who cares? The thing was ugly anyway. Go buy a new one if it bothers you so much.”
Stacy wanted to tell Harry about her dream, but it would only upset him even more. Instead, she did as she was told and cooked breakfast. The sunlight was intense, but she felt she was regaining some sobriety. After she slid the plate of fried eggs in front of Harry, Stacy took a bottle of milk into Brendan’s room. She was relieved to see he was curled up under his blanket.
Stacy walked to the crib and set the bottle on the nightstand. She was about to pull the blanket down when she heard a noise behind her and whipped around.
Brendan was a few feet away trying to pick up a pair of scissors from the floor.
Before he could cut himself, Stacy snatched the sewing scissors and set them on the cabinet. She turned back to her son who cursed under his breath, looking down at his hands.
“Stupid goddamn fingers,” he said.
Keeping one eye on Brendan, Stacy lifted the blanket and saw the pillow underneath it. “What were you trying to do, Brendan?” Her voice shook.
“Let’s just say we call you lucky this time.”
Stacy picked Brendan up, holding him as far away as possible, and took him into the living room. She set him in front of Harry and said, “Please watch him for a minute. I need to take a bath. I don’t feel good at all. My mind’s all screwed up. When’s this stuff going to wear off?”
“You can’t worry about it. If you panic, it’ll only make things worse. Hurry up and take a bath. I’ll watch him.”
“Thanks, Harry. I owe you.”
With his back to Harry, Brendan put his fist in front of his O-shaped mouth and rapidly jerked it up and down, showing Stacy he knew how she’d repay her boyfriend. Stacy pretended she didn’t see the obscene gesture and ran off to the bathroom. After setting the radio on the ledge and turning on an easy-listening station, she eased into the warm water and tried to relax. She promised God she would never again take drugs. She begged Him to cleanse her mind, take away the evil thoughts. She loved Brendan and hated herself for thinking such terrible things about him.
Stacy had been in the bath for quite some time when there was a low knock on the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute, Harry.”
The knocking persisted.
“Is everything okay?” she asked. “Brendan’s not causing too much trouble, is he?”
The doorknob turned back and forth. Finally, the catch released, the door pushed open, and there was Brendan standing on top of his Rock N’ Roll Tigger.
Brendan had opened a door before, doing this very thing, but his sick smile told her the drugs were still coursing through her mind. He got down on his knees and backed off the toy, carefully easing one leg down and then the other so he didn’t lose his balance. Before he turned toward her, he picked up his favorite red ball in his right hand, and something else in his left.
“Did you want to play catch?” She looked around the bathroom, actually thinking about what she could use as a weapon before scolding herself. He’s your son. Jesus, get it together, Stacy. She held her hands in front of her. “Want to throw it to Mommy? Wouldn’t Harry play with you?”
Brendan stepped into the bathroom, his left hand behind his back, his right clutching the red ball. “Don’t worry about him. That mo-fo got what he deserved.”
“What?”
Brendan smiled and moved closer to the tub. “I made a joke. Get it? You’re Mommy,” Brendan could barely control his giggles. “And he’s screwing you. Mo-fo!”
“Brendan, stop this right now. I love you, but you need to listen to me.”
Brendan bounced the ball up and down on his palm, his dexterity much improved. “You treat that loser better than your own son. What kind of mom does that?”
“I’m sorry, honey. I … It’s just that Mommy’s getting older and it’s hard to find a decent man.”
“You are getting old, and Harry was probably the best you’ll ever get. I think I like my chances of getting a foster family. With my angelic face and adorable smile, I’ll be picked up quick. And maybe I’ll have a proper house, some decent threads.” He tugged at the zipper of his ratty sleeper. “These Salvation Army rags aren’t flying.”
“Brendan, I’m a good mom.”
“You named me Brendan for Christ’s sakes. You want me to be some sissy boy?”
“Don’t say that. Your father named you.”
“Oh, what a great guy Daddy was, shaking the crap out of me every night.”
“No, he didn’t!” Stacy cried.
“Know what else he didn’t do? He didn’t commit suicide on the bed.”
“I’m dreaming.” Stacy closed her eyes and shook her head. “This isn’t real.”
He showed her the fist he had been holding behind his back. “Is this real?”
Stacy stared at Harry’s eyeball and screamed. Brendan tossed the bloody orb into the tub. His whole body shook with laughter as his mom slapped it away from her. “Don’t worry,” Brendan said, “Harry doesn’t need it.”
Stacy struggled to stand in the tub, waiting for his next move. He threw the ball at her. Stacy moved to her right and then saw the malicious sparkle in Brendan’s eyes, realized too late what he’d been aiming for. The radio wobbled on the edge of the counter and fell toward the water before Stacy could leap from the tub. The electricity paralyzed her, and Stacy’s eyes fixed on her big boy.
Glory
This was Tony’s idea. It always is. He’s crouched down beside me behind this juniper, and he won’t even look at me. He has his eyes locked on the dimly lit park waiting for us at the bottom of the hill. If the cops drive by, they’ll see us running down there. Tony doesn’t seem to care.
I whisper to him, “You’re going to get us killed.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m going. If you’re gonna chicken out, give me the camera and go home.”
“I don’t think this …” I trail off as Tony turns to me. Even in the dark, I know he’s making that face, the one where he’s questioning if I have anything between my legs.
“Relax. There’s nothing to worry about,” Tony says.
It’s hard to keep it to a whisper. “What if he’s in there somewhere?” I scan the bushes. All I see are shadows, and they’re moving. I know it’s the ring of flickering red and yellow floodlights, but I can’t help
but think it’s someone lurking.
“There hasn’t been a murder since they started locking it up. That psycho split.”
“What if he’s just waiting?”
Tony ignores me.
I say, “He’s probably watching us now.”
Tony is focused on our target in the middle of the park. The floodlights encircle the bronze statue of Achilles. It’s fifteen feet high, not counting the five-foot stone pedestal. Achilles is holding his spear in one hand, a shield in the other. The top of his helmet looks like a stone Mohawk. His boots rise up to his knees. The rippling muscles of his thighs are almost as impressive as his chiseled arms.
I don’t want to sound like a coward, but I say, “He’s probably just been waiting for someone to enter the park.” I can tell Tony is about to make fun of me when the circle of floodlights flicker in rapid succession. This is part of the display, the new security. The city installed the lights after Christina Peterson ended up with her throat slashed. She was the third teenager who’d been murdered. The killer, they said, could’ve been a copycat. The first two boys had their eyes gouged out, a different calling card. But all of them died right here.
Tony leans forward. He’s looking at something.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing. I thought I saw something.”
“Saw what?”
“Nothing.”
“Let’s just go, man,” I say.
“You gotta stop watching those horror movies. The murders stopped when the cops closed up the park. The guy left town.”
“You don’t know that. No one knows where he is? You want to risk it for some prank?”
“No one knows but the cops. My dad said they didn’t release details to anyone. That bullshit going around school is just that; some stupid story to scare little kids.” Tony stands and looks down at me. “So are you gonna be a little pussy or are you coming down there with me?”
“I’m not a pussy.” I get up and follow him. “But if I hear anything, I’m out.”
Tony chuckles. “Not a problem. I’ll be the one running right behind you.”
We creep down the hill and move from bush to bush. The red and yellow lights playing off of the bronze sculpture of Achilles’s massive torso and outstretched arms make it look as if the Greek god is ruling over hell. We get to the six-foot fence surrounding the statue and lights. My head is spinning, and I have to rest my hands on my knees. I listen for noises. All I hear is Tony’s breathing, the one thing I can’t seem to do right now.
I pull out my inhaler, take two long pulls.
“Dude, keep it down.”
“I couldn’t breathe.”
Tony waits a few seconds. “You ready?”
I’ve got my face to the fence, checking every shadow for movement, looking for any excuse to bail. “You sure about this?”
Tony grabs my inhaler and chucks it over the fence at Achilles. It clinks off the pedestal.
“What the hell, man?”
“You should get that,” Tony says.
“You’re a dick.”
“I know.”
“If we get busted, you’re paying my bail.” I point to the white and red sign on the fence. “Look, ‘No defacing public property – violators will be punished.’”
Tony’s looking at the dark bathrooms on the other side of the park. “You read it wrong.”
“What?”
“It says prosecuted.”
“We’re talking about breaking and entering, violating curfew, and vandalism.”
“They’re not going to do anything. No one’s out here.”
“But what if they do? I can’t go to jail. My parents would kill me.”
“You won’t go to jail, dumb ass.” Tony smiles. “They might take you to juvie, though.”
“That’s not funny. I know a kid that got raped his first and only night in there, and he was only busted for shoplifting some candy.”
“You know a kid who was raped? Who was that?”
I hate it when he calls me on stories. “My cousin Glen told me about it. He used to be a probation officer.”
“Yeah, and he told you about a boy being raped?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think he did.”
“He fucking did.”
“Then he was trying to scare you. Guess it worked.” Tony gets up, pulls a digital camera from his pocket. He flicks it on and all of the yellow lights encircling the sculpture blink off.
“Why did it do that?” I ask.
“Must be some electrical glitch. No big deal.” Tony puts the camera away and motions for me to get up. “Let’s go get famous.” He points at the sculpture bathing in the eerie red light. “No one’s touched that stupid thing since they put it up.”
I use the fence to pull myself to the top. “Yeah, for a good reason. No one’s dumb enough to come out here.”
“We’re gonna make a name for ourselves. Now stop talking.”
“Fine. Help me over.”
Tony laces his fingers. I step up in the makeshift stirrup and look down at him. “You better follow me.”
“Just go.”
I scramble over the fence, land on the wet grass. Tony lands next to me and the spray cans clank in his backpack. The red lights circling the sculpture flash off.
Tony grabs my arm and I nearly scream. All the lights flash back on and I push him off me.
“I heard something down there,” I lie.
Tony shakes his head, eases off the backpack. “No one’s in here but us.” Tony slips on his mask and holds the camera above his head, like he’s going to take a selfie, but instead, he lifts two cans of spray paint in front of the lens and says, “Welcome to Pittsburg.” He hands me the green and keeps the black for himself. I adjust my mask and feel the camera on me. There are probably only three or four people watching this and all of them are in our class, but I’m picturing the ten thousand Tony said would be tuning in.
All I want to do is scale the fence and run back home, but I snatch the can and walk down the hill, try not to look scared. Tony following me with the camera doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s hard to breathe, and my head’s on a swivel. We make it to the picnic tables twenty yards from Achilles when every light in the park flickers off. Complete darkness.
I freeze. “What’s happening?”
“We’re happening, man,” Tony says. I don’t turn back, but I know he’s doing that wide-eyed mug for the camera, the one he’s been practicing all week. I hear him hit pause, and I see Tony check his watch. “It just turned midnight. They must be on a timer.”
“All of them?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
The red lights around the sculpture flare back on. Tony hits record.
“So much for the timer,” I say.
Tony hits the pause button. “Stop ruining this. Just go. We need some light for the camera anyway.”
“You go.”
Tony hits record and points the camera right in my face. “Are you ready?” he growls.
I put my hand over the lens. “No way, man. I don’t even want to be here. You go first.”
“You’re going to break it.” Tony pulls the camera back, keeps shooting me.
“Who’s the pussy now?” I ask.
Tony pushes the camera into my chest, nearly knocks me over. I don’t know if he pressed pause or not, but I picture the guys at school laughing their asses off at how stupid we look. Tony tells me to point the camera at him. I do and he pops the top off his can, creeps past the picnic tables, and mumbles that he’s not a fucking pussy.
I’m watching him through the screen and trying not to breathe too loud because I know he’s gonna rag on it later. So will the guys. Listen to fat, wheezing Mattie. Surprised he ain’t crying.
Tony steps inside the ring of red lights and the yellow ones spring to life. Tony’s almost the color of the statue. He freezes for a second, like he wants to flee, but he surprises me, takes another step
toward the sculpture.
The lights begin to alternate, red, then yellow, over and over again. Tony stands at the base of the sculpture and glances back. The lights cycle faster.
I wave him on. “I’m getting it all. Now do it.”
Slowly, Tony spins in a circle, his eyes squinting. He says he can’t see past the circle of lights. “Someone’s fucking with us.”
“Do it! Go, man.” I zoom in on the statue’s profile. Achilles’s chiseled features glow in the lights.
I stay on Achilles’s upper body, hear Tony take another step. The lights cycle even faster. They begin to strobe. Achilles seems to rock to life as the lights bounce off his bronze skin. The glare is brighter than anything I’ve seen. “Finish it and get out of there,” I tell him. It’s hard for me to make anything out. I hope the camera captures something we can use, that we can change the exposure later. It won’t do any good for the live feed, but maybe we can fix it in post.
“Are you doing it?” I finally ask.
Tony doesn’t answer.
I step toward the circle, the veil of light just as impenetrable as the darkness that surrounds it. “Dude, get the hell out of there.”
Again no answer. I take another step and trip on a rock. I throw out my hands to break my fall, the camera and spray can go flying. I pick up the camera, hope it still works. I can’t look away from the image on the screen: Achilles’s brutal eyes staring directly at the camera; a halo of hellish color swirls around his head.
I don’t care who hears me – the cops, the killer, anyone watching this feed. “Come on, Tony! Let’s go!”
The lights snap off and the entire park’s engulfed in darkness. I don’t move, just wait for my eyes to adjust. I see shapes. I hear a hiss. It’s Tony, spraying the top of Achilles’s head. Tony is on his back, sort of riding the mythic figure. I check the screen. It’s too dark right now. I can’t see much, so I flip on the night vision. Tony’s climbing the statue trying to stand on Achilles’s shoulders.
I scream for Tony to go for it, to get up on the statue, although I know I shouldn’t be encouraging this. It will sound better for the video though. No one wants to hear the cameraman promoting caution. Suddenly, Tony wobbles; it’s like he’s surfing, his arms out trying to balance. I slide-step to the left and keep the camera on Tony and Achilles. My feet move slowly, trying to get one of those Michael Bay-type shots when Tony’s body jerks back. His foot must have slipped, but it seemed like he was punched or shot by something. He’s falling backwards on the other side of the statue.
Twisted Reunion Page 6