Our Lady Chaos, page 4
part #5 of Bloodletter Series
Dennis nodded. “Now, we’re even for the suspension. Fair’s fair, right, Sean?”
Sean nodded—if he could get out of this with only a bloody lip and a punch in the belly, he’d call it good.
A slow smile crept across Dennis’s lips as he unslung his own backpack and let it fall to the ground at his feet. It hit with a thud. “Glad you agree. Tell anyone about this little talk, and you’ll be sorry.” He narrowed his eyes to slits. “I’ll make you sorrier than you’ve ever felt before. I’ll hit you so hard your mother will feel it.” He stooped and unzipped the pack, then reached inside. “Now, we can move on to the rest of the bill. My dad didn’t like me getting suspended. He’s an asshole like that.” He glanced at Sean and chuckled. “Oh, you thought we were quits for all and good? Nah.” He pulled a short-handled sledgehammer out of his pack. “Nah,” he repeated. “Your bill has a few more charges on it, Sean. Plus, there’s the interest.”
Jasper and Ari exchanged a silent glance. “Uh, what are you going to do with that maul?” asked Jasper.
“I’m going to maul someone, what else?” Dennis never took his gaze off Sean’s face. He lifted the hammer and tapped the bricks beside Sean’s head, laughing as Sean winced away.
“Is that a good idea?” asked Jasper, a small frown creasing his face. Ari had yet to say anything, but he looked a little sick to his stomach.
“Fuck yes, it’s a good idea. This kid fuckin’ owes me, Jasper. I can’t do Halloween unless my mom sneaks me out tonight. Plus, I got bruises on my bruises. And anyway, I want to see what it’ll do.” Dennis tapped the hammer against his palm and grinned at Sean. “I think it’ll dent his head. What do you think, Ari?”
“Denny, I…”
Dennis swiveled his head, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “You what, Ari?”
Ari snapped his mouth shut and shook his head.
“Dent? No dent?” asked Dennis.
Ari could only shrug, looking sicker than ever.
“You’re no fun, Jewboy. What about you, Jasper? Care to make a bet?”
Jasper glanced at Sean, then twisted his gaze away. His face scrunched into a moue of distaste. “I don’t know, Denny. I think it maybe’ll kill him.”
“Well, duh, Jasper. That’s kind of the point of mauling someone, right? But will it make a dent? Smash his head like a pumpkin? What?” Dennis stared at Jasper as if his answer was the most important thing in the world.
Sean stood frozen, able to breathe again but petrified at the sight of the hammer. Dennis was a bully of the first order, but Sean didn’t believe that even Dennis would hit another kid with a hammer.
When Jasper shrugged, Dennis turned away, frowning. “Jesus Christ, fellas. I thought you two had a pair, even if you had to share it between you. Out of all the rest of the kids in this school, I thought you two weren’t such fucking sissies I could hang with you and not barf every other minute.”
Jasper and Ari exchanged another glance.
Dennis hawked and spat. “Well, go on then, sissy-boys. Go off somewhere and pull each other’s puds. See if I give a fuck.” He smacked his palm with the hammer and cocked his head to the side, glancing at Sean. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “I think this fucker doesn’t even believe I’ll hit him.” Before the sound died, he jerked the hammer back and up, then swung it with all the grace of a drunk ox. Sean shrieked, ducking to the side, and above him, slivers of brick exploded from the wall. Dennis’s face clouded over and blood suffused his skin. He swung the hammer in a flat arc at Sean’s side. Pain exploded from his left bicep, and before he could even scream, he doubled over and puked—all over the Converse All Star high-tops Dennis wore. “Mother fucker!” Dennis yelled, trying to kick the emesis off his shoes.
Jasper and Ari turned and ran, followed by Dennis’s laughter. “Go on, little fags!” Dennis yelled.
He turned back to Sean, a furious snarl spreading across his face. “Puke on me, will you? Let’s see what this baby’ll do to your skull.”
Without thinking, Sean lashed out with his foot, connecting solidly with the bully’s groin. As Dennis crumpled to his knees and dropped the hammer, Sean turned and ran.
He rounded the corner and sprinted for the car pick-up ramp. He ran faster than he’d ever run in his life, springing over splotches of wet snow, spinning around kids like a professional running back. He didn’t look back, he ignored the shrieking pain in his arm, and he didn’t stop when kids yelled at him.
Karl was waiting for him in his green Chevy. As Sean skidded around the corner, Karl took one look at his face and leaped from the car to run toward him. “What’s wrong?” he called.
“I…” Tears flowed freely down Sean’s cheeks, and he wanted to tell on Dennis, to get him in serious trouble, but Dennis’s words circled in his brain: I’ll make you sorrier than you’ve ever been. I’ll hit you so hard your mother will feel it. He couldn’t tell. He didn’t dare—Dennis had already tried to brain him with a sledgehammer. What would he do if Sean ratted him out to a Kanowa County Deputy Sheriff? “I slipped on the ice and fell. My…muh-my arm… I think it’s broken.”
Karl looked at him for a moment, looked at him as though he knew exactly what had happened behind the school and needed to make up his mind whether to let the lie go. His gaze twitched to the corner of the building and then came back to rest on Sean’s face. “Fell on the ice, huh?”
“Yuh-yeah.” Sean nodded and winced at the pain that shot up from his arm. “I threw up, and…” Without warning, vomit sluiced into his mouth and he lurched to the side and threw up.
When he was finished, he found Karl squinting toward the bus ramp, a thoughtful expression on his face. Sean turned to look, and there he was—Dennis Cratchkin—trying to appear casual but staring at Sean. His backpack bumped against his back as he turned and walked the other way. The third time he glanced back over his shoulder, Karl grunted a laugh. “You sure you didn’t have help falling on the ice?”
Sean dropped his gaze and shook his head.
“Come on, then. Let’s get you over to Doc Hauser’s place. And don’t look so glum, Sean. It’ll heal up.”
13
December 1975
Eddie and his mother draped Christmas tree lights through the boughs of their Douglas fir. The decorations glittered in their boxes, twinkling as if they shared Eddie’s almost uncontainable excitement. Smiling, his father bent and plugged the lights into the wall.
Even the beauty of flashing Christmas lights couldn’t outshine the magnificent lamp. Eddie bounced his gaze from the tree to the lamp and back again, smiling all the while.
Everything was perfect.
But then the merry lights flickered and died. Eddie turned to his daddy in time to watch Ted’s face go over red and blotchy—his angry face. He shifted his gaze back to the tree and frowned at the ice riming the boughs, making them droop and point at the floor.
He turned toward the lamp, concerned that the ice might damage it, but it seemed to shine even brighter than before—despite the layer of ice that coated the end table. Eddie looked at his father askance, hoping his dad wasn’t looking at him as he did so. His daddy was staring at him with an even uglier expression than before.
Eddie was to blame for the mess. Eddie was always to blame for things turning sour.
With a crackle and a pop, the electricity in the rest of the house died—for everything except the Tiffany lamp. The warm air from the vents stopped, and frigid air raced in.
The wrapping paper on the gifts beneath the tree became brittle with ice, and Eddie’s breath was visible in the stark cold. He drew a deep breath and gasped—he would have cried out, but the freezing air shocked his lungs. Eddie had never breathed air so cold. He twisted to ask his mommy why it had gotten so cold.
What he saw terrified him, made him forget all about the cold. His mother sat in her favorite chair—or at least her body did. Her skin had taken on a dried, mummified appearance, and her hair was falling out, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
Light from the beautiful lamp cast dark shadows in the pits where his mommy’s eyes had once twinkled. He could feel the scream thrashing within him, like a tiger he’d caught by the tail. His eyes darted toward his father, but Ted Mitchell lay on the ground, leering up at Eddie, his face frozen in the rictus of death.
Eddie opened his mouth to let the scream out, and—
“Come on, sleepyhead,” said Eddie’s mother. “It’s time to get up, and we have things to do.”
Eddie opened his eyes and began to cry.
“Hey there, kiddo,” his mother crooned. “What’s all this? What’s wrong?”
“I had a nightmare,” Eddie said between sniffles.
“Well, nightmares are only silly old dreams, Eddie. They can be scary, sure, but they mean nothing. You can set your mind to forget all about them.” She bent over his bed and hugged him tight. “Put it right out of your brain, Eddie.”
He tried to do as she instructed, tried to push the dream out of his head, but it resisted as if hooked on something. “But you and Daddy were—”
“Shush now, Eddie. Mommy knows best.” She gave him another hug and then sat back, beaming her I-love-you smile at him. “Now, get up. We’ve got things to do if we’re going Christmas shopping this afternoon.”
Eddie loved Saturday mornings—it was a time he and his mom had to themselves. They had a routine of sorts—his mother woke him, and then they had a big breakfast full of his favorite foods: waffles with maple syrup, bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast with strawberry jam. By the end of breakfast, Eddie felt so stuffed he could barely move, but they spent the next part of the morning cleaning the house and that helped. They started with the kitchen and the ruins of breakfast.
He gathered the dishes from the table and took them to the sink. They didn’t have a dishwasher—well they did, but it had broken the year Eddie turned five. His dad always said that Eddie was the new dishwasher. Eddie didn’t mind—it meant more time with his mommy while his daddy went into the other room and did grownup things. He filled the sink with warm soapy water while his mother brought over the pans which had cooled while they ate.
“You wash, and I’ll clean the stove.”
Eddie nodded and dipped the first plate into the sink.
“Have you thought of anything? Something to give your father for Christmas?”
Eddie shook his head. He never knew what gifts to give people. He didn’t have the knack of seeing a thing and knowing that someone would like it.
“Well, that’s okay, Eddie. I have an idea or two I can lend you.”
“Mommy, what do you want for Christmas?”
“You know I don’t need anything.”
“But I want to buy you a present.”
“Save your money for something you decide, Eddie.”
The conversation always followed the same track. “Mommy, I’m getting you a present. That is what I want. If you don’t tell me what you want, I’ll just give you coal.”
She laughed. “I could use a pair of new earrings or maybe a key chain.”
Eddie smiled to himself and nodded. “Okay.” She always asked for the same two things. Earrings or a key chain.
They finished cleaning up the kitchen, joking and laughing. His mom had a way of making chores seem fun.
She handed him the dust cloth and ruffled his hair. “You know what to do, tiger.”
“Can I use the Pledge this time?”
His mother shook her head. “No, we don’t need Pledge this week. If we use it too much, it makes everything nasty.”
She always said that when he asked for the furniture polish with the lemony scent. He wasn’t sure why she even bought Pledge. He wondered if her saying no had something to do with him—if he used too much or too little. “Which room should we start in this time, Mommy?”
“I’ll tell you what, let’s have a race. I’ll start in the dining room, and you do the living room. I bet I can finish before you.”
Eddie grinned. The dining room had so much to dust, not only the furniture but all the dishes in the hutch. “You’re on!” He darted into the living room and started sweeping his dust rag over the big Zenith television.
“Be sure you clean the screen. It’s been looking dusty this winter.”
He swept the rag back and forth across the screen, whistling to himself as he did. In the reflection, something moved behind him. Eddie twisted his head, looking over his shoulder, but there was nothing there. He smiled at how silly he was and turned once again to his task.
He pushed the cloth into the corners of the television screen, really going at it, and again, something in the room reflected on the screen moved. Eddie wriggled around on his knees, his head cocked to the side as though trying to solve a hard puzzle.
There was nothing there, just the chairs, the coffee table, the end table, and the beautiful lamp. The lamp seemed darker than it had before, but it was off. He stared at it for a moment before shrugging and turning back to the television screen.
The reflection of a mean woman’s face leered at him over his shoulder. She was a thing of blackness, of midnight-blue-tinged shadows, and it veiled her dark eyes, but they whirled and spun, seeming to throw off midnight blue sparks, nonetheless. Her thick black hair writhed and twisted around itself, as if she had snakes for hair. Her mouth dropped open, and jagged black fangs filled it.
Eddie screamed and dropped the dust cloth. He lost his balance in his hurry to get up and get moving, and he staggered away from the Zenith, bumping the coffee table and sending a stack of newspapers careening to the floor. He fled to the dining room, crying by the time he reached his mother.
“Hey… Hey, there. What’s all this?”
“There’s a lady! She’s in the living room! A scary lady!”
His mother’s gaze lifted from his face and looked through the arch into the living room. When her gaze came back down to his face, she wore a smile, but she had a concerned expression in her eyes. “Look again, Eddie. There’s no one in there.”
He darted a glance toward the living room and then shook his head. “No, not out there in the open! I saw her in the reflection on the screen! You can’t see her except in the television screen. Come see!”
“Okay, Eddie. Let’s go check it out, but this is probably your nightmare coming back for a visit. Sometimes that happens. You dream something, and then something you see later in the day reminds you of it. And reflections play tricks on us, too.”
“No! The scary lady wasn’t in my dream, it was just you, me, and Daddy.”
“And that was a nightmare?” His mother chuckled in that throaty way she had. “What, did your daddy take off his shoes?”
He knew she was trying to lighten the mood, trying to relax him with stinky-feet jokes. He tugged her by the hand into the living room, pointing at the big Zenith’s screen. “See?”
His mother glanced at the television’s screen for a moment, then looked around the room, making a show of looking behind the chairs. She turned to him and shrugged. “I don’t see anything, Eddie.”
“I told you, Mommy! You have to look in the television screen to see her. You have to really look!”
His mom stood facing the television and watching the screen. “Still nothing, tiger.”
“I was sitting down right next to it. She peeked at me over my shoulder, leaning close.” He shuddered and his hands wrestled with one another.
His mother hiked up her pants legs and squatted in front of the television. She peered into the screen before glancing at Eddie. “Nothing, kiddo. Only me.”
Eddie went to her side, fear shivering through his body. He didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to see that face ever again, but when his mother took his hand, it lent him courage and he looked.
The screen was blank.
“You see? You’re just being a silly goose.” She ruffled his hair and then patted him on the shoulder. “It was leftovers from your nightmare, sweetie. Nothing to worry about.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. And you want to know something?”
Eddie nodded.
“I will finish before you do. I’m winning the race!”
With one last glance at the television screen, Eddie picked up his dust rag and ran to dust the coffee table. He picked up all the papers from the floor and stacked them the way his daddy liked. It wasn’t until he was dusting the lamp, that he noticed the colors in the shade had changed.
“Mommy! Come look!”
“What is it, Eddie?”
He could hear the frustration in her voice. “The lamp!”
His mom came into the room, her dust rag clenched in a fist that rested on her hip. She stole a peek at the lamp and then turned her gaze on Eddie. “What about it?”
“Don’t you see it? It’s changed colors!”
His mother gave him a strange look. “Stained-glass doesn’t change colors, Eddie.”
“But it used to be aquamarine! Now everything that was aquamarine is bright black.” But that was wrong, and Eddie knew it as soon as he said it. The lampshade wasn’t black; it was almost black, but the glass chunks were midnight blue and a dark, dark purple.
She looked at the lamp again and then turned her gaze back on Eddie’s face. “You’re starting to worry me, Eddie. That lamp’s always been dark blue.”
The lampshade still resembled an upended turnip, but all the colors had changed. The teals, turquoises, and aquamarines were all gone. So, too, were the dragonflies and the smaller, bright-colored round chunks. The bands of white had become a wide, jagged line of bright, arterial red. Beneath the red, the primary colors were midnight blue and dark purple, and those chunks of glass were so dark, they appeared more black than blue or purple. Fish, done in bright shades of royal blue, swam against the almost-black background, and when the lamp was lit, they glared so bright it hurt to gaze at them too long. The bottom edge of the shade looked sharp enough to cut a little boy’s fingers if he strayed too close. The body of the lamp had changed as well. Gone were the chunks of colored glass, and in their place was a brass serpent that stretched from the lamp's base, up into the shade. The pull chains ended in lumps of brass that looked like babies.
