Chapter 7
Kevin removed the crumpled packaging material from his new backpack. The blue bag had red straps and pockets all over the place. His mom had left it on his bed as some kind of present, but all it did was remind him that school was approaching much too quickly for his liking. After playing ball with the kids from the neighborhood, going to a new school wouldn't be all that bad, but still, he wondered why everything had to change all at once. Why couldn't he wake up every morning, grab his baseball glove and disappear until the sun dipped below the trees?
He had made it through dinner, but barely. He didn't want to let on that he had gorged himself on ice cream so close to dinnertime, even if his mom had given him the money. He ate as much roast beef and mashed potatoes as he could manage. He told his mom and grandma about how his team had won, and about Lucy's inability to catch a ball or swing a bat and his God-like pitching arm. He left out mentioning Screamer's swear-laced tantrum or how Reid had assumed Kevin's parents were divorced. It was like the kids from down the block and his family came from different worlds and he didn't want them to mix.
But now his heart raced as night overwhelmed everything it touched. The day started slowly, with an enjoyable breakfast with his family. Then the hours at the ball field slipped away as leisurely as maple syrup dripping from a bottle. The sun had set, having taken shelter from the coming night, leaving him alone in his room. It felt like time was accelerating, shoving him down a road to the inevitable and painful crash of sleep and the ever-present Mr. Freakshow. He didn't want to think about falling asleep. Maybe he was just being a chicken. Maybe he should just grow up.
I bet Reid isn't afraid to fall asleep.
Kevin thought of his new friend, and wondered if he could call him a friend at this point. Probably not. Reid probably hadn't given Kevin a second thought after the game split up earlier tonight. Kevin would probably have to reintroduce himself when he went back tomorrow. Reid seemed so confident and grown up that he didn't need to know anyone. He didn't need to go out of his way to know anybody when everybody already knew who he was.
Kevin tugged the zipper all the way open on the biggest pocket of his backpack and held it open like a lion tamer ready to stuff his head into a lion's mouth. The bag had enough space to carry just about anything. He glanced from the bag to his dresser (or rather his Uncle David's old dresser), and knew he wasn't nearly as confident as Reid. He couldn't face another night of nightmares, couldn't face the pain straining every chest muscle as his heart throttled against his sternum. Even if it meant he was a chicken, he didn't want to ever sleep again.
He opened a dresser drawer and took out a clean t-shirt, and then grabbed his windbreaker off the back of his desk chair. His mom had also bought him a new dictionary and thesaurus, placing them on his desk. He couldn't imagine a future where he would soon spend hours on end sitting at the desk, looking up vocabulary words or reading a history textbook. He couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of tomorrow.
His old Boy Scout flashlight was in the bottom of the closet. He glanced at the band stickers his Uncle David had left on the closet's back wall: Kiss, Yes, Boston, and absently wondered why people named their bands such stupid names. He filled his backpack with gear he might need. Clothes, check. Flashlight, check. The pocketknife his mom didn't know about stashed in his sock drawer, check. The blade was dull, but the point might do some damage if he needed it to. He looked around the room and couldn't think of anything else he should bring. That only left going to the kitchen before he would leave.
Running away like a chicken.
He pressed his ear to the door, but didn't hear anything. It was fully dark out and his grandma was almost certainly asleep. She was a light sleeper, but would usually turn in early and listen to the day's soaps on the soap opera channel, falling asleep in the process. His mom was another story. She was unpredictable and could be just about anywhere in the house at this time of night. She could be in taking a bath, or washing the last of the dinner dishes, or possibly in the living room doing a crossword. It was much to his relief when he noticed her bedroom door closed and the light of her T.V. flickering under the door. Kevin hefted his backpack to one shoulder and closed his bedroom door as quietly as possible.
Once in the kitchen, he eased open the zipper to a medium-sized pocket of his backpack and tossed in a couple cans of Coke from an open case sitting on the floor. He took a bag of cheese puffs from the pantry and grabbed a couple packets of toaster pastries as long as he was there. He was nearly out the back door when he went back to a cupboard and took out a jar of Sanka instant coffee. He snatched a teaspoon from the drying rack next to the sink, and then stealthily slipped out the back door, tightly closing and locking it behind him. He couldn't help feeling like his life was about to change.
When he first started scrambling for supplies, Kevin was imagined leaving his grandma's house and heading north to Canada, and still farther, to whatever was beyond that. He had heard that if you went far enough north, there was no night, just daylight and high skies. So now he would walk all night, every night, and maybe hang out during the day, playing pickup baseball, or reading Ray Bradbury novels from the local libraries. Anything to stay awake.
His plan all but evaporated by the time he reached the grass of the back yard. Running away, or in this case, walking away, would do him no good. He realized he needed to take this one night at a time. Scaring his family by running away to Canada didn't seem like it would help any. He imagined them finding his bed empty, and the guilt the images conjured wasn't very pleasant.
Cool air rose from the damp grass as he cut across the lawn to the garage. He tried the side door and found it unlocked. He quickly entered and closed the door, leaving the lights off.
The garage smelled of motor oil and ancient saw dust. His grandpa's old workbench sat along the far wall, his woodworking tools hung on pegs and resting on shelves, held in place by a decade's worth of dust and disuse. Kevin never knew his grandpa. His mom carried a wallet-sized photo of her father holding Kevin at the hospital after he was born, but even in the picture, with his drawn, tallow skin and sunken eyes, it was obvious he wouldn't hold off his diabetes much longer. Even without ever having met his grandpa, Kevin didn't need to see the picture to remember what he looked like. Seeing the picture only a single time would have left an indelible image in his mind.
He slung his backpack onto a high-backed workshop chair. The workbench had been left untouched, and inarticulate scraps of pine from his grandpa's projects littered the bench like a tumbled over city. He unzipped a pocket of his backpack and pulled out a room temperature Coke. When he opened it, the psst-sound made him jump. The warm soda stung his throat, but focused his sleepy mind.
He hefted a sizable wood plain, and wondered if his fingerprints were now meshed with his grandpa's. Pushing aside tools and scraping away piles of sawdust with a triangle of pine, Kevin started piecing together a mound of wood, and it soon took shape. The front wall was a little off, slightly too big, but the whirling brown knots in the wood looked like windows. He took out short, pin-like finishing nails from a cardboard box, and tapped on an overhanging roof--a bit too wide, but who's to know? He built the garage off to the left, a solid brick of wood. When he was finished, Kevin stood back. He could imagine his old house if he squinted enough. He could barely hold off sleep and sipped from his Coke to stay awake.
He was searching the workbench for paint, something in a light shade of green to match his old house, when a garbage can tipped over outside the garage. He just about jumped out of his skin, but after a moment, he figured it was just a tomcat in search of an easy meal. His mom and grandma, even if they heard the noise, would probably think the same.
But then the long bar locking the garage door folded into its open position. Whatever was outside, it wasn't a tomcat. Kevin resigned himself to being caught outside in the middle of the night. While his mind raced for a good explanation to tell his mom, the garage door creaked open.
The first thing he saw were the polished black oxford dress shoes. Then the solid crease of the freshly ironed dress pants. Kevin could see his dad's black leather belt then his white office work shirt then his warm, shaven face. He was standing just outside the door with his arms folded, as if he had been waiting for Kevin to open the door for him.
Kevin dropped the half-empty Coke to the dusty floor, while his heart pounded like it was a sick, mistreated animal. He wanted to jump into his dad's arms.
"Hi, Kev. I missed you," his dad said casually, moving his hands to his hips and looking down at him with that dad-smile of his, that smile that said he was proud of him and that he honestly and truly missed him.
The thought was in the back of Kevin's mind, drifting like smoke. He tried focusing it, but every time he grasped at the thought, it pushed through his mental grip. He couldn't move; he just stood looking up at his dad, wanting more than anything to jump into his arms and smell his aftershave and cigarette smell. But the thought suddenly crystallized.
His dad was dead.
When the thought solidified in Kevin's mind, his dad's expression changed. He looked upset, as if he had somehow hurt Kevin.
"Kevin, I'm sorry I had to go, but I had an important mission."
"Really?" Kevin imagined his dad going away on a mission for the government, wearing his black suit and having one of those earpieces with the wire disappearing into his coat.
"No, Kevin, it was nothing like that," his dad said, reading his mind. "I'll tell you more about it later. But the real reason I'm here is for your help. I need your help with my mission. I could think of no one more qualified to help than you. So here I am."
Kevin gave his dad a puzzled look. "But, you're…" Kevin said and the animal in his chest bucketed as if hammered with a rusty nail.
"Yes, I'm dead. But I'm still here. In your dreams. Protecting you," his dad said, extending his arms to Kevin.
Kevin shook his head, trying to clear the fogginess. A dream. If all of this was only a dream, then maybe his dad was alive for real. Maybe he was alive and sleeping in his bed back at their house in Warren Cove. Maybe Kevin was asleep in his own bed, and none of these crazy changes had taken place. His dad was alive, they had never moved, he wouldn't have to go to a new school. Kevin jumped into the air and his dad caught him before he could touch the ground again. He could smell the cigarettes and aftershave, but there was also an underbelly odor. Like old garbage. No, not quite. And no, his Dad could never smell so bad; maybe the stink leached over from the tipped over garbage can outside the garage.
"Are you ready to help me?"
"Sure I am!" Kevin said and wrapped his hands around his dad's neck.
"Okay. Good. What I need from you, Kevin--and this is critically important--what I need is for you to never forget what happened in the bus station bathroom." The whispered words fell to Kevin's ears as if floating on a slight summer breeze.
Kevin looked at his dad at arm's length, as if he had misunderstood. His dad had also changed somehow. The skin of his face had cracks along the lines of his deep dimples, and there was a hint of something unpleasant beneath.
"You watched me die, Kevin."
The wind died to nothing and the smell hit Kevin again. Seafood rotting in a month-old diaper pail--that came close to the smell, but not really. And it was coming from his dad.
Kevin strained his elbows into a locked position, holding his dad as far away as possible.
"Every time you blink, I want you to see me gushing blood. With every sound you hear, I want you to hear an echo that is actually my internal juices gurgling through my lungs. Can you do that for me, Kevin? Be a good son and remember how your old man was murdered."
Kevin was struggling now, trying to get out of his grip, a grip that held him fast and cut off his circulation. His arms grew cold and started tingling from lack of blood. This stranger's skin--because there was no way this could actually be his dad--had disintegrated and was now falling in pulpy clumps to the floor, like oatmeal gruel on a winter morning. Somehow, the whites of his eyeballs were peeling like a snake losing its skin.
"Let me down," Kevin cried, kicking his legs out against the stranger.
"Can't do that, boy. But oh how I can tell you how much I care! I want us to become friends, you and I. I want you to open your heart to me. Let me feel your pain, your fear. Let me see the mutilated remains of that gruesome day at the bus station painted in your every expression," the stranger mouthed through his melting lips.
Kevin was kicking the man as hard as he could, but it didn't seem to matter. He simply spread his lips in a ragged-toothed smile.
"So that's your mission, my boy. Listen. Listen closely and hear your precious dad's last heartbeat. Take a deep breath and smell his spilled blood staining the bathroom floor."
Enough of the stranger's outer shell had crumbled away that Kevin could see what was hidden beneath. Pale blue skin pulled taut by ridged muscle, tattoos littering his chest and arms like a tortured artist's spoiled canvas. His dad's pants still encircled this monster's legs, but from the waist up it was Mr. Freakshow staring back at Kevin.
Kevin lunged at Mr. Freakshow and took hold of the wooden splinter piercing his left nipple. He tightened his grip and pulled down hard, initially meeting resistance. But then came the sickening sound of tearing flesh. Mr. Freakshow screamed and Kevin was able to slip through his captor's hands, his shoes hitting the driveway gravel. He stomped on the monster's foot and backed away until he was in the murkiness of the garage.
"You're not my dad!"
"I never said I was."
Kevin looked around, but he had no other way out. He ran for his backpack and fumbled out his pocketknife. He flipped the blade open and waved it in front of him. Mr. Freakshow was not impressed and laughed quietly as he entered the garage. He held one thickly clawed hand against his chest, grimy brown blood spouting from between his fingers. Kevin was seeing him now for what seemed like the first time. Purple veined wings twitched at his sides, stirring up small tornados of dust near the workbench. The shackles hanging from his wrists and neck jangled as he walked.
"Leave me alone!" Kevin screamed.
"No. That's not how this relationship of ours is going to work. I'm in control. Every step of the way. I'm the one who started it all. You are simply the chalice holding the precious Eucharist. But soon, very soon, I will drink from the holy chalice. I am fear and rage. I am the dirge of your soul."
Mr. Freakshow's wings flooded with blood and aroused in full splendor at his sides. Nothing was left of the man who had appeared to be his father. He was a beast wearing the shredded remains of a once presentable white-collar uniform. He moved closer to Kevin, blocking out the moonlight. Mr. Freakshow took hold of his shoulders and pulled him into his enveloping wings. Kevin couldn't say another word, but he could still scream…
Long after he woke he still screamed, a sweaty, agonized mess. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his dad dying on the tile of the bus station bathroom. He smelled his father's spreading blood, and heard a faint echo that was the gurgling in his father's lungs. Upon waking, Kevin brought every minute detail of his nightmare with him. He had woken dripping with sweat, his coherence drowned out by fear. With every breath he relived the memory of his dad's final moments.
Carin was sleeping deeply when Kevin's screaming roused her like a face slap. She ran to his room when she heard his cries, and still fighting sleep's grip, thought he had fallen out of bed. His bed was empty. But she could hear his voice, his screams. She stumbled around the edge of the bed to the window and pushed the drapes aside. When she saw the open garage door, she bolted from the bedroom.
She stormed through the kitchen and saw that the back door was open. When she reached the garage, her mother was already there. Kevin was sobbing in her arms while mumbling something about his mission to help Mr. Freakshow. And something about the smell of his father's blood.
Carin's heart broke. She felt more sadness now than the moment of discovering James in the bus station bathroom. This was ten times worse. Carin began to cry the first tears she had shed since they moved to her mother's house. Before she lost it completely, she went to her mother and gently touched her shoulder. When she turned, Carin sat on the gravel next to her.
Under a canopy of night pierced with starry light, they held each other and shed tears for very different reasons.