Hell's Vengeance

by Max Jager

  "You always say that." She sat and crossed her legs. Her arms were close to her.

  "And you seem worse every time. You're too stubborn, it's like a shield against good advice." He shuffled paper and found a red note.

  "Are you going to call my mom?" Sophie asked.

  "Yeah." Her eyes fell. "I don't think she's home."

  "Cell phone?"

  "She doesn't answer it. Not at this hour."

  The Principal searched her face, what little he could see past her blond hair covered her face. It was just like the other interrogations and it felt just as bad, but he could do nothing but pity. That was worse. Leaving her like a castaway on her small island. He wondered if she was even aware of the S.O.S written on her face.

  "Your grandpa then?" He put the pencil down and rung up the phone.

  "Yeah. Grand paw can pick me up." She looked up. He left a message and looked her over again.

  "Why don't you find a hobby. Join a club, do something with your time. You aren't dumb. I know that. You know that. But you sure as hell act dumb."

  "I can't be that smart if you say I'm acting dumb. I thought part of being smart was acting smart. Like a scientist or somethin'."

  "You'd be surprised. Plenty of people act smart without knowing the part and the dumber they are the more opinions they seem to have, probably trying to make up for how little they know." He said. "You can find them on TV all the time. Loonies, the bunch of 'em." He was writing down information on a slip, that was his kind of justice.

  "I wish you'd act for your own self-interest, Sophie. You could do a lot with your life, you know that. Mrs. Breyer says you're good at math." The drag of his pencil sounded sharp to her.

  "I am acting for my own self in-te-rest." She mocked.

  "Doesn't seem like it. You're like those dare devils, head strong and always shooting yourself out of a god damn cannon. The problem is, girl," He sniffed. "I'm afraid you don't even realize you're flying straight into a dumpster. Have some sense."

  "You keep calling me the senseless one, but have you ever thought that maybe it's the world that acts a little dumb." She said. "Everyone's too selfish if you ask me. Too demanding."

  "Sophie." He rubbed his nose bridge. "You punched a kid."

  She lit up.

  "I pushed him too. I brought him to the floor and got him three good times before he punched me. It reminded me of when I socked Clarice. She deserved it too, I don't hurt nobody that doesn't deserve it you know that."

  "What I'm worried about what you qualify as deserving it."

  "Hurting me or my friends. That's it." She crossed her hands and blew the hair from her mouth. The Principal raised his finger and all a sudden came the grandfather like a rogue white-strawed tumbleweed. He blew it, went across, looked around and kind of spun in his excitement.

  "Where is she?" He said. Sophie raised her hand. "What'd she do this time?"

  "The same thing she always does. Got in a fight." The Principal handed out the slip.

  "Whatever she did she can explain. She's responsible and I trust her." The Old Man said.

  "I know. You do this every time, I know the both of you pretty well. You're frequent customers." The Principal sighed. "I'm not even going to bother. She knows what she did, don't you Sophie."

  "Yes, Nicky."

  "I'm Mr. Colefield to you."

  "You're just Nicholas. Just another old person." She said.

  "Alright Sophie, alright." He almost laughed and would have if he didn't feel so red about the name Nicky. His father called him that and he hated him. "What kind of punishment do you think you deserve? Be honest."

  She looked at her Grand father and the dazed face he had, she looked outside to where she imagined Pip crawling. Her face still stung and it began to stain her white face.

  She smiled. "A week suspension. I think I must've broken that prick's nose."

  "Don't curse." They both shouted.

  "I'm not giving you a week. You might enjoy that, you're getting three days instead." He said. She smiled. "And don't be so proud of that fact, for God's sake Sophie."

  He pointed them away to the door but with held the grandfather for a bit.

  "Have you considered sending Sophie to therapy?" The old man pried the principal's hand off. It looked like he hurt the grandfather. "I know a guy, he's local too. I have a teacher who goes, she's even recommended me about it too."

  "This family has never seen a quack doctor and never will. Good day, Nicky." He puffed up.

  The Principal sighed. The old man left and out they went to the car. Not a word was spoken as they drove. They sat in silence, the radio provided white noise as they toured the city. On the corners of streets were the drawn out flowers and candles. Sophie kept her eye at the offerings and the pictures, she did not want to forget their faces, she felt that maybe, that she was the only one who'd remember them and it meant that much more being the chronicler.

  She realized it had been like this for a while, staring out at the families and police and the pictures that had fallen and cracked their glass frames. It only got worse as she got closer to her house, by then the whole sidewalk seemed like a garden of misery. But there were no officers this time. There were only the lonely men and women on the porches sitting and scratching away at lottery tickets, the stray pit bull who barked a muffled warning at her. They stopped, there was a distant wail of a police officer car.

  "I'm sorry." She said.

  "That's good. Remember how sorry you are and behave next time." He said.

  "You aren't staying?" She asked.

  "No, I got the store to run."

  "Let me help." She tried closing the door but the grandfather would not allow it.

  "If I let you help this wouldn't be much of a punishment. Stay home, behave, play nice."

  "No one's here."

  "Good, God knows your mother can't handle you. Lock the doors and study you hear me? Behave." He said.

  She dragged herself out of the car and stood on the side walk. The old man felt bad for her as he waved at her. But eventually, she waved back.

  She turned around and the sound of engine roared before it died into a distant howling. This was home. The broken chain link fence, torn and bent. The ruined lock. It all reminded her of home. She pulled at the fence door, it would not budge. She hopped, opened it from behind and started for the back of the house where the trash was collecting into an overstuffed black container. The plastic bags and cartons of milk were spilling out as she rolled it to the front.

  Ah, this was home.

  Grimy, unpleasant. It felt like a part of her she did not want, but it was hers. She walked into the house and found the phone on the side of the wall. Looking around at the sheet of dirt around her furniture, the broken glass face of the table, the clock ticking away, it all made her dial faster.

  "Who's this?" The voice asked.

  "Pip. We're going to work."

  "Right now?" He asked.

  "When else? The business forecast looks good for the next couple of days." She smiled. "We'll follow those crazies with the money-baskets."

  "Ain't they priests?"

  "Doesn't matter. They always bring a crowd."

  10:34 AM

  Aleistar did not want to be here, working, the therapy room was too cold for him but he had to be here. It was demanded of him, as everything was always demanded of him.

  Seven times they had been at it, Mrs. Breyer and Mr. Aleistar. She was confidant that today they would get to the root of her psychiatric deformity. That's what Aleistar called it anyways, a bump, a mutation they could easy cull. An over grown limb to be amputated. That expression always gave Mrs. Breyer confidence. But today was different. Aleistar had no patience today and she was beginning to get afraid that they'd actually get close to her problem. Then she couldn't laugh, then all of her treatment would be very sincere and that would be terrible for her.

  She sat in a tight position on the leather chair too big for her small frame
. Her knees were tucked in, her back was far into the seat in what she hoped appeared as a guarded stance.

  "We'll begin the auditing process." Aleistar said.

  "Can we do it without him?" She pointed to a man in the corner of the room with a black blazer over his shoulders. Aleistar sniffed, threw his pointer finger elsewhere and he was gone.

  "Back to the auditing process." He said.

  "Auditing process?"

  Her eyes were glazed and her face was vapid like the contents in her skull had been siphoned out. There was music in the background and a small drumline of footsteps, the man outside mingling with more people. Aleistar knocked on the wall and the noise stopped. Mrs. Breyer was worried now and her thoughts filled with curiosity over the noise. In between them was a coffee table. They were scooted close enough to embrace at any moment. Or to kill each other.

  "Yes, Mrs. Breyer. The human heart has an affinity for delusion and blindness. We are here to cure that, to see what is in you. Both of us, hand in hand. This is the last step of our healing process." He said.

  "Yes, I think today we can get somewhere. I feel it." She began to sweat. Mr. Aleistar reached into his pocket for the rattle of a gold chain. It was a watch.

  "I will demand you look at me behind this moving stopwatch. All you have to do is answer my questions, that's it. The quest for inner most reflection begins with an honest question after all." He said. His voice sounded raspy, antique like the medals and goblets and statues and books that decorated the room.

  "Well, okay." She looked away at first and fidgeted with her jacket, nervous things and twitches. He stared into her and it was not until she stared back that they began.

  "What is your name?" Aleistar asked.

  "Emily Breyer."

  "Where were you born?"

  "Utah. But I moved here a few years back."

  "I did not ask that." He said. She looked slapped her leg. They began again.

  "What is your name?"

  "Emily Breyer."

  "Where were you born?"

  "Utah."

  "Did you have a family?"

  "Yes."

  "How big was it?"

  "We were four, now we're three."

  "I did not ask how many there are, only how many there were." He barked. She twitched. She felt her throat tighten and wanted to leave but could not, something compelled her to stay. Perhaps fear drained her legs of strength, maybe it was the hope of salvation. He asked her name again. She stuttered, he barked. She cried. Softly moaning, it had been like this before but never as quick or as harsh.

  There were tissues for her and as she looked around she began to miss the stranger in the corner of the room. She felt alone in the dim room with the lifeless color beige wall paper all around her. She began to breath fast and felt a hand over her shoulder, it was Aleistar. He would guide her she reasoned. Mrs. Breyer breathed in and she stared into the stopwatch and its movement like a pendulum. Although she felt pressed, although her chest felt filled with cement she continue with the guiding hand in front of her.

  "There are only two things the soul demands, Mrs. Breyer." Aleistar said. "Honesty and will. I've never seen anything as deadly to vice and suffering as those two." He lifted her chin and their eyes fell on each other. "We will do this together, again. What is your name?"

  "Emily Breyer."

  "Where were you born?"

  "Utah."

  "Did you have a family?"

  "Yes."

  "How big was it?"

  "We are four."

  "How many do you have?"

  The air suddenly became thick. "Three."

  "Of how many there used to be, name them all."

  "Michael, Carter...and...Abel." She muttered in between the rapid mouth breathing.

  "Which one was your favorite." He studied her face. "Between them all, who did you love most?"

  "I..." She wanted to believe she couldn't say what was in her. That it was beyond her. But it couldn't have been, she had felt it in her heart as intense palpitations every time she was asked the question. Her eyes looked to the speeding watch like a metronome to her rapid thoughts and she felt she needed to move to the rhythm. It was false courage.

  "Carter, my oldest son was my favorite."

  "And who was your least favorite?"

  I cannot, she thought. Not this one. She had no saliva in her mouth. No air in her lungs. No feeling in her body. It felt like she cast away, floating atop a dark sea and now falling dangerously low to the ocean floor. She sat staring at the watch before he removed it and stood up, rubbing his eyes.

  "We always stop here. It has been like this for the past five sessions, Ma'am." He stared at the ceiling. "You've traveling a dizzying river bend and you've forgotten where it started. Oh well."

  She was trembling and could not contain herself, the emotion was coming out of her eyes and nose and mouth.

  "Say it." He slammed the desk. "Who was your least favorite."

  "It was." She was choking. "It was. It was."

  "It was?" Aleistar tapped on the wood.

  "It was Abel."

  "Did you hate him?" He asked.

  "I..."

  "Did. You. Hate. Him."

  "...Yes. Yes, yes." It came out of her, a decade of guilt..

  "What did you do to him, Ma'am?" He took off his glasses and got on his knees in front of her. He held her hand and gave her warmth. She was shaking worse and the words were jammed in her throat. But he held on to her anyways. And the more epileptic she got, the tighter he gripped, almost crushing it.

  "I let him die." She shouted and Aleistar looked from within his corner with a terrified curiosity. The white in his eyes grew in this small shadow. The other man looked at the door, afraid that someone had heard.

  "He was just playing in the river. I didn't think he'd drown. I didn't think he was a bad swimmer and I and I and I"

  "But you did know he was a bad swimmer, didn't you?"

  "I let. I let. I let him drown. And. A-and die. No one was around, I thought, I thought no one would care. I just hated him so much. So, so much. And and and then the water bubbled and then. Then. He was" He leaned in to hold her. He wanted to lift her, help her and just as he wrapped himself around her, they heard a knock. It reminded him of yesterday.

  His face was neutral. There were no lines or cracks, all his features were softened as Aleistar looked perplexed at the door. He walked slowly to it and opened it. It was the man from before along with another group of people who could only be described as, important: the mayor, the police commissioner, a mailman. Aleistar's mouth was open. He could hear Mrs. Breyer settling down and could hear the walls of her heart, once again, closing shut. He felt anger all the way to his shoulders like little bumps had collected on them.

  "Whens the next the sermon? They want to know." The unimportant one mumbled. "They need proof of the beast."

  Aleistar growled. He closed the door on them and looked back at Mrs. Breyer who now lost her emotion to the interruption. They were both sad in a way.

  "I should be leaving." She got up and started to the door. Aleistar ran past her to his desk.

  "Wait, wait. Hold on." He opened the drawer.

  "I mean, we can do this again." She said. Her eyes stared down. "We can, right?"

  "We can?" Aleistar said. He looked down himself, to the drawer. Amongst its contents, in no particular order was a bottle of chloroform, tablets of DMT, cocaine and a black bible.

  "Yes. We definitely can. I'll schedule it in the front." He said.

  She smiled a bit and dried her eyes. "Thank you doctor."

  "Don't thank me yet." He closed the drawer. "We'll break through next time. I promise you."

  He lead her outside, past the men, to the cold waiting room where the secretary typed away and on his way back he could not hold his grimace. The men saw it but they walked forward to question him anyways. He slammed it again, locked it and screamed as loud as he could until he felt his lungs rattle.
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  "I almost had her." He ran around the room, banging his head on shelves and walls, he felt his forehead bleed. The walls shook now and above he could hear the low sound of rattling metal.

  A goblet stood a top a shelf. He reached for it. He looked inside to what seemed like emptiness, then slowly saw it coming down from the sides of its lips. Black goop.