Until now. Now, they had exorcised the demons. Now they were truly free. Free to move on and grow and grow and grow. Except…
“We can hold people off for a while, but not forever,” Andy said. “Sooner or later, questions will need answering.”
Charlie frowned. “You want to tell people?”
“Of course not. But both our parents up and leaving without a trace? We can’t sell that. We’ll be prime suspects. We need to start thinking about up and leaving without a trace ourselves.”
Charlie looked away in thought. “I guess that was always inevitable.”
Andy nodded. “We can sit tight for now. But in the meantime, we need to start planning for the future.”
“We’ve got the van. We can go wherever we want.”
Andy nodded again and stood. “Let’s get cleaned up and go to school.”
“I’m fucking beat, man.”
“So am I. But any more absences and we can add truant officers to the list of people who’ll come knocking.”
“Yeah…”
“It won’t be too bad, man—” Andy smiled. “The buzz from last night will get us through the day.”
Charlie smiled back.
They reminisced for twenty minutes, periodically laughing as they acted out certain parts, showered and dressed and went to school.
21
Carrie was pouring herself a cup of coffee when Caleb entered the kitchen. Yawning and unkempt, he wore only boxer shorts and a weathered USMC (United States Marine Corps) tee.
Carrie sat at the kitchen table with her coffee and watched her brother’s back as he went about reaching for his own mug from the cupboard.
“We both look like college students after a rough night on the town,” she said with a chuckle. A try at both levity and camaraderie. Levity for the unspoken tension in the house since her arrival and Allan’s departure. Camaraderie because, well, he was her brother, and they were now living under the same roof.
“You’re not a college student anymore,” Caleb replied, his back still to her as he poured his coffee.
Carrie frowned, waited for him to turn around, and pointed at his T-shirt. “And you’re not a Marine anymore.”
“Like fuck I’m not.” He stared at her, unblinking.
Carrie felt a chill from her brother’s stare. She felt as though anyone but her little brother was staring at her. She looked away, both unnerved and feeling a bit guilty. Caleb’s comment had been a cheap shot, but her comment had been a downright low blow. College for Carrie seemed the next logical step in life, but there had been no real desire. The Marine Corps for Caleb? It was all he’d wanted since the day Domino had died.
“I’m sorry,” Carrie said to her coffee.
Caleb took a seat across from his sister at the kitchen table. “Me too,” he said.
Carrie looked up, expecting her brother’s stare to now match the apology he’d just offered. It did not. His gaze was as dead as ever. She wanted to believe that early morning and lack of caffeine were the culprits behind those dead eyes, but hadn’t her little brother’s eyes always been that way?
No, she answered quickly, sadly. No they had not. She remembered a time even after her father’s death that there was still light—and, thus, life—behind them. But after killing a man? After attending Domino’s funeral? That light had dimmed drastically. But it had still been there. A flicker of light. A flicker that, with the right help, could one day grow and burn bright again.
Except the flame hadn’t grown tall and burned bright again. In time, it appeared to have vanished completely, leaving nothing but a smoldering blackness in its wake. Why? It certainly wasn’t for lack of help; Caleb’s hours in therapy over the years had rivaled his hours in the classroom at school.
The classroom. That was another thing. Whatever psychological virus had infected her brother and had remained immune to help over the years did not affect his performance in the classroom. Caleb’s marks were always outstanding.
Again, she asked why? Or better yet, how? Her performance in the classroom had certainly been affected, and as much as she hated the thought of her trauma being any less severe than Caleb’s in her younger years, she was now able to admit that her brother’s had been more severe. Looking over the horrific fact that he had beaten a man to death with a baseball bat, there was the very real possibility that losing Domino had been an even worse trauma. Carrie had been close to Domino and loved him dearly, but there was no denying the incredible bond Domino and her brother had shared. He had become a second father to Caleb. And Caleb had lost him too. Not to cancer or a freak accident or to any other number of life’s cruel and indiscriminate ways, but to cold-blooded murder. Again, just like his father. Good Christ, it’s a wonder her brother hadn’t become a psycho—
Carrie’s line of thinking came to a crashing halt. She suddenly felt cold. She willed away the burgeoning thought that wanted to be finished, but her mind would not let her.
…It’s a wonder her brother hadn’t become a psychopath.
Was that possible? Could psychopaths be made? Violent men could be made, no question, but a psychopath? Carrie had always felt psychopaths were born, not made. Something with the way their brains were wired from birth. But if the brain had been exposed to such intense psychological trauma and loss, especially at the tender age her brother had been, could that brain not be…rewired? She didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.
Carrie looked at her coffee again, fearing that any eye contact with her brother would give her away, all but announce the hideousness of what she’d been thinking. Only her shifted gaze down onto her coffee had been too abrupt and unnatural. Caleb spotted it.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
Eyes still on her coffee, Carrie made a strained play at indifference, giving a slight shake of the head and muttering: “Nuthin’.”
Caleb offered no reply. Just stood with his coffee and headed back down to the basement. When he was gone, Carrie exhaled long and slow. Right then she knew two things: One, she needed to have a serious talk with her mother about that hideousness she’d been thinking. And two, for the first time in her life, she was afraid of her little brother.
22
After arriving at school, they’d made a plan to meet in the men’s room by the gymnasium after first period. Here now, both were visibly tired, yet as Andy had predicted, their empty tanks were running just fine on the intoxicating fumes from last night.
“How you holding up?” Andy asked.
Charlie checked beneath the bathroom stalls before answering. All were empty. “Great. Tired, but great.”
Andy nodded. “Me too. It feels surreal, you know?” Andy checked the stalls himself. Then: “The whore was one thing, but this…”
Now Charlie nodded. “I know. I keep expecting to wake up—have it all be a dream.”
“No dream, brother. We did that shit.”
They fist-bumped.
“You given any thought to plan B?” Charlie asked.
“Leaving without a trace?”
“Yeah.”
“A little. At first I thought we’d raise less eyebrows by waiting until after graduation, let people think we ran off and joined the Army or something.”
“That’s months from now. No way can we bullshit ourselves out of trouble that long.”
Andy nodded. “I know.”
“I say we bail before anyone gets suspicious. We wait until people start asking questions, and we’re fucked. We’ll look guilty as hell.”
“True. Better to get a good head start.”
A pause, both thinking.
“You think Arty and Jim dealt with this stuff?” Charlie asked. “This…‘what to do next’ stuff?”
“Probably. The videos—they filmed those years after they’d perfected it all. I’m sure there was a time when they second-guessed their next move.”
“I feel like we’re on the right track,” Charlie said. “Like we’re heading in the right direc
tion.”
“Me too, brother.”
“I feel stronger every day.”
“Me too.”
The bathroom door opened. Three seniors entered. Three seniors Andy and Charlie were no strangers to—for all the wrong reasons.
“S’up, faggots?” Mike Childs. Chief instigator of the incident where Charlie was stripped naked and paraded up and down the halls two years ago. “We interrupting your little circle jerk?”
Charlie looked at Andy. Andy gestured towards the exit. They went to leave, but Childs and the other two, Derek Johnson and Dave Hicks, blocked their path.
“Get out of our way, man,” Andy said.
“Or else what?” Childs asked.
“Just get out of our way,” Charlie added.
Childs looked over Andy’s shoulder at Charlie. “Or else what, Peanut?”
Peanut. The moniker they gave Charlie immediately following the incident, alluding to his prepubescent penis.
“Trust me,” Charlie said, “you don’t want to be fucking with us anymore.”
All three laughed.
“Yeah?” Childs said. “Why’s that?”
Charlie stepped past Andy and got in Childs’s face. “Because it might be the biggest mistake you ever make.”
Childs shoved Charlie hard, sending him off his feet and skidding on the tile floor.
Andy went for Childs, but Johnson and Hicks snatched him first, slamming him up against the wall, where they held him firm despite Andy’s struggle.
Childs slowly approached Charlie, leering down on him like he was dinner. “Mistake, huh? No wait—big mistake. Biggest mistake I could ever make. Why’s that, Peanut? Just what the fuck could you do to me? What, you think shaving your head suddenly makes you tough or something?”
Charlie scooted backwards until his back was against the wall. “I’m warning you,” he said.
“Warning me?” Childs smirked back at Johnson and Hicks, who still had a good hold on Andy. “What do you suppose he’s warning me about, fellas?”
“Tough talk,” Johnson said. “Maybe his balls finally dropped.”
All three laughed again.
Childs turned back to Charlie with a face of mock congratulations. “That it? You finally get a big-boy cock? That’s great news! What do you say we have us an encore performance from sophomore year? Let the whole school see how much little Charlie has grown.”
Charlie saw red. He scrambled to his feet and lunged at Childs. Childs caught his charge like a man would a boy’s and tossed him into an open stall, Charlie hitting one of the toilets hard, his breath leaving him.
Andy savagely fought the hold Johnson and Hicks had on him and had nearly squirmed himself free when Hicks drove his fist into Andy’s gut, doubling him over. Johnson then took his turn, driving his fist down onto Andy’s kidney, Andy crying out without sound from the breath that had left him from Hicks’s previous blow. Childs then joined in on the fun, grabbing hold of Andy and tossing him into the same stall as Charlie, the two colliding into one another before dropping to their knees.
All three laughed yet again.
“Grab Peanut,” Childs said to Johnson and Hicks. “Come on, it’s time for that encore.”
The bathroom door opened.
“What the hell is going on here?” Mr. Sweeney, biology teacher. He moved deeper into the bathroom and spotted Andy and Charlie in the stall, both of them still trying to catch their breath. “Andy? Charlie? You boys okay?”
Andy and Charlie said nothing, just slowly filed their way out of the stall.
Sweeney’s eyes went back to Childs, Johnson, and Hicks. “Well?”
“We were just joking around,” Childs said.
Sweeney threw a thumb back towards Andy and Charlie. “They don’t seem like they were in on the joke to me, Mr. Childs.”
“I’m sorry,” Childs said. Johnson and Hicks muttered the same.
“Not to me; to them,” Sweeney said, gesturing back towards Andy and Charlie again.
“Sorry, Peanut,” Childs said.
Johnson and Hicks dropped their heads and looked away, unable to fight their giggling.
Sweeney’s gaze on them darkened. “You guys really think you’re tough, don’t you? Where I come from, guys who pick on smaller guys are anything but tough.”
Sweeney’s words—“smaller guys”—punched harder than any blow previously landed.
“He started it,” Childs said, motioning towards Charlie. “He went for me.”
“And I’m sure it was unprovoked, right?” Sweeney said.
Childs only shrugged. Johnson and Hicks were still trying to stifle their giggles.
Sweeney turned to Andy and Charlie again. “You boys all right?” He put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You need to go to the nurse?”
Charlie angrily shrugged Sweeney’s hand off his shoulder.
Sweeney did not seem offended, merely turned back to Childs, Hicks, and Johnson, pointed towards the bathroom door and said: “Out. Now. And don’t make any plans this afternoon—my lab needs a good cleaning.”
Childs frowned. “Oh, come on, Mr. Sweeney, we’ve got practice!”
“Football does not exempt you from being jerks,” Sweeney said. “I’ll expect you three the moment last bell rings.”
“Bullshit,” Childs muttered.
Sweeney’s eyebrows bounced. “Oh, I see—you want to spend a week cleaning up my lab, do you?”
Childs’s lips vanished. His nostrils flared. He shook his head.
“Smart. Now get out.”
Childs shot Andy and Charlie a look before leaving. Your fault, that look said. Your fault, and I intend on making you pay.
All three gone, Sweeney now stood alone with Andy and Charlie. He looked momentarily lost for words, as though the teacher in him felt compelled to say teacher things, while the man in him wanted to say otherwise, to commiserate with Andy and Charlie about the asshole bullies of the world.
Instead he merely sighed, flicked his chin towards the exit, and said: “Go on, boys; on your way.”
23
Amy, keen on making a beeline for the coffeemaker, was detoured into taking a seat at the kitchen table by Carrie, who did so with an urgent wave and hushed tones.
Amy went to take a seat across from her daughter, but Carrie insisted she sit next to her. Close.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” Amy said.
“I don’t care.”
Amy shrugged. “Your funeral.” She took a seat next to Carrie.
In a whisper, Carrie said: “I’m worried about Caleb.”
“Get in line,” Amy said.
“I’m serious.”
Amy, who knew her children inside and out—or so she thought—considered Carrie for a moment, her eyes going all over her daughter’s face, scanning for any tells that might betray her words.
Finally, when it looked as though Carrie was genuinely sincere,
(or scared?)
Amy asked: “What are you talking about?”
“He’s…different,” was all Carrie managed at first.
Amy felt a slow chill building at the base of her spine.
(Does she see it too?)
Still, she said: “Honey, he’s been through a lot recently.”
“I know he has. I know how much the Marines meant to him, but…wouldn’t you expect to see some sort of emotion in him? Anger? Sadness?”
“Tell that to the solicitor he fed an ID badge to.”
“Okay, fine—rage. He shows bouts of rage. That makes it even worse.”
“Makes what worse?”
“I’m not really sure how to explain it. It’s in his eyes. Maybe I’m imagining it—”
(you’re not)
“—but it’s like I don’t see my little brother anymore when I look at him. And I’m not talking about him getting taller and stronger and all that. It’s in his eyes.”
The chill that had started at the base of Amy’s spine had now crawled its way
up to the back of her neck, prickling the skin. She placed a hand back there and rubbed. To share her own suspicions about Caleb or not? She and Carrie did seem to be sharing similar pages. Amy’s page, with her extensive research on the psychopathic mind over the years, was far more descriptive, of course, but did it matter? Carrie’s could be a crumpled piece of notebook paper, its content raw and unpolished, but if both pages ended with the same answer to the same equation, who gave a shit how you got there?
Perhaps Carrie’s page was even more telling than hers. Lacking the knowledge Amy had acquired over the years, Carrie’s findings were not influenced by the field of criminal psychology. She was going on feel, her gut, her history with her brother.
Amy of course had her own history with Caleb, but isn’t the relationship shared between siblings far different than the one shared by parent and child, no matter how close the bond between parent and child might be? The two relationships were two different worlds. Barring any huge discrepancies in age—and only two years separated Carrie and Caleb—siblings experienced and shared life through the same filter of innocence and ignorance. With that innocence and ignorance came uncertainty and fear. Like brothers in arms, a bond like no other is then formed, bred through that uncertainty and fear.
So what does all this mean, Amy? It seems like you’re going in circles with conjecture, but didn’t you just admit that the means for solving the equation became irrelevant if you both come up with the same answer?
Amy was momentarily stuck on what to say. She wanted to make sure they had truly arrived at that same answer to that same equation: “What do you think you see when you look at him?”
“I’m not sure I want to say,” Carrie said.
“Say it anyway.”
“I feel like—” She paused, appearing to fear voicing it aloud, as though doing so might give her reservations strength. “I feel like there’s something bad in him.”
Bad Games- The Complete Series Page 104
