Forgive Me, Alex

by Lane Diamond

  I was new and inexperienced at torture. I'd made a mistake.

  I cut the hardheaded little fucker up though, and fed him to the Beast, which should'a counted for something with the Reaper. It served the little shit right after the way his head had hurt my hand. It still hurt to make a fist. Little fucker.

  I'd pleaded with the Reaper and assured him I'd do better next time.

  I think he believed me, but he'd stepped up my training and subjected me to grueling hours of instruction every night since. Sleep remained a vague memory; I had no time for such "trifles," according to that bastard. I had to learn my lessons well and get it right the next time, or lack of sleep, as he'd made quite clear, would be the least of my fuckin' worries.

  In the meantime, I'd outfitted the shop with knives, saws, shears, a hammer, a mallet, pliers, a pick, a shovel, and plenty of plastic bags and rubber gloves. I'd stocked up on cleansers, disinfectants, sponges, a mop and a bucket. Good to go.

  I doubted anybody ever came to that ancient shack, but I latched the door and put a padlock on it—just in case. If someone cut the lock off, I'd need a new workshop. I might lose my tools if that happened, but there weren't nothin' I could do about that.

  Now I wanted to see how things were going at the Hooper house.

  "That should be fun."

  ***

  Trees surrounded my usual parking spot on the little gravel trek, barely more than a country alley, called Cermak Road. I parked as far back as I could while keeping a good view of the Hooper house. Cars lined the street up and down Cary Road in front of their place, and the driveway was full, as they entertained everyone who'd come to express their condolences.

  "ASH to ashes and dust to dust. Too sad."

  What really interested me was that old '67 Bonneville parked in the grass next to the garage—that fuckin' Tony's car.

  "That sucker is like a ship on wheels. Probably seats about twenty."

  I laughed; couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so damn good. I expected Hooper to take me to my angel today. Diana must have been there to comfort him, or else he'd go to her at some point. If it had been me, I'd—

  "What the hell do we have here?"

  Hooper appeared on a bicycle at the end of the dirt road, directly across the street, wearing a black suit.

  "Not exactly the latest in biking attire, Tony-boy."

  He looked up and down the road and hesitated, like he didn't want to go home, or like—

  "Shit! He's looking right at me."

  Easy, Mitchell, the Reaper said, he can't see you through the windshield glare. Even if he could, it wouldn't matter. He has no idea who you are.

  Hooper rode to his house and jogged inside, and I settled back into my surveillance. It was kinda boring, but I tried to think about Diana. I could still see her face in my mind's eye, and I hoped like hell that fuckin' Tony would—

  "Speak of the devil."

  Hooper reappeared, alone and dressed more casually, and jumped into his car. He managed to skirt the sea of parked vehicles, driving through the yard and the front ditch, to make his way out.

  "My, my, but ain't he determined to escape the festivities?"

  I followed him like the cops did it in the movies. I couldn't get so close that he could make me, but I couldn't lose him, either. I had no idea where he was going—it could'a been anywhere—but I hoped to hell he'd lead me to my angel.

  He turned left on Highway 31, down the hill into town, and then right at the light, toward Lake-in-the-Hills. I remained a few cars behind.

  "Hell, this ain't so tough."

  He turned right into an old subdivision, and I followed. Narrow roads snaked through the neighborhood and... he'd vanished! He could'a turned on any of several streets. I looked left and right, forward and back, and left and right again. My hands dampened with sweat as my customary panic welled up.

  Damn it, Mitchell, if you've lost him, I'll—

  "There it is!"

  He sat in a driveway where a girl was already getting into the car. It happened too fast, and I couldn't quite make her out, but it must be Diana.

  I drove to the next little crossroad and waited as he backed out of the driveway and headed off in the other direction. I turned around to follow and, as I passed her house, checked out the number on their mailbox. At the corner, I read the name on the street sign.

  "All right, I have an address, but is it my angel's address? It must be, but there's only one way to find out for sure. Besides, I'm getting good at this, don't you think?"

  The Reaper didn't answer. He was funny that way.

  Chapter 28 – May 27, 1978: Tony Hooper

  I dreaded my bicycle ride home from Frank's house; too many of my damned relatives would still be at our place. I snuck around like a fidgety mouse and managed to avoid most of the commotion, changed my clothes, and hustled out to the Bonnie to escape.

  Before she left our house with her parents earlier, Diana had suggested we go out tonight with some friends, to give me a chance to relax after today's insanity.

  Hungover with the sorrow of my final goodbye to Alex, I wanted to get out and have some fun. The damned guilt clawed at me, but Frank said it was perfectly normal, a way to cope with the pain, a survival mechanism. By the time I got to Diana's place, I felt better about it.

  She'd seen me drive up and was already on her way out. She jogged over and hopped into the front seat, slid over to give me a kiss, and skipped her usual playful shenanigans. The concern on her face matched that in her voice as she asked how I was doing.

  I squeezed her hand. "I'm numb, as if someone has smothered my brain in a plastic bag. I need a break."

  "Then let's go meet Tom and Sherri."

  Author Thomas Hardy would surely have called Algonquin "far from the maddening crowd." We had no bowling alley, no multiplex movie theatre, and little in the way of restaurants.

  Dull would have been the operative word.

  We usually zipped to Carpentersville or Crystal Lake for something to do. Tonight we chose the bowling alley in Carpentersville, where we'd meet friends to bowl, shoot pool, play music on the jukebox, and to joke and laugh as though it were any other day.

  We'd do this mere hours after putting Alex in the ground. I sure hoped the Hoopster would approve, perhaps with one of his patented gosh-you're-so-lucky pronouncements.

  I trusted this pain would pass. Someday.

  Tom and Sherri already whoopwd it up in the game room when we arrived. Tom spotted us, fixed his eyes upon me, and practically charged me. I didn't know whether to brace for impact or prepare to shake his hand. Neither, as it turned out, for he did the most unexpected thing: he hugged me.

  I resisted at first, but he held tight for several seconds and I settled into it.

  Teenage boys weren't supposed to do such a not cool thing. Might have been embarrassing under different circumstances, but it felt so damned comforting.

  He stepped back and looked me in the eye. "How you holdin' up, amigo?"

  "Okay, but I had to get out of the house and away from it all for a while. Know what I mean, mon frére?"

  "Yeah man, the Good Shadow Alex—he'll be missed."

  A brief, uneasy silence ensued, until he challenged us to a game of pool, couple against couple. Everyone agreed.

  He raised his hand to command attention. "The first round of drinks is on me. You'll have a good stiff one, right, Tony? Maybe a double? So what'll it be, Pepsi or Seven-Up?"

  An hour later, game four of pool proved no more successful for Diana and me than had the previous three. Sherri and Tom beat the tar out of us—again.

  He strutted about like king of the world. "Geez, Tony, I hate to say it, but you suck at this."

  The girls fell silent, their eyes wide, until I laughed and shook my head.

  "Well, if I had a pool table in my basement like you do, we might have a different story here. What do you say we test your skills on the lanes?"

  "Oh shit!"

  H
e knew of my skill at bowling. We laughed again, grabbed our drinks and headed out to the lanes.

  Three games and 622 pins later, I said, "Now that I've whipped Tom's ass and the world makes sense again, is anybody else hungry?"

  We bought some burgers and chips from the grill and shot into the arcade for some fast driving and fast flying. Each of us took a turn at the wheel, as the others laughed and cheered, booed and yelled. In the middle of all the fun—all the forgetting—we talked about school and our plans for the summer. Saturday night meant the place was packed, yet somehow we created our own private sanctuary.

  In the end, my four-hour escape from pain and sorrow marked the tentative beginning of rejuvenation. In the shadow of incomprehensible evil, I rediscovered joy and laughter. In the aftermath of death, I clung to life.

  As Frank had said earlier, "This is our way. We survive."

  A man seated at the bar watched us, most intent on examining Diana. His eyes squinted, like dark pools where light went to drown.

  My gut clenched in a typical, instinctive response over which I had little control. Perhaps I overreacted, and we'd simply been making too much noise for his tastes. I felt self-conscious, gnawed by the guilt of having so much fun this soon after burying Alex. Still, something about him nagged at me, something familiar, unsettling, but I couldn't place him.

  Geez, why am I so on edge? Relax and ignore him.

  The night wound down and we said our goodbyes and hugged without any further expression of sadness, only friendship—thank heavens for that.

  I started the drive back to Diana's place feeling about ninety pounds lighter than I had this afternoon.

  Chapter 29 – May 27, 1978: Mitchell Norton

  I sat in the crowded bar at the bowling alley, on a stool in the back corner, and enjoyed a few beers. Hooper, Diana and two of their friends had been laughing it up and having a grand old time, shooting pool and bowling. How the fuck could he have so much fun the same day they'd buried his little brother?

  Whatever floated his boat.

  I'd choked down a lousy hamburger and chips, which sat like a brick in my gut, but my fifth Old Style took the sharp edge off my mood. I hadn't intended to get drunk, but pushed right up against that fuzzy edge. Those fuckin' kids! They'd been at it for hours.

  At least I'd found my angel again. I could hardly take my eyes off her, but did so occasionally to divert suspicion. Didn't want to be too obvious before having a chance to carry out my plan. Well, I didn't have a plan—yet—but something would come to me. I had to be ready for the opportunity when it presented itself.

  I considered my empty beer glass. "Hey, bartender, how about a Pepsi?"

  The kids yelled and laughed it up as they played in the arcade on some racing game. Shit! No one would have had any idea that Hooper had buried his little brother today unless... well, unless they knew it. I couldn't have done this if it had been Tommy.

  Poor fuckin' Hooper didn't appear so terribly sad.

  They got up from the game and milled around for a minute, talked and laughed a little more, and started hugging one another.

  Fuck a rubber duck! It's about time you guys took off.

  I already knew where Diana lived, so no need to follow them. Still, I was looking for an opportunity.

  They headed toward the exit, and given the late hour, Hooper would likely take her home. Who could tell? They might have stopped off somewhere else.

  Best to follow them. Just in case.

  Chapter 30 – May 27, 1978: Tony Hooper

  Diana held my hand and leaned her head on my right shoulder. All talked out, we settled in and listened to one of our favorite cassettes—Journey: Infinity. Steve Perry's extraordinary voice informed us that, despite that ever-turning Wheel in the Sky, it was impossible to know where I'd be tomorrow. That might well have been my personal anthem had it not been for Diana, with whom I'd be tomorrow, the next day, and all the days thereafter.

  Such good fortune was not lost on me. Without her, I'd probably have been isolated in my room, miserable as a stray mutt. My diary entry the night before had best summed it up: Diana is not only my life preserver; she's the lens through which I search for a rescue boat.

  These new feelings, the way she now appeared to me, locked me in a state of perpetual confusion. Was it nothing more than my love for her, my first such experience? No, it ran deeper—to gratitude, admiration, faith and serenity. I'd never have survived those horrors without the girl of my dreams.

  God, what should I do now? How can I leave her and go to college?

  I pulled into her empty driveway. The house stood dark, the front porch light the only sign of life.

  She kissed me on the neck and said, "My parents went to my uncle's house for dinner and Pinochle tonight. They said they'd be home late, around one o'clock."

  I looked at my watch—almost eleven o'clock.

  Ask the question! I want to answer. Yes. Please, yes. Yes. Oh God, yes.

  "Do you want to come in?"

  ***

  Warm water caressed us as we kissed and cleansed one another in the shower, and, lost in her, my escape from sorrow continued. My hands explored her soft curves, and I shook as though I hadn't eaten for days. This urgent need to consume her overwhelmed me. I'd never been this charged-up before, this out of control.

  She advanced her playfulness—faster, faster, faster—in feverish determination, until the flood erupted. Caught in that burning wave, my rubber knees nearly collapsed me in a heap in the shower. She grabbed me, held tight, and kissed me as though our lips must touch for us to breathe.

  It took me a moment to recover. "Why did you do that? What about you? Don't you want to go to your room?"

  "Uh-huh. I'm guessing—hoping—you have plenty more where that came from. Besides, you needed that."

  "You could tell, huh?" I almost buckled again under her wicked smile and Grinch-like roll of the eyes.

  "You weren't doing a very good job of hiding it."

  "What can I say? Damn thing has a mind of its own."

  Our laughter echoed off the tiles as I dropped my head down to kiss the tops of her breasts, and brushed my fingers up and down her ass. She was right. I could have done this one more time. Or two. Maybe twelve. This continuing need, this extraordinary urgency, had erupted like nothing I'd ever experienced—a kind of metaphysical starvation.

  She slapped me on the ass. "Let's clean up and go to my room."

  I almost laughed to myself. This poor girl has no idea what she's in for.

  No one else existed on Earth during this excursion, as we melded into one being. Fire blazed inside us as we rushed toward release together, our passion burning off all other concerns—even, for now, my sorrow and pain. Only love remained. Our appetite for it consumed our every thought and deed.

  Minutes collapsed into seconds, immovable, suspended like stars on a perpetual clear night. Diana clawed into my back, craned her neck, and groaned in bursts like a steam-engine train. We spent all that we had, and I collapsed alongside her in deep embrace, grateful for all we had or would ever have, assured by the certainty of our future. Every bittersweet scent enveloped me and only heightened the sensation. Her smooth skin pressed to mine, warmed me, secured me.

  I thought back to our many remarkable experiences together, including some amazing lovemaking, yet this moment towered like Everest over the foothills of those journeys. I'd never known such happiness or, indeed, that such unrestrained joy was even possible. My heart would burst at any moment.

  How can this be possible on such a terrible day?

  We gradually succumbed to sheer bliss, and Diana rolled her head to the side. Her soft breath of sleep whispered a lullaby and pushed me to the edge of slumber myself. Then it hit me: her parents would be home soon.

  Crap! I don't want to go. Ever! I want to hold her through the night. Why can't I do that? Her parents were already married at our age. How could anyone think that what we have is anything but appropriate? It's pe
rfect.

  I kissed her forehead and gently stroked her face. She stirred without opening her eyes and said, "I love you, baby," and drifted off again. I could have sat there for hours, to watch her sleep, to brush her velvet skin, to breathe of her breath.

  Damn it.

  I got up, pulled the covers over her, and dressed. I kissed her again but she lay still. Hesitation linked with desire to shackle me to the floor. I couldn't take my eyes off her. Never had I felt so physically spent, and yet never had my yearning for her been stronger. I feared perishing from existence the instant I left her room, as though a hungry black hole awaited me outside her bedroom door.

  The door whispered shut behind, me so as not to wake her.

  If I died on the way out, I'd at least take comfort that I'd experienced the best life had to offer. It could never be better. That would have been impossible.

  My chest hurt with that realization, and because, as I strolled to my car, I saw only visions of Diana lying warm in bed—without me beside her.

  I should have stayed with her. I desperately, desperately needed to hold her.

  Chapter 31 – May 27, 1978: Mitchell Norton

  They'd been in the house forever, most of it with the lights off. I assumed her parents were out since there weren't no other cars in the driveway. There could be little doubt about what they were doing in there.

  Shit! My head damn near burst into flames. I hated that fuckin' Hooper! Maybe I should kill him and get him outta the way; then I could move in on my angel without worrying about him.

  Easy, Mitchell, remember the plan, the Reaper said. All good things....

  "Right, stick to the plan. Still, it would be a fuckload of fun to do some serious work on my nemesis. Maybe later."

  I'd parked on the side of the street, uncommon around here, and looked around the neighborhood. No telling what people would find curious or unnerving while looking out their windows at night. Another quick glance showed nothing worrisome, nothing obvious.

  "What would I say if a cop suddenly pulled up? Let me see...."