Snapdragon Book II: In the Land of the Dragon
Page 15
In the kitchen, they looked at one another, a silent telepathy relaying, ‘Here he comes. Best behavior. Just get him back to the living room. Someone get him a beer.’
But he was already in the kitchen. “What the hell did I do?” he asked, looking at his family one face at a time.
Bartholomew was still intoxicated. Thick, black bushy eyebrows angled toward a large red nose. He peered from his wife…to his son…then to his daughter. Massive chords stood out on his forearms. He was a thick man, solid, small, but very frightening. Dennis imagined his dad wearing something similar to Fred Flintstone or his sidekick, Barney Rubble. He could imagine his dad having a dinosaur for a pet and getting the car revved by the power of his two, bulky legs.
Jane looked at her children, as if to say, ‘Let me handle this, kids,’ and then turned to her husband. “Nothing, sweetie,” she said, using her softest, most mollifying voice. “I just said ‘no’ was all. I thought maybe you were still sleepy.”
“I am!” Bartholomew said, irritably. He looked at Dennis, then at Elise, who was standing by her mother. “What the hell are you two doing?” he asked.
“We’re not doing anything!” Dennis said, unable to remain calm. With a year to go before college, the angry troll, and his unnecessary bantering, were about all he could take anymore. Dennis looked at his mother and his look said, ‘Sorry, Mom. But I just can’t take it anymore, either.’ Once he started, he couldn’t stop. He kept the tirade going: “Nothing. We’re not doing anything. We’re just sitting here! Is that okay with you? Can we just sit here without you freaking out about us every goddamn second? Is that okay? It isn’t enough that Eddie’s gone. You have to come in here like some goddamn hurricane, making everyone’s life miserable! I’m tired of it! We’re all tired of it, for God’s sake! Go watch your game and leave us the hell alone!”
Jane winced. Elise stared in shock, showing her braces.
Uh, oh! Jane thought. Here it comes.
It stunned everybody, even the angry troll. In the kitchen, it was dead quiet. Dennis held his breath.
Bartholomew smiled. “Boy, how would you like to step outside? I would like it quite well. You know why? Because I’d wallop your skinny little ass from here to The Red Sea, that’s why. I’d do it in front of your momma, in front of you sister, and in front of the whole, stinking neighborhood, if that’s what it takes. I just asked if anyone heard about the boy. That’s it. That’s all!” He spread his arms, palms up. “If that’s a crime, then haul me off to jail.”
Dennis wished someone would haul him off to jail, but decided to keep his mouth shut.
Bartholomew breathed heavily, trying to calm down.
“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Jane soothed. “Dennis didn’t mean it.”
Elise stood by the counter, nervously chewing on a fingernail.
“Hell he didn’t mean it!” Bartholomew roared. “You know damn good and well he meant it, and every word, too! Boy has passion, speaking like that!” He pumped a fist, and actually looked proud of Dennis. “What do you say, Son? Wanna step outside?”
Dennis shook his head, more in annoyance than in answering his old man. Jane endeavored to placate her husband by putting her hands on his chest.
“Damn you girl, stay off!” Bartholomew yelled at his wife. He slapped at her hands, looking more like a petulant child than an angry troll.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Dennis said, and everyone looked at him. He had Bartholomew’s attention.
“Don’t want to fight, huh? Why not? ’Fraid I’ll kick your skinny little ass?”
“Sorry, I swore,” Dennis apologized, hating himself for it. “I just wish Eddie would come home.”
That seemed to do it. Bartholomew mellowed. “Well that’s what I want, too!” he cried, defending himself. “I just want the little bastard to come home, too. Just like everybody! Jeez!” He turned, disappeared into the living room, plopped into his chair, and called out, “Someone get me a beer, will ya?”
No one moved. The tension was thick.
“Ah, hell,” Bartholomew muttered from the living room. “Stupid ’Huskers scored another touchdown…might as well get the damn beer myself. Made the whole frickin’ family mad.” He came swaggering back into the kitchen, looking as if someone should take pity on him. He opened the refrigerator door and exhumed a beer. He held it up, saluting his family. They did not reply. “Cheers,” he said, and returned to the living room.
viii
Algernon Alister had never been more grateful for Jamey Argason. Despite his missing grandson, he took comfort in knowing Malcolm had a friend, even if the butcher was thirty or forty years the boy’s senior. He felt a pang of jealousy, however, when he realized Jamey had adopted the role Algernon had neglected for the last several years. It was his own fault, though. He could make amends, and would, he told himself. Now, if only the boy would come home…
In the precious time he’d had with Malcolm, he’d wasted it. If ever a man had to make amends, it was Algernon Percival Alister. But he had a feeling he was a little too late. Hadn’t he thought that anyway, before all this had happened? His timing was just a wee bit tardy was all. He hadn’t tried quite hard enough, hadn’t done it soon enough. Seconds were precious, and he’d wasted every one the Good Lord had given him. Now, the boy might never come home, and if Malcolm never walked through the front door again, Algernon would never forgive himself. The irony of his life over the past couple of years had been about all he could take. If anything, he should’ve been the first to go…certainly not the last.
Only when he’d put down the drink, did Algernon learn what kind of boy his grandson was: a bright, charming, intuitive young man. Algernon had learned to love him in ways that surprised even him. Funny what a few moments of clarity could do for a person. Malcolm had never quite abandoned him, either. The boy had never dismissed him even when Algernon had dismissed himself. And if anyone had reason to justify their resentments, it was Malcolm. Instead, the boy had chosen a different route. Unfortunately, that route had riddled Algernon with guilt, guilt so thick he could hardly live with himself. The boy had hope for his grandfather, and knowing this, realizing it, was more than Algernon could take. That pain was insurmountable, and the empty house, the lack of the boy’s presence, only made things worse. He wanted Malcolm to despise him. That would, after all, make things easier—or at least make him feel better.
Now, of course, he felt more alone than ever. The house was too big and too quiet without Malcolm in it. He thought of picking up the drink again, too, but knew it would only shame him.
The bright spark had been Jamey, at least. The man had given Algernon hope, a quiet handle on the strain. Jamey, with his smiling face and merry eyes, had provided a sense of sanity. If it weren’t for Jamey…
Algernon shook his head.
In Ellishome, the hopeful still prayed. The defeated accepted the inevitable and were moving to another town or state altogether. Jamey and Algernon were not among the latter. They couldn’t afford to be. Sheriff Bimsley had remained equally hopeful as well. If these kids were camping, it wouldn’t be hard to find them, and it wouldn’t take long.
But that had been a month ago now…
Still nothing…
Just one more chance to make things right, Algernon thought. Just one more chance. I know I blew it, but damnit, I tried! Things were going so well. We were getting our lives back! Just give me a chance! Just one more day with that bright boy, and a chance to make amends. Please. I’m begging you!
Evil had taken his son and daughter-in-law. It had taken his wife, and now, he was quite sure, Evil had taken his grandson.
Algernon wanted to scream.
What a twist of fate, he thought, having to bury his entire family, and him being as old as he was…
It’s not over yet, he thought. There’s still a…a chance.
But those words were empty, desperate, words from a man who’d failed himself and his family in every possible way. He wa
s trying to hold onto something to justify his actions, make himself feel better. That was just human nature.
In other words, he thought. A clear conscience.
Algernon Alister had worked himself up. Anger and tears had gotten the best of him. Getting sad didn’t help, feeling sorry for himself, let alone getting angry, but he couldn’t help it. Jamey had been coming over regularly. If Algernon didn’t know any better, he’d say he and the local butcher were becoming regular pals. Maybe that was something, too.
Sitting in the silence of his house on a Thursday afternoon in October—in one of the scarlet wingback chairs—Algernon stood up to get himself a glass of water. The act itself was simple enough, but the tension over the last few weeks—the guilt, which had added to the tension—had worked its way into his chest. He’d been working on the house a lot lately, as well, and although it took his mind of things—especially his grandson—he was overexerting himself just a bit too much.
He took three steps across the floor when the pain blossomed in his chest and crippled him.
Algernon gasped for air, air, which suddenly seemed in very short supply. Pain gnawed through his belly like the claws of a beast. Daggers punctured the walls of his chest. It felt as though his heart were on fire and bleeding at the same time. Algernon made a fist, wincing, and bent at the knees.
“Damnit!” he said.
Darkness gathered, and Algernon fell forward. He bit his tongue, drawing blood.
Something about unfairness, he thought. Yes. How appropriate.
“Damn you,” he said, and tears sprang to his eyes. “Goddamn you, how dare you do this to me now!”
It came from his Maker, confirming he had not been forgiven. Too many seconds too late, God told him; he’d wasted too much time. He’d failed as a grandfather, as a man, as a writer, God said, and now it was time to go. You put up a good fight, God seemed to say, but let’s face it, old man…you lose.
Algernon tried to howl, but couldn’t. He clenched his eyes in pain, still clutching his heart. “Damn you,” he muttered, and tears sprang to his eyes.
He cursed his Maker, but he also cursed himself. The anger was hot lead pouring through his chest. He’d been cheated. He’d been…robbed.
Another searing stab of fire ripped through Algernon’s heart and paralyzed him. “This…isn’t…fair,” he gasped.
He thought about his grandson, about his boy coming home, the empty house—the laughter—all silenced now. Silence for good, in fact. He cried for his grandson, for everything Algernon had tried to do, and how, ultimately, he’d done nothing in return…
But fail.
Well, at least you weren’t the last to go, he tried to console himself, and just as quickly, another voice issued, as if trying to add to his guilt:
Only to leave Malcolm to fend for himself. You did great, old man. You did just fucking great. Bow to the audience again, my friend, because you deserve a great big round of applause.
Despite the pain, he was able to weep, at least, shed some tears.
“Damnit!” he said, again. It was turning into a mantra, all he could do to make himself feel better despite the white, hot lance ripping through his heart.
Roaring fire. Searing pain. Black tendrils of ink swam in front of his eyes.
“Goddamnit, this isn’t fair!” he said, again.
He should’ve tried to make amends sooner. It was that simple. Bad timing. That was all.
Another hot razor of pain cut through Algernon’s mid-section, and he fell face forward, sprawling onto the floor. One last time, he cursed his Maker:
“Damnit! Damn you! This isn’t fair!”
Strangely, when the darkness took Algernon Alister, he did not see God. He did not see spirits, and he did not see the devil. He did not feel condemned to an eternity of woe and suffering, but felt, in fact, quite calm. He was at peace. And maybe that was justice. Maybe that was hope. It made him feel as if he’d done something right after all.
One time out of a million isn’t bad.
On his way down, Algernon Alister saw the face a tiger, and for reasons he couldn’t understand, knew the animal by name.
ix
Rudy McCall had dressed appropriately for the weather. He wore a thick, black sweater matching his hair. It made his green eyes stand out.
Masie had been anticipating his knock at the door with nervous excitement. When it came, relief washed over her.
Before the knock, she realized how bad she must look, and ran to the bathroom to freshen up.
She didn’t look as bad as she’d thought. Brush hair, smile, bat eyes, take deep breath…Hi Rudy!
“Hi, Masie,” he said, standing on the porch. A cold October wind circled Masie’s bare ankles, and she shivered. Behind Rudy, copper leaves fell through the air. Gray clouds oppressed the sky.
“Hi, Rudy.” She smiled wide.
What are you trying to do? You’re flirting with him, for God’s sake! Don’t make everything so obvious! Do you realize you’re little brother’s missing still, and Rudy just had his mom taken away? Are you really that selfish?
She realized her brother was missing and more, but she couldn’t sit here brooding about it. She was driving herself crazy. And despite what was happening with Rudy, she knew, deep in her heart, that something good needed to happen for the both of them.
People need people, her mother once told her, and Masie believed that. People did need people. Masie needed Rudy, and Rudy needed Masie.
“You all set?” he asked. “Need anything?”
She shook her head, brown ponytail swinging. Rudy nodded and looked less downcast than when she’d seen him last. Could it be his mother, despite everything else?
Masie shut the front door behind her and walked the length of the sidewalk with Rudy. He opened the passenger door of a burgundy Buick LeSabre, his mother’s car, she thought.
“Dad didn’t even say anything,” Rudy told her. “He just handed me the keys.”
Masie raised her eyebrows, stepped inside, and Rudy shut the door. Inside, it was clean. A vanilla freshener hung from the rearview mirror. Rudy climbed in behind the wheel and pulled the door shut. He put the key in and started the Buick.
“Anyplace you want to go?” he asked.
Something was different about him, something good. She didn’t know what it was. Could it be—despite the atrocities in Ellishome and his personal life—that his pain was quieter now, lifted, or at least, in some way, lessened? Did he feel relief, knowing his mother was someplace safe where they could finally treat her?
“I had no idea about your mother, Rudy,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could do something.”
Rudy turned to her and smiled, steering the car in the direction of town. “It’s all right. Dad and I knew it would happen eventually. He wanted to keep her at the house. He’s had a real hard time lately. He thought keeping her there would somehow…bring her back, or at least be good for her in some way, but…”
“Just seems…macabre almost,” Masie said, and shivered.
Rudy nodded. “I know. It’s been happening for a while. Only a matter of time, I guess. The funny thing is, I don’t know what happened. How she snapped. Like I just realized how unstable my mother was suddenly. Dad said the same thing. Once Sadie died, she just…drifted away. Mentally, you know? I can’t quite explain it. Maybe that happens more than we care to admit. She was talking about a little girl. She kept screaming, kicking. She bit one of the men who’d tried to help her outside. Weird, freaky stuff. I don’t think it’s quite set in, you know? So, forgive me if I seem a little…off. But…I don’t know…when you called, it actually seemed like the perfect thing. I just realized how badly I wanted to get out.”
Masie shook her head. What could she say? It never occurred to her that Rudy’s mother was clinically insane.
“So,” Rudy said. “Any place special you want to go?”
“How about we get something hot. Some cocoa or something. My treat.”
Rudy stopped at a convenient store and followed Masie inside. They got two, steaming 20-ounce cups of cocoa. Back in the car, they headed north down Main Street.
“Where now?” Rudy asked, the cocoa between his legs.
“Let’s just drive,” Masie said.
Rudy drove in silence, steering the car beyond the town limits. He found a dirt road leading into the surrounding meadows, heading west. With the grass on all sides, Rudy parked the Buick next to a cluster of willow trees. He kept the car idling, the heater on, and took a sip of cocoa.
The grass swayed. A misty rain began to fall. The wind howled, tampering with the windows.
“Gosh…” Masie said, letting out a deep sigh. “It feels good to get out at least.”
She looked toward the mountains.
Anywhere, she thought. Anywhere at all. They could be anywhere.
Masie tried not to think about it.
Sometimes people need people, she thought. Sometimes, people need people to help them heal. Sometimes people need to understand what love is.
“How’s your dad?” Masie asked.
Rudy stared out the window. “About as good as can be, I guess,” he said. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for him. Sometimes he seems okay, more his old self. Other times, not so much. I tried to tell him it’s the best thing we could’ve done for her, having Mom…you know…put someplace…” Rudy shrugged. “I think Dad’ll be okay, though. I think we both will. Dad comes across like he should be punished for something.”
Masie thought about Rudy’s mother biting into a man’s shoulder. She thought about her brother hanging dead in the closet.
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Rudy said. “This town. Everything happening. Seth and his friends. Sometimes…it’s like Ellishome is being slowly digested in the bowels of some strange monster. Any minute…it’s all gonna cave. Maybe it already has. I don’t know.” Rudy shook his head and sipped his cocoa. He stared into his lap.
The wind thumped against the windows of the car. The meadow swayed violently one way, then the other. Leaves scattered and fell.