The Unhinged

by David Bernstein

  Then one day, he was attacked in his cell by the three men. His cellmate had been transferred to another prison the day before, leaving Aaron alone.

  He lay in the bottom bunk, reading a book when the men entered. His stomach dropped into his balls and he suddenly needed to pee. Nervous as a virgin about to shoot her first porn flick, he kept a relaxed posture. It was the middle of the day, so he figured they weren’t going to do anything too horrible.

  “Don’t you guys get it?” he asked, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. “I’m not interested.”

  “You punched my friend here in the balls,” the bald one said, pointing with his thumb to the extremely freckled man next to him.

  “Yeah,” Freckles said. “That wasn’t smart.”

  “He showed his dick to me, told me to suck it or else,” Aaron said, trying to keep his voice even.

  “Well now, you don’t have to suck anything, at least not today,” Baldy said, grinning. He looked at Freckles, and then at the large man on his left. The guy had long greasy hair and tattoos of upside-down crosses on his cheeks. He said nothing, eyeing Aaron like a staring dog does meat, then dove at Aaron.

  Aaron tried sitting up, but Long Hair was on top of him, shoving a balled-up sock into his mouth. The garment tasted like spoiled ham and smelled like a rotten crotch, as if it had been worn for a week straight. His gag reflex kicked in and he fought not to puke. Before he knew it, Long Hair was holding his upper body down while Freckles secured his legs.

  Baldy shoved his face within inches of Aaron’s. “Settle down,” the man said, then covered Aaron’s mouth with his hand and punched him in the gut. Snot shot from Aaron’s nose as the air from his lungs was expelled.

  The men laughed.

  “Turn him over,” Baldy said and stood back.

  Long Hair and Freckles flipped Aaron onto his stomach. Aaron tried flailing his arms and kicking his legs, but the men had him firmly pinned. Pain racked his lower back as punches rained down, sapping the little strength he had left. His pants were yanked to his ankles, his underwear ripped off as if made of tissue paper. He heard Baldy tell the others that he was first. “Going to de-cherry this tight virgin ass, loosen it up for you all.”

  Aaron screamed, but all that came out were muffled cries. He fought with everything he had, but the men were too strong. There was nothing he could do but clench.

  “That ain’t going to work, boy,” Baldy said as he climbed onto the back of Aaron.

  “Just gonna hurt more, asshole,” Freckles said, laughing.

  Aaron felt cold fingers spread his ass cheeks apart, revealing his asshole, then the warm prodding of the man’s penis rubbing up against him. Aaron wiggled his hips. “Don’t fight us, kid, or this is going to really be painful.”

  Baldy punched Aaron in the back of his head and a bloom of stars twinkled across his vision. The strength went out of him for good this time and he knew he was done for. He felt the man’s penis between his cheeks. Aaron squeezed his eyes shut, trying to separate himself from what was going to happen, begging for it to be over quickly. Then the weight of the man was gone.

  He heard movement.

  Groans and yelps of pain.

  He realized he was free, his human bonds no longer there.

  Sitting up, he saw a mountain of a man.

  Baldy and Freckles were on the ground holding their crotches, noses crooked and bleeding. The newcomer kneed Long Hair in the gut and when Long Hair bent over, his attacker uppercut him in the face and sent him sprawling into the wall where his head collided with an audible thud. Long Hair’s eyes rolled up into his skull. Next, the big guy kicked Long Hair in the balls like a punter trying for a fifty-yard field goal. He then turned back to the others and stomped on Baldy’s and Freckles’ heads.

  The large man’s chest heaved as he faced Aaron. “Pull up your pants, kid. You don’t want people seeing you like that.”

  With shaky arms and legs, Aaron stood and fixed himself. The large man introduced himself. “I’m Thomas Washington, a.k.a. Big Bear. I’ll be your new cellmate.”

  Big Bear tossed the unconscious men out of the cell, then had one of the other prisoners clean the blood from the floor and walls. Big Bear told Aaron that he wasn’t going to allow anything so vile to happen in his cell or to his cellmate, who was under his protection. Aaron wondered what the cost of Big Bear’s protection would be, but it turned out the man just wanted a peaceful environment. They became friends, Big Bear enjoying Aaron’s company, finding his story very similar to his own, except Big Bear had wound up killing someone during a heist. He was serving twenty-five to life and was no longer the young punk who thought he knew it all. He’d made it his goal in life to help others who wanted it, and this was when Aaron started to see the light and made the decision to turn his life around.

  Over the next year, he mentored Aaron, giving him the advice and protection a young man like him needed. Eventually, Big Bear was moved to another facility, but by then Aaron was part of the fabric, and Big Bear’s reach was long. No one bothered him again.

  The alarm clock went off once more, waking Aaron from another prison dream. He’d been sitting in the dentist’s chair, waiting for the dentist to see him. When the man came into the room, he was holding a pair of bloody pliers and said, “We’re going to have to remove your teeth.” He smiled, revealing pointed incisors. Aaron didn’t know what the dream meant and chalked it up to having watched too many horror movies since getting out of prison.

  He turned the alarm off and sat up. He rubbed the tiredness from his face, the dream barely remembered. He was always amazed at how fast a dream was forgotten.

  He swung his feet off the bed and felt the weight of weariness fall over him. He was still tired, having had his sleep interrupted last night by his mother.

  She’d come home drunk, not something she often did, but when it was women’s night out, she had no limits. He didn’t blame her and thought she could use the release, even at her age. He came into the kitchen, baseball bat in hand, having thought there was a burglar in the house, and found her on the kitchen floor, laughing. She had small cuts along her shins. Shards of glass lay all around her. Apparently she’d tried getting a glass out of the dish rack and wound up knocking a few to the floor.

  “You all right?” he asked as he helped her up.

  “Fine,” she said. “Just a little accident.”

  She shuffled over to the pantry and took out the dustpan and broom.

  “I’ve got it,” Aaron said, and gently pried the items away. “Go to bed. I’ll take care of this.”

  “You’re such a good boy,” she said, and squeezed his cheek, then staggered off to her bedroom.

  Aaron cleaned up the mess, grabbed a glass of milk and then checked on his mother. She lay facedown on her bed, still dressed. He thought about waking her, but the blood from the cuts had already done the damage to the sheets. He said good night and closed the door.

  Back in his room, he lay on his bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. He kept his eyes closed until the silence grew too loud, then hummed himself into slumber.

  After showering, he made coffee and ate scrambled eggs and bacon. His mom came out of her room and entered the kitchen. She was dressed in her nightgown, legs covered in Band-Aids.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Thanks for helping me out last night,” she said, eyes barely open, hair disheveled.

  “Guess you had a good time out with ladies?” he asked.

  “Yeah. It was all right. Met a guy. Seemed real nice, but he was a cop.”

  “Oh,” Aaron said, nodding.

  “Yeah. And when I told him I didn’t date cops, he got weird. Anxious and possessive. I was pretty drunk so I was probably a little mean, but the idiot wouldn’t leave me alone. He was all grabby and stuff, so me and the girls let him have it. The asshole ran fro
m the bar like a little bitch.”

  Aaron wished his mom would get past the whole all cops are scum thing, but he understood how she felt. He was still upset about his father’s death, but knew it ultimately wasn’t the police’s fault.

  His dad had been an honest, hard-working man. He owned a small roofing company and did house repairs. Business had been slow. A friend of his dad’s told him he could make some quick cash if he delivered a package. His father didn’t ask what it was, but knew his friend delivered drugs once in a while. Turned out the package was ten keys of heroin. Aaron’s father didn’t want to lose his business or the house, so he agreed to the job. During the trip—from Washingtonville to Syracuse—he’d gotten into a car accident. He was pinned in the car, but mostly okay minus a couple of scrapes. The cops arrived at the scene and the dope was discovered. Facing twenty years in prison, Aaron’s father agreed to a deal for full immunity. He didn’t know any of the names of the big fish involved and wouldn’t rat out his friend, so he had to go undercover. He called his friend and told him about the accident, leaving out the part where he was arrested, and said he’d still deliver the drugs. The cops sent him in wired. Things went sour and the authorities stormed the warehouse where the drugs were delivered. His father wound up taking a bullet from one of the cops’ guns.

  Aaron’s father had made one mistake and the cops made him pay for it with his life. He never should have been in the middle of a major drug sting. His mother blamed the cops, hated them. Life had gotten so bad, she moved her and Aaron to another town. Aaron, himself, guessed he’d never gotten over it either—at least not fully, which was why he had led a life of trouble.

  He smiled at his mom. “Go back to bed, you look tired.”

  “Okay. Have a good day at work.” She turned and left the room.

  Aaron finished up his breakfast, washed the dishes, and was ready to head to work when his stomach grumbled. He hurried to the bathroom, the pressure building, and made it just in time. Thank goodness he always left plenty of time to get to work. One thing in particular prison had taught him was to be punctual. If he missed mealtime, he went hungry, missed shower time and he went smelly. Glowing remarks from his employer were important for his parole, as well as for keeping his job, which all parolees had to have. If he was fired from his job, he’d get written up by his parole officer. Too many marks and parole could be revoked. As a parolee, he needed to be a model citizen. So he made sure to always get to work a little early, just in case something like needing to use the toilet for a few minutes popped up.

  Leaving the bathroom, he glanced at the kitchen clock and saw that he was still on schedule. He dashed out of the house, stopping short at seeing the flat tire on his 1968 Chevy Camaro, the car his mom had purchased for him while he was still in prison.

  She’d acquired the partially restored classic from a recently widowed woman. The vehicle had belonged to the lady’s husband. She had no use for the car anymore, and hated to sell it, but she was glad to see it go to someone who planned on taking care of it.

  Aaron’s mom told him the car was going to be a coming home present, for whenever the time came. The body was in decent shape, but it needed a paint job—its original red now a faded orange—and some Bondo work around the wheel wells. The engine was in good condition, all the plugs and wires new.

  He must have run over a nail at the end of the driveway, which was why he hadn’t noticed the tire lose air. At least it hadn’t happened while he was on the road; he preferred to change the tire in his driveway.

  Opening the creaky trunk, he picked up the milk crate that he used to hold motor oil, spray paint, transmission fluid and windshield washing fluid and placed it on the ground. Aaron lifted the spare out and the jack along with it. He hadn’t changed a tire in years, but the process was simple, and he had the new tire on in ten minutes. He placed the flat in the trunk along with the milk crate of supplies, climbed into the driver’s seat and was on his way to work.

  With the stock tires, the car didn’t look as mean as it could, but it still hauled ass. Aaron hoped to save up enough money over the summer to get the paint job he wanted and maybe a set of new chrome rims.

  Looking at his phone, he saw that he was going to be late. Instead of taking the normal route to work, he decided to use the back roads. They were winding, and single-lane, but he could speed, because it was very rare that cops patrolled them.

  In the scheme of everyday life, speeding wasn’t a huge deal, but for Aaron it could mean being sent back to prison. He wasn’t too worried about that now as he sped along the winding road, hoping to make up the time he’d spent changing the tire. There was only one place where cops could potentially sit and wait for speeders—the straightaway strip he was approaching.

  Coming around the bend to the said strip of asphalt, he slowed so that he was only traveling five miles an hour over the speed limit, a degree acceptable in the eyes of the law.

  Glancing at the clock, he figured he was making good time and would arrive at work just before his shift. More relaxed, he reached out to turn on the radio and noticed how filthy his fingers were from changing the tire. “Shit,” he muttered, seeing that his other hand was smudged with grime too. Even though he manned the dishwasher and scrubbed pots and pans at work, he still needed to show up looking presentable. Not like he had come from working in a mechanic’s garage. He glanced down at his shirt to make sure he hadn’t gotten any filth on it and breathed a sigh of relief. He needed something to clean his hands off with and decided to use some of the hand sanitizer he kept in his car, along with napkins from the glove box.

  After a few squirts of alcohol-laced goo, he lathered his hands and reached over to open the glove box. A dark blur caught his attention as something shot from the woods and onto the road.

  Aaron gripped the wheel with both hands, his palms and fingers slimy with sanitizer. He jerked the wheel to the right, hoping to avoid the bunny now sitting up in the middle of the road staring at him. But he was too late as the rabbit disappeared under the car.

  He felt the first of numerous thuds as the furry creature’s body bounced and tumbled between the undercarriage and pavement. He cringed, hoping he’d killed the creature upon the initial impact, not wanting it to suffer. His mind conjured the scene happening below him—the bunny’s gray fur slick with blood, bones snapping like twigs, puncturing its soft hide.

  When the thudding ceased, he glanced in the rearview mirror. The rabbit’s limp form rolled a short distance to the double yellow lines, its long ears flopping wildly. He slowed the car and kept an eye on the rearview mirror and the furry lump in the road. He waited for it to move, but it was clearly dead. Relief flooded through him. He was glad he wouldn’t have to go back and put it out of its misery. Ready to hit the gas and head on to work, his heart nearly stopped when a gray sedan appeared from the bushes behind him. He knew it could only be one thing, and then the flashing red light confirmed his suspicion as his blood went cold.

  Looking at the speedometer, he saw he was traveling twenty miles an hour below the speed limit. There was no way the cop was after him, and hitting a rabbit that he tried to avoid wasn’t illegal. Still, the way the sedan pulled out, seeing the red light, put a huge scare into him.

  He glanced up the road. There were no other cars around, and he couldn’t remember coming upon one since he’d left his house. The stretch of pavement seemed eerily deserted, but it was early in the morning on a lonely back-country road.

  Aaron pulled the car over to the side of the road to allow the cop plenty of room to pass, but to his dismay, the gray sedan pulled up behind him.

  Chapter Three

  Kyle sat in his unmarked cruiser, the vehicle hidden behind thick brush, and upended the Styrofoam coffee cup, finishing the caffeinated beverage. He wanted more, wishing he’d filled a thermos before leaving his house. He didn’t worry about having to piss; out in the sticks, he could get
out of the car at any time and relieve himself without fear of being seen or recorded on a cell phone. He placed the empty cup in a plastic bag, always keeping his vehicle clean.

  He’d been parked for over an hour now, and had hoped to nail a speeder this morning. The hiding spot he’d found was perfection, keeping his car hidden from oncoming cars in both directions. He’d had to cut back some of the overgrowth with hedge clippers and snap a few tree branches, but it was worth it. Now he had a new spot to sit and wait.

  He knew cops didn’t hang out or set up speed traps on most back roads, including Angola Road, the stretch of pavement too winding and out of the way. But he liked to make it one of his places. The low amount of traffic made the road idyllic for dealing with drivers, giving him the leeway he desired.

  Oh, how he hated cell phones.

  He was still pissed about last night, having thought he’d found the one. But she turned out to be another cunt-bitch piece of trash. Another woman who didn’t know her place.

  By the time he’d arrived home, he was fuming and he took his frustration out on his two youngest, Lilly and Jack. Tabitha, the oldest, knew better than to interfere when he slapped them around, which wasn’t often. He owed them a beating anyway for some shit they’d done a week ago, but he felt bad for hitting Lilly so hard and making her nose bleed. Tabitha patched her sister up, and afterward Lilly and Jack came to him and apologized. He said he was sorry too, and they had hot chocolate and shot the rifle, a .22, in the backyard, something his children loved to do. He loved them very much. They deserved a mother.

  Now, thinking about that cunt-bitch again, he swore, “Fuck it all to hell,” and swatted the steering wheel.

  He was tired of sitting around, bored and out of coffee. Ready to head to another location, he heard a car come around the bend. He smiled, ears perked like a dog’s. A few seconds later, a car sped by. Based on observation alone, the guy wasn’t going too fast, but, as far as he was concerned, fast enough to warrant a stop.