Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  Vincentimir was then sent to his uncle's house. To little Vincent, the big city called 'down town' was an alien world compared to the boy's hometown. It was loud and bright. There were people everywhere you looked, their tall figures replacing traditional scenery like trees while large buildings replaced hills and distant mountains. And it was dirty. The streets, the sidewalks, the people, they were all dirty.

  Walter C. Ramos did not look like his brother. He was tall and lean like a cat, with long black hair tied back behind his head, and bright, dangerous blue eyes. His mouth was always ready to turn into a scowl just as his hands were always ready for a fight, covered by black, fingerless gloves. His home was gloomy and filled with books and mismatched furniture, but shelves filled with odd trinkets distracted visitors from these things. Such as the blackened mummy hand displayed in a wooden display box with a glass window. No one even noticed that every other chair around the table was of a different style, once their eyes had been captured by the dead human flesh. The house was out of the ordinary, but so was Walter C. Ramos, so the two fit one another, just like his gloves.

  At forty-three years old, Walter had never married and had never dreamed of having children of his own, so he did not approve of the little runt that timidly squeezed the handle of the red luggage smushing the boy's tinny toes. It also did not help Walter like his nephew any better now that he had learned that his brother had left him nothing in his will. So the man scowled at the child as the boy was left in his care and made his responsibility to take care of. A pleasant woman wearing a dress suit smiled at Walter before patting Vincent on the shoulder and closing the door.

  They stared at one another for a long time, finding each other's strangeness with their eyes. The man's gaze narrowed, adopting creases as he noted the red eyes and the pale skin. He would have believed the child to be an albino if not for the deep black hair and the lack of glasses on the child's face. And the red eyes were gifted with enviable vision whereas the eyes of an albino are crippled with rather limited sight.

  Vincent's wide eyes gazed up at the man, too intimidated by his scowl to look away. He shivered once and swallowed noisily.

  "Come." The boy jerked at the sudden order that had broken their unspoken pledge to silence. His knuckles turned white on the handle as the scowl on the man's face persisted and his cold voice returned. "I'll show you where you're going to be sleeping."

  Walter turned and strode past his shelves and the table with mismatched chairs and then through a door that had not been closed. Vincent scampered after him for a moment, but was caught by the sight of the black hand on the shelf near the table, and he was forced to stop. His mouth hung open slightly, pink lips glistening on the inside from the light that hit the side of his young face, and his eyes grew even wider, mesmerized by the hand. Walter had stopped in the next room and observed the eyes and the face and the lips, without a scowl. He moved forward silently to glance at the hand as well, and then watched the boy for a while longer.

  "Does it scare you?"

  Vincent jumped, stepping backwards and stumbling over the luggage behind him. He fell on top of it, and then quickly got up and looked at the blank faced man in the doorway. The black hair swished as the boy shook his head anxiously and went to him. Walter paused before turning to walk through another open door at the other end of the room, this time without checking to see if the boy was following him. He stopped at the first closed door the boy had yet seen, and opened it. Vincent peered into the darkness, and could make out a large bed with a nightstand beside it, occupied by a fat blue lamp. There was little else in the room.

  "I don't like to waste money on things I do not want to pay for." Walter was scowling again, this time at the dark room. His hand reached inside and flicked a switch on the wall, and then he flicked it off again as he changed his mind and turned his scowl upon the boy. Vincent's chin met his chest while his thin shoulders rose protectively, eyes staring up at his uncle. "I only have one bed. You'll either sleep there with me or on the couch in the room we just passed through." He waited for a few seconds. Then he growled irritably as the little boy remained mute. "Do you want to sleep on the couch? Or would you rather sleep in the bed? I'm giving you the choice because the couch has had a strange smell ever since your grandfather died while taking a nap on it." He cocked his head towards the door to the other room while Vincent's mouth fell into a gape at his words. "So what's it going to be?"

  An urgent pink finger pointed at the bed as Vincent continued to stare and gape at his uncle. Walter's scowl deepened at his quietness and the answer, and he jabbed his own finger at the bed. "Sleep on the right side over there. I sleep on the left. And for your own sake, you should pray that the day you wet yourself in my bed never comes, brat. Now get." He raised his voice a little, causing the boy to hurry into the room. "And go to sleep. It's passed eleven already and I'll have to wake you up early to bring you to school." He closed the door, leaving the boy in the pitch dark, and began to move away from his room. He added one more order when he thought of it. "And change into your clean pajamas. I don't need your dirty clothes messing up my bed." Then the man walked through the room with the couch, passed the table with the mismatched chairs and the shelves with odd trinkets, and went out the front door to enter the night and the dirty city streets.

  When Walter C. Ramos returned, he showered and put something on to sleep in, and then pulled back his covers to get into bed. The man froze, almost dropping the blanket when he saw the little back marked a with chu-chu train print. Vincent was curled up on the left side of the bed. He was sleeping, curled up on the wrong side of the bed. Walter bit his lips together until they began to lose some of their warmth and color, only releasing them to form a scowl. Two gloved hands slipped under the sleeping boy's arms and lifted him out of the bed, shocking him from his sleep. The small figure swung slightly as Walter carried it roughly from the room, throwing Vincent over his shoulder when he had to open the door. He let the boy fall onto the couch and then spun on his heels and left the room. He the door to his bedroom.

  In the morning when the man went to the couch, it was empty and the cushions were cool to the touch. Frowning to himself, Walter searched the room with his eyes and then marched through the open door. He stopped there, staring down at the boy curled up on the rug peeking from beneath the table with mismatched chairs, where he could look at the black hand from the floor.

  His blue eyes lingered on the peaceful face and the parted pink lips that didn't move as the boy breathed through them. Then two black shoes stopped in front of the sleeping child. "Wake up."

  Nothing happened.

  "Wake up!" Walter barked with an added snarl. Vincent jolted and tore his head from the rug to gaze in fear at the man, his arms and legs scooting him back and under a chair. The man sighed angrily, a fist formed by his side. "Get out of there. You need to get ready for school." His eyes followed the boy when he darted from the room. He came back a few minutes later while Walter was leaning against the front door impatiently. Vincent's hair was still messy with sleep, but Walter didn't care at this point. He just opened the door and told the boy to come. Then he locked it and tramped over the cement and grass, away from his door and down the little hill to the sidewalk lining the street. The confused and apprehensive boy said nothing as he trotted along, taking two steps for every long stride his uncle made down the sidewalk. Vincent wondered if they were going to walk all the way to school, if his uncle even had a car, where he was going to get his breakfast and his lunch, and what his school was going to be like. He had never been to a public school before. His mother had homeschooled him since he was five years old, so he wasn't sure what fifth grade would be like with a different teacher and other kids his age.

  While he had been wondering all of this, they passed a series of iron bars making up a black fence in front of a humble school campus. Then they turned into an opened gate, moving along while cars swung to the curb where a separate road had split from the street
to enter the campus. Children chattered and laughed as they emerged from these cars, jumping from their booster seats or the generally oversized seats built into the car, to leap through the van door while carrying a lunch bag and a backpack in tow. Mothers would blow them a kiss goodbye and tell them to have fun at school and to learn a lot. Vincent watched them with pursed lips, feeling his cheeks redden as his eyes moistened. He took a shaky breath and ducked his head shamefully as he followed the stolid back. But soon, he lost sight of the back. Alarmed, Vincent whipped around to see the man leaving him behind, going back to the gate to exit the school.

  The ten year old boy stood there, dumb with amazement. Sniffling, the large red eyes darted about, desperately watching for a hint that would tell him what he was supposed to do next. His eyes found a building with a sign that read 'Office', so he went to it and peered through the glass window in the door. There was a high counter and a lady that walked away. Pulling open the door, Vincent shuffled to the counter and stood on his tippy toes. His eyes watched a big woman writing on some white papers with a fake flower. The boy recognized that the flower was actually a pen and he set his stubby pink fingers on the edge of the counter to hold himself up.

  After a few moments, the woman started and looked up, squinting at the boy through the rectangular lenses of her glasses. A beaded strap draped down from the frame of the glasses and looped around the back of her neck, unheeded by hair since she had cut it short and dyed it blonde at the same time. She flinched at the red eyes, leaning back in her chair with a gasp, and had to blink several times to make sure that she was not hallucinating.

  "Excuse me." Came a quiet whisper that made her flinch again. Her eyes gradually warmed when she listened to the soft spoken child. "I'm Vincent and I'm supposed to go to fifth grade today, but I don't know where my class is. Do you know where the fifth graders go?"

  The woman smiled slightly and folded her hands over her papers before she drew them away and swiveled her chair to face the monitor of her computer. She reached and clicked on the mouse while the red eyes followed her every movement. They blinked when she asked him for his full name.

  "Vincentimir Max Ramos."

  The woman paused, digesting the unique name, and then typed it out on her keyboard. "So you go by Vincent?"

  The black hair bobbed as the child nodded. "Yes, I do Miss. Everyone calls me Vincent, but some people call me Vincentimir. I have two names."

  "Alright." Her smile grew a little as she turned to the printer that had suddenly come to life. It spat out a piece of paper with a teacher's name and classroom number on it. The woman gave it to the boy who clung to the paper, reading the words quickly. She stood up and watched him for a moment, and then searched for the adult she assumed was waiting behind him. No one was there. Her eyes fell to the little boy that was beginning to fill with dismay. He looked at her uneasily.

  "I don't know where room 15 is."

  The office was quiet for a while and the woman's hand swept over the counter, her wedding ring scrapping against it. "Aren't your parents with you? Your mother or father?"

  The boy stared at her and slowly shook his head while his eyes descended down the side of the counter and reached his black sneakers with their big, loopy laces.

  Taken aback, the woman's eyes roamed the office, as if doubting the boy. They returned to him and the big woman sighed sadly. A finger rose to point down a short hall with a few open doors. "Ask one of the aids to help you. They'll take you to your class."

  "Thank you." Vincent whispered, nodding his head to the woman respectfully. She noticed his unoccupied back with a twinge of pity as he followed her directions. He didn't even have a backpack or a lunchbox, the poor boy. She shook her head at the adult that appeared with the boy, giving the woman a questioning look. The aid walked Vincent to his classroom and went to the teacher. Mr. Olson received a shock when the aid left and he took a good look at his new pupil. The large crimson eyes and pale skin made the boy seem inhuman at first glance. Shaking off the feeling, the teacher showed Vincent to an empty seat so he could put his supplies away. When the boy told him he didn't have any, Mr. Olson grumbled to himself and took a few pencils and some paper from his own desk. Then he went to the cabinets lining the wall beneath a few windows, and drew out the textbooks the boy would need. When he was done the bell had rung, so the teacher told his new student to stand in front of the board to wait for his classmates to come inside.

  The children arrived in pairs or groups, giggling and laughing, quieting their voices a little as they entered the room. Eyes would find the boy, and they would stare until someone pushed the idling child out of the way. When most of the seats had been filled and no more children could be seen wandering around outside, the teacher walked across the room and closed the door.

  "Scary." A girl blurted out excitedly, inciting a wave of shrieking laughter and others repeated the word. "Scary." "It's weird." "People don't have red eyes." "They're those eye thingies you put in your eyes so you can see without glasses." "Contacts?" "Yeah. They got to be. Nobody has red eyes."

  "Quiet." The teacher commanded dryly and glanced at the upset child staring fearfully at the class. "Tell us your name."

  "I'm Vincent." The boy murmured.

  There was a roar of laughter that reddened the pale cheeks, causing them to burn with shame.

  The teacher sighed and shook his head. "Your full name please."

  "Vincentimir Max Ramos."

  Vincent squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the laughter to return. It was silent. Then the room came back to life.

  "That's a long name." "That's not a people name." "Yeah. He's weird." "Maybe he's from a different country." "Or a different planet." Some sniggered. "He's a freak." "What's that? What's a freak?" "A weird mutant with red eyes."

  They laughed again, erasing the teacher's order for Vincent to go to his seat. The man had to repeat himself before the boy reluctantly opened his eyes and moved to the desk in the back of the room. Children leaned away from him and made gagging sounds or laughed. When he slumped into his chair, he started and stared at the faces that turned to him.

  "Are those your real eyes?" A boy demanded, and then waited, proud to have been the first to ask. He took some air of authority after that. Being the one seated closest to the strange boy, he relayed all of the class's questions.

  Vincent nodded slowly. "Yeah."

  "That's so weird! Do your brothers and sisters have red eyes too?"

  "Yeah! Do they? Do they?" Someone else asked.

  "No…I don't have any brothers or sisters." Vincent jerked at the next onslaught of whispers. The teacher told the class to quiet down and the day's lessons began. A note hit Vincent's shoulder in the middle of class. He opened it curiously after giving a questioning look to the boy in front of him. The boy was turned around, waiting for his answer.

  Are you human?

  The boy's eyes grew wide and he stared at the other boy, He could feel a sob climbing up his throat, so he swallowed and blinked away the tears that were developing in his eyes. "I'm human. What else would I be?"

  "Vincent!"

  The boy jerked and gazed at his teacher, surprised by the yell. "Yes?"

  "No talking during class!"

  He bent over his desk as the laughter returned and whimpered. "Sorry."

  Vincent was hugging his knees, sitting on the curb of the round-about used for pick-up. But pick-up was over. Day care was over. The day was over, and the moon was up in the sky. A frustrated aid was tapping her foot on the curb, her arms crossed with her mouth contorted into a pout. "Are you sure you don't know your home phone number? Or your parent's cell phone number?"

  Vincent's shoulder's stiffened. "N..no." He blinked and a single tear escaped. "I'm sorry." He croaked out, and then had to swallow to keep himself from crying.

  "Oh, God." The woman grabbed her bun and turned around helplessly, looking back at the empty school. "And you don't know how to get home?"

  "M…mm.
No."

  The woman began pacing and muttering to herself, occasionally rubbing her arms. She looked down at the blue sweatshirt the boy was wearing, and then continued to search the school and the streets for the sign of a parent coming to pick up their child. Minutes passed and she finally groaned and sat beside Vincent on the curb.

  "I was wondering where you were."

  The aid gasped and jumped to her feet while Vincent jerked up to see his uncle standing a few yards away, near the street. The man ignored the angry woman that began to talk to him and slapped his thigh lightly. "Come here. I'll walk you home."

  "Are you his father?" The woman demanded huffily, crossing her arms as she lost her remaining patience.

  Walter glared at her. "No. This is my nephew." He pointed at Vincent, who had stood and was shuffling his feet as he walked to the man's side. "He should have walked home. I showed him the way this morning, and it's not far."

  The woman deflated a little and passed a chilled look to the boy. "Well," She swiped at a loose hair that was hanging in her face. "…we're going to need your phone number and address on file in the case of an emergency."

  "Fine. Expect to have it tomorrow morning." Walter said and pivoted to stride down the sidewalk. Vincent ran after him and then jogged by his side, tripping at times. The man didn't seem to notice.

  The boy was wheezing a little, but he was too scared to ask his uncle to slow down. When they reached the apartment and his uncle had unlocked the door, Vincent staggered into the room and sat down on the floor by the wall. Walter closed the door with a flick of his wrist, throwing a scowl at the boy. "What are you doing on the floor? Get up? Are you an animal? Get off the floor!"

  Vincent whimpered and shook his head, trembling slightly.

  "Why? Do you like sitting and sleeping on floors, boy?"

  The child shook his head again, and choked on his own breath.