Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  The kid was a moron. The blue eyes narrowed, nailing the accusation to the surface of the paper. An incompetent moron. This wasn't high school, this was grade school. This was supposed to be EASY, and he has a D?

  D for disgusting, Walter scoffed and threw the papers into the drawer and forced it shut, crinkling a paper that caught and folded up and out of the drawer in the process of closing. Walter opened it and slipped the paper back in, flattening it for a moment with his knuckles. Then he closed the drawer and gazed at it, thinking of the class picture, the one that showed, by the students' order in the rows, that his runty, pathetic nephew was the tallest and most intimidating looking child in his class. He was also one of the youngest…if the boy's birthday was in the summer. July…or was it June? He couldn't remember.

  The man stared at the drawer for a long while, thinking seriously, for the first time, about what the boy living in his home was like. Shy, timid, puny? But kids his age seemed to be scared of him, in the picture…and he was bigger than them… And he was a fucking moron, to boot. Walter scowled at the thought and turned away from the drawer, moving the cigarette in his mouth. He took it from his lips and slipped it back into the package in his pocket, and then opened the front door. It closed behind him.

  ….

  ….

  Walter sat on a concrete structure that surrounded a planted tree and a few flowers that burst with color in the sunlight. He supposed the structure was meant to double as a bench as he was aware of the friction smoothed corners and edges. A 'Guest' badge glinted in the light while the man sat quietly with one leg crossed over the other, eyes fixed on the open door that emitted a cacophony of children's voices. They were gathering their things, preparing for the bell that would set them loose upon the land. Walter couldn't see any of the students, but he could see part of the whiteboard and the teacher's desk at the front corner of the room. The woman didn't notice him as she spoke to her students, hurrying before the bell would send them running out the door.

  "And don't forget…"

  Biiiiing!

  The bell cut off her reminder and children poured out of the classroom followed by pairs of more obedient students that had stopped to listen to the woman. Walter waited, looking at the little faces, waiting for his nephew to appear. Vincent materialized suddenly in the doorway, his head down, watching his steps. He split off from the stream of children to head in a different direction. His back was to Walter, missing the man completely. Walter frowned, surprised by the development. He stood and followed the shorter steps, turning the corner to find that Vincent was passing the after school pick up crowd the other children had immediately dissolved into. Only a few children were making their way towards the sidewalk to go home on foot. Walter paused, and then ducked into the office to turn in the useless 'Guest' badge. He emerged, going in the direction he knew the boy had taken. Kids traveled in packs, giggling and joking together as they walked home. Or maybe they were going somewhere else? Walter didn't know, and he didn't care. He only looked at them because of his faint interest to know how other grade school children behaved and interacted with one another. Otherwise, his eyes were searching for the black mop of hair that belonged to his nephew. He turned at the end of the border of black fencing that enclosed the school and saw, down the sidewalk shadowed by trees and the beginning of a street-long line of shoulder touching buildings…there was his nephew, walking by himself. None of the other children had turned at the corner. They had crossed the street with the crossing guard holding up a stop sign to assure them safe passage.

  He followed the figure until it disappeared, going into an alley. Walter hung back to preserve his secrecy, but was able to watch as the boy unzipped his backpack and rummaged through some loose papers, selecting the ones he would crinkle up into balls and throw into a trashcan. Then the child hitched his bag onto his back and strolled down the sidewalk. Walter glanced at the trashcan, but didn't bother himself with touching it. He knew what the boy had been doing, or he at least had a good idea of what papers his nephew had thrown away. Following the boy again, they managed to travel down a few blocks before Vincent diverged from his path once more and disappeared into a side alley. When Walter reached it, however, the boy had disappeared.

  Bemused, Walter peered around in the gloom before giving up and making his way home on his own.

  …

  …

  …

  The sound of muffled voices…and then nothing again.

  It was always so quiet. When would his nephew be coming home?

  …

  …

  Can a man in a coma dream?

  "Can my uncle dream?"

  The nurse that was leaving the sterilized and overbearingly plain room stopped by the open door and looked back over her shoulder at the teen that had his eyes on the man in the bed. Months without sunshine, Walter's gaunt skin still managed to hold more color than Vincent's. The boy's appearance had alarmed the nurse as she had never observed such a severe genetic skin defect before or such brilliant blood-red eyes. But the question was soft, a voice that belonged to a human being. It warmed her to a state of compassion and she smiled. "I see no reason why he can't dream."

  Her smile lingered on the boy a moment longer as he continued to stand and watch his uncle. He wanted privacy, she realized, so she quietly exited the room and closed the door behind her. Once she was gone, a pale hand delved into the teen's pocket.

  Vincent had observed the multitude of holiday decorations twinkling throughout the hospital, teeming with visitors that had come to see their friends or loved ones on Christmas morning. They had brought gifts and their own decorations to cheer up the patient they were visiting. His uncle couldn't appreciate any gifts or decorations in his state, but Vincent pulled out the Christmas tree ornament despite this, and hung it on the IV stand next to the man's bed. It made a shitty Christmas tree, but it was okay at getting rid of some of the plain room's depressing atmosphere. Vincent was able to smile at the man when the ornament rocked back and forth on the stand. The teen brought a chair to the bed and sat in it.

  "Merry Christmas Uncle." The grin became awkward for only a moment before joy made it into a real smile, and the red eyes sparked with light as he watched the man. "It's been raining tons, enough to flood the whole city. I'm expecting to see Noah's Ark come sailing through the streets sometime soon. You like rain, don't you Uncle? Or you don't really have favorites. You like everything and dislike everything too. It's funny, kinda. But I don't mean anything bad by that, don't get mad… It's just raining a lot, even right now, on Christmas. I didn't get you a present, though. When you can sit up and open your eyes to look at it, then I'll get you something, or I'll make something again. That okay?" The smile filled the boy's face and he looked down at his lap and moved his hand over his thigh, thinking.

  "Y'know, Jack-bean's doing good…pretty well for himself with the cars and stuff. He has a nice place to himself. Still has his rats. Saw Esmeralda yesterday, and I fed her popcorn and stuff. Her ears are nice and soft…hm." The eyes flicked up to the man, but did not focus on his gauntness or pale skin, only his form and the face the boy's memory constructed, broadening the smile. Hands squeezed the teen's knees. "I made a new friend." He broke out laughing. "Ah, I sound like a stupid little kid still, right? Hope I'm not annoying you, cuz it's not fair…you can't leave the room or tell me to shut up…" Eyes dropped to Vincent's lap and the smile faded. "His name's Alex…Leroy Rodriguez, a football player from my school. Plays quarterback, or something. Not sure, I've never really been interested in school spirit or the sports there. His season's over now, I think…so yeah." Vincent stretched his arm and then moved it over his mouth to cover an odd yawn. His hands slapped onto his thighs. The boy directed his eyes to the curtain that glowed blue from the light outside. Shadows would dot and dribble down it, mimicking the rain that was hitting the glass. "I went to his house and stuff. His mom is Chief Rodriguez, but it's okay, she's cool. She could've arrested me a lo
t of times…she knows I'm in a gang…she caught me after a fight… But she's cool…and I'm not going to tell her anything. She cooked me dinner. She made shark…yeah, shark. That was pretty freaken badass food." He chuckled and glanced at the man, expecting him to laugh, and then lost the expectation. "I played for them, Rodriguez and the Chief. They're…I like them. I think you'd like 'em too. The Chief's kinda like you, but, you know, a lot different and a lot more female." Vincent smiled to himself, recalling the time he had spent with the Rodriguezs. Then he remembered Rodriguez's most recent visit and how angry he had been. The smile was gone and the eyes dimmed. "I've finally realized that I'm a complete and total dumbass, Uncle. I messed up and got myself in trouble. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, though. Still got all my digits, nothin' cut off, nothing broken. Just bruises and a few little cuts. I got off easy, I think. But I don't think…Jack-bean was a little…about it… And I made up some stuff cuz Jake came to the Chief's house and got me, because I was there, Chief took me there and I slept over…well, I said I had left without saying goodbye or thanking them…because I was bored and that pissed Rodriguez off, and now his family hates me. But, whatever. I had to do it, you know…had to, no choice, dumbass thing to let it happen at all, though. Dumbass thing…" Vincent's chin touched his chest as he slouched in the chair, gazing at nothing. "I'm a real jackass, Uncle, and I don't want to be one. I don't like to be a dumb jackass, but I am. I piss off everyone and make them all worry, when I'm not worth worrying over. And I call Rodriguez an ass all the time, when I'm the real ass." It was quiet as the wind picked up, slamming the rain into the glass and howling faintly over the edges of the building. Vincent blinked a few times, focusing his vision as he took his hands from his legs and dragged them into the pocket on his sweatshirt. It was a little damp from the rain that had hit him on his way into the hospital. His hood, which was covering his head, was still a bit damp as well. A cough came and Vincent turned around with a jerk to keep it away from his uncle. His throat stung afterwards, and he remained sitting in the chair at an angle to keep his breath away form the man. "I feel lousy, Uncle. Not the coughing or anything, that's nothing, just annoying. But I just feel lousy. I-I…"

  Vincent choked and turned around to stare at the door and the head that poked inside. The woman's eyes widened with a blush on her cheeks and she stammered an apology before shutting the door. "So sorry! Wrong room…!"

  Vincent stared at the door and then fixed his position in the chair, again reminded of how bland and quiet the room was. He looked at the hanging tree ornament to make himself happier. Pale lips were bitten cruelly when Vincent blinked a few times, hating the fact that the ornament just made him want to cry. But he wasn't going to let himself be reduced to a crying pansy. He wasn't gonna let it happen. Never. So he bit his lip, which was already split in two different places, and blood tainted his mouth with iron. He swallowed while his hands came to grip his knees as he bent over. Drops of water splattered onto the tiles between his shoes and on the jeans he was wearing.

  Stupid fucking Christmas. It should all burn in Hell, every last God damned Christmas tree and fuckin' elf out there. Fuck Christmas…he hated it. It made you too damn lonely.

  Tears dripped down the boy's nose as blood slipped over his chin and mixed with the water that had fallen onto the floor. The first shaking sob came and filled the room as the rain fell harder outside.

  Vincent thought he had done it because he wanted to walk home in the rain, that's why he had told Jake not to bother picking him up, he'd take a cab. A cab, where the hell would he find money for a cab? Jake was so stupid sometimes, it was funny. That's why he liked Jake. He was funny, like a clown, like Rodriguez…aw fuck. Screw Rodriguez and Jack-bean and Christmas and Hell. His socks were soaked through and he could feel water move around like tiny oceans in his converse. It had seeped in through the cloth and the ringed holes on the sides of his shoes. Whoever designed these shoes were freaken retarded, no offense to the mentally disabled. But Vincent couldn't understand why, after years of being in use, WHY nobody had made them WATER PROOF. Goddamn motherf… Stupid idiots.

  But he didn't really care that his shoes squelched as he walked or that his sweatshirt clung to him like freaken plastic wrap or something. His hair and clothes were plastered to his skin, only his jeans had a hard time sticking to his flesh. They were too baggy.

  The rain was falling and cars splashed the boy when they dashed through puddles and the river of rain water running along the side of the curb.

  He was soaked and he was cold, but it felt good, for some reason, so he didn't care that the cars were drenching him with dirty rain water. He just didn't care.

  The boy trudged through puddles that managed to collect on the water darkened sidewalk, walking block after block, making his way home. The wind howled and a chill caught his frame, playing with his nerves and tingling his spine with convulsing shocks. He shivered without noticing. The dripping tree that grew near the stairs could be seen across the swamp of slushy grass. He skirted the building and reached the stairs. There the roof covered him, so the absence of rain managed to jolt his senses with the loss of the familiar sensation of continually falling droplets landing on his sweatshirt. The wind hit him from behind, freezing his clothes until he figured that they had turned to ice, and the sky moaned as the trees seen over the ledge of the walkway, at the top of the stairs, creaked, threatening to fracture into pillars of splinters. But all of this went unnoticed by the boy's senses in a moment of nerve numbing surprise. He could not hear the wind or feel its chilled fingers dig into his skin and run up his spine. The red gaze stared at the tall figure wearing an elegant red trench coat that fluttered because of the weather, about the man's shins. His skin was light, only given some additional coloring because of the influence of sun it appeared to be accustomed to feeling, his hair was blonde but with a reddish tint that kept it from being golden, and cobalt blue eyes shone with the blaze of electric fire, though the face was lined heavily with age. Vincent stared at the stranger and the stranger stared back at him, analyzing the story the wind whipped hair and soaked clothes told. There were others that seemed to pull themselves from the old man's form, detaching as they appeared and watched the dripping teen. Pure gold swathed the tan face as the wind swirled through the walkway, and then it was blown behind the woman again as a hand brushed it aside. There were two others, one that was taller than the old man, and a curvy figure wrapped in a pink raincoat that glistened from the light emitted by the buzzing light bulb protruding from the wall.

  It was the Rodriguez family…as blonde as ever…

  "Vincentimir, you're soaking wet. Where have you been? Wandering around out in the rain again?"

  Vincent didn't move, frozen by this surreal situation. Richard was already walking towards him, and then William edged closer as well, while the old man and Rodriguez hung back and merely watched as water dripped from the pale boy's face and streamed steadily from parts of his clothing.

  They weren't supposed to be here…it was like having Jake go to their house. They were separate worlds; they shouldn't be able to overlap. He felt the wet, heavy clothes weighing him down and his face twitched with horror. He hadn't allowed himself to get wet to have people see him like this and pity him. He had done it with the intention of hiding it, of keeping it to himself, to enjoy the damp and cold feeling, not for pity, not for sympathy. His stomach knotted as the woman approached and stretched out her hand. He jerked and avoided the touch, glaring warily at the floor and then glancing the look over the humans before him. The look told them to go away, if they were actually real and not a dream, before the boy spoke quietly, bristling at the sound of his own growl.

  "Leave." They stared at him, none of the eyes leaving his figure. He bent his head, darkening his features as he narrowed the glare. "Go away. I don't want you here."

  Richard watched the boy and her eyes also narrowed. She was frowning, toughening her expression to combat the red glare. "We've been w
aiting for a while, Vincentimir. We'd very much appreciate it if you'd join us for dinner."

  Vincent stared at her, but his eyes were relaxing as his muscles clenched his jaw instead. "You're ruining your Christmas…to invite me to eat dinner with you?" He questioned, reading the blue gazes and then the green. "I thought you were mad at me."

  "I'm not stupid enough to believe the bull you sent my son home with." A sharp voice cut back, demanding to have the red eyes again. Richard was stiff and authoritative, watching the boy as her arms crossed. A dullness passed over her eyes and then burned away. Water was still pouring from the black sweatshirt as if it contained all of the seven seas in its swollen threads. Damn. The kid looked a wreck. His face was blue where the bruises were obvious as they registered in the woman's eyes when she focused on what the hood was attempting to hide. His hands were hidden in his pockets, but she had noticed that his fingernails had turned purplish blue with cold, and as he stood there, he began to shift around as the cold and wet began to affect him. She wasn't sure, but she thought she could see him shiver.

  Richard scowled, conscious of what her children were also observing. This was something that made one doubt humanity. "You're going to eat dinner with us and change your clothes. I can't ignore a puppy when it's hungry and shivering in the rain."

  "I'm not your dog." Vincent leveled his voice so that it was low and deep with disdain or annoyance. He looked at the face calmly, wiping his mind clear of emotion and complicated thought. He just needed to get in his room and lock the door. Then it would be over and he would be free to do whatever he wanted. Just get to the door…his body angled as if to slide past the blondes along the wall, to reach to his room. But Richard moved to the wall, discouraging him. William copied her, closer to the door. Even Rodriguez had taken a step towards the wall. Vincent glowered at them rebelliously and took another step forward, coming close enough to touch Richard if he wanted to. Red wouldn't look at her, secretly mortified to find that she had a better view of his clothes and face right now. "Go away…this is illegal, right? Harassment. I'll call the cops."