Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  Walter's face didn't change, already wearing his detached expression, but Joshua Savage's face darkened and his head tilted to the side vaguely. So the boy was ignorant of everything. The boy was damn stupid…damn stupid. But… Brown eyes widened a little and the muscles in his neck tightened. That meant that this was more serious than he…no, it was one of the most unfortunate scenarios he had considered.

  Walter hadn't said anything, so Vincent glanced up at him emptily and then watched the floor. The boy wasn't sure what he should say with Jake's father present, so he chose his words carefully. "What I saw…you do that? You do that…you- have you done that a lot before?"

  Walter was a silent specter, observing the boy to see what would happen next. While deliberating, Vincentimir looked less of a child than he ever had in the man's memory. It amused him to some extent, how this was always the case, how a state of urgency or trauma made people seem deceivingly more experienced and removed some of the influence of age. It was the time that distinguished the religious from the faithless, the moral from the monsters, the heroes from the people that just thought they were good. Interesting, nearly fascinating, but mostly amusing.

  Vincent dithered for another moment. "You…do that…to people…a lot of people…just whoever-people…walking-people…good-people or bad-people? Or is it…just…anyone?"

  There was a pause as attention was diverted to the sound of a lighter sparking a flame to ignite the end of the cigarette hanging from Joshua's mouth. The transparent blue plastic allowed the sloshing of the liquid inside the lighter to be seen before a large hand stuffed it into a denim pocket. The same hand went to hold the lighter while the man dragged on the filter, shortening the length of the cigarette. Walter was listening so he knew exactly what the man was doing and how he would appear. Vincent was staring at him blankly, not thinking. His mind snapped back into thought when the man blew out a stream of smoke and spoke to Walter.

  "So he saw your work? Was it a messy one or a clean shot?" Brown glanced at the stunned, gawking boy, remotely touched by grim humor. "That is what he's talking about, right? Or was it another job?"

  Another job? Vincent's world slowed for a moment and he grew distant, watching the man draw on his cigarette, some smoke escaping from his mouth or nose, taking another drag before exhaling a cloud, brown eyes returning to Vincent to pull him back. The boy stared, his mouth shut.

  The brown eyes watched Vincent though the man spoke to Walter. "Clean? He'd be in hysterics if he saw a- 'messy' one, wouldn't he? Yeah, most likely. But he saw it."

  "It was nothing." Walter's deadpan response stole Vincent's eyes and emptied them further. Both men were unresponsive to the concept of spilling human blood.

  The memory exploded behind Vincent's eyes, flashes, light, fear, an overwhelming flood of emotion pouring into him... His voice erupted from his lips, suddenly, lifted to the partial screech of a heated young voice. "You cut his head off!" Joshua blinked at the force and flare of resentment in the boy's tone, as well as the remaining airy disbelief that came out as a pant. "He fell down and blood came out like all that was inside of him was blood! Like he was a bag of blood! Endless blood!"

  Walter frowned and he moved to focus his weight on one of his legs and slip his hand into his pocket. The words were slow, selected. "I didn't fully decapitate him. Only two thirds or so of the way… I cut the head off later, though. The wobbling was messy and… annoying." Blue narrowed, seeking out the boy's responses. His tactics of intimidation seemed to be wearing thinner than expected on the child.

  Vincent stared, filled with more disbelief, fear, and disgust with the douse of incredulity and the feeling of the surreal that washed over him when he heard Jake's father chuckle in the background. Chuckling, like it was a joke to laugh at.

  "You think this is funny?" Jake's father lost his amusement at the boy's tone and Walter's frown deepened to affect his forming glare. The indifference in the brown eyes angered Vincent for a reason he could not find. The red gaze narrowed and white teeth snapped. "It's not funny! Killing people isn't funny! It's bad and wrong andsick!"

  "Watch your mouth." The warning earned a cautious, yet defiant, stare from the pale child who warily kept his gaze on his uncle. "You don't get to speak to people that way when you're just a shitty little brat. You lecturing and making judgments about anything, is a joke. What do you know, Vincentimir? Tell me what you know… People kill and are killed every other second. Who cares who it is, when or where it happens, or how? Dead's dead, get that through your head now and it will save you a life of trouble. There's no good-people or bad-people. There's just people. And I don't care what you think, boy, and no one does. Give people names if you want, it won't mean anything. You don't know anything. You haven't done anything. You're nothing but a worthless bookworm at this point. You think you read something somebody else wrote or heard what somebody else said and now you have the power to say anything and be right about it?"

  Large red eyes blinked, following his uncle's words with an echoing conscience. Vincent spoke up with a returning meekness Walter disdained. "But even the Bible says not to kill people…"

  "A stupid bookworm response. A bunch of ignorant bastards wrote that book, boy, and there's no getting around that. –Now I'm done discussing this with a brat. You can either come with me or starve in the streets for a few nights. See if your Bible can feed you and keep you warm. I can already tell you that books aren't bullet proof, no matter how many prayers you put in them."

  It was quiet, Joshua Savage with his back against the wall, watching smoke collect on the ceiling and disperse. Vincent sat lifelessly on the couch with his uncle standing with mounting impatience in front of him.

  "We're leaving." Walter turned and walked briskly from the room to the entrance hall where no door separated the two, and here the man paused for a moment while Vincent slipped off the couch to follow him, the child dragging his small black sneakers over the carpet. The bigger man leaning on the wall had his eyes directed straight ahead at the emptying room, holding his cigarette to his lips. He took it out.

  "I'm still a Christian, W.C.D."

  Vincent reached his uncle's side after Walter had looked at the other man for a time, until brown glanced at him. "Did I offend you faith, Joel?" Joshua cringed with a bitter smirk when he received the blunt of the sneering sarcasm, and he chuckled to himself, shaking his head and returning his eyes to the room, inhaling smoke and releasing it.

  "Nah, I'm a messed up Christian. I thought it was hilarious. …Everything's always hilarious, C.D. Laugh at the world, for all that anyone cares… Full of shits and giggles."

  Walter gave his back to the man and headed for the door. Vincent, however, hesitated and looked back at the smoking man, waiting for the eyes. When he had them, the boy gave a kind of vacant nod and spoke in a quiet voice, like a whisper. "Thank you." Joshua kept his gaze on the child after that, unable to find the reason that motivated the boy to thank him. Vincent then faced the end of the hall where he could see the back of the staircase. "Bye Jack-bean."

  Walter had just opened the door and now he stopped to look back. Joshua also came into the hall to see if his son was there, but as his eyes roamed he found no sign of Jake. Vincent was looking at the staircase, so the man looked there too. The boy's just saying it to his room-

  "Bye kid."

  Wood creaked. Jake stood up from where he had been sitting at the top of the stairs. His footsteps were heard when they took him to his room and he closed the door, feigning nonchalance like his life depended on it. Vincent turned and went to his uncle, catching the door when the man refused to hold it open for him. The door shut, leaving Joshua Collin Savage to stand alone in his hallway looking back at it, breathing in the fumes of his cigarette. His hand against his mouth with the filter between two of his fingers, the man sought the staircase, eyes flowing along the edge of the wooden handrail, drifting to the ceiling where he knew his son was in his room.

  The steps creaked faintly
when the man ascended them, and the floor gave off sound when his shoes came in contact with it. He stopped and tapped on Jake's door, able to sense the tenseness that the door emitted afterwards. But he didn't make the teen come out or explain himself; he only looked at the dark wood with his cigarette hanging from his mouth. "'Night Jake."

  The muffled response came after a few seconds of indecision. "'Night Dad."

  And then footsteps took the man away from the door and the Savage house was silent.

  My uncle is a bad man. He goes to sleep late and wakes up early. He never eats. He almost never talks to me. He's gone all day, and at night… he cuts people's heads off. Uncle is a bad man. Jake's dad is a bad man too. Bad-people.

  Vacant eyes followed Walter as he moved through his home, from his bedroom, though his open doors, and as he passed the boy sitting on the small cloth pallet on the rug where the shadow of the table with the mismatched chairs cloaked him. Blue grazed the boy when Walter passed him, but then flicked ahead to the door and did not return to Vincent. The door opened and then shut.

  It was morning. The boy would get dressed, eat breakfast, brush his teeth and hair, and gather his things to go to school, just as he did five times a week, 180 days a year since coming to live with his uncle. Soon Vincent was sitting in a yellow plastic chair behind a wooden desk with a hollowed interior occupied by his books, pencils, folders, and papers. The vacant eyes watched the whiteboard, seeing the varying colors of ink without finding the words and numbers, experiencing the school day without seeing a single face or hearing a single voice. He sat in the shadows under the trees that grew on the other side of the fence around the playground during recess and lunch, wandering over to the isolated location, inherently drawn to the dark setting. No one talked to him. No one looked at him. He was invisible. Vincent was an invisible boy and his uncle was a bad man. Vincent was absent today. He was sleeping. It was so simple, it was revolting.

  The day passed away and the bell for dismissal sounded out over the campus and soon Vincent was wandering along the sidewalk with his backpack on his back, leaving the school he had never entered. He didn't go to the hangout. He didn't look for Jake. He went home, took out the key he kept in his shoe and opened the door, entered, and locked it again. The boy had forgotten to eat lunch, but he wasn't hungry. He went to his mat, took off his shoes, and pulled the blanket over his head. He stayed there until the night fell and Walter opened the door and then bolted it shut.

  The bad man is home. He kills people at night, but it's not late enough. Only when he comes home late. How many times has he come home late?

  Footsteps thumped past Vincent's head and the dull red eyes saw the shadow that moved over his blanket, only now realizing that his eyes were open. They stared at the blanket, hearing the sound of feet and shoes and moving clothes.

  Why are there so many bad people? Why are there so many bad people? Why are so many bad people bad? Why are they bad? Why do they hurt people? Why do people have so much blood in them? People are like bags of blood that spill out when they rip. Why is my favorite color red? Blood is blue inside and turns red when it's outside. I'm a bag too, and my uncle is a man that rips bags open and Jake's dad is a man that laughs at the blood and the empty bags-

  "Boy. What are you doing with your head covered like that?"

  Vincent didn't respond, blinking at the interior of the blanket while his uncle looked down at the covered shape. The man scowled as he bent over and pulled the blanket off the boy's face to reveal the blank eyes. Walter stared at the expressionless white features, his eyes twitching in disturbance at the blankness when Vincent's face didn't change. A gloved hand dropped the blanket and let it fall to cover the boy's face while the man walked away. Walter went to his bedroom and shut the door.

  My uncle is a bad man who sleeps without ever saying goodnight.

  *~ ~*

  Vincent was invisible on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday. He was invisible for most of Friday, but at the end of Friday it turned out to be a P.E. day, and two captains were selected to pick teams for a game of kickball on the diamond of dirt in the elementary school baseball field. People looked at invisible Vincent and Vincent was no longer invisible. Vincent couldn't be absent from school today when people could see him. The teams were fighting over the order for picking players. Neither team wanted the freak, but the freak was forced upon one of the teams, and the unfortunate students groaned while the others cheered as they ran off to get in line to kick the ball. Vincent drifted into the outfield and watched as the game began and enthusiasm returned to his team while Vincent became invisible again. But soon Vincent had to get in line to kick the ball. He ended up at the end. The first kicker got out when someone caught the large red ball that went flying through the air. When the boy shuffled his feet through the dirt, kicking up enough for a small, creeping cloud, he stopped and looked at the red eyed boy that was staring blankly in front of himself with a generous gap between him and the next person in line. The boy who had gotten out cut in front of the pale freak, grinning smugly to himself afterwards, flashing the grin at Vincent who only blinked, before talking to the person in front of him to complain about the girl that was pitching/rolling the balls to the home plate. They cheered when two of the bases were occupied and a girl scored a home run so that three kids went to the back of the line. The boy that had cut in front of Vincent stopped them when they got in line behind the freak and encouraged the three to cut in front of Vincent so that they could 'actually have a chance at winning the game'. The other students followed suit, so Vincent was invisible again.

  "He's too stupid to know anything." "Bet he can't even kick the ball." "He's too stupid to know how to tie his shoes! I bet money your mommy ties your shoes for you. Gah. So stupid, he doesn't even know I'm talking to him." "Ew! You touched him!" "N-No! I didn't!" "Your shoulder did! Gross!" "EWWW!" "You got Vincent-germs! Ew!" "No, don't give them to me! Ew!" "Yeah. Ew!" "Vincent-germs! Vincent-germs! Freak-germs!" "Stop it! Stop it! I don't have 'em! I don't have Vincent-germs! Stop saying that!" "Hey, stop. You're gonna make Emily cry, you jerks. It's okay Emily. I know you didn't touch him, and Stephie's a bitch anyway." "Ya know it. My Mama calls me a piece of work for a reason… Forget it Emily… You didn't touch him, so stop crying. I was just joking, sheesh." Sniff. "Thanks."

  Vincent could disappear. No one was looking at him anyway. He wasn't his name or his germs. He would just stand still and hope no one accidentally bumped him and got his gross germs, his freak disease. He went to the outfield and stood still. He stood still in line. Out in the field a ball came to his feet, so he picked it up and threw it to second base. The girl at second base wouldn't touch the ball, she ducked away when it bounced towards her, squealing about icky germs and how Vincent was gross and had never washed his hands in his life, which wasn't true. It made the other kids laugh on the other team, but Vincent's team turned hateful looks to the boy when the other team scored a home run and the teacher made them use the ball he had touched. The boy that was pitching rolled the ball around in the dirt, touching it gingerly with his fingers like it was some kind of radioactive debris. The boy cringed dramatically when he had to pick it up and pitch, tossing it the same way he might toss something smeared with dog shit. And so, the game continued with the contaminated ball, until P.E. ended and the students returned to their classroom.

  Vincent went home and pulled the blanket over his head. The bad man came home after he had fallen asleep.

  The bad man woke him up the next day, and the blue eyes stared at the child that gazed back up at him, lying on the mat, rarely blinking. Walter frowned and then hissed in disgust, throwing the blanket so that it draped over one of the mismatched chairs.

  "It's 3 in the afternoon. Are you some kind of worthless scumbag that sleeps all day and doesn't do anything? You're the perfect candidate for a homeless bum, kid. Completely worthless. Get out of the house. Get out now!" Walter barked, glowering down at the gaping, vacant eyes. In a flare of d
isdain, he shoved the boy's shoulder with his shoe, in the movement of kicking him without injuring the child, pushing Vincent off of the mat and onto the rug covered floor. "Get up, damn it! You want to be worthless, do it elsewhere. Die in a gutter or something, brat. Just get out of my house!"

  Vincent crawled to his feet and left, following his uncle's order, ignorant of the wrinkles in his clothes that made his uncle scowl and kick the boy's pallet so that the mat folded and caught in a twisted shape beneath the table and the legs of the mismatched chairs. Vincent shut the door gently and walked away, trudging through the short, descending hill of grass under the trees to reach the sidewalk. He wandered down the path of concrete and drifted through the city streets, finding darker and darker shadows to melt into.

  The street was dark and the sky was dark, everything was dark when Vincentimir trudged over the grass once more to reach the front door of his uncle's home. The child's fist knocked on the door and then fell to his side. He waited for a long time, but time meant nothing to him so it didn't matter that he was waiting. Vincent wasn't missing anything, there wasn't anything he wanted to do, time had no worth right now, just like his next breath or thought. He just wanted to sleep.

  Suddenly light shone on the pale face and red eyes brightened when darkness was dispersed by the open door. Walter stood in the doorway, a removed gaze observing the boy. His mouth creasing with a frown, the man spoke. "You have a key."

  Vincent's eyes were unfocused, seeing only the dark blur of his uncle's figure and the light beyond him inside. "I don't know if I'm allowed in." The demure voice murmured, no eye contact being made with Walter now.

  Blue narrowed, lit only by their own thoughts while the light inside could not reach them. Walter said nothing but turned and left the door open. Vincent waited a few moments before going inside, shutting and locking the door behind him before he bolted it for the night. The child went to his crumpled, twisted mat and pulled it from the table and chair legs with an impassive movement of his muscles. The pale hands were smoothing the mat when Vincent noticed that his uncle was watching him from the other room, leaning against the couch with his gloves on the thick armrest. Vincent didn't look at him; instead, he took off his shoes and stuffed his socks into them so he could hide himself beneath his blanket. Walter continued to watch him, his face darkening in degrees with his thoughts, eyes analyzing the shape beneath the blanket.