Freak the Mighty

by Rodman Philbrick

  “I saw it.”

  “They come right up to my door looking for the boy,” he says. “I said, come back with a search warrant, you want to see what I keep under my bed, but I let ’em have a good look from the door, satisfy ’em you weren’t there.”

  “They believe you?”

  “Who knows with cops?”

  Then my father is sort of drooping his arm around Iggy and giving him a squeeze, and you can see the cold, scared look in Iggy’s little eyes, and that wet mouth of his inside his beard. “You turn on me, did you?” my father says. “That how they just happen to come to your place, of all the places in this town?”

  Iggy laughs real nervous. “It was that crippled midget kid,” he says. “They had him out in the car. It must have been him, Loretta saw him peeking up over the seat.”

  Freak.

  “What midget kid?” my father asks. “You think I’ll fall for that?”

  Iggy points at me and says, “Ask him does he have a midget friend. The two of ’em stole Loretta’s purse, that’s how come they know this place. That’s the God’s honest truth, Kenny.”

  My father kneels down and looks at me up close. His face doesn’t show anything. “Well?” he says. “What’s your story?”

  “We didn’t steal it,” I say. “We just brought it back.”

  “Oh,” my father says. “Now that’s an interesting story. I like that story.”

  Iggy is talking fast, like he can’t wait to get rid of the words and leave. “The crippled-up kid belongs to Gwen. Remember Gwen? Her and your wife were pals, that’s what Loretta says.”

  My father puts his hand on Iggy and shoves him down into the old lady’s chair. “Never mind about her. It doesn’t matter how the cops got onto you, all that matters is they did. And now what do we do about it?”

  Iggy is scratching at his beard and he starts to say something and my father says, “Shut up and let me think.”

  Iggy shuts up. Every now and then he sneaks a look at me like he’s trying to tell me something with his eyes, but I can’t figure out what.

  After a while my father says, “First thing, get me a firearm. Something small but functional. Next thing is transportation. I don’t care what, as long as it runs. Can you do that for me?”

  Iggy says he can, no problem.

  “Then do it,” my father says. “The quicker the better.”

  Iggy leaves, walking backward out of the room. My father lifts me up by the rope and says, “I know you have more sense than to waste your time stealing pocketbooks with a cripple kid. You can’t trust a cripple, but I guess you know that now, don’t you?”

  He shakes the rope.

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  We have to leave the old lady’s place because you never know, the cops might come knocking on each door.

  “They’re like bugs,” my father says. “They’re not too smart, but there’s lots of them and they keep at it.”

  On the other side of the alley is this boarded-up building, it used to be part of the Testaments until a fire burned it out, and my father decides we’ll hide there until Iggy gets a car for us.

  He reaches out and pulls off a big piece of plywood with one hand. The screechy noise the nails make sounds like a cat fight, and the next thing there’s a real cat, a black one, that leaps out from behind the plywood. My father jumps so hard, he yanks me to the ground and I bump my head.

  “Dumb animal,” he says. “Get up now, that’s just a scratch, a little blood never hurt a man.”

  It doesn’t hurt, and anyhow I sort of like the taste of salt in my mouth, it makes me feel awake.

  “Get in there,” he says and then he’s pulling me through this old burned-out window and we’re inside the building.

  Everything is black and wet and dripping except for where snow has come down through holes in the roof. Most of the inside walls are gone, and you can see where the center beam was chewed by the fire. All the old pipes and wires are hanging down, and everywhere underfoot is broken glass the color of smoke.

  “I used to wonder exactly what Hell looked like,” he says. “Now I know.”

  He finds a place where the stairs go down into the basement and he pulls away the boards and planks. “You should feel right at home,” he says. “Cooped up like you were in that cellar hole.”

  It’s so dark he has to use a cigarette lighter, and the flame is so puny, you still can’t see to the bottom of the stairs. “You go first,” he says. “We can’t have both of us on the same step. It might break.”

  The steps are made of thick wood, but slick and punky soft where the water has been dripping all these years, and I can feel how it sags under my feet. There’s a rail that’s hard to grab with my hands tied, and the way he’s holding up the lighter you might as well keep your eyes closed because it’s that dark, you can’t see a thing.

  I slip and start to fall, and then he’s pulling back on the rope and I’m hanging there in the middle of the air with my feet skittering and he’s going, “Easy does it, boy. We’ll take this one step at a time.”

  Finally we get to the bottom. There’s a little slant of light coming through this narrow cellar window, enough so we can feel our way around all the burned junk that has fallen through the floor.

  “The accommodations could be better,” he says. “I’ll grant you that. Soon as Iggy fixes things, we’ll be on our way.”

  He ties my feet back up and loops the rope tight around this old busted-up boiler that’s tipped over, so I can’t move or see what’s behind me.

  “Understand you can’t be trusted quite yet,” he says. “Once we get on the road, things will be different. You’ll get smarter, every mile we put between us and this place.”

  He rips a piece off my shirt and ties it on my mouth so I can’t be shouting, he says, and wake up the neighborhood. He rubs his hand through my hair again, real gentle. I’m pretty sure there’s this sweet smile on his face, although it’s so dim you can’t be sure. “You just sit tight here a minute,” he says. “I have to see a man about a car.”

  Then he’s gliding away, and I hold myself still in case this is a trick and he’s really sneaking up behind me to see if I can get my hands loose. Which I can’t, they’re numb and bloated from the rope cutting into my wrists, and finally I stop trying and just sit there letting my eyes open up in the dark.

  I can barely make out that narrow window. Hardly big enough so a cat could slip through, and under it is this big pile of coal slagged up against the foundation wall. Overhead there’s creaking with the weight of him moving around, trying to be light on his feet.

  I’m listening to him up there and trying to see out that little window when something moves against the light.

  I’m pretty sure there’s a scratching sound coming from the window, except you can’t always believe what you hear in the dark. Then whatever it is goes away and I’m thinking it was probably a cat, or maybe a dog sniffing around. Finally I just keep still, because the more I move, the tighter the rope gets.

  Next thing, I hear someone on the steps, these light feet trying to be real quiet, and then a flashlight comes on and this woman’s voice says, “You there, kid?”

  Loretta Lee.

  I can’t say anything because of the gag. All I can do is sort of kick around a little, let her know where I am. You can tell by her shaky, thin voice she’s scared of the dark. “Kid? Tell me that’s you. Oh, Lord Jesus, what am I doing down here?”

  Then the beam of the flashlight is hitting me right in the eyes, and she’s tripping over stuff trying to get to me. First thing she does is pull the gag off, and I take a deep, deep breath that makes my lungs burn.

  “It ain’t right,” she whispers. “Keeping your own kid tied up, it ain’t right. He ain’t the man I thought I remembered, that’s for sure.”

  I want to say something, but I’m not sure what and anyhow my mouth is too dry. She’s put the flashlight on the floor, aiming up so she can try to untie the rope.


  “The man is a genius for knots,” she says.

  I can feel how her hands are shaking as she’s fumbling around. Also I can hear the boards creaking overhead but you can’t be sure, it might be just the wind.

  Loretta goes, “The plan is, Iggy keeps him busy while I get you loose, now isn’t that a good plan? There’s enough cops up there to start a war, we’ll be safe enough we get out of this god-forsaken place.”

  Her hands are pulling at the rope, nervous and quick, but the knots just keep getting tighter. Finally she gets this idea to cut the rope on the ragged edge of the boiler. “I saw this in the movies once,” she whispers. “I forget what movie.”

  She’s working the rope against the sharp edge of that old boiler and sure enough, it cuts through. Just the one cut won’t do it, though, and she has to do it twice more before my wrists get loose, and I can’t really help much because my hands are all numb and swollen.

  “Next thing is this piece around your ankles,” she says. “I sure can’t carry you up out of here. You think you can walk, I get this loose?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  That makes her giggle. “My, ain’t we got polite all of a sudden,” she says. “There, that should about do it.”

  My feet come loose and I try to stand up and I have to lean some of my weight on her. She goes, “Just a second, Sugar, let me get this flashlight.”

  She bends over for the flashlight, and then she’s making this sound like something is caught in her throat.

  Two big hands are squeezing her neck. I see how my father is coming huge out of the dark and he’s got his hands around her throat, shoving her back.

  “You ignorant creature,” he says. “I’ll teach you to put your dirty hands on my son.”

  Loretta can’t say anything, she’s sinking down to her knees and trying to pull his hands away from her neck, but it’s useless, she can’t stop him, he’s squeezing her dead with his bare hands, and no one can stop him, no one, no one.

  Even a total goon like me knows you can’t stop Killer Kane, but I go ahead and try anyhow. My hands are still numbed out and I can hardly walk, so all I can do is sort of fall on top of him and try to shove him loose from her.

  I’m going, “Stop! I see you! I see you! Daddy, please please stop, you’re killing her!”

  He just twitches me away. He’s made of iron and steel, he’s gritting his teeth and squeezing her neck. You can see the whites of her eyes, and she’s not even trying to get away anymore.

  I try to get between them and I’m going, “I saw you kill her! I saw you kill Mom! I never forgot, not ever! I know you did it! I know!”

  It’s like I’m trapped underwater or something, so weak and floaty I can’t hardly fight him, can’t pry his fingers loose from my mother’s neck. From Loretta’s neck. Because everything is mixed up and he’s doing the same thing to Loretta Lee he did to my mom, choking the life out of her, and he’s got that same cold killer look because he wants her to die, like he wanted Mom to die, and nothing else matters except what he wants.

  I’m there in the dark, pushing at him. The light catches her eyes and I can see her looking at me, she’s so far away it’s like I’m four years old again, peeking out from behind the bedroom door and running to bang my little fists at him while the light fades from her eyes.

  I can’t get him loose of her, so all I can do is keep screaming. “I know you killed her! I saw you! I saw you do it! You killed her and I’ll never forget, not ever!”

  Finally he kind of jerks his head and I can feel him looking at me and then his hands open. Loretta slips away and I can hear her breathing like a broken bird in the cellar dark.

  “What?” he says, reaching for me. “What did you say?”

  “I saw you do it,” I say. “I saw you kill my mother.”

  “You weren’t but four years old,” he says, and now his big hands are starting to curl around my neck, except he’s holding me soft. I can feel his heart beating, and his cool breath in my face that makes me want to fall asleep. “You can’t possibly recall that event,” he says. “You think you can, but you can’t.”

  “I can,” I say. “I do.”

  “That’s the poison they put in your mind, boy. They brainwashed you into thinking you can remember.”

  He’s pulling me closer, holding me soft by the neck, and now I can feel the pulse in his hands.

  “They never talk about it,” I say. “They don’t have to because I can’t ever forget it, no matter how much I try.”

  “No,” he says, and his face is so close, I can feel the heat rising off him. “Impossible, you can’t.”

  “You were wearing your brown corduroy trousers,” I say, talking so fast, it makes me shake inside. “And the black T-shirt with no sleeves. I tried to stop you and I couldn’t, and you carried me back into my room and put me to bed and told me I was just dreaming. You locked me in that room and I ran to the window and broke it with my hand and started yelling for someone to come and help Mommy.”

  My father sighs and says, “Lord, I wish you hadn’t done that, boy. It cost me years.”

  “They caught you, Daddy, and they put you away forever except you fooled them and they let you go.”

  “I have to clean this up,” he says, like he’s talking to himself alone. “I have to clean this up and get out of here.”

  That’s when his hands start to tighten hard and fast around my neck. I’m trying to fight him but I’m so small and weak and he’s so big and strong, you can’t stop him, no one can stop Killer Kane.

  He squeezes and squeezes and squeezes.

  I’m in this faraway place, falling backwards real slow and dreamy, when I hear a window breaking. Then a small faraway voice is saying, “Put your hands up, villain!” and I really am falling and the air is coming back into my lungs so fast, it hurts.

  I’m lying there all crumpled up sideways. I can see Freak. He’s rolled down through the cellar window into the pile of coal, and he’s trying to stand up.

  “I’m warning you,” he says in that fierce bold way he has.

  He’s got a squirt gun, one of those big blaster models that holds about a gallon of water.

  Killer Kane is looking at me, he’s looking at Loretta all crumpled and moaning, he’s looking at Freak. Then he shakes his head and goes, “I know a real gun when I see it, you little monster.”

  He makes a move, reaching out. Freak scuttles back a little ways but he can’t really run and even if he could, there’s no place to go.

  “This is your partner in crime?” Killer Kane says to me. “I guess maybe you are a retard after all.”

  Freak is pointing the squirt gun right in his face and he says, “Guess what I got for Christmas, Mr. Kane? Guess right, because your life depends on it.”

  Killer Kane doesn’t say anything, he’s just reaching out real slow because he knows that Freak can’t get away.

  “This squirt gun,” Freak says. “And a chemistry set. That’s what I got for Christmas.”

  Killer Kane just looks at the squirt gun. He shakes his head, like who are you kidding?

  “Sulfuric acid,” Freak says, raising up the gun and sighting along the barrel. “Good old reliable H2SO4, an oily, colorless, corrosive liquid used in dyes, paints, explosives, and many chemical experiments.”

  Killer Kane says, “You’re lying, kid, you can’t fool me.”

  That’s when Freak squeezes the trigger and sprays him right in the eyes.

  Then Killer Kane is screaming in this high, scared voice. His hands are scrubbing at his eyes and it’s like that scream wakes me up, because the next thing I know I’ve got Freak in my arms and I’m running through the dark for the stairs, running as fast as I can on feet I can’t even feel.

  “Go!” Freak is yelling. “He’s right behind you, go!”

  I can’t look back but I can feel him, feel the icy-cold breath of him on the back of my neck, and the hands reaching blind to grab me and then I’m going up the stairs,
just flying.

  The steps are breaking under my feet and he’s howling in rage behind me, his hands are scrabbling at my ankles and for just a second he has me.

  I kick loose and then we’re up on the first floor, bursting out of the cellar hole. I can see daylight coming through the boarded-up plywood and I cover Freak with my arms and just dive right through that plywood, wham.

  The sunlight blinds me and we’re skitter-rolling through the clean, cold snow.

  Hands are grabbing at me, and I’m fighting to get away.

  “Easy!” a voice says. “Take it easy, kid, you’re okay!”

  Iggy Lee. He’s looking down at me with red eyes and you can see where he’s been chewing at his beard. I’m sitting there in the snow squinting up at Iggy and all these cops, there must be a million cops, and Freak is laughing like a maniac and saying, “It worked! He fell for it! Soap and vinegar and curry powder! It worked like a charm!”

  I don’t understand what he’s talking about right then, it’s only later I figure out there wasn’t any real acid in the squirt gun, it was soap and vinegar and curry powder that made Killer Kane think his eyes were burning up — Killer Kane, who is still rubbing frantic at his eyes and begging for help when they put the handcuffs on him and shove him into the back of a police van.

  All I’ve got room to think about is poor Loretta. That’s what I’m telling the cops, that she’s down there in the cellar. I’m afraid that no one is listening but they must be, because right away they’re bringing her up out of the cellar and Iggy is running to her and crying out her name.

  “She’s still breathing,” somebody says.

  Then Gram is shoving through the crowd of cops and Grim is right behind her, and Gwen is there, too, and everybody is making a big, sloppy fuss, especially Gram, who’s hugging me so tight I can’t hardly breathe.

  The Fair Gwen is hugging Freak and she’s saying, “I told you to stay in the car, didn’t I? Didn’t I?”