The Awakening

by McBean, Brett

  Toby flung open the screen door, which, as usual, wasn’t locked, and stepped into the house—practically his second home—and called out, “It’s Jack the Ripper!”

  “In the kitchen,” came the reply.

  Toby strolled down the hall, through the family room and entered the bright, modest-sized kitchen. Suzie was relaxing back in a chair at the kitchen table, arms folded, smoking her favorite brand of cigarettes, Camel Lights.

  There was always the smell of cigarette smoke in the Wilmont house, and it never failed to catch in Toby’s throat, even after all these years. He didn’t hate it—it was a familiar smell now—but he didn’t love it, either.

  “Hey there Tobes,” Suzie said, drawing on the cigarette in that casual, oh-so-cool way of hers.

  “Hey Suzie.” Usually, Toby found calling an adult by their first name strange. But Suzie, who worked as a home care aide, wasn’t like most adults. Toby thought of her more as a big kid. She had a round face that always seemed to be smiling, and her body jiggled every time she laughed, just like Frankie’s.

  “How was the last day of school?” she said, blowing out smoke.

  “It was all right. Glad to be on vacation. School’s boring as hell.” Suzie didn’t mind people swearing. If he were to swear at home, even something as innocuous as crap, he would get a stern lecture from his parents on how swearing was wrong. As if he was some ten-year-old. Toby didn’t see what the big deal was; his father swore all the time. Strange cusses like: “Son-of-a-cock’s head,” or “Damn monkey fuck.”

  Toby wished his parents were more like Suzie—relaxed, not so uptight. Also, Suzie treated him like an adult, unlike his parents, who still thought of him as a kid.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “Sure. Thanks. I’ll have a smoke, too.”

  Stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray that was sitting on the table, Suzie smiled. “That’ll be the day. I’ve already told Franklin that if I ever catch him smoking, I’ll pound his ass raw. It’s a disgusting habit.” She hopped up and wandered over to the refrigerator. “What’ll you have? Coke, Sprite, or Dr. Pepper?”

  “Well, now that’s a tough one.”

  “Let me guess. Sprite? Hmmm, no. Dr. Pepper? Nah, that’s Franklin’s favorite. I know, Coke!”

  Toby grinned. “Yep, how’d you guess?”

  Suzie chuckled, and Toby could see her whole body wobble, even though she was wearing a large, billowy dress, one so colorful it was like a rainbow had puked all over it. “Just lucky, I guess.” She took out a bottle of Coke and poured him a glass, then handed the glass to Toby. “There ya go, Tobes.”

  Coke was his favorite drink. He had at least one glass every day. Suzie knew this, but she still asked him what he wanted to drink whenever he came over. It was a silly game they always played.

  “Thanks.” He took a long drink, following it up with a deep, gassy burp.

  “Charming,” Suzie said. “You’ve been spending too much time around Franklin.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Speaking of which, where is Frankie?”

  “He’s in his room, apparently getting ready to beat your ass in basketball.”

  “Well, he has got a much bigger ass than me.”

  Suzie patted him lightly on the behind. “Go on, get going. You’ve wasted enough time speaking to an old fart like me.”

  Toby nodded. “Yeah, but you’re a sweet old fart.” Leaving the kitchen and Suzie Wilmont’s infectious laughter behind, Toby headed down the hall towards Frankie’s room, towards the hard rock music thumping from inside. When Toby opened the door, the pounding sounds of Linkin Park grew to an ear-bleeding level. Toby stepped into the bedroom and closed the door.

  “About time,” Frankie shouted over the music. He was lying on his bed, reading one of his mom’s old Maxim’s—the one with Jessica Alba on the cover. Toby noticed he hadn’t bothered taking off his shoes; at the ends of his stocky legs he wore the same smelly Reeboks he had been wearing all day. He slapped the magazine down on the bed, reached over and turned down the music.

  “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Toby said, grinning, but probably blushing as well, considering what he had done only a short time ago.

  “You wish,” Frankie said, swinging his legs off the bed and onto the floor.

  “Yeah right,” Toby said. “I pray every day that when I come over to your house, I’ll catch you stroking your monkey.”

  Frankie stood, raised his arms to the ceiling and emitted one of those unintelligible noises that always accompanied a satisfying stretch. As he did, the South Park T-shirt he was wearing was raised, exposing his round, hairless belly. “Speaking of which, what took you so long?” he asked once he had finished stretching.

  “I told you, I had to clean my knee. Look.” Toby nodded to his right leg. There was a small bandage plastered over his bony knee.

  “Oh, poor Toby,” Frankie said, feigning pity. “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor? An ambulance?”

  “It didn’t hurt, numb-nuts. I just didn’t want it to get infected.”

  The sides of Frankie’s mouth curled. “But even if it did and you had to get your leg cut off, it would have been worth it. Hell, it would have been worth it if you had cracked your head open and your brains were oozing all over the pavement, just to be able to lie on top of Gorgeous Gloria.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I would,” Frankie chuckled.

  “Anyway, are we gonna get this game started? Or are you too scared you’re going to lose?”

  “In your dreams, man. And when you lose, don’t blame it on your knee.” Turning towards his desk, which was crowded with items such as old Matchbox cars, toy plastic dinosaurs and Star Wars action figures, as well as an assortment of baseball cards, half-eaten chocolate bars and empty chip packets, Frankie opened the top drawer and pulled out a bag of balloons. He turned around and held up the bag. “For when we get hot.”

  They were the water bombs he and Frankie had bought last weekend. The bag was all but full; the weather had been unusually cool last weekend.

  “Now you’re talking,” Toby said. “You’re going down, Franklin.”

  “You shouldn’t have called me that. You’re gonna pay big time, Tobias.”

  “We’ll see.” Toby picked up the basketball from the rubbish tip that was Frankie’s floor, and cradled it under one arm.

  “First stop, the bathroom,” Frankie said and together, they left Frankie’s bedroom.

  By late afternoon the boys were exhausted, having played basketball non-stop for almost two hours, though the last hour was mostly spent shooting hoops rather than playing one-on-one matches. The bucket of water bombs was almost empty. Only two small balloons remained. The rest were littered about the back lawn like hundreds of tiny, multicolored bird droppings.

  Frankie and Toby were sitting with their backs against a wall, their hair and clothes still slightly damp, but drying rapidly in the heat. They were about to head inside to see what Suzie was making for dinner, when they heard a car pull up nearby. It grumbled to a stop and then idled, a growling tiger rather than a purring pussycat like his parents’ Honda.

  “Sounds like Dwayne’s car,” Frankie said. He pushed the basketball he’d been lazily rolling on the ground away, and stood up. He moved to the front of the house and peered around the corner. When Frankie came back, he had a look of distaste on his face. “It is Dwayne, and by the looks of it, the rest of his idiot friends are with him. They’re dropping Leah off. Debbie, too.”

  By ‘idiot friends’ Frankie had to have meant Sam Bickley, Rusty Helm, and Scotty Hammond. None of them were as tough as Dwayne, but bundle the three of them together, and you had a pack of sometimes very cruel thugs, with the cruelest thug of all as their leader.

  Dwayne Marcos was a senior at Holt High, and a complete asshole, someone who reveled in humiliating anyone who was, in his eyes, below him: which meant pretty much everyone.

  Toby and Franki
e were no exception; they hadn’t been spared Dwayne’s wrath over the years. One time when Toby was sitting in Belford Library, working on an assignment, Dwayne and his goons had come over to Toby and yanked his chair out from under him. Toby had fallen to the floor, smashing his butt on the carpet. With tears stinging his eyes, Toby was as much humiliated as he was hurt (his butt was sore for a full week afterwards). As for Frankie, they had chased him home on numerous occasions, usually catching him, sometimes forcing him to do embarrassing stunts like running around the neighborhood in nothing but his underpants; usually they just took any money he had on him.

  Toby had even heard of Dwayne and his gang dunking one poor kid’s head in the school toilet—after it had been used by the four of them (depending on which version of the story you believed, the toilet was filled with either just urine, just shit, or a combination of the two).

  But Dwayne was tough, good-looking and athletic, so even though he treated most people like they were nothing more than something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Guys still looked up to him, girls still adored him, and anyone younger or smaller feared him. Which was precisely why he was going out with one of the best looking girls in town. Not that Debbie Mayfour was a sweetheart—sure she was hot, but personality wise she was a no-show. She wasn’t overly bright, and could be a right bitch at times. It was a mystery how two girls, so totally opposite in personalities, could be sisters. Gloria was shy, sweet, and intelligent, whereas Debbie was dull and boring. So really, Debbie was the perfect match for Dwayne.

  “God I hate that guy,” Frankie said. “I heard Debbie and Leah talking about him last night. What a jerk.”

  Frankie’s sister, Leah, was best friends with Debbie Mayfour, so not only did Frankie get to see a lot of Debbie, he also got to hear a lot of gossip. Toby knew Leah and Debbie would kill Frankie if they ever found out he eavesdropped, but so far they had yet to catch him. Sometimes Toby got lucky and Debbie would come to visit when he was staying over at Frankie’s. Then he and Frankie would spend the night sneaking around, trying to listen in on the girls’ conversations, hoping to catch a glimpse of Debbie in any state of undress. Unfortunately, he had yet to see her naked.

  “Get this,” Frankie said. “I heard Debbie tell Leah that Dwayne sleeps around with other girls. That he takes them up to Taylor’s Hill, screws them, and then leaves them up there to find their own way home.”

  Behind Belford Cemetery, which was located on the outskirts of town, was Taylor’s Woods. A paved road running behind the cemetery thinned out into a narrow dirt road as it entered the woods, which then narrowed even further into a tiny dirt track that snaked deep into Taylor’s woods for a mile or so, before coming out at a large clearing—Taylor’s Hill. It overlooked the cemetery and the west side of town—which was mostly farmland—and during the day it was a cool place for kids to hang out, go exploring through the woods, or lie on the hill under the sun and just relax and day-dream. But come night it was a popular place for teenagers to make out and do other teenage type things. One would often find empty beer cans and not so empty condoms scattered around.

  “No shit?” Toby said.

  “Yeah. But get this, Debbie was actually laughing about it, saying she doesn’t mind because it’s Dwayne, saying how hot he is, and what a great lover he is. And what a huge...”

  “Yeah, I get the picture,” Toby said. He looked up at Frankie and smirking, said, “So was this before or after you saw Debbie’s tits?”

  “Screw you. I did see them. Now hand me a water bomb.”

  “Huh?”

  “On second thought, give me both of them.”

  Toby reached into the bucket and pulled out the last of the jelly-like balloons. He hesitated. “I hope you’re not doing what I think you are.”

  “Dwayne and his gang have been giving us shit for years. About time we got some payback.”

  “He loves that Chevy more than he loves himself. And that’s really saying something.”

  Dwayne’s one true love was his 1969 Chevy Camaro. His parents bought it second-hand for his sixteenth birthday and he had spent a year fixing it up to pristine condition, complete with original LeMans blue paint-job and white Z stripes. He had named it ‘Bruce’ after the shark in Jaws—not only was the paint-job reminiscent of a shark’s color, but apparently Dwayne thought sharks were badass, the ultimate hunters.

  “I know. That’s the beauty of it. Quick, give me the water bombs before Dwayne leaves.”

  Toby sighed, considered hurling the balloons away and letting them splash safely on the lawn. But he finally relented. He handed the water bombs to Frankie. “What if they see you?”

  “They won’t. I’ll make sure of that.” Frankie took the water bombs, handling them like they were made from glass.

  “But what if Dwayne finds out who it was? He’ll probably run us over with Bruce.”

  “Nearly every house on this street has kids, and they’ve all been picked on by Dwayne or one of his gang. Sure he’ll be angry at first, but he’ll have too many suspects to bother doing any real investigating. Besides, it’s only water. Imagine if we had these bad-boys filled with shaving cream?”

  With a balloon gently cupped in each hand, Frankie again crept up to the front of the house.

  Deciding this was too important to miss—it was sure to be all over town come morning—Toby got to his feet and followed, his gut clenched in a tight knot. He stopped behind Frankie.

  “I’ll wait till he starts driving away and is a little ways down the street before I strike,” Frankie whispered.

  “I hope you’re a good shot,” Toby said.

  “Hey, you know I am. I didn’t beat you today for nothing.”

  Soon the car revved, Toby heard voices, a female saying: “See you guys later,” then a horn honked. When the car pulled away, engine roaring like something out of Jurassic Park, Frankie said, “Okay, I’m going for it.”

  Frankie drew back his right arm, then sent one of the round balloons sailing. He quickly followed it up with the second. “Come on,” Frankie whispered and as they hurried around to the back of the house, they heard the car screech to a halt and then Dwayne shouted: “Who did that! Who the fuck did that!”

  Their backs pressed up against the wall, safely hidden from view, Toby and Frankie fought bravely not to laugh. Their laughter ceased, however, when the car, instead of continuing up the street, seemed to turn around.

  “We’re gonna get you!” Rusty Helm bellowed, as the Chevy’s engine grew louder.

  “Yeah, you’re dead meat!” Sam Bickley screamed. The car sounded like it was cruising past the Wilmont house.

  “Come on, let’s go inside,” Frankie said. “Dinner’s probably ready soon.”

  “Yeah, good idea.”

  With Dwayne still shouting obscenities and the car dangerously close, Toby and Frankie hurried through the back door. The aroma of ham, cheese, pepperoni and onion sizzling in the oven hit them the moment they were inside.

  “You guys must have an amazing sense of smell,” Suzie said, closing the oven door. “Pizza’s almost ready.” Her face was flushed and thin beads of sweat dribbled down her forehead.

  “Smells fantastic,” Toby said.

  “Thanks. Say, what was all that yelling just now?” Suzie slipped a cigarette from the packet lying on the table and popped it into her mouth. With the lighter, she fired up the smoke.

  Frankie and Toby exchanged knowing looks, which thankfully Suzie didn’t see. “Dunno,” Frankie said. “Just some teenagers playing around, I guess.”

  Just then Leah walked in with Debbie, who hung back in the hallway, twirling her hair.

  “Some jerks just water bombed Dwayne’s car,” Leah said, and then her eyes fell on the boys and she huffed. “You again,” she said and smiled thinly at Toby.

  Leah Wilmont wasn’t a beauty queen, not like the surly, but model-perfect cheerleader behind her. She had an earthier quality, bordering on Tom-boyish, and though some guys found her at
tractive enough, Toby only saw her as the big sister he never had.

  Toby smiled back, and then he looked past Leah, to the tall blonde hovering in the background. When Debbie noticed Toby staring at her, she winked at him, and Toby quickly looked to the floor. He heard Debbie giggle.

  “I’ve just come to tell you that I’m staying at Debbie’s tonight,” Leah said.

  “And miss out on my famous pizza?”

  “Yeah, well, I think we’ll live.”

  “So what have you two got planned for tonight?”

  “Probably going up to Taylor’s Hill with some guys,” Frankie said, puckering his lips and making kissing noises.

  “Pervert,” Leah huffed. Then to her mom: “I dunno, nothing much, just hang around, watch some movies. Nothing major.”

  “Well, have fun doing nothing major,” Suzie said. “Remember, I’m working tonight, so if you need me...”

  “I know. You’ll be at Mrs. McGregor’s.” Rolling her eyes, Leah turned around. “Come on, Deb. Let’s go pack my bag and get the hell outta here.”

  As the girls left, Debbie said, “Hey, Toby. Gloria says hi,” and the sound of two seventeen-year-old girls giggling was like nails down a chalkboard to Toby.

  Frankie chuckled beside him. Suzie drew on her cigarette, the hint of a grin on her face.

  “Now Toby, does your mother know you’re staying over for dinner?” Suzie said.

  Toby sighed. “No.”

  “Go on, give her a call. You know how she worries.”

  “Where else does she think I am?” he muttered as he stomped over to the wall phone near the kitchen bench.

  “After that, you boys go and get washed up,” Suzie said, and took a deep puff of her Camel Light.

  It was nine-thirty when Psycho ended.

  Frankie blew out a long breath, picked up the bits of popcorn that had fallen on his shirt and into his lap, popped the morsels into his mouth and said, “Dude, that was a creepy movie. You see that corpse at the end?”