Rage: The Reckoning

by Christopher C. Page

  "Where in the hell have you been?" he demanded.

  Mark looked up at him dumbly, his nose caked with dried blood, his left eye swollen badly, and John's anger turned to concern. Mark winced in pain as he took him by the arm and eased him toward the house. He was swaying as though drunk and could barely stand upright. John repeated the question, leading his son to couch, noting to himself that his clothes were spotted with blood and his face and arms were covered in small scratches.

  His son slumped onto the couch, his head hanging and his body shaking. John placed his hand gently on his son's back, wary about injuries that might not be visible through his tattered clothes. "Mark," he said gently, "tell me what happened to you."

  For the next hour, John cleaned the dirt and blood from his son with a dishcloth and a bowl of warm water and listened while his son described his first day of school and his run in with a "guy", his "girlfriend", and two other boys. He went on to describe how he had gone for a walk with another boy named Kyle and had been exploring the old high school when they had showed up. The other boy had tried to distract them so Mark could get away, but they’d seen him.

  Mark ran blindly into the woods behind the school, not knowing if he was even heading in the right direction. They chased him for what seemed like a long time before they’d caught up with him and when they did, they threw him a beating and left him there. By the time Mark was able to stand on his own, it was dark and he had no idea where he was. He spent the next eight hours wandering around the woods. At some point, he said, he had tripped and fallen losing his glasses. John had to clench his jaw while his son relived the experience of waking up in the dark, stumbling around, lost, until finally finding his way back to town. By the time his son finished, John was beside himself. He listened patiently, careful not to interrupt, until his son finished reliving the ordeal. When he was done, John took several deep breaths and tried to remain calm.

  “Mark,” he began. “I’m glad you’re okay, and I know you’ve been through a lot today, but what you did, going out to the school with a boy you hardly know, has to be one of the dumbest things you’ve ever done.”

  “So I’m dumb,” Mark said, choking on the words as tears filled his eyes.

  “That’s not what I said,” John said, kicking himself for his poor choice of words. “You’re not dumb. But what you did probably wasn’t the smartest thing you could have done.”

  “So, I’m dumb,” he said again, rising from the couch and heading for the stairs.

  “Don’t walk away, I’m not done talking about this.”

  “Yeah well, I am,” he said defiantly, mounting the first few steps.

  “Damn it, Mark!” John said, anger swelling up inside of him. “Don’t be like that, I’m trying to talk to you.”

  “I’m done talking,” Mark informed him angrily. “I don’t know why the fuck I bothered!”

  Before John was aware of it, he had already crossed the room and seized Mark by the arm, yanking him down off the staircase. “You don’t talk to me that way you little asshole,” John barked at him, leaning towards him until their noses were almost touching. “I am your father and you will listen to me or so help me god I’ll kick your skinny ass so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a month!”

  John heard the words coming out of his mouth, but the voice seemed to be coming not from him, but his own father. What he’d just said to Mark was almost verbatim to what his own father would frequently say to him when he was on a bender. The look of sheer terror on Mark’s face was devastating. Before John could apologize or try and take back what he’d said, Mark exploded in tears, his legs turning to rubber until he collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, sobbing. John was so shocked by the suddenness of it that he stood there completely dumbfounded, unable to speak. He slowly reached for Mark, and placed a hand on his shoulder. The instant he made contact, Mark cringed away from him, tears streaming from his eyes and a steady string of snot running from his nose.

  “Don’t . . . touch . . . me . . . ever . . . again . . . ” he managed, between hitching sobs.

  John removed his hand, unable to comprehend what was happening in that moment, and watched as Mark used the banister to pull himself to his feet and lumbered up the stairs, disappearing into the bathroom and locking himself inside. John just stood there.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said to the empty living room. “What did you just do?”

  Ten

  Tanya Sacco finished stretching and broke into an easy jog around the water reservoir. In her right hand she held a nylon leash, at the end of it, her faithful protector and jogging partner; Rambo. Weighing in at just over ten pounds, the black and white Shih Tzu, named for his rambunctious demeanor, had been a gift from her husband and the two were rarely seen apart.

  Thanks to a few health conscious town selectmen (and women) the dirt path had been paved over with black asphalt, making for a scenic place to walk, ride or roller-blade. Tall evergreens surrounded the reservoir and the man-made lake was filled in with reeds and Lilly pads among which a dozen big geese paddled around idly, keeping one wary eye on the first human of the day.

  Tanya liked to come out here first thing in the morning, before the housewives came out en masse for their daily ‘power walks’ and all the moms and nannies rolled out their carriages filled with wailing babies. She could tell that most of the women she came across during the day resented her. At thirty-six, she had managed to not only maintain a near perfect body but also land herself a good man who, like Tanya, didn’t want kids. The owner of a landscaping company, her husband worked sixty hours a week or more and had done so for most of his life. He provided both of them with a beautiful home, which she kept spotlessly clean, and kept the fridge and freezer stocked with food, which she dutifully cooked. Aside from maintaining their home and the twenty minutes a day which she religiously set aside for a hot bubble bath and at least one mind-cleansing orgasm, Tanya Sacco dedicated the rest of her day to keeping her body in tip top, erection inducing form.

  Clad in skin tight blue and white spandex, a sports top cut off at her chiseled midriff, and her blonde pony-tail swinging like a pendulum from under a baseball cap, she turned as many heads jogging through the streets of Ratcliff as she had in her twenties. She liked to change her route, alternating through different areas of town each day, so that everyone had a chance to enjoy her. By the end of every week, she had systematically covered every street in town. She routinely gave herself weekends off from running (she burned the equivalent number of calories by riding her husband for a couple of hours instead), but come Monday morning, no matter the season or the weather, she and Rambo would start all over again.

  Truthfully, lately her morning run had become her favorite part of the day, rivaled only by the bath that followed. She'd wiggle into the spandex, taking a moment check out her rear end in the mirror, enjoying the sensation of touching her thighs and the backs of her long legs through the tight shiny fabric. Then she'd put on a sports bra. Her breasts were still pretty good for her age. All her life she had dreaded the day when the inevitable sagging that she saw in her older sister and mother would happen to her too. Luckily, proper support worn daily (no matter how uncomfortable), had left her breasts nice and perky, so far.

  Almost like a daily affirmation of her beauty, Tanya (or Tippy, as her friends knew her) jogged through Ratcliff, seemingly oblivious to all the heads, mostly male, that popped out from behind curtains as she passed. Some of them were even bold enough come out on their porches with their morning coffees and commiserate with their male neighbors who were also waiting so see if she would make an appearance. Meanwhile, their wives either slept or were tying up the bathroom while they performed their morning routines which mostly consisted of trying desperately to look one tenth as good as Tanya Sacco did.

  Though she usually ignored the men, jogging past like a beautiful doe bounding gracefully through an orchard, she reveled in their attention. She thrived on it. Either followed or occasi
onally led by her furry companion, reports of the ‘Smokin hot piece of ass’ or the ‘Hottest chick in Ratcliff’ were widespread among the men of Ratcliff, married or otherwise. On rare occasions one of the men would actually gather the courage, not to mention an excuse as to why they were going to work an hour early, to rush down to their little cars at the precise time Tanya was passing. They looked her up and down as if the meaning of life was stenciled on her ass, stuttering and shifting nervously like teenagers about to ask a girl to the prom.

  She felt sorry for them, living in their boxy little houses, spending two hours a day commuting in their boxy little cars to go sit in their boxy little cubicles so they could feed their boxy little wives. To them, Tanya must have looked like an angel come down from heaven to bless them with visual material for either masturbation or for the few times a year when they got drunk enough to screw their house fraus.

  Everybody in town knew her and her husband. A lifetime of manual labor made him hard to miss. Standing just five foot eight, he weighed an impressive two hundred and thirty pounds, all of it solid muscle. Covered in a thick layer of shiny black hair, like his Italian predecessors, he looked as strong and dangerous as a mountain gorilla. When they went out together, be it the autumn fair or the diner on a Saturday night, other men practically broke their necks as they tried not to look at her in fear of her husband.

  Despite her need to be desired by other men, she had never been unfaithful a single time throughout her marriage. The closest she would allow herself, for those husbands daring enough to approach her, she'd pass by seeming to ignore them as usual, then look back over her shoulder, catching them as they stared at her like a starving man looking at a Christmas turkey. Only, instead of getting indignant the way some women did, Tanya would give them a wink and a smile for their efforts. Although she had no direct proof, Tanya could almost swear that the next day, the same man would both appear to have a little extra spring in his step. The thought of so many men giving it to their wives while thinking of her was endless material for those afternoon baths.

  Some days, like today, she didn't feel like drawing attention to herself. The constant pressure of focusing on her looks, not to mention thinking about sex, could be a drag. Sometimes she felt as if her whole existence revolved around other people’s perception of her as a sexual object. One day, perhaps in the not too distant future, men would stop looking. Then she could join the hordes of cellulite-ridden bovine she encountered at the grocery store . . . her cart loaded with potato chips and ice cream.

  As her legs began to limber up, she quickened her pace slightly. Normally she would have traveled the length of one side of the reservoir and then veered off the paved path to the right which came out in the center of a cull de sac nearby. Today, as she did occasionally, she continued past the cut off and remained on the large oval. The bend of the oval passed through a wooded area for some distance and for some reason that part of the trail always made her uneasy as she often felt as if she was being watched. The feeling always stayed with her until she completed the bend and emerged from the woods on the other side of the reservoir and Tanya thought it was probably just a woman's normal tendency to be on alert when one finds themselves alone in an isolated area. The feeling was made even stronger given her current attire. While the idea of being jumped in the woods by the entire defensive line of the high school football team and forced to perform awful (and lovely) acts was fine for fantasy, her life experience told her that the actual event would be awful, maybe even fatal.

  As usual, she tried to push the thoughts out of her head. The few times she had actually encountered another human being on this part of the trail they had been other joggers and passed by one another without incident. Still, as she reached the center of the bend, now an equal distance behind her as ahead of her, a cold chill coursed up her spine like an icy hand from a grave. Adrenaline shot through her system, her heart pounded under her sports bra so hard that she half expected to see it pumping through the tight fabric.

  The small leaves of the birch trees had already turned yellow in the cool fall nights and about half of them had already given up the fight and lay scattered amongst the more prominent maple leaves, their brilliant reds and yellows displayed in defiance against the oncoming solstice. Stopping for a moment, Tanya listened with all her attention to the sounds of the woods. A few black squirrels were bounding playfully through the foliage, appearing to take turns chasing one another up and down tree limbs, leaping impossible distances only to reverse course suddenly, the hunter becoming the prey. High up in the tree tops, sparrows sang their morning songs in a strange sort of solitary unison while from somewhere farther away a crow was piping in intermittently, its raspy cawing sound out of place by contrast. Like a bad jazz musician attempting to improvise his way through a melody.

  Rambo too, seemed to tense up, his small head darting back and forth as he scanned his surroundings. Tanya held her breath and listened, hearing nothing but the wind in the trees and the quiet rustling of foraging animals. But in the slight morning breeze, she caught the odor of something foul. It was familiar, yet it seemed out of place somehow, like it didn't belong. That was ridiculous, she knew.

  She became aware that her legs were beginning to tighten up and wondered how long she had been standing there, like an idiot, scaring herself for no reason. Her mind went back to all those bad horror movies from the eighties where the victim was always some dumb slut that goes off investigating a noise only to be decapitated or impaled by a spear by the mask wearing lunatic that they had been told was there from the start. She remembered liking that feeling, huddling up on the couch under a blanket with three or four of her girlfriends, lights off, covering their eyes and screaming during the really gory parts. Of course, those R-rated ‘Slasher’ films with lots of sex and graphic violence were all passe now. They couldn't even make films like those anymore in fear that they would turn otherwise normal thirteen-year-old boys into serial killers in training, unable to enjoy sexual pleasure unless is was associated with extreme violence.

  Tanya shook her head and laughed, maybe they were right to stop making those kinds of movies. Here she was a grown woman, an educated adult, still carrying fear deep in her psyche that Leatherface, or Jason Vorhees or Freddy Krueger would come charging out of the woods and chop her to bits.

  Rambo was standing on the edge of the path, his mouth was working itself open and closed soundlessly as he took in the strange sounds and smells.

  “Come on pup,” Tanya said, giving a slight tug on the leash. But he seemed fixated on something in the nearby woods and all of his limbs were locked solid as his mouth continued to twitch. Tanya could see the path pretty clearly and there was no place nearby to hide. She gave the lead another tug to get the dog’s attention, and without warning, he suddenly bolted off toward the woods, yanking the leash free from her hand.

  “Rambo, no!” she screeched at him, but he was already ascending a small hill, kicking up leaves as his little legs pumped like mad. No longer concerned for her own safety, Tanya ran after him, continuing to shout as he reached the top of the hill and disappeared over the other side. She reached the top of the hill, slipping on the wet leaves, just in time to see the mongrel reach the bottom of the hill on the other side, his breakfast sausage legs still pumping like mad. She carefully made her way down the hill after him, stepping carefully, mindful that with each step she was moving farther from the safety and visibility of the path. Another shot of adrenaline raced through her system and she began to breathe heavily, almost on the verge of hyperventilating. She suddenly felt obligated to run as fast as she could, as if she had to burn off the fuel that had been pumped into her like a gas tank, and that failure to do so would surely cause her heart to explode. She also wanted out of there, as quickly as possible, but she had to get her companion, her best friend and her baby, out of there too.

  Tanya remembered her cell.

  How could she have been so stupid? Her husband had insis
ted that she take it with her when she ran. Her exercise pants had a tiny pocket that she thought was intended for an MP3 player, but she never carried one. In her lifetime, she had seen more teenagers, drunks and just plain absent minded people blow through intersections than she cared to think about so she preferred to keep her ears as well as her eyes open when she ran. Even still she had had a couple of close calls. It just so happened that her cell fit into that little pocket perfectly and though she had never needed it before today, she was suddenly grateful that her husband had been so insistent that she carried it. Armed with that, she didn’t feel so alone out there. The Ratcliff cops were dumb and slow, but they had guns at least. That and they had nothing else to do so they also had a reputation for responding fast. If push came to shove, at the first sign of trouble she’d hit the preset for 911 and run like hell.

  Rambo would have to fend for himself.

  Twenty yards ahead of her, she saw the pup disappear behind a large group of bushes. As she drew closer, she caught glimpses of his black and white fur moving behind the branches. She slowed her pace. At least he wasn’t running any more, she thought. He had probably just gotten the scent of a dead squirrel or something. As she approached the group of bushes, the smell she had noticed on the path grew much stronger.

  “Whatever it is, leave it alone!” she called out to the ball of fur, bounding in and out of sight. As she reached the bushes, the smell became much stronger now, far too strong to be coming from anything as small as a bird or squirrel. A deer maybe? Whatever it was, she knew that she would wind up having to give the dog an unscheduled bath, maybe even a trip to the Vet’s office.