Darker Shades of Fear

(Installment 11)

 

 

“Ken… hey, Kenny?  Where the hell are you, man?” A distant voice called almost ritualistically.

Kenny did not answer.  It was dark where he was.  Dark and cold.  It was punishment.  He had been bad.  He deserved to be punished.

The door creaked open and the light flickered weakly.

The boy in the doorway sighed, “I shouldda known.  You gotta stop this shit.”

He said nothing, still huddled in the corner.

The other boy confiscated the razor that lay a few feet from his friend on the bathroom floor.  He left the room a moment, threw the object out the window and returned with the first aid kit, the only possession between them.

“Let me see.” He said.

Kenny nodded no.

“What’d you do this time?” He asked, taking his friends arm. 

He didn’t have the strength to protest.  “I deserved it.”

“Christ, Ken, do you know how fucked up that sounds?”

“It’s the truth.”

His friend stood and turned on the cold water.  He soaked an old white rag and added soap before sitting on the floor again.  “All right, give me your arm, Ken.”

Kenny refused.

“Goddamn it, Kenny. Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

He sighed in frustration and then relaxed.  “Please, Ken?  I want to help you.”

“I shouldn’t be helped.  I should die.”

“Christ, is that what this is about?”

“They’re dead because of me.  I should be dead because of them.”

“You’re alive because they’re dead, Ken.  We had no choice.”

Finally, he lifted his head and leveled with his friend’s eyes.

“C’mon, let me clean you up.”  He said, taking his friend’s arm without feeling resistance.  He gently wiped the blood away, careful not to agitate either incision further.  Both cuts were inflamed, but neither looked too deep or serious.  He noticed that they’d already begun to coagulate, which was good.  He tossed the rag aside and found the antiseptic.  He carefully poured some onto a pad of gauze.  “This is gonna sting, you know that?”

Kenny nodded.

“Okay.  Here we go.” He said, and applied the antiseptic.  Kenny winced immediately, his back arched and eyes squeezed shut.

His friend reached out and grabbed Kenny’s right hand.  “I know it hurts.  Squeeze my hand, Ken.  C’mon.  Only one more to go.” He soothed as he applied the substance to the second wound.

 His friend cried out in pain. 

At a loss for options, he gently blew on the cuts, a technique he’d learned from his mother as a child.

This helped ease the sting and Kenny’s body relaxed slowly.

“Better?” He asked.

He nodded.

Wordlessly, he unraveled a roll of gauze and before wrapping the wounds, he applied antibiotic.

“Why do you do that?” Kenny asked.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“…Because I deserve to die.”

He sighed.  “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

He looked confused, “What?”

“You’ve only tried to kill yourself twice.  That’s not what this is about.  If it was, you’d already be dead.  We both know that.  I think the real problem here, is that you’re afraid.”

“Aren’t you?”

“You kidding?  I’m scared out of my fuckin mind!  But I talk to you about it, right?  You’re afraid to talk about it.  If you did, you wouldn’t do this all the time.  You wouldn’t feel so fuckin guilty.”

Kenny listened to his friend’s words.  They were right.

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Ken.  God knows I’m a horrible person.  But so do you.  We’re in this together.”

“You’re not a horrible person.” He said, “If you were, you wouldn’t be here.  You wouldn’t put up with my shit.  Whenever I make a mess, you clean it up.”

His friend smiled, “Hey, what are friends for?”

“I wish I could be more like you.”

He laughed.  “Don’t ever wish that.  Just be you. Be Kenny.”

He saw in his friend’s eyes that he was sincere in his request. “…Okay.”

“Good.  Now go to bed.”

“You my mother?”

“Hey, I don’t see anyone else taking care of you.”

He had a point.

“Get some sleep, dude.”

“What about the bathroom?”

“I’ll clean it.  Don’t worry.”

“But-”

“For the love of Christ, Kenny, go to bed.”

He finally obliged, leaving his friend to his own devices.  “Hey Clark,”

The boy lighting a cigarette looked up.  “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

He smiled, “Don’t mention it.”

 

He sighed as he closed the bathroom door silently behind him.  He didn’t want to disturb his friend’s sleep.  Quietly, carefully, he sat on the bed trying to mute the creaking coils of the mattress.  He succeeded in claiming a spot on the bed without waking Kenny.  He cast a glance in his friend’s direction and sighed.  He slowly reached out and touched his hair.  Lightly first, as to make sure the action did not wake his friend.  After a few moments of this, his friend rolled toward him and ended up curled comfortably against him.  Clark’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Kenny reposition himself in sleep, unsure if he’d been discovered.  When he was certain that his friend was still unconscious, he resumed absentmindedly stroking his friend’s dirty blond hair. 

                       

He wasn’t sure how he felt, but he knew that he didn’t like it.  Anything other than apathy just didn’t seem to work for him.  He found himself seated Indian style on the creaky motel bed in silence.  His hands were clenched in fists so tightly that his knuckles had turned bone white.  Now he knew why last night’s conversation at the bar had been so familiar. 

Yesterday’s introspection had left him with a nice, vivid memory in living color.  If he had ever questioned why he’d blocked these memories, he now understood perfectly his reasoning.  It was quite simple: they were painful.  Maybe not that one in particular… but it must have been connected to something that had been.

It had happened so suddenly.  He’d been crossing the room, and then everything spun.  He had tried to steady his racing mind, but found himself feeling very distant and unable to control his body.  A high-pitched noise sounded in the back of his skull and grew louder and louder until he must have screamed and clamped his hands over his ears.  Not that it helped.  He’d hit the floor, eyes still open as his vision was reduced to blindness.  Then, almost like a television, the memory turned itself on.  He heard himself thank someone, and then his eyes came back into focus.  There had been a few occasions on which something of the like would happen, but those were few and far between.  He didn’t remember how long it had been since, but he didn’t remember a lot of things so it was difficult to trust his memory.   

This thought eased his mind a bit.  There was the chance that it was solely coincidence and nothing more.  After all, memory was only sometimes reliable, and in his case especially.  There were cases in which one couldn’t even rely on their own senses!  …Somehow, he knew this response was denial.  He just didn’t understand.  But he knew.  It wasn’t his imagination or a perception, it was a memory. 

It had to be his.  Even though he couldn’t recall them at his leisure, these bizarre flashbacks had a profound effect that only the truth could produce.  The emotions theses scenes conjured were too strong to be a figment, unless he was really falling apart and had become delusional.  He found himself half hoping the latter.  There was one way to tell.  He unwillingly looked at his arm and observed the faded scars. 

He held his head in his hands and decided that he needed to get the hell out.

 

His escape led him first to the Speedy Mart for three packs of cigarettes, one of which he’d already gotten halfway through.  He then proceeded to the used bookstore, where he found himself in pursuit of a book he knew neither the title nor author of.  Something told him he would know when he found it, but the search proved rather unnerving. 

He sighed in annoyance and scanned the store.  There were only two other occupants in addition to himself.  One of them caught his immediate attention.  He’d seen her before.  She was the brunette from the pool hall.  He felt the odd surge of familiarity, and suddenly knew what he was looking for.  He resumed his search with a purpose fulfilled it.  He approached the counter with an old, worn copy of “A Treatise of Human Nature”.   The cashier looked at the book, then at Kenny, then back at the book.

“You sure this is what you’re looking for?”

“Positive.”

Her eyes offered a smirk as she charged him. 

Kenny hated people.

 

He made it back to the motel just after dark.  The weak glow from the dying light bulb gave the room an eerie ambiance, but this did not faze its occupant in the least.  His coat landed on the splintering chair in the corner of the room and he took a seat in a comfortable position on the unclean bed and began to read.

 

He read until he found it physically impossible to continue.  The events of the previous two days had driven him to the point of exhaustion.  He refused to let himself sleep.  He couldn’t.  Sleep was a bad, bad thing.  God, he was going to lose his fucking mind if he didn’t think of something soon.  He needed something to snap him out of this goddamn daze or whatever it was.  He’d already smoked a pack of cigs, which had helped, but not nearly enough to clear his head.  This was definitely not a time to get shitfaced.  He knew if he passed out there was a likely chance of something similar happening again. 

He had to do something. 

He paused a moment.  A small, devious smile formed on his lips.  He stood, grabbed his jacket and headed out.

 

He arrived at the mansion rather quickly.  He impatiently waited as the door chime sounded.  Finally, one of the hired help answered the door.

“What is your business here?”

“I’m looking for Isabel.” He said.

“Oh.  Isabel.” The man replied thoughtfully.  “I will call her.  What name should I give the lady?”

“Just tell her it’s Kenny.” He offered, already feeling more like his nonchalant, apathetic, asshole self.

The man nodded and disappeared inside, leaving Kenny at the door.  Okay, this is just a little fucked up… he thought.  Moments later, the door opened again.  The man welcomed him inside and left him to whatever business he had with the lady of the house.  Kenny headed straight upstairs.  He definitely remembered where the bedroom was.

 

He found her there, staring out the window.  He entered the room quietly, as not to make his presence known.  He locked the door behind him without a sound and stalked toward her.  She had probably been so absorbed in whatever she was looking at, or thinking about that she had failed to sense Kenny’s presence.  He snuck an arm around her waist and another around her chest so his hand rested on her shoulder.  He did this in one fluid motion as he simultaneously kissed her neck.

She jumped a bit, startled by the sudden action.

“How’s that for ‘hello’?” He asked with a grin on his face.

She laughed.  “I hope you do not think this is an affair.”

“Call it what you want.” He replied, kissing her shoulder.

“Why did you come here?” She asked.

“I think that’s fairly obvious.”

“Oh yes, how could I forget?  I assume you expect me to throw away my plans for the evening to sleep with you, correct?”

“You don’t have any plans.” He purred into her ear.

This caused a small shudder she tried to repress.  “You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.” He replied, “You’ve been waiting for me since I left.”

She offered laughter too loudly for it to be authentic, “You have quite the ego, don’t you?”

“More than that.”  Innuendo intended.

“You just show up and expect me to fuck you?”

“Mmm… well, I did plan on returning the favor…”

“You’re such a bastard.” She sighed.

“Yes.  But you know you want me.”

“Oh really?  What would give you that idea?”

“Only the guilty need an alibi.” He replied.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that you want me, you know you do, and you’re stalling so that when you give in, it seems like you were hard to get.”

She tried to break away.  He let her go.  She turned to face him.  “You are a conceited asshole!”

He appeared to consider this.  “Yes, yes I am.” He replied, “but you liked it last time.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself!”

“I heard the words from your mouth.”

“And what were those?!”

“Hmm… I think they were, ‘oh God, yes, yes, Kenny, oh God, more’!”  He replied with his widening grin as she offered girly swings at his stomach.

“You bastard!”

“So you keep saying.”

“I hate you!”

“I know.”

“Fuck me.”

He sighed, “Wouldn’t it have been easier to say that to start?”

“Shut up.” She said, throwing him backwards so he stumbled and landed on the bed.

Kenny just smiled.  This was much better.

 

By the time he would leave the mansion, he would have no memory of what he had remembered of his past.  He would assume the scars had been the result of climbing a fence... the excuse he had always used and believed.  He wouldn’t remember any details of the flashback whatsoever.  Absolutely nothing… until a much later date. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Danielle Lovallo, 2004