Prodigal Blues

"You are one smarmy motherfucker, you know that?"

"I choose to take that as a compliment.  Now, do please pardon me."  He looked down at the maps again, then at Christopher.  "Tell me, my lovely boy—how is the family?"

Christopher started.  "Uh… I haven't seen them yet, but we've got the address."

"Oh, it is we who have the address, is it?"  He looked at me.  "I do believe I detect the lingering aroma of onion rings."  His eyes sparkled.  "You know, don't you?"

"Shut up."

"What's he talking about?" asked Christopher.

I took hold of his arm.  "We need to step outside for a minute, buddy."

"What for?"  His voice rose on the second word.

"Because we do."

"Oh, please," said Grendel.  "Do tell him in front of me."

I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

"Tell me what?" shouted Christopher.

Grendel shook his head.  "My dear, lovely child, come here to me."

"…no…"

"I SAID COME HERE TO ME!  DO IT NOW!"

On auto-pilot, Christopher began moving away from me.  I grabbed him and pulled him back toward the door.

"My dear, dear lovely boy.  You have forgotten again, have you not?"

Christopher began shaking his head, his arms and legs trembling.

"Oh, dear me," said Grendel.  "I thought we discussed this, Christopher.  I thought we had settled this once and for all.  It does not do for one to keep fibbing to one's self."

"Shut up!" I screamed.

Grendel sighed.  "Dear, beautiful, perfect Christopher, whose kisses breathe life into my weary soul—do you not remember the conversation we had some time ago?"

Christopher shook his head harder, making muffled, whimpering noises.

Grendel looked at me.  "One of us must remind him.  I would be more than happy to do it."

"One more word out of your mouth and I'll tear out your tongue with a pair of pliers."

"This is getting wearisome.  Christopher?"

"…ungh… um… uh…"

"Look at me, Christopher."

Christopher held up his hand as if trying to ward off blows from invisible fists.

"Look at—I SAID LOOK AT ME!"

Christopher was pulling away toward the other side of the trailer, hands swatting the air.

I knelt down and grabbed the toolbox, realizing just before I did that it was locked and the key somewhere outside.

"Do not move away from me, lovely child.  Come closer."

I banged the lid of the tool box with my fist, then turned around and grabbed the duffel bag; it was heavy and there had to be something in here I could use to knock him out with.

"You are not coming closer, Christopher.  How can I hold you if you will not come closer?  How can I stroke your cheek and whisper to you of my love and caring?  Only I love you, Christopher.  Only I can love you…"

I tore open the top of the duffel bag and grabbed the first hard object I could feel.  In the corner, Christopher was pressed against the wall and slowly sliding down to the floor, still shaking his head, still swatting the air, still whimpering.

"My perfect child, do you not remember?  They're all gone."

"SHUT UP!" I screamed, heaving the skull at his face.  It struck him hard in the mouth with an ugly crack!, then fell to the floor and rolled toward me, stopping just a few feet away with its empty eye sockets staring up at my face:  How can you be a part of this?

Christopher was now covering his head with his hands, his whimpers giving way to groans.

Grendel slowly leaned his head forward, spitting blood and a couple of teeth from his mouth.  "They have all been dead for quite some time, Christopher—but of course you have known this all along, have you not?"

Christopher cried out, shuddered, and began rocking back and forth, back and forth.

I grabbed another skull and threw it at Grendel, this time hitting him in the stomach; he never blinked.

"Your father was so distraught over having lost you that he began drinking, remember?"

"…got the address…" whispered Christopher.  "Mom will… make us something to eat… no one leaves her table unfed…"

"He became a drunk, my boy.  We have talked about this but, still, you play these little games with yourself.  I never appreciated that.  After all, games are my job."

This time I grabbed a long bone and moved toward him, striking him against the side of the head, but still he kept talking.

"…could not forgive himself for losing you, Christopher—"

—another blow to the side of his head—

—"…and so he kept on drinking, drinking, drinking, until he finally drove Paul away, remember?  Paul"—

—this time I hit him in the throat, which caught him off-guard and made him spit up a little, but then he took a breath at was at it all over again—

—"…so little brother joined the Army just in time for the first Gulf War, and once over there, promptly got himself blown up when a terrorist drove a truck filled with explosives right into his barracks"—

—I kept striking at his face with the bone, screaming incomprehensibly to drown out his voice—

—"…he burned to death in the fire, remember how we talked about what it is like to burn to death, how the brain is the last thing to go so you feel every last sensation of your body being consumed?  You could not believe how horrible it"—

—back and forth Christopher rocked, weeping and shaking—

—again and again I struck Grendel with the bone, screaming until my throat was torn-raw and wet—

—and still Grendel kept talking louder and louder until his screams equaled my own—

—"…and losing both his sons was too much for John Robert Matthews to bear, so he began drinking twice, thrice as much, remember?  Remember, Christopher?  And all the while, your saintly mother tried to hold what was left of her family together but your father, he was so obsessed with his guilt he paid her no mind, at least, until the night he came home so drunk he could not see the road in front of him, let alone YOUR MOTHER STANDING OUTSIDE WAITING FOR HIM, AND WHEN HE REALIZED THAT HE HAD KILLED HER, WHEN HE REALIZED—"