Prodigal Blues

—"…good cook," whimpered Christopher, "Mom's always been a real good cook…"—

—"…THAT HIS FAMILY WAS GONE—"

—"Shut your filthy fucking mouth you worthless pile-of-puke-piece-of-shit!" I screamed, hammering the bone against the top of his skull, spattering blood and tissue—

—"…HE TOOK HIS OLD SHOTGUN AND—"

—"…thought it was ours," said Christopher, "...it looked gray, I swear to God it looked gray…"—

—I threw down the bone and grabbed Grendel's throat with both my hands and began squeezing with everything I had, slamming his head back against the wall and driving my knee into his groin as he clawed at my face with his free hand, drawing a little blood, and I jerked forward, headbutting him, and he spit blood into my eyes but I kept squeezing until his hand fell to his side and his mouth began to bubble spit and blood and these little ragged wheezing noises began to escape and I liked it, I liked it, God forgive me I liked the feeling of his life slipping out under my hands, but then Christopher grabbed me from behind and pulled me off, both of us falling back onto the duffel bag which quickly spilled half its contents under our weight and we lay there on a bed of bones both of us shaking and crying.

After a few moments, I managed to get on my knees and Christopher to his.

I cupped his face in my hands and looked into his eyes.  "I'm… I'm sorry, Christopher…God I'm… I'm so sorry…"

"…me too… I… I sh-sh-should've… should've remembered…"

I turned his face up toward mine.  "You knew all along?"

His eyes filled with tears and he nodded.  Once.  Very quickly.  "There's… there's knowing… and then there's knowing…."

And in that moment I remembered what Arnold had said to me back in the hospital.

…People can change a lot over that long.  They can… they can forget about things if forgetting makes it easier for them to go on living….

Good God.  Had Arnold known?  I thought he'd been talking about Christopher's family.  Had he been trying to tell me?

"What am I supposed to do now?" said Christopher.  He wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his head against my chest.  "Where am I supposed to go?"

"Hang on, buddy," I said, stroking the back of his head.  "Shhh. C'mon, there-there, c'mon…"

"…I thought he was lying to me… I thought it was just his way of keeping me from… from hoping…"

"…all right, all right, that's it, c'mon…"

"…but I knew… I knew… but I couldn't know!  I couldn't.  The other kids, they needed me to be… to b-be in charge…"

"…I know…"

"…and they… they looked up to me… they depended on me… but I c-c-couldn't…

couldn't let them know…"

"…shhh, c'mon…"

"…so I couldn't let myself know… I couldn't… oh god, I just couldn't…"

"…I'm so sorry, Christopher…"

"…because what reason was there for… for going on… h-h-how w-was I supposed to find a reason for… for any of us to g-go on living if I… if I admitted that… that…"

"…so sorry, I'm so sorry… so sorry…"

His grip around my waist tightened and he spluttered against my jacket.  "…ohgod, Mark… what… what am I go

"…we'll find a place for you.  Tanya and me, we'll find a place for you, I swear it, I promise…"

"…you're the only friend I've got, Mark… you're the only friend I've ever had…"

"…count on it…"

"…what am I go

"…we'll think of something.  We will.  I promise."

And I held him.  His broken spirit.  His loneliness.  His helplessness.  Tightly against me I held all of this, wishing he could feel protected, needed, worthwhile.

Herb Thomas had told me the whole story.  How John Matthews' drinking had gotten so out of control that Ellen had threatened to have him committed to a detox clinic; how Paul had joined the Army and been killed in Iraq; how John Matthews had accidentally struck and killed his wife while driving drunk; and how he had later shot himself right after calling the police to report Ellen's death.  The business had gone to Ellen's brother, who wanted no part of it and so sold it to Herb Thomas, who later expanded everything to include a motel and car wash and eventually let his nephew Larry and Larry's wife Beth buy into the business.

The address he'd written on the slip of paper had been that of the cemetery where the Matthews' bodies were all buried.

Christopher shuddered.  So alone against me, so alone and frightened; a little boy suddenly in the dark after all the lights had unexpectedly gone off.

"It'll get better," I said to Christopher.  "I'll make sure it does."

"…supposed to do now?"

I leaned down and kissed the top of his head.  "Shhh, c'mon… there-there…"

"How touching," said Grendel.  "How magnificently poignant.  A four-handkerchief moment if ever I saw one.  So much intimacy.  You really ought to take this chance to have him suck your cock.  He's very good at it."

I started over to beat him with the bone again but Christopher stopped me.

"It's all right, Mark.  It's okay."  He patted my chest.  "I'm… I'm better.  Thanks."

"I didn't know how to tell you."

"I know."

"Can you forgive me?"

He shook his head.  "There's nothing to forgive.  I just… forgot that a delusion is only helpful so long as you remember it's a delusion."  He rose to his feet, walked over to Grendel, and spit in his face.  "I don't suppose you remember the night we watched Mad Max, do you?"

"I ca

"Good.  Then this next part is going to seem new and original to you."  He pulled a key out of his pocket and tossed it over beside the bodies.  "That key will unlock the restraints.  You've got one hand free.  Here."  He turned, picked up a hacksaw, and tossed it toward Grendel.  "Here's how this is going to work.  Arnold and I tested this out a few times on other chains, just in case you think I'm guessing."

"I would hope that you would not try guessing at anything," said Grendel.  "You never do well with your guesses, do you?"

Christopher knelt in front of him.  "In a minute, Mark and I are going to walk out of here.  It will take us about a minute to get to the entrance of the mine—did I mention that we're parked in an abandoned mine?"

"No.  How clever of you."

"Thanks.  Anyway, we're going to walk to the entrance where I've got a bomb waiting—"

"—all of the documentaries about Oklahoma City, right?  Oh, you are a clever boy… and me with all that fertilizer for my gardens."

Christopher backhanded him across the mouth.  The sound was loud and sharp and deeply satisfying.

"Please don't interrupt me again.  When he and I get there, I'm going to activate the timer.  It's set for fifteen minutes.  Are you paying attention to me now?  This next part is very important.

"Arnold and I also tested this out on some of the body parts you left lying around.  So here's the thing:  you can saw through the chain holding your arm in place in about twelve or thirteen minutes.  If you can do that, then you've got enough slack on your leg chain to get over there and pick up the key and set yourself free.  That will give you about a minute-and-a-half to get out of this mine before the bomb goes off."  He shook his head.  "Don't know how you're going to manage that with only one leg, and to tell you the truth, I don't really care.  That's if you get through the chain in thirteen minutes or less."  He ran a hand over his mouth, then laughed softly.  "The chain will take you thirteen minutes.  But you can saw through your wrist in about seven, providing you don't pass out from the shock and pain.  The choice is yours.  On the bright side, if you don't get out and the bomb seals you in here"—he pointed to the bodies—"at least you'll have plenty to eat.  For a while, anyway."  He rose to his feet.  "Come on, Mark.  We need to get out of here before that storm gets any worse and parts of the road wash out."