CHAPTER 3
THE basement door howls open; the darkened deepened dip downwards dauntingly destroys all desires for Jessica's distressful discharge. I push onwards down to the place where good children are drenched and reflectively caked with blood and bruises, that dark place, that's what Jess called it; hello again, my own personal Hell.
"Jessie, you down here, honey? I can't see well, make a noise if you can hear me..." I spin around in the darkness looking for a voice before the monsters down here awaken; they can smell my fear and gobble scared little pussies up in one gulp. The jingles of loose chains tingle from the basements far corner, passed the boxes of happier times when Mom was here. Nudging into boxes and dusty cracked picture frames, I notice a photo, I see the outline of mam's smile, I already know what picture it is; it was the day Mam took me to see Jurassic Park, we sat in the front seats, she always jumped every time she saw the velociraptors, one of my happiest memories. She spoiled me that day with ice-cream and goodies; I can't believe that's what I remember most about the movie, just her being there.
This is pain. She hung there battered, clawed and mauled. Half missing with no more appeal for life, just from the look of her, her last word was my name. I am knee riding, the ground keeps me aground as I am swaying with her as her body lays in limbo from the chains, we are almost dancing again. To wrench my guts and scream her name at the same time is an impossible leap, but I cannot do this one thing without the other.
There is no lighting, no moonlight; everything is hiding but the shadows, which have come to collect my sister and me. How do I fix her? I unhoop the chains from the walled hook. I want to scratch at my face until I have reached my brain and have pulled out an idea on rebirth. Her sanity has been tested tonight, this only adds insult to injury and tears to tears.
Once we were a nuclear family, no wonder I blew my top and became a radioactive mutant. I feel out for Jessica's hair and hit face, whoops, sorry sweetheart; I scoop her up in my hands.
"Are you okay baby?" Slow fingers brush away the hair, which clings to her; tears and boogers are the true glue to a sibling's love.
"Let's get you out of here and back into the land of the living." I whisper a helping hand in her ear as I lunge my arms around her, I know your legs turns into collapsible jelly when standing on your feet for hours on end, hon'; I'm a pro at this.
In our shared bedlam of a bedroom, we lived with the bare minimum. House cleaners and servants had more than we did. A single bed each, Jess was the only one with a pillow, we were only given the one. I didn't mind though, I was used to not having one, as well as quilt covers, sheets, or even a bed base; we weren't made of money. Both our mattresses were separated by clothes, sweet wrappers and white ripped wallpaper from our own walls, full of small inscriptions only I could read, tiny stories I had jotted down to entertain and drain my border-lined bored brain. Not like our dad would notice something like that, he wouldn't give a shit, he never did; plus, it was Winnie the Pooh wallpaper, it was for toddlers, no one ever thought to redecorate after we were about four-five years old.
No light bulb, missing floorboards, no curtains but a pinned up raggedy old red and brownish-yellow knitted sheet. Our bedroom had no door; it was punched out from the hinges to stop any conspiring or barricading for when he was on a hammed ramped rampage. No chest of drawers, the walk-in cupboard in our room laid a mound of shared clothes too small, most haven't been washed. Aged cobwebs have collected years of dust, abandoned by the hungry spiders, which have fled to be fed. One has a green plastic army soldier hanging in it, boredom has a funny face. We live in a five-star home; no really, you can see five stars through the holes in our roof.
Living here was usually easy, if the cleaning, paying bills and shopping had been done on a weekly basis, keeping up appearances was Dads main concern, this was for a tick on the social services clipboard. Putting on a good act every fortnight and getting his money was as far as he really goes to be part of our childhood. Unless you count the beatings, but I think that comes under a different category, doesn't it?
"Here you go sweetheart, just lie there and rest." I clonk down on the floor, overlooking Jessica and the predicament of placed anarchy on her portrayed artwork of a face. She comes too, jittering her eyes and licking her dry lips.
"A home is supposed to be a sanctuary, Jess. Don't you think it would be wise for us to come up with some sort of a backup plan, like in the movies we sneak to watch when The Dick-wad is knocked out? We need to do something, now and fast. I won't let him attack you like that again, it's not on, it's not going to happen again." Standing up, I pace the floor in precocious pre-plan periodic mode. The pain in my feet is dying, just as I am with every flick of thought. Abseil down the rabbit hole and bring something back with you.
She shuffles further into her limp yellow drool stained pillow with besmirched thoughts, which I see I've clearly planted a forming uncomforting fort within her. Sorry honey, but I need you on my page for this to be accomplished. Jessica, you know what answer I'm looking for, bless my ears with the words, c'mon, three little letters, put them together and what have you got?
I pick up one of my literary ledgers I wrote and begin to read the potential dream in an epoch of innocence I can't go back too, not now, not after all this.
I'm trying to escape from this haunted house from my bedroom window, the room has started to bring all my nightmares to life; but as soon as I do I am dangling from my ankles from the windowsill, the evil is keeping me here. I shouldn't have told my pillows what scares me at night. The whole neighborhood has come to have a gander at something more damaged than their own self-hatred. Don't help, I'm not scared to be dragged under this bed again, there is no solace within this home. Come live with us, Kyle, you are one of us.
Jessica rolls over and faces me. I prompt the paper to the ground, all attention on her.
"Can't we just runaway, like we always planned?" Running out of normality, she sobs under her words.
"And go where? The social services, they'd bring us right back into his loving arms, again and again. Perhaps you mean abroad? He'd find us, Jessica." I pin up the toothed points to her planned-out map, don't hand slap away my manipulation. I nip off the bobbles from my holey-heeled socks.
In a flash, her head lifts from her pillow. "Well, what do you suggest, we kill him?" There is an eerie pause between us, a realization for Jessica finally knowing who her brother has become and the deep seeded evil within me taking blossom within my eyes Hello, you.
"Why not? I mean it's only a matter of time before he does the same to one of us, then out of fear he'll kill the other and then probably himself... it's self-defense in a sense, if tonight is not a warning to us, he doesn't care about us, he doesn't care if he beats or breaks us, as long as he gets his child benefit every two weeks and smack in his veins, we are average echoes of a possible goodtime which may have happened if Mam never died. This was never our fault, but goddamn it, he's made it personal and blames us for everything."
"Kyle, don't think like that..." She strains a stern shake of devolvement.
"If he were to kill me, where would you be? What would happen to you? He would go to jail and you will have no one... Okay, maybe I was a little drastic thinking about murdering the motherfucker. We're lost, lost in a lost world." She isn't on-board, I need her approval, keep going. I make it look like I am concocting another proposed plan with squinty eyes, day dreamy shows and licking my lips.
"How about we scare him into leaving us alone? Fight fire with fire, to beat the bully we become the bully; send a wolf to catch a wolf... I am running out of analogies here. If he fears us, he is less likely to fuck with us, isn't he? How about that? Jess, I can't do this without you, you're all I have in this world. We make him believe we will go to the length of murder if he doesn't stop; we're not actually going do it. This must be the greatest performance ever to be witnessed by a crack head. And once it's over, every day will be normal, well not normal, but it'll be less bumpy."
Nibbling on her fingertips, she must be close to blood and bone. Her hesitant haze through our hasty heist of abomination says it all.
"Okay, we just scare him... Kyle, I don't want this to get out of hand. As soon as he has learned his lesson, I want it to end. I don't want him hurt, Kye, I know you're angry at him and want to cut him up into little pieces, just chill out and I promise you everything will be fine as soon as we put the fear of God into him. Then it's over, okay. Promise me, c'mon, promise."
"Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a dagger right in-between my eyes." I am crossing my fingers... in the shadows... in my head.
I need some packaging tape, to send this bitch to the lower depths our world, first class, I can't afford not to. I must hold down my tormentor before I can hold up this household.
To the kitchens drawer-of-shit I go, where loose Ibuprofen, curtain rings, batteries and old phone charges lay in wait, but I am only here for the sticky tape. Jessica and I nod and give each other the go-ahead, this is the moment we've all been waiting for, someone press record, I'll wanna' watch this later.
Jess takes the lead. It is essential she believes she is the other fifty-fifty collaborator in this, not only my pawn for murder porn.
As she edges down on the spring handle that is encrusted with hardened tomato sauce, I think there's also some sort of pasta on there, which is disgusting because we haven't had pasta in months. With every tick of the coil and creak of rubbing metal, she becomes static. She dawdles opening the door, finally it is lurched opened, here we go. The slumbered light from the hallway takes the doorframes shape and coffins over him and his bed, both shadowy sides of the bed are absent to understand with my eyes.
I swan into the room with the duct tape and a smile. Tonight, shall be the darkest of gory nights before the glory of a dawning new story. Side by side, we take on life, from the womb to Dads room. We need to tie this motherfucker up. Round and around, the tape regorges a puckered suspire, his ankles and wrists have been stitched to each bedpost into a star shape. This man is not possessed by a demon or in need of an exorcism, though he does have something evil inside of him that needs clapperclawed out.
I leer over my tyrant for a father with evil feathered intentions, not that I know these intentions, I haven't made up my minds mind; all I know is the outcome will be dribbled in his drivelling blood, hush now, don't let Jess know, become emotional with it. With my index finger, I flick his mangy big toe, which sticks out the end of the bed sheet.
I've trapped an animal. This creature has been injured for years after the loss of his female, as in most animal species he disregards his young. In this order of animal, the young are rather naïve and do not leave the nest when threatened by their Bull of a father. As the years pass on, something miraculous happens, the offspring hatch from their juvenile skins and transform into one of the most awe-inspiring beasties this land will ever witness. "Wakey, Wakey, your eggs and bacon are in the making... Remember when our Mam used to say that? D'ya remember, eh, Dad? Yeah, the prodigal son has returned with a vengeance in mind. Well you can't spell Slaughter without at least one laugh, can you Daddy? I guess you were right; my apple fall's light-years from our family tree; what you don't know is on each of the branches, perched as statues, are a murder of crows, looking down with their deadly gaze at you and this world." It's final; I can clear my throat, no more lumps to swallow.
Standing above my God at the end of his bed, I am the one who is now in control of fate, I've tampered with my temper to cause a tempest, now I am the one who will write the history as a victor. I walk over to his cluttered nightstand of chocolate wrappers and loose change; I grab his packet of cigarettes and stroll back to the end of the bed. His dampened words deaden over his gag. All he is now is a struggle of a human being with an austere stare. He jilts and rags at his wrists, which suspend over his head, a fly to my percussion web. Jessica crouches in the corner, her hands sanctify her eyes, her sight wants no part of what will happen next; she must know what I am about to do. My lenient fingers stroke out one of his precious cigarettes and dangles it in front of him, in a taunt.
"I'll tell you a little story before I get shooting for my new life. We're all cigarettes, in this form we are well-behaved, conformed within our nice cubicles because this is the norm, if you dare step foot from your bounds, you are deemed a threat towards society." I spark up the cig. "'O Dad, just because I stand over you doesn't mean you don't understand what I'm saying. I'll continue with my train of thought." Scratching the back of my head. "Now if a certain person ignites your soul, you become smoke. You can't catch smoke; you can't really transform it into any shape with your hands; it does its own thing. Ninety-nine per cent of the people on this planet are cigarettes, I'm missing out terrorists and the one-off daily killings; they destroy straight out of fear, religion or power. However, people like me alter in such a fashion, it drives a curious nightmare into the hearts of all men. Am I being clear enough? And, all I needed was an idea; one so powerful and bulletproof that no one could knock it off course with their meddling. If I knew all I had to do was create a diabolical ideal of life, I would have done this sooner, Dad. Remember always, I am doing this because I love you, I'm just showing you the same courtesy you showed me and Jess... I said hello to everyone and everything, and you said my goodbyes for me, good parenting, buddy. I just want you to know your death will meet your cries with a smile and a hand clap. Enjoy Hell!"
I scope over to my mams beside unit of coffee ring stains and empty foil wrappers with burnt crack residue; I scoop up the half-bottle of Chansies Scottish Whiskey and begin trudging the excellent alcoholic intoxicating accelerant over him. Broken in pieces I am now at peace.
I take one last drag and swig the bottom of the whiskey, I shoot one last glance at my creator; remember his eyes, they've never been so open. I cast the cigarette at him.
"KYLE NOOOOO!" I know Jessica means yes. Jess, you can look away all you want; I know deep down you're imagining this crispy crisis too. I drag my index finger under my right-eye where a tear has clung onto; I look at it sitting on my finger. This is the last of me! I flick the water in his direction. This is what you were after, it's yours now.
Instantly the bed unfurls a violently fiery fury on top of my father. From each corner of his bedroom the smoke has stretched throughout, the aura of molten rotten pork resonates deep within the nostrils. His screams howl perpetually through the demeaning red flames, the duct tape melted fast. The chemicals within the mattress snap and crackle my pops. As the flesh ash sway to their suicide, they are resurrected into mimics of the bigger picture I created, I am an artist who smears with blood and tears on the pallet of death.
Rushing over to Jessica's happy place, I grab her wrist and wrench her to her feet.
"We've gotta' get out of here before this house goes up in flames and the cops get here."
"Kyle, I can't... I just can't. You've just killed Dad." She blows blubbering bubbles; her mental stability must be at her lowest of peaks.
"Jessie, baby, we have too. When they come, and see us here, they will make sure we never take a glimpse of each other ever again. We did this, fifty-fifty. We are all we have, but if you think putting what is morally right before family, I will wait here with you."
She twitches a nod.
I rush over and I grapple the foggy door handle with Jessica's wrist bonded to my palm, whisking her out the room from the swelter, which emits from our shelter. We jolt through the smog, we have let char all we have ever helped half-heartlessly styled or built. Lay to waste a life of bitter taste. Jessica hawks up a heart and wheezes in an atrocious affair.
The ruby's blush luminescence looms behind our feeble flee; it seeks to pilfer us back. My eyes sob solely for a sober sight line to the security of the outside.
Outside, we stand there watching the blaze rape over our home, hand in hand, together we have faced our failing father the formidable foe with fire. I've put my controller down; the boss has been defeated.
Jess holds on to me with dear life, as the new one we have created for ourselves has been childishly crayoned over to blur the lines of right and wrong. The bonfire is beautifully bleak; my ears play tricks on me; can I still hear him scream through the burn of nobility? Am I hoping and wishing he was still in pain? This notarized feeling must be freedom, I bet my life on it. When sanity creates a monster, you bet your arse, he comes for blood. You've all brought this upon yourselves. My monster now lives out the remainder of eternity in a fucking ashtray.
Rubberneckers screech their cars rubber; fire must be new thing to them. Embers embarrass the streets ambience; pajama parties pilfer their pillowed eyes; their slippers scuff across the rough towards the tough blunder of the smokes bluff.
"Kye, what have we done?" Her eyes are trying to eject the things we have ruined. If in this moment I have become a God, she has evolved into worried wisp. You must set your eyes and goals higher if you want to play at my level, kid.
"Kids! Kids! Oh, my God, is anyone in there? You have a Dad, I've seen him around, is he in there? Don't worry, don't. I will phone the fire response now. Get back, come over here; don't go near the house." My neighbors worry wave's woes.
Our unknown dressing-gowned shady neighbor stands there staggered with Labrador in tow; my heart hurtfully hurtles jumping jacks forcefully into my brain and all I can piece together is beating this guy to death. The rationality runs away from my arms and legs, before my alarm bells chime-out, I grip a brick, quick, which edges our underkept garden path, and with it, I swing as hard as I can, I bring it up and make sure it connects with his face. His fall is drawn out, from the look of horror, to the seer of solar systems and clouds. I don't even notice it; I am branded by his barren blood, the bastard. His pooch sniffs out freedom too and scarpers into the woodland across the way from our family's inferno. I stay in the eye blinding smoke, more residents snoop their way from their comforted safety of their sofas, with their camera phones documenting everything, let them sneak into my bad judgments for just one minute, break the world-wide web with a ruinous solo escapade. This is what happens when no one does a-thing, this is what happens when you allow a problem to fracture once it has been manufactured. The vastness of this eternal scorched scenery which waves at the reds with a purple slap and brings forth a yellow rage which ripples as if it was water, eyes thirsty for more; with all this flare, heat bleeds through the brickwork, my memory bank soaks up every smell, crackle and pinch of skin scalded from escaping ember fairies. I made this happen. Scan this man, you have done so for years through the cracks in your curtains and outdoor street-corner chatty endeavors. Life pulls those trapdoor levers and you stand there in terror. This is no shocker, a branch is designed to hold enough until it breaks; close your mouths and doors at me, I am living in this moment and there is nothing you can do to stop me.
I drop the skinned scabbed brick and grab the astonished Jessica's hand and take off running for the sunset and new beginnings which must lie beyond the tree-line, it must; it has too, The Mexican Border, here we come, that's what they say in the movies, I know I live in Britain, but hey, we can dream.
The clouds out color the night sky itself, built up like angry fists containing Hell in a single punch of wind heading our way, a tempest is brewing. The wind pushes against us, the bulbous trees shake as maracas; its hissy warning for us to turn back is unacknowledged. A pending storm just for us ripples in the sky, spit at our feet in disgust, if you will; I will curse the heavens in time to come, watch me; just you watch me.
"Wait – Wait! I'm gonna' be sick." She gags and blurts loose everything which is on her chest. "Kyle, kill your thoughts before they kill again, please." Jess props herself up against a young brawny tree.
"We have to keep moving Jess, pick your legs up. They will find us if we don't keep going, honey. Shit, they recorded all of that on their phones, the cretins. We're gonna' have to disappear, straight off the map from all we know." She blows chunks on the decomposing leaf's again which cover the muddy earth in-between her feet. With her sleeve, she crosses away the excess residue of mucus.
"Don't you have any remorse, Kyle? You've just brutally killed our dad and with ease, you bashed in some fucking guy's head. There's something not right with that, you must know, what you did is way off the reservation. What is wrong with you?"
"Jess, I'm not like you. You've always known I am someone who does things the opposite way to all the other walkers. It's my job to protect you, meaning, I would sacrifice Dad, the fucking house, this entire world, all of it, to make sure you never feel pain again... Motive! Well when you get pinched, so do I. You know what I mean, sweetheart."
She cleaves a lone leaf from a drooping branch and begins to shred her emotions out from it. You're not gonna' find answers in there. Was it an error to end this era?
"Kyle, you're turning into a monster!" She exhales a wobble of hurt breath. I observe my hands, waiting for my claws to spew out.
"Sweet, cool. When can I expect my scales to come through?"
"Not literally, doofus."
"I know; I was just trying to make you smile." I wasn't, I really wanted a tail and horn, phewy.
"If you were protecting me, that means we can go to the cops and get this thing sorted out, we could tell them you were protecting me, it was all in self-defense. And, you had a moment of madness and you were scared. This type of stuff does happen."
I stand firm in a sinking puddle of mucky sludge.
"It's not that easy Jessie..." Jessica's head tilts to one side and with her rolling eyes, the confusion almost falls out from her ears. "How do you mean?"
I make-believe a turn to glamorize the theatrical moment we share and, so she doesn't see my sneer and crocodile tears; hey presto, the Oscar goes to?
"Did you not see the way I killed that motherfucker? They will look at every bit of the evidence and say it was orchestrated in a way in which it had to be planned. This world is trying its hardest to split us up Jess, don't let them. Now get your knees bending and move with me." A huff of low energy and low self-esteem is blown from her. I take the lead into the unknown, time to find my place on the food chain.