Little Boy Lost Chapter 11

For my beautiful Shawnee

Arriving home Frank immediately went to the couch and got comfortable. "Frankie, put my show on." Frankie scowled, but did as he was told. Without waiting to be told, Bobby, still feeling ill, ran to the refrigerator and took out a beer, returning to the living room and handed it to his dad. Frank took the beer from Bobby; he never said thank you or even bothered to look at him.

Bobby stood and looked at his dad for a minute, hoping he would say something to him. Anything. But Frank continued to stare at the tv. And Bobby went to the room he shared with Frankie. Lying on his bed, he thought of the kids who weren't going to have a Christmas because of him. He was so conflicted; he had to tell his father the truth, but was afraid of what his father would do. Finally, the truth won out, and Bobby knew what he had to do.

Once again he stood near his father. "Daddy?" he said softly. And once again his father ignored him.

Bobby let it all out. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Daddy, those men didn't let Ma loose. I did."

Now he had his father's attention. And Frankie's. Frank turned to him, staring, then sat up. "What did you say?"

Now Bobby was sorry he said anything. "I… said that those men did—"

"I heard you!" The look on Frank's face was incredibility mixed with pure venom. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he bellowed, causing Bobby to shrink back, and even Frankie moved further away.

"Ma said… she said… for me to let her loose…and—"

Frank grabbed him and shook him, then pushed him into the wall. "Your mother is a fucking nut case! Since when did you start doing what you're told? You shouldn't have been there in the first place!" Before Bobby could utter a word, Frank grabbed him and hit him in the mouth, knocking him down again as a frightened Frankie looked on. Frankie ran to his dad, grabbing his arm.

"Dad, don't!" When Frank turned to look at him, Frankie let go and backed away. "Our teacher said you could hurt someone bad, hitting them in the face…" He stood there, fully expecting to be hit himself.

His expectations were fulfilled as Frank backhanded Frankie, too. Frankie had backed off at the last second, so he managed to stay on his feet. Frank looked at Frankie and said, "I wanna tell you something. If I wanted to hurt him bad, he'd be hurt bad." Then he stood there, looking from one to the other, then said to Bobby, who was doing his best not to cry, "You are more friggin' trouble than you're worth. You're fucking worthless, you know that? Get out of my sight. Both of you." He turned and headed to the kitchen, bringing back a six-pack of beer.

Bobby and Frankie both took off immediately to their room, Bobby moving a little slower. He was really hurting. He lay back on his bed, holding his stomach, which felt worse than ever. He thought he was going to throw up again. Frankie sat on the bed next to him.

"Why'd ya tell him, Bobby? Why? You knew what he would do…"

Bobby never answered, just rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. He still held his stomach, the hot tears he wouldn't allow in front of his father now streaming down his cheeks. "It hurts, Frankie," he whispered. Frankie wasn't sure what hurt, Bobby's mouth, his belly, or his feelings. Or all three.

Frankie was angry over being hit, but mostly over their whole general lifestyle. "I hate him," Frankie announced once again. "I wish he was dead."

Bobby turned back to his brother. "No, Frankie. Don't say that! Dad only hits me cause I'm bad…"

"No he doesn't, Bobby. He hits you 'cause he's mean. And drunk."

"And because he doesn't like me," Bobby offered.

"Yeah. That too." Frankie went to his dresser and bent down to his bottom drawer. He moved a few things around, and then straightened, holding a cigarette in his hand. He showed it to Bobby. "Here, look, Bobby, I snuck this out of Dad's pack when he went to the bathroom. I got a couple." He then went to another drawer, and pulled out some matches. He lit the cigarette, and took a long drag. "Want a drag? It'll relax you."

Bobby did feel the need, already enjoying cigarettes just a little too much, thanks to the cigarettes Frankie occasionally stole and the excellent coaching. Frankie usually stole them out of his mom's purse. That being impossible at the moment, he now risked getting them from his dad when he was drunk and didn't notice.

Bobby sat up slowly, still holding his stomach, grimacing all the way. He took the cigarette Frankie offered, and took a drag as Frankie had taught him. It felt so good.

Xxxxx

Bobby lay in bed a long time that night, not able to sleep. He thought about those little kids who would now have a Christmas since he told the truth. He was glad about that. But his mouth and stomach still hurt, and for some reason Frankie's words from earlier entered his mind. He couldn't get the images out of his mind of crazy people, all dressed in hospital gowns like his mother, going after little children and eating them. Was Mom going to be one of those people now? A monster? No! Mommy wouldn't be one of those people! Mommy couldn't be one of those. Could she?

"Frankie…?" He had to ask Frankie, Frankie would know. "Frankie?" He said it a little louder, but Frankie didn't answer. He listened to Frankie's even breathing for a moment and knew he was asleep. And now he was scared. "Frankie?" he tried again.

Bobby pulled the covers over his head and lay there, very still. He finally fell into a very fitful sleep. And the nightmares began.

"Ma?" Bobby tried to follow his mother out of her hospital room. But already she had disappeared. "Ma?" he called. Just then Bobby caught something out of the corner of his eye, but whatever it was, it was gone. Was it Ma? He turned in the direction of the movement, and quickly turned the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks, horrified. There was a man, with long stringy gray hair in a blood-stained hospital gown. He was holding a screaming child, also with blood-stained clothing. Immediately the man turned to him, grinning with big razor sharp yellow teeth.

Bobby tried to run, but couldn't move his feet. He was paralyzed with fear. The man's grin grew bigger, and he started moving slowly to Bobby. Bobby squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping the image would disappear. When he opened them again not only was the man still there but only a few feet from him, still holding the other child. Finally Bobby's feet could move, and he took off as fast as he could. But he wasn't fast enough. The man was on him in seconds, swooping him up in his other arm. Bobby struggled with everything he had, but the man's grip only got tighter and the man's leering face was in his own, grinning and snapping his teeth.

He carried both thrashing children into another room, more like a ward, and threw them each down onto beds. The room was filled with small beds, each with a child in it. Some of the children were crying; some were screaming and some were strangely quiet. All were covered in blood, with huge chunks bitten out of them and missing arms and legs. They were surrounded by people like this man, monsters. Bobby tried to scramble off the bed, but the monster snapped at him and threw him back down, this time placing his wrists in child-size restraints. He screamed and kicked at the monster, and suddenly wailed "MAAAAA! Mama, help me! MAAAAA!" And then, thankfully, his mother appeared. She looked down at him and smiled. Then, amazingly she changed right before his eyes. Her once well cared for hair turned stringy and gray, and her beautiful smile turned into a sneer, with sharp yellow teeth. She reached down and touched his restraints, and mocked him. "Now you know how it feels."

The monster next to her pushed her out of his way. "He's mine!" he screamed at her. Then he opened his mouth wide revealing his razor teeth, and leaned down into Bobby's face….

Bobby shot up in his bed. Somewhere someone was screaming, and a second later he realized it was him.

Frankie was awake now, too. "Shut up!" he hissed. "Dad's gonna come in!'

"Frankie! Mom's a monster! They get kids, and tie them up and eat them!"

"It's just a bad dream, Bobby. Now shut up!"

But it was too late. A moment later a drunk and disheveled Frank came stumbling into their room, flipping the light switch. Frankie immediately pretended to be asleep. "What the hell's going on in here?" he demanded, halfway tripping over a shoe. He picked it up and threw it, hitting the window and cracking it. Bobby ducked out of reflex.

He glared at Bobby. "It was you, wasn't it?" He strode over to Bobby, and before anyone realized it, Frank had Bobby standing on the bed facing the wall. He started unfastening his belt, mumbling something like "inconsiderate little brat."

Bobby trembled against the wall, and turned slowly to face his Dad. "I… I had a bad dream…"

Frank looked at Bobby, groggy, like he didn't understand.

"I won't dream no more, Daddy. Please, I promise!"

Frank stood staring at Bobby for a minute, then putting his face right next to Bobby's, he said, "Stay out of my sight. I don't even want to have to look at you." Once again, in his mind's eye, he was picturing Francis and Mark Ford Brady coupling and producing this bastard child. "I don't want to look at you, I don't want to hear you, I don't want anything to do with you." He turned and lurched out of the room.

Frankie couldn't believe his father said that; he could only attribute it to his father's drunken state of mind. "Bobby, he didn't mean it, he's drinking again…"

His words had no effect on Bobby, who despite everything , still adored his dad. Tears sprang to the boy's eyes, and he dropped down into the bed, covering himself completely, facing the wall. He sobbed as quietly as he could, hoping Frankie couldn't hear. Frank's ugly words to his son hurt far more than any beating ever would. Worse than that, though, was the thought that his mother was crazy. She had to be, she was in the crazy house. He was pretty sure she wouldn't be a monster, but she was crazy, and the knowledge of that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

tbc