The thirteen-year-old caboose quietly looked at the twenty-two-year old
caboose that was castigating him. CB had just wrecked his fifth train.
Christopher, the older caboose, was giving him hell for it. He wanted the
younger caboose to regret what he'd done. CB would never regret it, though.
He saw it as a form of revenge. He wanted others to feel his pain. Chris
just didn't understand. He never would, he had a family. A family was what
CB desperately wanted. He wanted one so desperately, that he was willing to
kill, even at a young age, to ease his pain.
To ease his pain, CB had murdered five engines, and countless freight cars. He'd started as an eight-year-old, and couldn't stop. It hurt him, to think that he couldn't keep from harming others. But it didn't matter. It never had, it never would. Never. He was who he was, and nothing could change that. Nothing. Nobody. He wouldn't change for anyone. Never.
"CB! Are you listening?" Chris asked. "You better be listening to me!"
The young caboose glared at the friend that had helped him, for the past five years. He'd been an eight-year-old runaway, when Chris, then eighteen, had met him, and taken him in. He'd thought the older caboose had understood, but apparently he hadn't.
"Chris, would you just stop? I'm a big guy, now, I don't need you telling me what to do, anymore!"
"CB… Chattterbox, look…"
"I told you never to call me that! NEVER!"
Chris stared. He'd made a mistake! It wasn't his fault! How could the kid hold it against him? Why had the younger caboose freaked out, so badly? Chris began to worry.
"I'm sorry, CB…"
"Sorry doesn't cut it, Chris! Stop treating me like a kid, or you're next on my list!"
Chris watched, as CB stalked off. He sighed, and looked down at the radio he held. He'd had it on broadcast, the whole time. Now, he lifted it toward his face.
"See what I mean, Poppa? He's getting worse. I'm worried about him. Hurry and come get him."
"I will. Just give me an hour."
"Right."
Chris turned, to find CB staring at him. The young caboose lifted the chair his hands gripped. The teenage caboose's eyes filled with tears, and he whimpered.
"I thought you were my friend…"
Chris backed into a wall, as CB came toward him.
"I am, CB… If you'd let me explain…"
"I'm sick of explanations…"
CB swung the chair, catching Chris in the forehead with the corner of the seat. Blood oozed from the cut that the chair had opened. Chris collapsed, dazed. CB brought the chair down, again and again. Blood! Power! He was somebody! He was making his parents proud! They'd be proud of him, for overcoming all the obstacles set in front of him, and being strong! He was being strong! He was proud! Strong! Powerful! Brave! He was angry… Hurting… Frightened… Chris was his friend! He had to stop! He was killing his best friend! He was powerful! He was a murderer! He was killing his only friend!
CB eventually stopped swinging the chair. He fell to his knees, half exhausted, half-insane. He sobbed, and stared at the bloody mess his friend's head had become. He'd smashed his friend's skull, blood was oozing in a puddle on the floor. He trembled, as he turned away, only to see Poppa come through the door. He didn't move, didn't breathe.
"CB…"
"I didn't mean it… I couldn't stop… I didn't want to kill him…"
"Stay here, CB. I'll get help."
"No, please! I… Don't leave me alone with him! He'll come back, he'll hurt me!"
Poppa gently took the young caboose's arm, and led him off. He knew he had to get the caboose hidden,
before he was found, and carted off. He'd made a promise to the caboose's parents, long, long ago. To not
keep that promise would be to go back on his word, which is something a steamer never, ever did.
The caboose didn't struggle, not even one time. He was too frightened. His friend was dead... All he could hear was his friend's voice... "Let me explain..." And he'd killed his friend. He cried, when Belle took him into her arms, hours later. He wasn't crying for the reasons his adoptive family thought, though... He was crying, because he was in a daze... And because all he could think about was that Christopher's blood was all over him... And would never come clean...
The caboose was surrounded by friends, for the next five years. The others never mentioned what he'd done, where he'd been... And they listened, with disgusted interest, when he mentioned it. At the end of tive years, he'd participate in the races, with his friends, as he'd be an adult, and finally, finally, old enough to participate.
But, when he was sixteen, after having come so far, and regained most of his sanity, the worst possible thing could have happened... CB made the worst mistake of his life... He met Electra, and brought him to the trainyard, as a chore... And the electric engine somehow brought out the demons, again... They were weak, but grew stronger, every day. By race night, they were ready to break free. And, then, because the caboose was unprepared for the sudden loss of his sanity, all hell broke loose...
To ease his pain, CB had murdered five engines, and countless freight cars. He'd started as an eight-year-old, and couldn't stop. It hurt him, to think that he couldn't keep from harming others. But it didn't matter. It never had, it never would. Never. He was who he was, and nothing could change that. Nothing. Nobody. He wouldn't change for anyone. Never.
"CB! Are you listening?" Chris asked. "You better be listening to me!"
The young caboose glared at the friend that had helped him, for the past five years. He'd been an eight-year-old runaway, when Chris, then eighteen, had met him, and taken him in. He'd thought the older caboose had understood, but apparently he hadn't.
"Chris, would you just stop? I'm a big guy, now, I don't need you telling me what to do, anymore!"
"CB… Chattterbox, look…"
"I told you never to call me that! NEVER!"
Chris stared. He'd made a mistake! It wasn't his fault! How could the kid hold it against him? Why had the younger caboose freaked out, so badly? Chris began to worry.
"I'm sorry, CB…"
"Sorry doesn't cut it, Chris! Stop treating me like a kid, or you're next on my list!"
Chris watched, as CB stalked off. He sighed, and looked down at the radio he held. He'd had it on broadcast, the whole time. Now, he lifted it toward his face.
"See what I mean, Poppa? He's getting worse. I'm worried about him. Hurry and come get him."
"I will. Just give me an hour."
"Right."
Chris turned, to find CB staring at him. The young caboose lifted the chair his hands gripped. The teenage caboose's eyes filled with tears, and he whimpered.
"I thought you were my friend…"
Chris backed into a wall, as CB came toward him.
"I am, CB… If you'd let me explain…"
"I'm sick of explanations…"
CB swung the chair, catching Chris in the forehead with the corner of the seat. Blood oozed from the cut that the chair had opened. Chris collapsed, dazed. CB brought the chair down, again and again. Blood! Power! He was somebody! He was making his parents proud! They'd be proud of him, for overcoming all the obstacles set in front of him, and being strong! He was being strong! He was proud! Strong! Powerful! Brave! He was angry… Hurting… Frightened… Chris was his friend! He had to stop! He was killing his best friend! He was powerful! He was a murderer! He was killing his only friend!
CB eventually stopped swinging the chair. He fell to his knees, half exhausted, half-insane. He sobbed, and stared at the bloody mess his friend's head had become. He'd smashed his friend's skull, blood was oozing in a puddle on the floor. He trembled, as he turned away, only to see Poppa come through the door. He didn't move, didn't breathe.
"CB…"
"I didn't mean it… I couldn't stop… I didn't want to kill him…"
"Stay here, CB. I'll get help."
"No, please! I… Don't leave me alone with him! He'll come back, he'll hurt me!"
Poppa gently took the young caboose's arm, and led him off. He knew he had to get the caboose hidden,
before he was found, and carted off. He'd made a promise to the caboose's parents, long, long ago. To not
keep that promise would be to go back on his word, which is something a steamer never, ever did.
The caboose didn't struggle, not even one time. He was too frightened. His friend was dead... All he could hear was his friend's voice... "Let me explain..." And he'd killed his friend. He cried, when Belle took him into her arms, hours later. He wasn't crying for the reasons his adoptive family thought, though... He was crying, because he was in a daze... And because all he could think about was that Christopher's blood was all over him... And would never come clean...
The caboose was surrounded by friends, for the next five years. The others never mentioned what he'd done, where he'd been... And they listened, with disgusted interest, when he mentioned it. At the end of tive years, he'd participate in the races, with his friends, as he'd be an adult, and finally, finally, old enough to participate.
But, when he was sixteen, after having come so far, and regained most of his sanity, the worst possible thing could have happened... CB made the worst mistake of his life... He met Electra, and brought him to the trainyard, as a chore... And the electric engine somehow brought out the demons, again... They were weak, but grew stronger, every day. By race night, they were ready to break free. And, then, because the caboose was unprepared for the sudden loss of his sanity, all hell broke loose...
