Detour, Chapter 6
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters or places, but the Clemms are my people.
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As Bosco drifted, the voices returned. Voices….shouting….terrible screams. Pleas for help and cries for mercy.
And then another voice, more comforting. One that he sounded almost familiar.
Maurice. It's ok, Maurice. You're safe.
"NO!" Bosco shouted out as he said straight up in the bed. His breathing was rapid, his hair matted with sweat. Much to his dismay, he noted that he was still at Clemm Creek.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.
Swinging his legs off the side of the bed with a groan, Bosco reached out to retrieve the knitting needle from the bedside table. Stopping suddenly, he stared at the empty spot where the needle should have been. 'I know I put it there.'
After looking around the table, he decided to search the floor surrounding it. 'Maybe it just fell off.'
When that search was unrevealing, Bosco began to panic. 'It has to be here.' Standing up, he searched the bedside table again, then the bed itself, frantically throwing the covers to the floor. "No….no….no." He muttered out loud, as his heart began to thump faster in his chest. Dropping to the floor on his already battered knees, he glanced under the edge of the bed. When he saw no sign of the needle, he swept his hand along the floor under the bed as far as he could reach. He collected a few splinters in his hand from the rough wood floor, but no knitting needle.
"This can't be happening. It has to be here. It has to be. I'm not crazy."
For the next twenty minutes, Bosco searched every corner of the bedroom like a madman. By the time he'd finished, it was completely destroyed. Finally stopping in the middle of the room, he grasped the edges of his hair with his hands and pulled, shaking his head back and forth. "Argggggggghhhhhhh…." He groaned. "It was here! It is real! I know it is!"
Shoving his feet into his shoes, he ran from the room, having decided that he'd search the whole house if he had too. Entering the joined living/dining area, he saw Grandma Clemm sitting in her rocker knitting a sweater. Running over, he snatched sweater and all from her hands. Grandma gave him a strange look, but held her tongue. "This isn't it. Wrong color." He mumbled, tossing the objects back into Grandma's lap. "Where is it?"
"Where's what?" Grandma asked, confused.
"THE KNITTING NEEDLE!" Bosco shouted, shaking his head from side to side. His chest tightened and he suddenly turned toward the door. "I have to get out of here." He mumbled.
Stumbling across the front porch and down the steps, Bosco stopped and scanned the tree line at the edge of the woods. "The plane has to be here…has too."
Scanning the yard, he saw Junior playing in the dirt. He took a second look when he saw the sun reflect off of something in the little boy's hand. "You little…." Bosco broke into a run and was soon at the boy's side. Seeing that the boy did indeed have the knitting needle in his hand, Bosco grabbed the strap to his overalls and jerked him to his feet. Reaching for the needle, he yelled at the startled child. "Give me that! It's not yours! You have no right!"
"It's mine!" The little boy shouted back, holding the needle away from Bosco.
"It's not yours, you little thief! It belongs to Polly! Now, give it here!"
"No!" Junior shouted, trying to squirm away. He punched at Bosco.
Giving the boy a vigorous shake by his overalls, Bosco continued to scream at him. "STOP! GIVE IT TO ME! IT'S NOT YOURS! IT'S NOT YOURS, YOU LITTLE MONSTER!"
Suddenly Bosco felt himself being yanked around and found himself face to face with a very angry Ezra Clemm.
Junior, taking advantage of Bosco's surprise, slipped from his grip and ran towards the house with the knitting needle in hand. He ran past Grandma, Ma and Wanda Sue who were now looking on from the porch.
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, BOY?" Pa Clemm shouted, shaking Bosco. His knuckles were white from the grip he had on Bosco's overall straps. "ARE YOU CRAZY? If I ever see ya lay a hand on Junior again, I'll beat the tar out of ya!" Loosening his grip, he pushed Bosco slightly away from him, afraid that he'd loose control and hurt the much smaller man.
"HE TOOK IT!" Bosco shouted at Pa after he had recovered. "HE TOOK THE KNITTING NEEDLE! IT'S NOT HIS!"
Pa Clemm shook his head and pointed a finger in Bosco's face. "That attachment you got to that knittin needle ain't normal, boy!"
"IT'S NOT HIS!" Bosco repeated. "It's Polly's." He said more quietly, his voice wavering. "Polly Bennett. Her husband is a planter. She was coming back from visiting her daughter and grandchildren when the plane crashed. But you don't care about that! NONE OF YOU CARE!" Bosco's voice escalated, as he waved his arms around. "YOU ALL GO ON LIKE NOTHING HAS HAPPENED AND PEOPLE ARE HURT OUT THERE! MAYBE DEAD! YOU'RE THE ONES WHO ARE CRAZY!" Bosco bit his bottom lip and clenched his fists at his sides. "I have to get out of here. I have to go."
"Maurice." Pa Clemm said quietly, reaching out towards Bosco's shoulder.
"No!" Bosco shrugged Pa Clemm off. "I have to go." He muttered, then turned and ran towards the woods.
Back on the porch, Grandma Clemm shook her head as well. "That boy's touched. Touched in the head, I say." She turned and went back into the house.