Monday--
Stacy pulled into the little driveway, fuming. She'd been running all over the place today, working on this lame article about a sexual harrassment suit in an attorney's office trying to get quotes. She was worried about that loose cannon Jim and when she went to pick up Tommy from school he wasn't there. No one could tell her where he was. Peeved, she stomped up the path and threw open the door. "Tommy! Are you here?" He was coming out of the bathroom as she approached the hall. "You knew I was picking you up, you monkeypants!"
"Mom," he exclaimed, surprised. His face was cut and bruised and his Pearl Jam shirt was torn.
It brought the redhead up short. "What happened to you? Were you fighting?"
"Yeah," he admitted, looking at the floor. "I walked home."
"What happened?," she questioned again. "Are you all right?"
"Nothing, I'm fine," he answered, heading for his room. Stacy followed him, preventing him from shutting his door. It ended up being a poutfest (on Tommy's part) since he wouldn't tell her what he'd been fighting about. After his mother finally left he threw himself on the bed, mentally drained.
The day had started out so good.
Then when he tried talking to Carla the perfect blonde cheerleader she called him phantom boy and mocked him. He got the usual stares at lunch, then he was accosted by Shawn Watley who apparently had it in for him. Might have had something to do with the fact he also liked Carla, and she most likely ran and told him a buncha crap. After classes he was waiting for his mom to pick him up with Laura when Shawn jumped him. His friend Laura tried to pull them apart but it was too much for her. Then she ran for help as Tommy's pale face was being pummelled into the ground. Red fog enclosed his vision and he squirmed out from under his assailant and began slamming Shawn's face and head with his large fists.
Then the boy stopped struggling and Tommy rolled off of him, shocked. Worried, he bent down and could hear him breathing and see his chest rising, but he was unconscious. Wiping his mouth he sprang up and ran home, afraid of his own rage, of other people, everything.
Why can't he get through a day without being harrassed? Why can't he get girls to notice him? Why did he have to be different?
The next evening Tommy appeared in the living room when his mother was hanging up with an enraged Mrs. Watley, protesting the beating her son Shawn recieved at Tommy's hands. She glared at him as he plopped on the couch. "What?," he challenged after a moment.
"Boy, you are something. No going out on the weekends for you for a month since you've taken it upon yourself to beat the crap outta people and not tell me why."
"Just like not telling me about my uncle's disappearance and how I was born?," he shot back, eliciting a surprised gasp from Stacy. "I ain't stupid, you know. You and this other dude were in Meadowbrook for while for being crazy. I know, Mom. So why don't you tell me the rest?"
Stacy groaned inside; she should've known. "You have no reason to know, trust me. It's for your own safety."
"I deserve to know! Where did I come from, who's my father, the other half of my family?"
"Drop it, Tommy! Just let it be!," Stacy leaped to her feet, stomping toward her bedroom. The teenager hurled epithets at his mother's back but she didn't respond. Growling, he started for his room then decided to poke around the half- basement and see what he could find. Stumbling down the dirty wooden steps he found the pull chain for the light when he got to the bottom. A shaky, yellow light illuminated the room, throwing long shadows on boxes and shelves of junk, things put away for storage. He selected one and rummaged through it, finding old tax papers and--some photographs. Leafing through them he beheld grainy pictures of Tom and Stacy together, some of his grandparents and other family members. Something scurried by his feet and he jumped, dropping the box. "Ugh," he spat. A damn rat brazenly sniffing around. Disgusted he reached for the closest thing at hand which was a small gardening trowel that had been forgotten about (Stacy was never much for gardening). He plunged it into the rodent's back, a small squeal announcing the animal's pain. Tommy stabbed it again, leaving it twitching. The blood enthralled him, leaving him grossed out but wanting more. A voice in his head encouraged him to do it again; hand shaking he obeyed. Pain is power.
Go away!
Who do you think saved you from that preppy asshole?
He had no rebuttal for that. Pushing through stacks of boxes and papers, he discovered another grey rat skulking in the shadows. He grabbed it up and crushed it in his hands, earning praise from the voice in his brain. He also felt much better. For a moment he wondered if he was going insane.
Ahh, detention. That lovely device to punish rulebreakers by making them sit for 8 hours and do nothing and have one bathroom break. Tommy was massively hating it. Dan had been in awe after he heard that Tommy had laid the smack down on Shawn and Tommy was missing him. And Laura, sweet loyal girl. She wanted to help him when that idiot jumped him. His mom was still mad at him, and he was getting mighty restless in the detention class with the other losers.
At long last 3:00 rolled around and they were dismissed, and Tommy went in search for Laura. He found her by the outside basketball court, alone. She turned as he got near and smiled at him, her melting smile. "Hey you. Was detention worth it?," she asked, referring to the fight.
"You bet," he replied, suddenly entranced with her black hair and tight shirt. Kiss her, you idiot.
What?
Kiss her!
Tommy leaned forward and put his lips on hers, unsure of what to do next. Taken unawares she dropped her bookbag when he put his arms around her, holding her to him. After a few seconds of bliss she pushed him away. "What are you doing?," she asked, confused.
"I dunno why I did that," he floundered.
Her bewildered expression was replaced by an affectionate, coy one--then she kissed him back. As excitement tingled in his veins it was mingled by an urge to wrap his fingers around her pretty neck and squeeze...oh yes....they parted and he wanted to get away. He excused himself and ran all the way home again.
Kill the cheerleader. She deserves it; she's asking for it. He protested NO, but the voice went on, urging him to hit her, cut her, make her bleed.
The tall spectre beckoned to her, smiling---was it a mocking smile? A knowing one, perhaps? His white hair fell down to his waist, faded eyes sparkling. "Where are you, darlin? Where's my son?"
"He's safe from you! Leave us alone!," she screamed back at him.
Otis leaned forward, grasping her shoulders roughly. She twisted in his grip, attempting to rid herself of him.
"No!," Stacy screamed, waking herself up, gasping. Her vision cleared, revealing her son standing over her. "Wha-?" He took her head in his arms and she wept like a baby. After she was spent, Tommy sat on the bed beside his mom. "No more fighting?," he asked softly.
"Oh God, Tommy. I love you," she spoke, arms going around his solid frame, this being she created with a maniac. No, this was her son. "I don't like keeping things from you, but I don't think you're ready for the truth yet. Please trust me on this."
"I'm sorry, Mom," he said as he smoothed her damp reddish hair away from her face. Tommy would bide his time--and she was still his mother.
The sixteen year old watched the other students with contempt and a little pity. He tailed Carla the popular girl and cheerleader as she made her hip- swinging way to the bus. He jumped from the side and cold-cocked her, dropping her like so much dead meat. "Heh heh," he laughed, making sure no one had noticed as he dragged her prim little body off. In the ratty basement of the house he secured her with cord, gagging her as well. Carla opened her pretty blue eyes to the dim yellowish light and musty boxes and tried to scream to no avail. Tommy socked her in the side of the head again for the hell of it, nearly sending her out again. She struggled against her restraints, polka dotted button-up blouse torn and heaving at her ample bosom. "Caught in a web, ain't you?," cackled Tommy, holding up a pocket knife.
"Damn," cursed Dan, running a hand through his shaggy dirty blond hair. Tommy wasn't answering the phone, and he was kinda worried. Tommy had been acting rather strange lately. "Nothing," he told Laura, who was biting her lip. "You think we should go over there?"
"Nah, don't wanna piss his mom off," she decided, tossing her black hair. "Let's go play Nintendo."
Stacy pulled into the driveway, sure that the crazed Jim was still watching her and feeling creeped out. That little butthole son of hers better be home or there'd be some asswhooping going on.
Looking up from his work, Tommy knew his mother was home and licked the knife clean, replacing it in his back pocket. Then he licked Carla's face, causing her to moan in fear. "You taste good," he told her, groping a nubile breast before he turned to leave.
Stacy was running on her treadmill in the spare room when Tommy made an appearance. He got behind her and ran, causing her to smile. She upped the speed and he slid off with a thunk, making her double up with laughter and follow him soon after. The routine was an attempt to fend off the middle-age spread, and she had for the most part succeeded. Her behind had inevitably gotten bigger and she collected a few stretch marks, but nothing that she couldn't live with. Oh well, she filled her jogging pants and tank top nicely, anyways. After the laughing ceased she asked him to run up to the store and get a few things for her. In the Cavalier, not the Blazer she made very clear. Nobody touches the Blazer. Grumbling, Tommy agreed to go.
Approaching the red car with the requested items in a paper bag Tommy noticed a scraggly older man tailing him. He stuffed the groceries in the back seat and turned to eye the stranger. Ugh, he has a crazy eye and a scarred face--but Tommy thought to himself I'm one to talk haha.
Jim watched intently as the boy started the car up and drove off, troubled. He had a feeling the disease had started festering here. If only Stacy would let him talk to her. Maybe he should've tried talking to the lad, but his appearance frightened him. He resembled Otis Driftwood quite a bit; Jim only hoped he had enough of his mother in him.
Stacy's mouth dropped--she had went downstairs to the storage area to look at some old pictures since she was feeling nostalgic. What greeted her was a sight from her nightmarish past: a young girl dirty and bleeding, clothes torn. "Oh my God," she uttered softly, clutching the rusty handrail for support. How could this be? The girl's eyes fluttered, focusing on the large woman. "Hold on," she comforted the girl. "I'll get you out soon." She clunked up the stairs and made for the front door to lock it while Tommy was gone. Before she reached the door it swung open, Tommy entering and shutting the door. Stacy felt like a possum in the headlights, and her son turned to her and read her face.
"Mom?," he said uncertainly. The horror was plain in her expression, bag of groceries falling to the hardwood floor. Stacy backed slowly away. She wished he'd stop looking at her with her own eyes.
"Tommy," she spoke, then swallowed. "I feel like I fucked up somehow. Whew, all right we can get through this," she thought out loud. "We can get you some help--"
"I don't want any help!," he declared, his pale face flushing with emotion. "This ain't about you for once." He stepped toward her and she backed up further.
"I can't let this go on," she said deliberately.
"You can't stop me," Tommy hissed. "I'm through with your lies."
"NO!," she screamed as he lunged toward her. They ended up a writhing heap on the floor, Tommy eventually gaining the upper hand and smashing her head into the floor until she stopped struggling. Now you have her. He dragged her large frame into her bedroom and tied her to the bed. Tommy stuffed some bedding under her neck, propping her mouth open. Poking through her medicines he found her sleeping pills and a bottle of wine. Nice. He put several in her mouth and poured wine down her throat. She coughed, swallowed then gagged, begging him to stop. She's kept you from your heritage, spoke the voice in his mind. You have work to do.
The young man went through Stacy's purse, cleaning out all the money in her wallet and snatching the truck keys.
Score.
Stacy pulled into the little driveway, fuming. She'd been running all over the place today, working on this lame article about a sexual harrassment suit in an attorney's office trying to get quotes. She was worried about that loose cannon Jim and when she went to pick up Tommy from school he wasn't there. No one could tell her where he was. Peeved, she stomped up the path and threw open the door. "Tommy! Are you here?" He was coming out of the bathroom as she approached the hall. "You knew I was picking you up, you monkeypants!"
"Mom," he exclaimed, surprised. His face was cut and bruised and his Pearl Jam shirt was torn.
It brought the redhead up short. "What happened to you? Were you fighting?"
"Yeah," he admitted, looking at the floor. "I walked home."
"What happened?," she questioned again. "Are you all right?"
"Nothing, I'm fine," he answered, heading for his room. Stacy followed him, preventing him from shutting his door. It ended up being a poutfest (on Tommy's part) since he wouldn't tell her what he'd been fighting about. After his mother finally left he threw himself on the bed, mentally drained.
The day had started out so good.
Then when he tried talking to Carla the perfect blonde cheerleader she called him phantom boy and mocked him. He got the usual stares at lunch, then he was accosted by Shawn Watley who apparently had it in for him. Might have had something to do with the fact he also liked Carla, and she most likely ran and told him a buncha crap. After classes he was waiting for his mom to pick him up with Laura when Shawn jumped him. His friend Laura tried to pull them apart but it was too much for her. Then she ran for help as Tommy's pale face was being pummelled into the ground. Red fog enclosed his vision and he squirmed out from under his assailant and began slamming Shawn's face and head with his large fists.
Then the boy stopped struggling and Tommy rolled off of him, shocked. Worried, he bent down and could hear him breathing and see his chest rising, but he was unconscious. Wiping his mouth he sprang up and ran home, afraid of his own rage, of other people, everything.
Why can't he get through a day without being harrassed? Why can't he get girls to notice him? Why did he have to be different?
The next evening Tommy appeared in the living room when his mother was hanging up with an enraged Mrs. Watley, protesting the beating her son Shawn recieved at Tommy's hands. She glared at him as he plopped on the couch. "What?," he challenged after a moment.
"Boy, you are something. No going out on the weekends for you for a month since you've taken it upon yourself to beat the crap outta people and not tell me why."
"Just like not telling me about my uncle's disappearance and how I was born?," he shot back, eliciting a surprised gasp from Stacy. "I ain't stupid, you know. You and this other dude were in Meadowbrook for while for being crazy. I know, Mom. So why don't you tell me the rest?"
Stacy groaned inside; she should've known. "You have no reason to know, trust me. It's for your own safety."
"I deserve to know! Where did I come from, who's my father, the other half of my family?"
"Drop it, Tommy! Just let it be!," Stacy leaped to her feet, stomping toward her bedroom. The teenager hurled epithets at his mother's back but she didn't respond. Growling, he started for his room then decided to poke around the half- basement and see what he could find. Stumbling down the dirty wooden steps he found the pull chain for the light when he got to the bottom. A shaky, yellow light illuminated the room, throwing long shadows on boxes and shelves of junk, things put away for storage. He selected one and rummaged through it, finding old tax papers and--some photographs. Leafing through them he beheld grainy pictures of Tom and Stacy together, some of his grandparents and other family members. Something scurried by his feet and he jumped, dropping the box. "Ugh," he spat. A damn rat brazenly sniffing around. Disgusted he reached for the closest thing at hand which was a small gardening trowel that had been forgotten about (Stacy was never much for gardening). He plunged it into the rodent's back, a small squeal announcing the animal's pain. Tommy stabbed it again, leaving it twitching. The blood enthralled him, leaving him grossed out but wanting more. A voice in his head encouraged him to do it again; hand shaking he obeyed. Pain is power.
Go away!
Who do you think saved you from that preppy asshole?
He had no rebuttal for that. Pushing through stacks of boxes and papers, he discovered another grey rat skulking in the shadows. He grabbed it up and crushed it in his hands, earning praise from the voice in his brain. He also felt much better. For a moment he wondered if he was going insane.
Ahh, detention. That lovely device to punish rulebreakers by making them sit for 8 hours and do nothing and have one bathroom break. Tommy was massively hating it. Dan had been in awe after he heard that Tommy had laid the smack down on Shawn and Tommy was missing him. And Laura, sweet loyal girl. She wanted to help him when that idiot jumped him. His mom was still mad at him, and he was getting mighty restless in the detention class with the other losers.
At long last 3:00 rolled around and they were dismissed, and Tommy went in search for Laura. He found her by the outside basketball court, alone. She turned as he got near and smiled at him, her melting smile. "Hey you. Was detention worth it?," she asked, referring to the fight.
"You bet," he replied, suddenly entranced with her black hair and tight shirt. Kiss her, you idiot.
What?
Kiss her!
Tommy leaned forward and put his lips on hers, unsure of what to do next. Taken unawares she dropped her bookbag when he put his arms around her, holding her to him. After a few seconds of bliss she pushed him away. "What are you doing?," she asked, confused.
"I dunno why I did that," he floundered.
Her bewildered expression was replaced by an affectionate, coy one--then she kissed him back. As excitement tingled in his veins it was mingled by an urge to wrap his fingers around her pretty neck and squeeze...oh yes....they parted and he wanted to get away. He excused himself and ran all the way home again.
Kill the cheerleader. She deserves it; she's asking for it. He protested NO, but the voice went on, urging him to hit her, cut her, make her bleed.
The tall spectre beckoned to her, smiling---was it a mocking smile? A knowing one, perhaps? His white hair fell down to his waist, faded eyes sparkling. "Where are you, darlin? Where's my son?"
"He's safe from you! Leave us alone!," she screamed back at him.
Otis leaned forward, grasping her shoulders roughly. She twisted in his grip, attempting to rid herself of him.
"No!," Stacy screamed, waking herself up, gasping. Her vision cleared, revealing her son standing over her. "Wha-?" He took her head in his arms and she wept like a baby. After she was spent, Tommy sat on the bed beside his mom. "No more fighting?," he asked softly.
"Oh God, Tommy. I love you," she spoke, arms going around his solid frame, this being she created with a maniac. No, this was her son. "I don't like keeping things from you, but I don't think you're ready for the truth yet. Please trust me on this."
"I'm sorry, Mom," he said as he smoothed her damp reddish hair away from her face. Tommy would bide his time--and she was still his mother.
The sixteen year old watched the other students with contempt and a little pity. He tailed Carla the popular girl and cheerleader as she made her hip- swinging way to the bus. He jumped from the side and cold-cocked her, dropping her like so much dead meat. "Heh heh," he laughed, making sure no one had noticed as he dragged her prim little body off. In the ratty basement of the house he secured her with cord, gagging her as well. Carla opened her pretty blue eyes to the dim yellowish light and musty boxes and tried to scream to no avail. Tommy socked her in the side of the head again for the hell of it, nearly sending her out again. She struggled against her restraints, polka dotted button-up blouse torn and heaving at her ample bosom. "Caught in a web, ain't you?," cackled Tommy, holding up a pocket knife.
"Damn," cursed Dan, running a hand through his shaggy dirty blond hair. Tommy wasn't answering the phone, and he was kinda worried. Tommy had been acting rather strange lately. "Nothing," he told Laura, who was biting her lip. "You think we should go over there?"
"Nah, don't wanna piss his mom off," she decided, tossing her black hair. "Let's go play Nintendo."
Stacy pulled into the driveway, sure that the crazed Jim was still watching her and feeling creeped out. That little butthole son of hers better be home or there'd be some asswhooping going on.
Looking up from his work, Tommy knew his mother was home and licked the knife clean, replacing it in his back pocket. Then he licked Carla's face, causing her to moan in fear. "You taste good," he told her, groping a nubile breast before he turned to leave.
Stacy was running on her treadmill in the spare room when Tommy made an appearance. He got behind her and ran, causing her to smile. She upped the speed and he slid off with a thunk, making her double up with laughter and follow him soon after. The routine was an attempt to fend off the middle-age spread, and she had for the most part succeeded. Her behind had inevitably gotten bigger and she collected a few stretch marks, but nothing that she couldn't live with. Oh well, she filled her jogging pants and tank top nicely, anyways. After the laughing ceased she asked him to run up to the store and get a few things for her. In the Cavalier, not the Blazer she made very clear. Nobody touches the Blazer. Grumbling, Tommy agreed to go.
Approaching the red car with the requested items in a paper bag Tommy noticed a scraggly older man tailing him. He stuffed the groceries in the back seat and turned to eye the stranger. Ugh, he has a crazy eye and a scarred face--but Tommy thought to himself I'm one to talk haha.
Jim watched intently as the boy started the car up and drove off, troubled. He had a feeling the disease had started festering here. If only Stacy would let him talk to her. Maybe he should've tried talking to the lad, but his appearance frightened him. He resembled Otis Driftwood quite a bit; Jim only hoped he had enough of his mother in him.
Stacy's mouth dropped--she had went downstairs to the storage area to look at some old pictures since she was feeling nostalgic. What greeted her was a sight from her nightmarish past: a young girl dirty and bleeding, clothes torn. "Oh my God," she uttered softly, clutching the rusty handrail for support. How could this be? The girl's eyes fluttered, focusing on the large woman. "Hold on," she comforted the girl. "I'll get you out soon." She clunked up the stairs and made for the front door to lock it while Tommy was gone. Before she reached the door it swung open, Tommy entering and shutting the door. Stacy felt like a possum in the headlights, and her son turned to her and read her face.
"Mom?," he said uncertainly. The horror was plain in her expression, bag of groceries falling to the hardwood floor. Stacy backed slowly away. She wished he'd stop looking at her with her own eyes.
"Tommy," she spoke, then swallowed. "I feel like I fucked up somehow. Whew, all right we can get through this," she thought out loud. "We can get you some help--"
"I don't want any help!," he declared, his pale face flushing with emotion. "This ain't about you for once." He stepped toward her and she backed up further.
"I can't let this go on," she said deliberately.
"You can't stop me," Tommy hissed. "I'm through with your lies."
"NO!," she screamed as he lunged toward her. They ended up a writhing heap on the floor, Tommy eventually gaining the upper hand and smashing her head into the floor until she stopped struggling. Now you have her. He dragged her large frame into her bedroom and tied her to the bed. Tommy stuffed some bedding under her neck, propping her mouth open. Poking through her medicines he found her sleeping pills and a bottle of wine. Nice. He put several in her mouth and poured wine down her throat. She coughed, swallowed then gagged, begging him to stop. She's kept you from your heritage, spoke the voice in his mind. You have work to do.
The young man went through Stacy's purse, cleaning out all the money in her wallet and snatching the truck keys.
Score.