He opened his eyes and looked to the left, drinking in the silvery moonlight. The dusty room hadn't been inhabited for quite some time, but every now and then he would venture up there. He sat up, still in his clothes from the day before and continued gazing out the window. He crossed the room to the window, pale form blending in with the watery light. He'd seen her again, she who had stayed in this room years ago. He would sleep in here with her many nights; he considered her his wife. His son also appeared in his visions, a strapping boy full of promise, his flesh and blood.
How would he ever see him? He spent very little of his time aboveground these days, and knew that after a whole day in the sunlight he'd be fried to a crisp. Get yer tasty marinated Otis, ladies and gents! He chuckled, a dry rattling sound that echoed in the deserted room. One lung had a nasty habit of collapsing, but the treatments seemed to help. He scratched his stomach with his right hand, which was mostly metal. He'd designed it himself, with help from RJ and his useful little wife. He slipped downstairs, certain everyone was asleep. Stepping outside his nostrils flared, sniffing the cool air. Something was happening--he was sure of it. It excited him.
"That yew, Otis?," came a feminine voice. "I see so little of you anymore."
He turned and smiled at Baby. She was smoking a cigarette and coming toward him, winsome grin on her face. "Hullo, Baby. That's a bad habit." In fact, Mother Firefly had passed away a few years earlier of lung cancer.
"Fuck you, buddy," she cracked with her trademark childlike voice and exhaled.
"Whatchoo been doin with yourself lately?"
"Oh, the usual. Spankin off, puttin my thumb up my ass, my art and experiments."
She giggled, pink t-shirt shaking with mirth. "You still havin them dreams?"
Otis didn't say anything for a few moments. "Uh huh. Be prepared for somethin."
"Fer what?"
"Beats me, woman." He started walking toward the field, where his lair awaited him. Peace and cool darkness and solitude. And his creations.
Tommy went to the front door and halted, thinking. A big evil smile spread across his otherwise attractive face.
The next morning the lad was gone, Stacy in a coma and Mrs. Watley was screaming when she discovered her son Shawn in bed with a crowbar buried in his forehead, eyes glazed with the fear of his last moments.
Consulting the road map he'd purchased he could see that his destination was in the middle of nowhere. He'd have to hurry and lose himself before he was missed. As he was speeding down the highway he looked over to the passenger side of the Blazer and smiled.
"Mmmmph!," went the bound and duct-taped girl. He caressed her thigh and put Nirvana Nevermind in the tape deck. Tommy had found his happy place.
Around 11 o'clock that night he pulled off the main road and stopped, yawning. He pulled Carla out of the passenger side and put her in the back, hands still tied behind her back. She was weak, terrified and much smaller than him so her struggling didn't help her. He yanked the duct tape from her mouth for shits and giggles and she began pleading.
"Please..where are you taking me? Please don't hurt me any more," she sobbed. How the mighty do fall, Tommy thought. "Tommy don't kill me. Pleeease don't hurt me--"
"Grovelling doesn't become you, dear," he mocked her, running his long fingers through her matted blonde hair. "How does it feel to be a plaything?" Her blue eyes welled up with tears, shaking her head. He grasped her head and kissed her, then replaced the gag. After that he curled up beside her and slept.
The next morning he chewed on some beef jerky he'd gotten the day before and peered at the map again. He pulled the tape back off the girl's face and offered her some. Her first instinct was to refuse but she hadn't had anything to eat in a couple of days so she accepted even though she normally hated it. He also poured some Pepsi in her mouth which she took greedily then was silenced once more and ordered to stay down or else. He counted his money and noted that he had $235 that he'd filched from Stacy's purse. Tommy was soon on his way, the voices in his mind driving him on.
"Stacy?" Hands were on her face, her arms, a voice urging her to awaken. She felt disjointed, as if she was outside her body looking at herself. She opened puffy eyes and tried to focus on the face bending over her. She'd been released from her restraints but could hardly move even though she tried. What was going on? She was helped to a sitting position and could barely hold her head up; it seemed to weigh two tons. "Stacy, you with me?"
"Wha--what....who...," she managed to say. She made out a familiar man sitting beside her, slapping her face with the back of his hand.
"It's Jim. You've been drugged but I think you're over the worst of it. Come on girl, stay awake!," the man admonished, trying to keep her attention. He was sorry he'd waited so long before checking on her. His whole life had been dedicated to her memory and the memory of the cousin who'd been murdered by the Fireflys, and he'd let one with their genes get away to do God only knew what.
"Tommy...my son," she slurred. "Where is he?" Jim replied that he was gone, but that he had a good idea where he might've went. Stacy fought to keep her eyes open and mind conscious. "There's a g-girl in the basement. Go help her."
Jim hoisted her up and helped her to the living room where he deposited her on the couch and rushed down the steps. There was no one there, but he found evidence of someone being kept. Blonde hairs and blood on the wall along with rope, but no girl. He must've taken her with him. If she was still alive, that is. Heaving a sigh he decided that it could wait; Stacy must go with him back to Ruggsville. They must leave and avoid the authorities.
After some searching the grizzled escaped mental patient found keys to the red car he'd seen Tommy drive earlier and bid the still-addled Stacy to find some clothes to put on. He ended up dressing her and bundling her in the Cavalier and starting off. The boy probably had hours on them, but they'd follow nonetheless. Retribution awaited.
About midday a Chevy Blazer turned into a strange-looking gas station/convenience store. Tommy jumped out, the vehicle needing gas and himself needing refreshment. It was a Texaco station it seemed, but there was an old sign that had been taken down and leaning against the wall that read "Fried Chicken and Gasoline." Great combination, the boy thought. Pushing open the door he entered a musty store with an unusual mixture of old and new--shiny linoleum floor, old-ass shelves, weird stuffed animals and a new cash register sitting on an old wooden counter.
"You can kiss my big wrinkled ass, too. I'm goin as fast as I can," a man mopping the floor said to another man. The big man complaining had his back to Tommy and continued his tirade, sloshing dirty mop water on the tiles. The shorter, skinny man shook his head and wandered to the back.
"Hey mister," Tommy spoke. "Could you turn the gas pump on?"
"You can go fuck a duck," the bald-headed man retorted, turning around. His black eyes settled on Tommy and widened with recognition. He was wearing a grungy t-shirt and faded pants, and he was speechless for a few moments. Finally he recovered and declared, "Well, what have we here?"
Tommy was utterly lost at that point, feet rooted to the spot.
"I know who you are," the gravel-voiced man said, wagging his finger at him. "Ah, you lil' dickens you."
"You know who I am?," Tommy was incredulous.
"I know who yer daddy is," he chuckled, showing a row of large stained teeth. "I s'pose you're lookin for him, eh?"
The teen managed to nod.
"I can tell you where to look, youngun. Heh heh," he plopped the mop down in the bucket and came up to him. He was inches taller than Tommy, and he got a twinge of fear as the scraggly old man got close to him. He looked him over, thinking to himself Otis been sowin his wild oats it seems. He'd nearly wet himself when he saw the newcomer. "I'll draw you a map, lil numbnuts. Com'ere."
Stacy drifted to consciousness while leaned against the window of a car. She felt worse than she did after a night of binge drinking and she couldn't figure why. She turned her head and saw that Jim was driving the Cavalier. Very fast. "Jim?," she slurred. "Are we going after Tommy?"
"Yep," came the laconic reply. "Been on the road most of the day. Gonna stop for a rest pretty soon."
The woman watched the scenery whiz by, still groggy from the sleeping pills she'd been forced to take. The little town they stopped at was right off the highway, and poor Stacy had to lean on the veteran and get her muscles used to working again. She sucked down the bottle of water he handed to her and was refused more. Jim told her she'd overdo it. Shrugging she ambled back to the car and got inside, preparing herself for the quest to retrieve her son.
"Be sure an' tell yer daddy to fuck the hell off. Non-visiting motherfucker. Now get outta my store, ya tourist." With that, Spaulding shuffled back to the work at hand. He'd allowed his store to be bought out for the fat check he recieved, plus he still worked here since nobody else wanted to do it. Retirement was just around the corner, after all. It also kept people from pestering him so much. Don't look at me, I ain't the owner! The old clown watched the boy exit, wondering what would happen when the family was reunited. Could be interesting.
The store manager was hollering at him from the back about mopping the floor. Baring his teeth Spaulding unscrewed the mop handle from the head and went to the employee area.
thud
Unaware, Tommy jumped in the vehicle, started it up and took off in the direction Spaulding had told him. Carla's moans floated up to the front but he paid it little mind. That evening he pulled in the yard of a large farmhouse. What a spread, Tommy thought, taking in the vast garden and chickens running unhindered. He climbed the steps to the porch, discovering baby doll parts stapled to the wall. Junk, clothes and broken toys littered the whole area--what a bunch of freaks. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the antique-looking door. Movement could be heard, then the door swung open.
A tall, well-built girl about Tommy's age stood before him chomping on bubblegum. She stared at him for a moment, looking him up and down several times. "Can I help ya?," she asked, tossing her wavy red-gold hair.
"Yeah, I was looking for some relatives, or some answers maybe. My name is Tommy Robins and I was looking for my uncle and dad--"
"You need to come on in, monkeybuns," she declared, standing aside and motioning him to enter. He followed her to a den/family room of some sort, the walls covered with ancient peeling wallpaper and musty furniture. "Mama. Mama!," the girl hollered. "I'll go get someone to answer yer questions," the lass told him, bidding him to have a seat until she got back.
The click clack of high heeled shoes approached, and a 40-something woman entered the room with an open beer in one hand. She was scantily clad and still beautiful, with thick blonde hair and blue green eyes. The young girl came back as well, and a resemblance could be seen. Tommy was shocked to realize the girl looked like a cross between the older woman and his mother. "What did you say your name was?," the mother asked with an unexpectedly high-pitched voice. He repeated his name. "I think I can help you, sugar."
"You can tell me about my past?"
"Hahahaha, ohh yeah. Your mother stayed with us for a spell." She laughed as Tommy's mouth dropped open, a devilishly angelic sound. "Tommy, meet your cousin Lily. I'm now known as Mama, but you can call me Baby if ya like. The others are around. Your daddy is, too. Hup--you'll meet him soon. Come have some supper with us, cutiepie." He was led into a massive dining room and sat in a carved wooden chair.
To his right sat a skinny black woman chomping down on a pork chop. She smiled at him after swallowing and said "Damn, yer white enough aintcha?" Lily burst out laughing, a throaty laugh that reminded Tommy of his mother.
Also seated at the huge table was a dark-haired behemoth, a 12 year old boy, and a bony misshapen figure sloppily eating mashed potatoes on the end. Baby and Lily reseated themselves and set to, prompting Tommy to pick up a fork and do the same. He'd never been so bewildered in his life, but he felt comfortable around these freaky people. Fresh vegetables and meat eaten on plate that appeared to be a century old in a house that had stood perhaps twice that long--that was a new experience for him. He even had second helpings. This is your family.
After everyone was finished he followed Baby into the kitchen to help with the dishes. "Well ain't you a polite one?," teased the blonde woman. "Suppose your mama taught you that. You go on an' get acquainted with your cousins. My other youngun Travis'll be happy about another boy in the house Lily gives him such a hard time."
Tommy went to the living room and Lily ran past him, chasing after her brother who was wearing one of her halter tops. A bright pink one, in fact. "Gimme that back!," she screeched, rounding the corner and continuing to run after him.
The black-haired man wearing overalls guffawed, saying "Those two fight like cats an' dogs." The brown-skinned lady rested her head on the giant's shoulder, laughing as well. "I'm Rufus Jr. and this is my wife Rita." Squealing and rustling could be heard from the next room, then a bang. It sounded as if Lily had won the day.
"Er, nice to meet you," said Tommy, sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs.
In a few minutes a sullen Travis entered the room and flopped down in front of the tv. The boy was dark-haired but otherwise a replica of Mama, even down to her mannerisms. Not long after Baby entered the room and bid Rita to go fetch Otis since the sun had went down.
"Yes'm massa I go fetch the ghostman for ye. It's cause I'm the only black girl, ain't it?," she joked, wide mouth in a grin. She got up and did as she was asked, heading for the front door while everyone laughed. A few minutes passed and Rita reappeared, someone behind her. The man was was lean and wiry with starkly white skin and hair to match, wearing patched jeans and a t-shirt with a lemon on it that read "You suck." Tommy stared at him, speechless. My God, that's why I look the way I do! He walked with a limp but radiated strength and danger nonetheless.
Otis cracked a grin, he'd been waiting for something like this for years. His son. Tommy got to his feet, heart beating fast. "Well now," Otis said, rubbing his jaw (which had been partially replaced when a large guy hit him with a garden hoe). "It seems you've found me."
"So you are my father?," the teen asked.
"Ain't too many albinos runnin about, genius," he cackled. "But if yer mother was that big heifer named Stacy Robins, then yeah I'm the culprit."
"Oh shit, I left something in the truck. You wanna see?," Tommy asked.
"If it's a cheerleader and a 12 pack of beer, then hot damn you're my boy."
A few minutes later he threw back his waist-length wispy hair and chuckled heartily. "Slap me around and call me a red-headed stepchild!," he pulled out a twelve pack of beer given to Tommy from Spaulding, and peered at the dehydrated, bloody girl laying in the back of the Blazer. "How I love cheerleaders." Carla squealed as she was removed from the vehicle.