Author's Note: I wrote this after reading "Red Dragon". Fans of the book (I haven't seen the movie yet) should recognize this. Dolarhyde rocks my socks.
Chapter 1
Good Boy
James woke at 2am in pitch black. Jessie and Meowth lay beside him sleeping. It was too late for the birds to sing. There were no cars, no animals to sneak into their camp. A pain in his bladder told him to get up.
He wouldn't get up. Not back there. He was scared of the dark. The mansion was big and empty. Old places always had ghosts. He slept on his back so they couldn't sneak up on him. His bed creaked and was far too big for the likes of him.
Silk is very fluid, it feels like water. That just made it worse. He didn't know what time it was, the face of the antique clock that hung on the opposite wall was invisible in the faint moonlight that lit the curtains from behind like a phosphorus rock. Moonstone. James couldn't tell time yet. He hoped he could hold it until morning.
He couldn't hold it. He squirmed and wriggled and dare not press. The jug and basin on the chest of draws were white with blue decorations like Japanese. He could see them glint. He wasn't sure if he could pick them up, or open the window. It's already open. And there was a step so he could reach them. James summoned his courage and crossed his legs tightly.
Then he heard something hissing and knew he released himself. Horror welled up in his mind – he tried stopping it but the pain went away. His trousers were wet. Mother would be furious. The burning in his crotch now moved up to his face and the musky smell filled his nose. The corners of his sheets were dripping.
He began to panic. It wouldn't dry by morning. They could tell. What could he do?
He sat in his own puddle of a moment and slid off the bed. He had to find Nanny – he would beg her not to tell his parents. Beg her.
She slept downstairs. He could find her if he ran fast enough, then they couldn't grab his ankles. He still used two feet at a time; he hurt his feet if he went to fast.
Mother and father slept not too far away and he was scared they would wake up. He peered through the crack of his door and waddled towards the staircase. His pants stuck to his legs.
He didn't remember what he was doing, because the image stuck in his head.
He froze when he saw her. Fear ran through him. Mother was downstairs. She was going to find him. The noises made him paranoid, there were things that came out at night and he could hear them. There were voices and muffled noises and thumps.
She saw him. He arranged her clothes and her figure grew larger as she came back. Somebody went back in and forever after looked at him as if he were different from the other servants.
Mother was different. She had something sick and pleasured about her.
He remembered more than he needed.
"You are a disgusting little boy." She said coldly. "Do you hear me? A disgusting, evil little boy."
James shivered violently.
Mother turned and went to get something from her desk of draws. He stood frozen in dread to the spot, waiting for her to come back with something awful. He was quivering for full minutes. Perhaps for a moment he thought his mother wasn't coming back. Her figure appeared slowly out of the shadows like a cold shower, and she held something glittering in her hands.
It was a pair of scissors. Big pinking scissor with one straight side and one bent.
"Take your trousers off James."
In his utter innocence James did as his mother commanded without even drying himself. His mother kneeled and brought herself closer to him than she ever had before. He saw her face close up but she was looking down. Her nightgown was puffy and rumpled.
Then he felt something very cold where his mother never touched him.
She looked up at him with brilliantly dazzling cold eyes.
"Now," she smiled. Something pinched and felt sharp. He looked down and saw mother had his penis between the blades of the scissors. Something inside him cracked.
"Master James," she brought the blades closer together. Her voice was strong and very slow. This was more than punishment. "If you ever mess your bed again, look at me James –" it seemed so small between the silver edges. "I'll cut it off."
Those words rang in his ears eighteen years later.
He slipped his hand between his legs and rubbed himself, just to check it was still there.
The urgency made him tingle.
Tears leaked from James' eyes and he began to cry. "Do you want me to cut it off?" she asked. His sobbing was louder now. "Do you want me to cut it off James?"
He wiped his face and sniffed wetly. "No mother . . ."
"Do you?"
"No Mother." he wept.
His mother removed the weapon but James was still highly upset. She shook the scissors in his face threateningly. It lasted eight seconds.
"Next time you mess your bed, you're going to go back to wearing nappies." Her eyes darted down to the little bleeding spot on his shaft. "Because yooooou're going to be a baby."
James tried to wipe his eyes.
She stood up and looked perfect. The scissors were looking at him.
"Go to the bathroom young man." her voice was a lot less icy, but still cold. "I'll come and take you back to bed when it's over."
Mother didn't take him to the toilet; one of the servants did that. Then he went blank and rippled over him deep and cruel. He stepped out of his ruined pants that lay crumpled and ruined on the floor and scurried down the empty corridor, cold and frightened. Five-year-olds shouldn't be worried about people seeing them naked. He blinded himself to the threats of darkness until he found the door. It creaked horribly. The porcelain glowed like the jugs on the chest of draws.
He closed the door behind him, unsure of what else to do. Then he sat on the toilet, even though he didn't need it any more. James didn't pee like the other boys. Nobody taught him. It was cold and he kept falling into the bowl. The empty freezing gave him goosebumps. Spiders were crawling out of the corners. There were faces in the windows. It happened so fast he thought he missed something. He could feel it sinking it.
Mother never came. He stayed there until morning. Nanny found him.
Years later he hated how something that took so long seemed to fly by, and things that changed in a moment lasted forever. Wearing nappies because he had nothing to hold. He wasn't allowed to have one until he learnt how to use it . . . big boys don't wet the bed.
He was still waiting for his mother.
James fiddled with his trousers and pulled them down. He let himself go as it dangled between his thighs.
Real men stood against a tree when they went. He knew that. Even Growlie cocked his leg when he went.
But James didn't. He squatted on the ground like Jessie. As he should.
Because he was a good boy.