Deliver Us From Evil
"... Amen."
"Amen."
"Amen."
Dinner at the Hankel house were always silent, cold affairs, no matter what the weather. That sultry summer night was no different. There was only the sound of silverware chiming against plates and bowls as food was passed and served. No casual conversation. No music. No laughter.
Just chewing. And drinking. And looks.
Charles Hankel ate his pot roast plain, with only a dash of salt, as usual. Tobias squeezed a dollop of ketchup onto his.
No compliments. No complaints.
Just chewing. And drinking. And looks.
Then Charles Hankel began coughing, a harsh, deep, almost roaring sound. Bits of chewed broccoli florets sprayed across the table.
"Charles?"
"Are you okay, Dad?"
Charles suppressed the fit just in time to fix his son with a contemptuous glare. "No, I am not okay." Harshly, almost defiantly, he stabbed his fork into his mashed potatoes and shoved the entire glob into his mouth. "It's almost time, boy. I can feel it."
"I don't want to!"
"Doesn't matter. You will."
"Charles, please—!"
"What happened to 'thou shalt not kill'?" Tobias demanded.
"What happened to 'honor thy father'?" Charles drained his glass of water in one swig. Whether it was to quench thirst, or stop another coughing fit, it was impossible to say.
"Why don't you just go to the hospital?"
Charles sneered. "And let 'em hook me up to machines, drain my life and my bank account at the same time? No. No! I'm dyin' when I want to, how I want to."
"Then do it yourself!"
Charles shot to his feet; the chair groaned on the hardwood floor as it skittered back. "You callin' me a coward, boy?!"
"Of course not, Charles, he just—"
"Shut up!"
"Hey, don't you talk to her like—"
"You too! I've given you an order, as your father, and I expect you to obey!" Charles snorted. "Then you can go back to wastin' your life playin' your fool games with those degenerate friends of yours."
Tobias was on his feet now as well, despite the hand scrabbling at his sleeve. "I haven't seen my friends in months," he said through gritted teeth, "'cause you make me stay home, and they don't want to come here."
"You blaming me for that?" Charles's voice had an almost obscene tinge of pride to it. There was no answer from his son; just the clenching of fists. "I have no idea what you're gonna do when I'm gone, boy," he said in disgust. He turned from the table.
"Charles, where are you going?"
"To feed the dogs. Then down to the root cellar. Got work to do."
"But what about dinner?"
"I'm not hungry!" The door slamming behind him was akin to a gunshot.
Once more, there was silence, except for the distant rustling of leaves and a faint howl somewhere in the distance.
Tobias too turned from the table.
"Tobias?"
"I'm not hungry, either," he muttered, storming from the room.
Sarah Hankel stared blankly at the abandoned table and abandoned food in front of her. Then she sighed wearily, got up, and went to her son's room.
Tobias was in bed, face down in his pillow. Sarah shook her head. He was so like a child, still, in so many ways...
But then, she knew exactly why.
She drifted to the bed and sat down on the edge, next to Tobias's torso. He stirred, feeling the bed move when she sat, but otherwise didn't move or speak. She sighed again, deeper this time, as she stroked her son's hair.
"Bet you wish you'd left when you had the chance, huh?" Tobias's voice was muffled in the pillow.
"No, honey, of course not." That is what she intended to say. That is what she wanted to say. That is what she started to say. But no words came out of her mouth. She could feel her son's shoulders tense under her touch.
She still didn't know how he'd found out what she'd intended so many years ago. She didn't tell anyone, of course, least of all Charles or Tobias. But Tobias always was a bright boy.
"You should've," Tobias continued, not lifting his head one inch. "Then maybe one of us would be happy."
Finally, Sarah got words out. "I couldn't leave you, honey," she rasped. "I just couldn't. And you deserved a stable home, and I had no idea if I could give that to you..."
"Now you're stuck." Even through the pillow, she could hear the bitterness in his voice. "Just like me."
That she could agree with.
Sarah Hankel was tired — just so so tired, all the time. It was as though Charles (and, in her darkest thoughts, Tobias) was physically draining the life out of her, day after endless day. That was why she almost ran off with Raymond — not because she particularly had any strong feelings for him, but because she had to get away, away from Charles, and she knew Raymond, for all his faults, would at least leave her something for herself...
She had been so close. She was packing her bag while Charles was in town. Then Tobias appeared in the doorway.
"Mommy?" She looked up. "We're out of cereal."
"Oh." She put down the dress she'd been folding; she could spare one last moment here. "We have some more in the pantry; I'll get it for you."
She went downstairs and into the pantry. She retrieved a box of corn flakes from a high shelf; when she turned around, Tobias was already looking up at her expectantly, bowl in hand. Smiling tiredly, she opened the box and poured some cereal into the waiting bowl.
Tobias hugged her around her legs. "Thanks, Mommy. I love you." Then he scampered off to get some milk.
Sarah Hankel just stood there, in frozen horror. Because now she knew. She knew she couldn't leave. She'd just be leaving one kind of hell to another — one she had no prayer of escaping.
So, tears welling up in her eyes, she went back upstairs and replaced her clothes in the closet and dresser.
And she stayed. For years uncountable. The world outside changed, grew. But not the Hankel farm. The Hankel farm was always the same, despite the addition of a few new muscles and strands of facial hair.
"I don't regret it," Sarah said in the present; some distant part of her admired how steady and firm her voice was. Maybe she'd been lying for so long, she'd become an expert. "I don't regret working to give you a good home..."
"It's not your fault." His voice lowered into a growl, so unlike the high innocence of his youth. "It's his."
"Tobias—"
"What scares me..." A sob shook his throat. "What scares me is that I want to do it. That's why I don't want to, because I know if I do, I won't regret it, I might even enjoy it, and it scares the hell out of me, Mom, what will God think when—"
"Shh, shh..." She felt as though she were rocking the infant boy in her cradle, the way she cooed and soothed.
Eventually, her son's back began to unknot. There were no more words — just the hum of Tobias's computers. His breathing grew regular, steady. Gently, she turned her son to his side; dried tracks snaked down his face from his closed eyelids.
For the second time in Sarah Hankel's life, she knew. Unlike the first, there was no horror — just an abiding sense of calm and certainty, as if an angel had descended from Heaven and revealed the Truth unto her.
Sarah Hankel got up from the bed. She went back to the kitchen. She put away the leftover food and washed the dishes.
Then she made sure Tobias's shotgun was clean and loaded before she stepped out the front door.