A/N: warning for language and suicide references in this chapter
Bob woke up in his room. It was a large room. King size bed with canopy. Fireplace in the corner. Red velvet bedroom curtains. Creepy older brother sitting at the foot of the bed reading the paper.
He nearly jumped three feet.
"Jesus Greg."
"Just checking on you little brother. " Greg said looking up from his paper. "Running out of the lab after I took a pint of blood from you. Tsk tsk. I put an IV in you earlier to rehydrate you. Unfortunately it must have sobered you up a bit as well. I do apologize."
Bob just glowered at him.
"Learned more about our little friend after Parsons and I dropped him off at home." Greg continued. "Did you know he skipped a grade?"
Bob was a little surprised. And he felt a little sick. He sure as hell was not going to let Greg know that, though.
"Yes, it's true, " Greg beamed "By all rights you didn't kill a high school boy. You killed a junior high school boy."
"I mean, people didn't like me because of the rumors that I killed pets but, oh boy." Greg giggled.
Bob glowered. Greg continued.
"How will you and your friends top that I wonder." Greg said wistfully. The squealed. "Oh! I got it! You're going to build a candy house in the backyard and throw kindergarteners in the oven!"
"Get out Greg!" Bob yelled as he grabbed an empty flask from the night table and threw it at his head. "GET THE FUCK OUT!"
Greg dodged it and it hit the wall. He looked at where it landed, then gave Bob a wistful grin.
"You have mom's arm."
He pushed himself off the bed and let out a small titter.
"Lucky for me I have Dad's ability to duck."
He walked out of Bob's room and closed the door. Bob grabbed the nearest object and flung that at the door. Parts of it shattered. Parts of it fell to the ground.
He sighed and put his head in his hands. Clutched his thick black hair with his fingers. He wondered how things got so out of hand.
Agh! Before he went any further he was going to need a cigarette.
He reached over to the night table and picked up his cigarette case and lighter. No matter how Saturday night went those two items were always there Sunday morning. Parsons saw to that.
He popped open the case and popped a cigarette into his mouth. He lit it and took a drag.
Most of the night before was a blur. It was Saturday night. Started drinking early. Found he drank more since Frankenstein came home. Much more. Cherry didn't like it. Good for her. She didn't even know about Frankenstein. Bob didn't want her to know.
Let's see. He was drunk. She was pissed. So pissed that she allowed herself to walk home with a bunch of greasers.
Though in the end she went home with him. He knew she would. She didn't like fights. He also knew that her family didn't like to be the subject of gossip or scandal. And if news got out about this they would be. Whatever went on Saturday night was an irresistible topic for conversation at brunch in the country club on Sunday morning.
Evening went on. Bob remembered less. Somehow they got the girls home. Found the two greaser kids in the park and attempted to teach them a lesson in humility.
All of which lead to the Ponyboy Curtis kid lying cold and dead on the examination table.
He was fourteen years old, huh?
It made him think of another fourteen-year-old kid he had found in a similar state.
He wasn't dead but he was pretty damn close.
He and Randy Adderson had been tossing a football back and forth in the yard. They were both eight years old at the time. They were volleying back and forth when Randy threw a real long one. It was so long it sailed right into the woods.
"Wow Randy!" Bob laughed.
"You missed it. You gotta go in and get it." Randy beamed.
Bob looked into the thick patch of woods and sighed.
"Alright. Be right back."
He walked in. The leaves were in such a thick layer on the forest floor that instead of walking on them his feet shuffled through them.
Where is that stupid ball? he thought.
He looked and saw something in the corner of his eye. It wasn't the football.
He had no idea what it was.
He walked over to take a closer look.
"Bobby, where did you go?"
He could hear Randy call behind him. He ignored him and kept walking toward what he saw.
"Bobby?"
He could hear footfalls on leaves getting louder as Randy ran up to him.
What he saw was a person lying face down. Black hair. White oxford shirt. Dark slacks. Before he turned him over he already knew who it was.
Greg.
Bob heard Randy suck in a breath.
"Bobby, is he…?"
He wasn't moving. His face was covered with bruises. His shirt covered in bloodstains and dirt.
Bob said nothing. He could only stare in disbelief.
"I'm, uh, I'm getting your mom." He heard Randy say. The sound of shuffling leaves growing fainter as he ran back to the house.
Bob watched as Greg's chest rose and fell.
OK. He's still alive.
Part of him was relieved.
He did not like Greg all that much. He was strange. People talked about him. Some people blamed him for their missing pets. The only time Greg talked to him was when he pricked him with a needle or an animal went missing from his room.
He didn't want him to die though.
Greg didn't die. Instead he was sent to a prep school far away. Massachusetts he thought.
Aside from the police patrolling the streets more and everyone's parents being a little more paranoid, life pretty much went back to normal. Except one day at recess when a kid brought up Greg. Said he was a freak. Said he was probably in a loony bin.
That was it. Bob was all over him like flies on shit. If people were talking about Greg like this, what were they saying about him? He was still his brother. He could not get away with that. He started whaling on his face left and right. The kid tried to get away but Bob wouldn't let him. This felt way too good.
Bob pulled him back by his neck and slammed him to the ground.
Next thing he knew two teachers were holding him back and he was escorted to the principal's office.
Dad was called in. Mom had not been feeling well. Mom had not been feeling well for a while.
Dad and the principal had a talk while Bob sat outside the office.
Ultimately, nothing happened to Bob.
That kid never came back to school. Nobody brought up Greg again.
Rumor had it that it must have been a group of greasers that nearly beat Greg to death. Had to be. It couldn't be anyone on this side of town. That was preposterous to even suggest.
Well, if they weren't above ganging up on a defenseless kid, neither was he.
Bob was pulled back into the present by a knock on his door.
"Mr. Sheldon?"
"Yes, " he responded putting out his cigarette.
"Cherry Valance on the phone for you sir."
Agh. Cherry. Not now. At least not sober.
"Take a message Parsons."
"As you wish sir."
Bob picked up his cigarette case and lighter and got out of bed. He slipped on the rubber soled bedroom slippers parked next to the bed then the robe hanging on one of the bedposts and walked to the door. Something crunched under his feet.
He looked down and saw Cherry's sophomore year photo under the smashed remains of its frame.
"Oh no, " he sighed.
He took the picture with him as he walked to the parlor.
The parlor was decorated in a red and gold theme. Very modern. Mom had redone everything in a mod theme before she had left. This was the room that had everything you needed in life.
Pool table
TV
Bar
Bob went behind the bar, scooped ice cubes from the ice bucket (always ice cubes in the ice bucket. Thank you again Parsons) and put them in a highball glass. He then filled the glass with Johnny Walker Blue. No one else was here to drink the good stuff. He may as well.
He looked down at Cherry's picture.
Wondered if she knew anything about last night.
Greg was probably right about one thing. One of the guys had to have said something by now.
That was the thing with their group. When push came to shove they'd turn on each other like a pack of rabid dogs.
Every man for himself, Bob did a small toast, then sipped his scotch.
What was worse was what his friends didn't know.
Not only did he kill the kid, he turned him over to his brother.
It seemed like a good idea. Greg had gone to medical school. He was like a doctor. He would get the kid breathing. No police would be involved. They could go on like nothing happened.
That didn't happen.
What did happen was too bizarre for words.
He looked down at her picture again.
He gulped down his drink, then poured himself another. He wasn't numb enough to call her yet.
He was going to do what should have been done months ago.
How could he do it? Didn't he love her?
Feh, what the hell is love?
She was too good for him. He knew that. Heh, she probably knew that too.
He felt the sting behind his eyes dissipate as the scotch did its magic. Ah. Good stuff.
He took another sip.
OK. Now he was ready to talk to her.
"Parsons!" he yelled into the intercom as he pushed the call button.
"Yes sir."
"Phone!"
He released the button. Oops. Guess he didn't need to yell.
"There's one on the bar sir. Right next to the intercom."
He looked and saw a red cylindrical object next to the intercom. There was a dial on it. Whaddya know?
"Thank you Parsons." Scotch and the stupid looking phone were helping his mood already.
"Doing anything next Saturday night?"
"I'll check my calendar sir."
Bob laughed and let go of the intercom button.
He picked up the receiver, which was part of this round sculpture thing, looked at it for a second, shrugged, and then dialed.
"Hello?" Bob heard Cherry's voice inquire.
Literally waiting by the phone for his call. Under different circumstances he would be so flattered.
"Hello Cherry."
"Bob!" Cherry jumped. "Oh my God! Where have you been?"
"Doing what I always do on a Sunday morning, " he giggled. "Sleepin' off Saturday night."
"It's Sunday afternoon Bob." She said with a hint of anger. He was drunk and she knew it. 'Still drunk from last night I see."
"Oh no baby, " he said taking a sip from his glass. "I was sober a little bit earlier, then I had a drink, then I wasn't sober anymore."
"Bob, " Cherry ignored his rambling. "What is going on? Randy asked to borrow Marcia's car so he could take a drive. No one else is home or coming to the phone."
"Hmmm." He responded.
He heard a loud sigh on her end.
"I don't know Cherry, " he tried his earnest voice which never sounded right when he was drunk. " I really don't remember."
"You never do Bob, " She sighed.
They were both silent for a beat.
"You didn't, " she said slowly. "do anything to those boys did you?"
Wouldn't you like to know? Why do you give a shit?
"You mean those greasers, Cherry?" he felt his blood pressure rise.
"Bob I just-"
"No! Tell me Cherry! You want to know if I did something to one of your new little friends from last night, don't you?"
"What? What friends?"
"Oh, you don't think I know!" He was screaming into the phone. Panting at every pause. "I saw the way that kid was looking at you last night. You want him Cherry? That why you're askin-"
"NO!"
"Know what?" You can have him BITCH!"
With that he slammed down the receiver, pulled the cord out of the wall and threw it across the room.
"Hope you're into necrophilia Cherry, " he muttered.
That went well.
He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Talk about making a mess even worse.
Don't think she'll be calling back, he thought.
He hoped she wouldn't.
He took a cigarette out of the case and put it in his mouth. He picked up his lighter, drink and her picture and walked over to the fireplace. House had an awful lot of fireplaces for being in a climate where the coldest it generally got was 45 degrees. Mom and Dad must have really liked fireplaces.
He lit the cigarette. Saw no way out of this. What was going on? What was going to happen next?
He picked up Cherry's picture, opened the lighter and flicked. He lit the corner, watched it begin to burn, and then placed it in the fireplace.
As he watched her image burn he thought of a final solution. Mom had a supply of sleeping pills in the bathroom cabinet. She must have left them there. Forgot about them even.
Could just take them.
Sleeping pills with Johnny Walker Blue chaser.
Not a bad way to go.
His train of thought interrupted by an image of Ponyboy Curtis lying cold and dead on the exam table when his eyes popped open.
Oh that's right, he tittered bitterly as he took a drink.
Nothing rests in peace in Dr. Sheldon's House of Horrors.