On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2
Chapter 29
Todd looked down the hallway outside the apartment, rubbing his chest. He wasn't feeling so hot but attributed it to the draining level of dope in his system. Grayson opened the door all the way and Brandy and Todd walked into the dimly lit apartment, the door shutting them in.
Straight ahead, sitting at a heavy oak dining table, were a couple of men involved in a low conversation. They, Grayson included, were average looking, nothing standing out about them. While Gayson was this unidentified mix, the others were white. They were the kind of people one wouldn't take notice of in a crowd. One would ... just walk on by.
There was music playing, a thumping bass-heavy metal rap and the cigarette smoke was thick. Brandy was flirting with Grayson at the entrance of the hallway, touching his face as he played with the strap on her dress. Her coat lay near her, crumpled like a dead dog on the floor.
Todd looked away briefly and muttered to Grayson, "What you got for me?" He wasn't going to touch anything anyway from Grayson. He only asked to make Brandy feel okay.
Grayson grinned, "You'll get it ... soon as I'm done with this here woman." He pulled Brandy to him, touching her butt crudely beneath her skirt.
Brandy smiled at Grayson, speaking softly, "I know you good to your word, sexy man."
"That's right ... you know I am. He'll be taken care of ... don't you worry." That smirk again played on his features.
"I ain't worried 'bout nothin' 'cept gettin' done by you." Brandy nuzzled her client, acting the whore. Todd closed his eyes and took a few breaths. Turned around to look at the place again.
On the left side against the wall was a very used, very old, long sofa with bulky upholstery, a well-beyond-its-years tapestry. Next to the couch was the hallway leading to the bedrooms. On the right side of the room the stereo system sat on dated oak bookshelves. A few books were strewn among stacks of papers and other whatnot. Todd could tell the kitchen stretched beyond a door on the right side, too. There were draped windows ahead of him behind the dining table. Although the place was cheaply decorated, it wasn't impoverished either. Not that Todd really gave a damn.
He glanced at the men at the table, and they looked back. Too many seconds. He shuddered. Bad feelings.
Holding Brandy's hand, Grayson then said to Todd, "Make yourself at home. Have a cig, drink a beer or take some shots of Jack ... although you don't look like you need much of anything. Do you?"
Todd gazed blankly at Grayson, sniffled, and then plopped down on the couch, his eyes trained on the booming stereo. He took off his jacket because the place was almost hot. Brandy disappeared down the hall. Just a whore, Todd thought, we're all just whores. Ain't nothing left anymore ... ain't. He leaned his head back and let himself move along with what was left of his high. Couldn't escape the image of the boy in his head ... that laughter. Was it real? Was it ... a dream?
Ain't no boy ... ain't no spirit ... ain't no Satan. Whooooo.
Todd ignored the owl which hooted at him, pecking at the drapery-covered glass, flapping its wings. Not him again, he thought, get the hell out of my head. He closed his eyes. Soon he heard Brandy through the wall, above the rap music and electric guitars... her grunts and moans; heard the growls of Grayson, the fucking bed springs ... no hits though, no muffled screams …
After a while, one of the men from the table handed Todd a couple of beers then returned to his perch at the table. Todd guzzled them both down, one right after the other and put the empties on the floor. Settled back onto the couch, rather liking the feel of a quick buzz. It was strange, the taste and feel of alcohol while still riding his last shot of dope. He put his feet up on the coffee table, closing his eyes again. Comfortable. Warm. Life was good at this very moment. A moment where he could live for a time, just until Brandy was done. Tomorrow was another day ... he'd think about money tomorrow. This was tolerable ... just until she was done.
Done? You're right. You're done ... whooooo.
He continued to lie there in a relatively blissful daze when he was suddenly aware of a hand on his upper thigh, squeezing his leg. Lazily, he opened his eyes and found himself looking at the grinning face of yet another man, someone who hadn't been at the table.
"You a hustler?" the stranger asked in a low, seductive voice. He had bleached blond spiky hair with an equally bleached goatee. An earring or two ... or maybe more. He had black eyes which defied the sneer on his face. As if the eyes had no connection whatsoever to the rest of him. Or so they looked that way. He looked horribly familiar to Todd ... but he couldn't place him. Who cares anyway?
"A what?" Todd asked, his eyes drifting to the man's hand on his thigh.
"You available ... for a date? A fuck? A ...blow-job?"
Todd scrunched his face up a little and pushed the man's hand away, "No...no." Somewhere in his head, he knew similar shit had happened at Toby's but he was high then, hardly aware of anything, so really nothing ever actually happened. Like how at the park nothing actually happened. Like he hadn't wiped come off his hands on the floor, on his clothes.
Nothing happened.
"Too bad...you's fine lookin' ... I can tell YOU that. I bet you're real pretty everywhere. Ain't that right?" The man leaned sort of close to Todd and whispered, "You can make some cash to support that habit of yours ... I'll give you a lot of money just to feel you come in my mouth. Even more if I can fuck you."
Todd eased away from the man, a half-smile on his face which made him appear embarrassed or shy. Inside, however, that was fear sneaking out. He wasn't high right now. He couldn't disconnect like before. If that similar shit had been real. Which it wasn't. Just dreams, fucking dreams.
The wettest dream you ever had!
"No," he repeated, settling on the couch further down.
Forgiveness ... you're a good pilot. Whoooooo.
"See those guys over there, they'll kick in cash too, to watch. Whatchu say?"
Todd huffed, "I say no."
"Oh I see, you're just that bitch's bodyguard ... wait ... naah ... you sure won't do much good for her in this state of mind!" He laughed loudly and the two men at the table joined in, too, Todd closing his eyes at that. His chest hurt and he coughed. Swallowing down some gunk that had come up. He was feeling too warm, really. The laugh sort of echoed in his head. So different from the boy's laugh he'd heard earlier. This one was ... impure, dirty, biting.
And ... too familiar.
The man scooted close to Todd again, "You a junkie, ain't ya'? I can tell. There ain't nothin' sexier than a fucked-up pretty boy. And you ... are so fucked up."
Not THAT fucked up.
Todd shook his head and inched his way to the very edge of the couch, memories bothering him. But again, like the fear, they weren't solid enough nor was he sober enough to give them full-blown life. The alcohol had sort of pushed him back into his heroin daze ... revivifying the chemical comfort.
But not quite enough.
Vaguely, Todd remembered offering himself to Tim that one time. Another time offering himself up to his own father. And he remembered the man in the park, eerily sounding like this one, with intrusive hands. He pictured what the man wanted far too easily, pleasure achieved that way from Brandy, from others. At the gallery, people pawed at him, he remembered that, kind of. More than that… maybe.
If it had been real.
Shhh. Don't tell. You're a good pilot. Just dig your heels in and take it. The guy's too scary, too big and you're too weak, too much ... of a boy.
The man got close to him again and was putting his mouth on Todd's neck. He felt the man's weight, a hand on his hip. Todd got up.
"God," he breathed out. The bit of fear had turned his skin into gooseflesh; he coughed again and he cringed at the soreness of it. A mix of all kinds of images were tormenting him now. He heard himself breathing heavily out of stress, but didn't want to leave Brandy alone so he walked across the small room and collapsed into a cushy armchair. He closed his eyes again, thinking he could make all of this disappear, thinking he could shoo away a nagging objectionable thought that kept popping through the haze: cash.
CASH.
He could make some desperately needed money. And he needed more as he'd blown it all at the gallery. Didn't want Brandy whoring for him anymore.
Hell, he was the Red Baron! He could fly through this thing. Didn't matter ... didn't matter. He had nothing left. If he let this happen ... he wouldn't have to go hunting again for funds so soon. Wouldn't have to go to a bank and risk getting picked up by cops or Viki or Tim or anybody. He could get cash and get more dope. Buy some more time.
Whooooo. You're tired ... and I know the way out. Just follow me into the snow, into the forest, or maybe right in front of a speeding bus.
Then, like a stockbroker's ticker tape, words floated out of Todd's mouth, "How much you offering?"
The man chuckled, a bit of triumph in its creepy sound. He stood up from the couch, and strolled over to Todd. Standing right in between Todd's parted, outstretched legs, the man looked down on him, flashing eyes black and cold, capturing Todd in his stare.
"How much do you need?" he asked. "A hundred? Two?" His voice was silky and meaningful and dripped down on Todd like syrup. "Three?"
His mouth dry, Todd swallowed hard. Heard himself say, "A thousand."
The man laughed, "You can't be that good!"
Todd gave off no expression, thinking about Brandy. Dead eyes looking upwards. Whores. They were nothing but whores. Sometimes people abused him for nothing. Why not charge for it, now? Make them pay. He hadn't anything left.
I'm done. I have hit that place where I don't care anymore. You want to fuck me? Go on ... I ... don't ... care. All I got left is the snow ... the cold outside this building.
The man squatted down in between Todd's legs, putting his hands on Todd's thighs, pressing on them. Todd looked back at him dazedly, distracted by his being unable to focus exactly on what was happening thanks to that beer, thanks to the trace heroin still in his system.
There were too many other dream-like pictures intermingling with reality. As he continued to look at the man, Todd kept thinking he looked familiar. He just couldn't place him, couldn't piece together the individual features.
"You can call me, Rock," the man said.
Todd swallowed, biting his lip. He glanced down the hall hoping Brandy was okay. Coughed ... swallowed some more of that shit he was coughing up. His mind drifted to a time when he was a kid, kicking a soccer ball around as his mother watched from a blanket on the grass. It had been a beautiful day, the sun shining down on spring morning dew, making the field a sparkling carpet of green. He ran and ran, kicking over and over again. He kept pushing that ball down the field further and further away. He remembered hearing his own breathing and for a few long, stretched-out moments, imagined that he would keep running and never go back. Never go back home to the Hell that was there.
Run ... run.
His mother's voice had faded and all he saw was passing green and black and white and a blur of denim.
Run, fly ... whatever it takes. You're a good pilot ... you fly real good.
Taking in a breath of air, Todd looked down at himself dreamily and felt his body move as the man unbuttoned his jeans, exposing some hair, a little skin.
"What am I paying for? A fuck? A suck?"
Todd couldn't breathe. Finally said, "Not a fuck. Not that."
"Okay, a suck then. But you gotta come. We all want to see that. Your pretty mouth open, breathing all hard and shit. Yeah."
"Whatever."
The man glanced up and grinned, opening the buttons all the way, exposing everything. "Fuck," the Rock growled. "You're big, and beautiful. One thousand it is, pretty boy.." He felt the man's hand pull at the hair gently, murmuring something.
Todd muttered, "A thousand ... cash ... yeah ... cash," dropping his head back against the chair. He hadn't noticed the two other men in the room coming up to watch. He could feel his pants being pulled down further.
Someone said, "Fuck, yeah."
And then he felt a hand on him, touching his cock. His body was shaking he could tell, but again, it was like he wasn't there. He could have gotten up, he confessed to himself; it wasn't like being drunk or unaware. He was conscious enough to allow this to happen. Wasn't like the dreamy touching at the gallery. Because that hadn'tbeenreal. How could he be doing this? The money? The curiosity?
Punishment.
You want me to remember, Tim? You want me to feel the mourning? To feel the pain? Well this is it. This is the fucking worst. My biggest nightmare coming back ... back to life, back to reality. It's death all over again ... it's the birth of the rapist, the birth of hate ... the death of the boy. His brutal murder beneath the red plane, beneath the spinning fan ... death.
Whoooooo.
He could soon tell that Rock's manipulations were giving him an erection. He felt it. Felt that tickle, that need to rub away the sensation that was there. He unconsciously moved his hips into the fist that was holding him ... it felt good. Felt good the same way the burn of a cigarette felt good, the way the pinch of a needle felt good, the way being punched in the face felt good.
He almost laughed.
You like this. It's real. Nothing like in the park or at the gallery. You know what you're doing. Full fucking consciousness!
With each slight lift of his hips, he felt his jeans get pulled down a little more. Someone murmured, "Oh yeah… hurry up and suck that cock."
Hoo boy, look at you. A real fuckin' faggot after all.
His hard breaths seemed to rise above the matching beat of the rhythmic music around them. The thumping beat seemed to match his movements. He let himself think it was Brandy that was touching him ... but not Téa, not her ... not her. He continued to try to see Brandy on him, loving him the way she did, trying to comfort him. It felt good ... it was okay ... it was survivable …
Rock put his mouth now on his stiffened flesh, sliding tongue and lips, and it electrified Todd and he thrust right into his mouth, deeper, choking out a sharp, "Fuck…"
Punishment.
This is it, this is it. You're nothing but a whore now, a fuckin' faggot whore, just like dear old Dad said.
Fly away, Red Baron, fly far away ...
Too… much… consciousness. Images flew hard at him, and he was shaking now, seeing Peter at him, seeing his mother at the door. He tipped his head back and could feel hot tears rolling down his cheeks even though he was pushing into this guy's mouth and was huffing at each slow thrust.
Just like Doctor Graham said, yeah? That the body just responds, yeah? Even when the touching isn't wanted, yeah?
No, no, no! Please please please don't leave, mama, please take me with you, mama… please! Please!
Hoo boy… who's a fuckin' liar now. You fuckin' want it! You like it! You been doing this at Toby's place like a fuckin' pro.
Please…
Hoo boy, lookit, lookit, lookit YOU. Oh shit, oh shit, you is gonna blow.
He popped open his eyes, looking down at the stranger. Too much fuckin' consciousness! He knew exactly what was happening, the truth of what he was doing, the actual mouth that was on him. He couldn't let go with the imagined scenario of Brandy, the TRUTH wouldn't let him fly.
He glanced around, breathing hard. Two other men stood nearby, one grabbing himself, just cupping himself, the other actively masturbating, out in the open. He couldn't breathe, seeing Peter feverishly sucking, head bobbing, his own body thrusting beyond any control.
And then he remembered ... the failure of the boy to fight what would happen, the just-taking-it. Not this time, NOT this time.
Fight! Do something! Don't let Peter do this to you ... fight ... God ... fight …
With a violent shudder, he grabbed onto the man's short hair and growled, "Get off 'a me..." Rock took one more powerful suck, causing Todd to groan, then feel a surge of nausea. He gripped the man's hair even harder.
"G-get offa me…"
"What's the matter, boy?" Rock sniggered, firmly held by Todd. "Got cold feet? Scared of a little old come? Doesn't it feel good, pretty boy?" Rock opened his mouth and with his tongue, mimicked a licking action. "You're so close. I feel it…balls are tight as fuck, your dick is screaming to let loose all that creamy goodness…"
"Fuck you," Todd spat, about to kick at Rock. However, before he could get his booted foot into a good position to push Rock away, he felt sharp teeth clamp down on the delicate skin of his inner thigh, high up in his crotch, causing Todd to gasp in indescribable pain and remain frozen beneath the assault. Todd hung onto Rock's hair, but the man wouldn't let go, biting deeper and harder. Todd groaned in breathless pain, pulling at the man.
Todd grunted, "Jesus fucking CHRIST…"
Blinded with shock, Todd finally brought a fist down on Rock's head, kicking him away, the man falling backwards, grinning wildly, blood on his mouth. Still mocking. The other two men shook their heads and walked away, disappearing into a room.
Out of breath, Todd pressed on the wound then quickly yanked up his pants ... buttoning.
Rock laughed even harder then said, "You know, you surprise me."
Todd swallowed, coughed, unable to talk, sweating, shaking visibly. He gritted his teeth to control his reaction, but it just kept happening. He could barely breathe ... he wanted to throw up.
"I mean ... I know your type. I know where you come from." Rock licked his lips, washing away the blood there with his tongue.
My blood ... you have my blood on you.
Despite the heroin still running through him, an old, old pain welled inside of him. "Get the fuck off the floor, whore." His father. That's what he had been hearing in the man's voice. Eerily the same. The same pitch and tone and level of hatred. Nothing left ... except the snow ... the cold…
Whooo.
"You motherfucker..." Todd finally choked out, frozen in his place, thinking that if he moved, he would start bleeding and it would never stop.
Whooooo boy, lookit, lookit you.
"I can read you like a fuckin' book," Rock said, tilting his head, judging, from his position on the floor. Then he chuckled.
"Traditional broken home," he analyzed. "A drunk for a dad, a slut for a mom. You've seen it all, been through it all. Been fucked in the ass and beat upside the head." The man smiled widely. "You been beaten so bad you never thought you'd see the light o' day. Never thought you'd take another breath without pain."
It was that smile of his that Todd couldn't let go of. The iciness in it ... the immortality of it. "You've been humiliated more times than you know," the man continued. "Your guts have been cut out and hung to dry. You've got ... no soul, brother. You are an empty, shattered ... fuck."
Todd kept his eyes on the man in front of him and his hands on the armrests. White-knuckling them. He had to get out of here ... he was dying ... he was dying.
One whore dying on the streets ... at least is better than two.
Done, Mama ... I'm done. Can I come home, now? Will you let me come home to you, let me fly with your blue butterflies ... let me have my plane ... giggle with you ... be held by you? Love me ... love me ... in the light, in the blue peaceful ... sky.
Rock's ragged voice broke through Todd's delusions.
"And my opinion, my ... assessment ... is that you really ought to give up the fight, kid. You know why? 'Cause I know that in those deep recesses of your fucked up mind, you want it to happen again and again. You wanna be sucked off the way dear old dad used to do it. You WANT that. You LIKE it for fuckin' real. You want to see that fire in his eyes again. The feel of his hard cock against you. You want to feel of that cock inside you. That ... THAT is what you miss." The man laughed. "I know you. I know you real well."
Todd rubbed his face and fought the sounds that were tormenting him, torturing him. It wasn't so much what the man said, but how he said it. The way he said it.
When Todd looked up, it was Peter in front of him. Grinning, taunting.
"You stupid little slug. You think that shit you're putting into you is your salvation? You think I have lead you back to old Bitsy, back to your ... mama? Well, guess what? When you feel your 'mama' holding you and loving you ... look real deep, baby. Look into her eyes and you'll see the truth. It won't be her you'll see. It'll be me. Me. Loving you the way I always did, always will."
Todd got up quickly and backed away from the man, who by now had stood up, too. He was brandishing a knife in his hand, playing with it, waving it about threateningly.
"What's the matter, son, did I hit it right?" Rock purred. "You don't want to face the truth? But you got no choice. We know what this is all about, don't we? We know ... and it bothers you. It ... poor baby ... it hurts."
The man chuckled and mimicked the voice of child, "Ooohh please don't let me be a faggot! Oh PULEEZE! Anything but that! Oh Lord ... I'll do anything ... just don't let me come in that man's mouth! Even though it hurts so fuckin' good!" Rock laughed sharply, as he moved closer to Todd.
"I ain't no faggot, Mama!"
"G-get...away...from me," Todd warned. He could feel blood oozing in his crotch... like before ... like before ...
Sam ... he saw blood and did nothing. He didn't help me ... nobody helped me ... he ripped me apart, Tim ... he tore me up inside and I couldn't do anything about it. Help me ... help me die ... help me not to have to live with that anymore.
Rock's voice grew cold, "You soft, man. You are so soft and so pretty and ... so damn stupid."
By now he had Todd backed up against the wall with the knife against his chest, his other hand around Todd's throat, squeezing, digging his nails into his skin.
"There ain't nothing you can do about. Your dick…liked that shit. You were two, three sucks from coming. You, my friend, is a God-created, true blue, fuckin' faggot. Praise the lord! A-fuckin-men!"
Todd held the man's cursed stare and then with all his strength, as fast as he could, he whipped his fist right into Rock's throat, causing Rock to drop the knife and stagger back, grabbing his own throat, choking. Todd stood still, huffing hard. Lifted by his hate. After a few more seconds, he picked up the knife, stuffed it into his pocket, and headed down the hall to get Brandy. He opened a couple of doors, glancing in as quickly as he was able to manage, ignoring the two men he saw.
Finally, in the last room at the end of the hallway, he found her putting her dress back on in front of a partially dressed Grayson reclining back on the bed, smoking a cigarette.
"W-we gotta go, Brandy, we gotta go," he said.
The man sat up wearily, "What the..."
Brandy could see the fear in Todd's eyes and she felt him grab her by the wrist, pulling her out of the room. She yanked back a little, picking up her purse, "Wha's the matter, baby?"
"Shut up..."
The two walked quickly down the hall, both glancing towards the couch where the man who was calling himself Rock was sitting and who appeared to have recovered more or less from the punch to his throat. He was bleeding some from his mouth and all Todd could think was that their blood was mixed up, now.
Rock flashed a grin at the two retreating whores, speaking raspily, "It ain't over 'til it's over ...Boomer. I am not anywhere near through with you."
He was offering up Todd's jacket.
Todd stopped a second at hearing Rock's calling him that name, same nickname that Sam called him, but Brandy pulled at him and said, "Hey baby - like you said, let's go. God ... I didn't know he was here..." She grabbed the jacket right out of Rock's hand, got her own.
The two empty whores, Johnny-girl and Johnny-boy, then walked out the door and slammed it shut. They said nothing as they skipped down the steps, two, three at a time, out the building. Headed down the block towards Brandy's place.
Todd was sweating profusely, muttering under his breath, "Hurry ... walk quickly ... hurry."
"Ok ... baby," Brandy promised, terrified, not understanding what had happened, "...ok."
Todd put his jacket on. Held it tightly to him. He kept tugging at his jeans, like he was uncomfortable, continuing to urge Brandy to hurry it up. He kept making whimpering sounds, then coughed and had to spit out some thick phlegm.
Pictures kept flashing in front of him, ones he couldn't turn off. Over and over ...
Boomer ...
How'd you know my name, stranger? Who are you? You're familiar ... you know me. From THEN. You're like Peter ... you look like him ... you smell like him. God ... GOD. The ugliness ... it's coming up ... out of me ... all that shit ... all that sickness ... nothing but a used whore. A dead one, a ruined one. Nothing is left.
As soon as they reached Brandy's apartment building, Todd stumbled and threw up against the wall. Coughed and spit and groaned at the pain in his chest, tears accompanying each spasm. He had to grab the wall to hold himself up. Brandy pulled his hair back, rubbing his shoulder, "Oh baby ... what happened? Oh ... baby ..."
He stood there when he was done, leaning against the wall, spitting, coughing out the sick taste in his mouth. "Jesus, Jesus ... oh fuck...," he moaned, starting to cry a little. He could feel Peter all around him ... that man ... that man was Peter ... he knew Todd's nickname ... he knew what Peter had done to him. It was Peter ... he was ... reincarnated.
Reanimated.
Can I come home, Mama? Will you love me when I get there? Will you forgive me for what he did? Mama? Huh? Did I make you sick - is that why you left? Let me come home ... let me be your Angel, let me be pure again ... please ... please …
Brandy smiled at him worriedly, caressing his cheek, on the verge of tears herself, "That man, baby ... I didn't know he was there ... I don't know why he was there ... did he hurt you? I wouldn't have gone tonight had I known he was there! I'm so sorry!"
Todd looked stricken, "You know him?"
"Yeah ... he's the one ..." Brandy looked down and looked away, rubbing her own cheek. She sighed. "He's the one who hit me that one time on the face, burned me with bleach. He punched me another time, when I first met you … I don't usually care much but he was bad…"
"Wh-what's his name, Brand'? What's his name?"
"I don't know ... I think it's Phil ... but ... I'm sure that ain't his real name."
"Did you say...Phil ... as in Phillip?"
"Yeah ... as in Phillip," Brandy said. "My Mo' knows him ... told me he real dangerous ... he told me to stay far away, I'm so sorry!"
Todd looked away absently. Phil. As in Phillip.
Suddenly the familiarity pulled together like a computerized puzzle. Like an unfocused picture firing back into focus.
Phillip Manning.
That was Phillip giving him a blow-job, calling him Boomer. Mind-fucking him. It was Phillip as in Phillip who raped Georgie and beat her up for years. As in Georgie who deserved all the garbage he could dump on her so screw her. As in, "Where is Michelle, DAMN IT?!" Phillip - who drowned Michelle - the mother of Todd's baby. Phillip who drowned her in a river rushing by, over rocks and stones and dead trees and sand. In that cold, cold river. Only to be eaten by wolves. Nothing's left. Nothing.
I am dead ... I am dead. Let me come home to you, Mama. Let me come home.
"Todd? Baby?"
He screwed up his mouth. Squeezed his eyes shut. As in. As in. Phillip. As in. As in.
Looking around, he suddenly didn't recognize where he was. He rubbed his hair and shook his head. Walked away.
As in stupid faggot. As in hearing his mother flip-flopping down the hallway. As in sending him away from that cabin.
"You have to go home ... he'll kill us both. We can never escape him!" Better only one dead rather than two ... two ... is that what you're saying?
Phillip ... as in Todd would never be human, not really. Never. No way, no how. Shit is shit is shit.
Brandy grabbed Todd around his shoulders, "Baby, you're scaring me! What's the matter? Do you know him or something? I don't see him no more ... did he do something to you? What he say to you?!"
"Go away. Get the hell outta here."
Todd stared at his palms, ran his hands down the front of his chest. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket and felt something papery in one. A bundle of something. When he pulled it out, it was cash, as in ten one hundred dollar bills. A final kick to the head. Phillip had paid him. Todd was a whore and it was all he was. First, he was Peter's. Then he was life's whore. Now he was Phillip's. Branded. Brand-y. And- y. Ant-y. Ant. Chant. My enchanted Chant. My beloved Chant. God's beloved child. It all came full circle. They were all whores. He had them, he was one. Didn't matter.
I'm a good pilot. I'm the Red Baron! It wasn't my fault - I just took it. I couldn't fight then, I can't fight now.
Todd handed the money to Brandy, "Here. Get some food ... or ... something. I'll be okay ... okay. Go." He whispered, "Go ... please."
Brandy didn't know what to do. She stood there with the money in her hand, wondering where it came from. There was no way this amount of money, this accessible, would have survived the shooting gallery. Did that man give Todd money? For what? Her eyes then widened in sickened realization.
"Oh God ... baby ... whatcha do? Did that man hurt you? Oh baby ... oh no ..."
Brandy started to cry with the money crumpling in her hand.
"Nothing ... nothing ... go away, Brandy. Please ..." He felt in his pockets, felt the knife, but also something else: heroin.
Phillip had put a couple of bags of dope in there, too. A whore, he thought, ain't nothing but a dead ... used-up, addicted whore.
Scared for Todd, Brandy hadn't seen him look this afraid, this broken. But she'd been trained in certain means and methods. Certain behaviors. Certain things she simply could not do, like go against what her john says. She handed Todd her apartment key, turned around and walked away. She took one glance back and saw Todd just rub his head and walk toward the entrance of the building.
Paulie, Brandy thought, gotta get to Paulie. He said if there was trouble to call him.
Todd slammed the door of Brandy's apartment behind him, Phillip Manning's name reverberating in his head. That was Phillip on him.
"You, my friend, is a God-created, true blue, fuckin' faggot. Praise the lord! A-fuckin-men!"
"God," he groaned, sinking to the ground, shaking. He couldn't shake the sight of Phillip in between his legs, Phillip, Phillip, just like Peter. It brought back a slew of other images, ones he'd been keeping out.
But the images were relentless.
Phillip took Todd back to his final development into a rapist ... to his witnessing something he never should have seen. The kicker ... the thing ... the it. Seeing Georgie's rape had changed the little boy at last; he might have survived being raped himself, all the previous abuses but watching what happened to Georgie had pushed him over the edge. It was the final nail in the coffin to Todd's being human ... being compassionate. Being a victim.
He could see Georgie's knee as Peter, then Phillip, violently raped her. She had a scar - that's what Todd remembered. That white scar moving on her knee beneath the pounding force of those men. Todd had been cowering in the dark, watching. Hearing. Feeling his own rape and all the other abuses Peter had sought to entrust him with, making Todd, the keeper of all secrets dirty and vile and sick. It had already been a month since the rape, but he had still been recuperating physically, still suffering from pain, all the while cultivating an all-consuming rage.
Fact is, there was no way to stop what had happened to Georgie; Todd would have been killed and so would have she. Peter was insane that night, glowing with pride as Phillip forced himself onto Georgie. Todd remembered her screams into Phillip's hand, placed over her mouth when she wouldn't shut up.
"Your girlfriend's making too much noise."
He remembered how Peter finally stuck his handkerchief into her mouth. He remembered focusing on the embroidered initials on that cloth. Todd's eyes returned to that scar on her knee, moving and bouncing like a morbid dance to morbid music.
Yeah, blueprints for Marty Saybrooke. For the frat house gang-rape.
A-fuckin-men!
Todd was in Chicago again, in living color. He looked around the room and saw the grandfather clock next to which he had crouched. He could smell Peter's cigarettes. Could smell the odor of bodily fluids in the room. He closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears.
"No...no..." he pleaded as he rocked himself, unable to stop the flashback from happening. Unable to control the images. Think ... what did Tim say? How to control? Control.
Control, control. I'm a good pilot, I fly real good. So high above everything ... so ... very ... high..
He felt the door behind his head and rubbed his head against it. He put his hands next to him on the carpet and saw the muddy color but it did not register as Brandy's place because the colors were the same; just as dismal, just as hopeless. The same. This is the Manning Household. This is Manning Hell.
I AM IN FUCKING HELL!
He groaned at seeing Georgie's stunned face as she reached down for her pants. She sat up and pulled them on. Confused, she had mumbled, "My panties...you ripped them. I liked those ... I liked them ..."
Phillip had grumbled back to her, "You'll get some more, bitch. For now, they're mine. My fucking trophy."
"Ok...ok," she had said, standing up, grabbing the sofa's armrest to steady herself. Then she headed to the front door, Peter warning her, "You tell anyone what happened here and I will kill you. I can promise you that, you fuckin' whore." They both laughed ... Phillip and Peter ... laughing.
Whoooooo.
She nodded her head. Shut the door behind her. Never a word did she ever speak about it. Silence, dead ... silence.
Shhh, don't tell.
And when Georgie walked out the door, Todd shut himself off. Literally. Shut himself down in the empty and quiet room. And during that quiet time, in the hours following the attack on Georgie, everything tangibly good about him, everything human faded away, like dandelion puffs drifting into the wind, leaving an ugly, bare stem of nothingness. And recently ... that little stem of nothingness ... that sole stalk of good inside of him, well ... it had disintegrated, too. Disintegrated with his hurting of Brandy, of himself, of his entire family. Disintegrated in that shooting gallery ... gone.
Please, Mama ... let me ... let me come home.
Still backed up against the door, he recalled Georgie's face, her dark eyes and dark hair, that porcelain face looking up at him from the floor of the Buchanan lodge, wearing the same stunned expression she wore after being raped. He had smelled death on her body, the smell of blood, the smell of rot.
"Georgie," Todd groaned, everything hazy.
Control. Take control to stop the memories.
She had taken the rape to cover up for Michelle. She'd taken the rape, ultimately, for Todd, Michelle and Jedediah.
Of course, Michelle didn't survive. Todd didn't survive either. Georgie died for nothing.
After some minutes, he finally could make out the details of Brandy's place. Could see the kitchen and the table. Moaned a little. He needed a hit ... that would take care of the lingering horror. Yeah. A really good hit.
One thousand it is, pretty boy. Cash to support your nasty little habit, a contribution to your salvation!
Why is he here? To torture me. To punish me. To pick up where Peter left off.
Shaking severely and sweating, fighting that painful cough, he got off the floor and headed to the bathroom. Dropped his jacket and pulled off his shirt along the way. Searched the bathroom for all his shit and found it neatly packed away in the back of one of the cabinets. Went back and pulled out the two bags of heroin in the jacket pocket. He could have cried at the sight of his precious salvation, his Princess.
Quickly, blindly, he mixed up the powdered heroin. He had no idea how much, he just needed a shot ... needed to get over Phillip; needed to get over who he WAS.
You is fuckin' faggot whore, my friend!
Then he sat on the closed toilet and tied himself off good and tight — gotta find that perfect vein ... gotta find the best one ... get it ready to be assaulted by the soul poacher.
Get ready, boy, to be held down and penetrated and destroyed. Let its life and purpose leak out ... forever.
Put me out, man. Just put me fuckin' ... out.
He stared at the filled syringe and then covered his eyes with the heels of his hands, holding that needle, his plane ticket out of Hell, into Hell. Felt Peter bash the red plane against his back and head, the Red Baron plane that had given him so much hope as a child.
Pretend you're in it! You can fly, baby, you can fly away!
He was gonna fly now. Fly out of this place of madness, machine gun firing, teeth bared, screaming like the Red fuckin' Baron.
He uncovered his eyes, ignoring his pounding heart, the sweat, the pain in his chest.
Are you available for a fuck, Boomer? Or just a suck. Just as long as you come. We wanna see that creamy goodness.
Tried a couple of times to hit a vein, but was shaking so much he couldn't seem to get it right. He rocked himself, tearfully frustrated, his hair in his eyes, everything a wet, messy blur.
When you look into your mother's eyes, when she's loving you in that doped up grace, you will see me. Loving you the way I always did.
"No ... no ... it's her ... I see her," he cried, hot tears coming. "I feel her ..."
No...it's me in that light. Look at yourself in the mirror. Look at your dead, worthless, useless self. Look at your body ... look what you're doing to it. Would ... love do that to you? No ... only I do that. Because you're mine, mine to control, mine to dominate ... mine to destroy.
"You lie ... you lie ... she's in this ... my mama is in this ... she comes to me ... me," he moaned painfully, rocking himself, wanting to go back to her, to the warmth of her arms and to the warmth of God's love in the heroin, to that honest and unconditional love.
Unconditional? At twenty-five or fifty bucks a pop? With all those bruises and scratches and soreness? With all that pain? Remember when you were kicking last week? You remember that pain? What a fuckin' treat that was! It isn't unconditional, idiot! IT'S AS CONDITIONAL AS YOU WILL EVER GET!
You let yourself get fucked for it, buddy boy ... HA! Heroin, love ... your whole life, you've been letting yourself get fucked for them! THIS IS MY TRIUMPH! I ... FUCKING ... WIN!
"Screw you. You lie to me ... you always lied."
Todd took a deep breath and pinched himself with the rig one more time. Finally, he did it right, letting out a heavy sigh of relief as he jacked back on the plunger and saw blood. Almost there, almost there —almost home. He started to cry again as he did the first push, but sniffed the tears back.
Then he felt the warmth. Relaxed a moment. Pulled off the cord with his teeth, untying it from around his arm. Heard it flop to the ground, saw it.
I want to go home, Mama. I want to be with you. I don't want to come back anymore. I don't want to breathe anymore. So you just keep a look out for me —I'll be the one in the red plane. High above you. Whole and intact. I love you. I love you, Starr… Jed ... Téa. I love you.
Then, he pushed the plunger all the way down. Finished the push.
Todd took a gasping breath and felt his lungs instantly close up tight. The last thing that went through his mind as a body-numbing rush overtook him was his own laugh, echoing with irony.
Flying? No, buddy boy. Ain't no flyin' for you, only dyin'.
With the needle still in his arm, his eyes rolled back and he fell to the floor, his body convulsing in a massive seizure. Boots kicking tiles, pink saliva bubbling out. Blackness covered him now. He was out, the way he wanted. No one to wake him, no one to remind him to breathe.
Little One, what have you done? What have ... you done?
To be continued….