All in the Family (6 page)

Bobby stepped over and smiled as well. It eased his anger to see a beautiful girl. With the recent changes in his body, he found that he was rather interested in girls at the moment, though they seemed to have no interest in him. Far overdue for a haircut, he brushed his dark hair aside from his eyes. His mother had promised to take him for one this coming weekend, but that was what she said last weekend. She was so distant lately, it was like having no parents at all sometimes, lately anyway.

Then they heard it, a huge splash came from the creek not five feet away; then another and then more. To their dismay, Robert and his gang of ruffians were standing at the top of the hill, each holding a handful of rocks.

“What do you want?” Bobby screamed. The abuse had gone on long enough.

“We just wanted to play, girls.” Robert looked him. “You think I hate you don’t you? You think its cause we have the same name. You’re not even worthy of my name.”

Bobby looked confused, could Robert really be that crazy?

“Here I come, pussies!” Robert leaped down the hill and landed crooked, stumbling forward a couple of steps. He looked up quickly to see a smirk on Bobby’s face.

“Ya think that’s funny? I’ll show you.” Robert slapped at Bobby, narrowly missing his nose as Bobby pulled back. Robert lunged at him and knocked him off his feet. They hit the ground hard, Bobby taking most of the impact. He winced as the rocks dug into his back. Robert smacked him hard across the face, knocking his glasses far from reach.

This wasn’t the first time the two had an altercation, but merely the most recent in a string of quarrels and fist-fights that had plagued what could have been a friendly acquaintanceship. It only seemed natural now that when they were around one another that a few words and fists would fly. Bobby always hid it from his parents. One time he even concocted a story about falling out of a tree as a cover for a grossly large bruise that covered the majority of his back. That was the time that Bobby had been knocked out, and Robert and his thugs took great pleasure riding their bikes over the back of a nearly unconscious Bobby. Tommy had run that day. A coward he was, but a wise coward. Run while you have the chance. Bobby, on the other hand, had taken up for himself and lay in an old abandoned parking lot for the better half of that Saturday. Tommy had not been seen outside for near three days after that, he even missed school that following Monday.

Bobby shook his head to clear his mind; that had been a hard slap. He opened his eyes and saw stars. Only Tommy and Robert’s gang stood nearby, it would do no good to call out for help. In a daze, Bobby felt around on the ground by Robert’s leg, who sat on top of Bobby, straddling him, drawing back for another slap and turning to smile for his fans. Bobby felt it then, a big rock. He gripped it, and in a flailing, desperate fury, he brought the rock up against Robert’s face.

Robert fell back, screeching. His face looked fine at first, and then when he put his hand up to his cheek, the skin broke open where the rock had hit. Blood ran down his cheek and under his chin. His shaking hand pulled away, and he gazed at the crimson liquid that now covered the better part of his palm and fingers.

Bobby climbed to his feet, his head spinning, but he knew he had to capitalize on this moment. He glanced around, wildly. Tommy had already fled, leaving behind only the magazine and a candy bar wrapper. He glanced up at the onlookers, who stood gawking at the scene that unfolded before them. The large rock still in his hand, he drew back, and it rocketed from his palm. It hit the closest boy square in the shoulder. Bobby heard him gasp, and he stumbled back from the impact.

“Let’s get outta here!” One of them shouted. Seeming to think and move as one, they all turned and took off. Bobby heard their shoes slapping hard on the pavement beyond as they ran. Were they running to tell on Bobby? Hell no, they didn’t want to have to fess up that they had been hazing him for years. They were going home and going to pretend that nothing happened.

Bobby glared at the fallen fiend that lay, half propped up on one elbow before him. Something inside of him snapped, and he was no longer the calm and quiet child but now a raging animal that had been caged for far too long. He looked around for another rock, a stick, anything to further brutalize his prey. A couple feet away lay a thick, leafless branch that had fallen from the nearby oak tree. It looked sturdy, with nothing to slow down a good swing. Robert saw it too, his face turning red as the blood flowed down and dripped from his face. He scurried back until his back hit the earthen embankment that he had just leapt from. Here, it was too steep to walk up and nothing to hold onto but dirt and grass if he was to try to climb.

Bobby stood over him, the heavy, white oak stick in hand. He smiled a sinister smile. Bobby’s eyes were distant, almost as if he were no longer there, but replaced by something evil. A tear ran down Robert’s cheek.

Robert held up a hand, as if his frail arm would block a hard swing from that stick. It did not help. The stick came down and hit his arm hard. A loud snapping sound came as his arm went limp, broken at the forearm. He screamed in agony. The stick caught him again, this time across the chest. A wheezing gasp came as the wind was knocked from him. Again the stick came down, Bobby was merciless. It hit him hard. Again and again, in rapid succession, the stick pummeled the boy. When Bobby had finished the assault, he stepped back and gazed at his work. Robert lay motionless on the ground, his face nothing more than gore.

Bobby gazed with demented interest at the body that lay on the ground. “How does it feel,” he growled, his voice a rasping wind, “that the hunter has now become the hunted?”

In the distance, the chime of the church bell echoed faintly. It was late now, nearly five o’clock, and he had yet to make an appearance at home. Would his parents be pissed? His mind raced. What about Robert?
That asshole will come to later,
he thought.
He can drag his worthless carcass back home all by himself.

Bobby ran to the creek, his hands felt sticky. There had been a lot of blood. He rinsed his hands and felt around until he found his glasses. When he put his glasses on, he saw the carnage for the first time. He turned and vomited.

Bobby wiped his mouth and then threw the stick into the water. He grabbed Tommy’s magazine and candy bar wrapper and hiked to the top of the hill that Robert had jumped him from. He turned and took one final look at the bully who had once been such a threat to him. In the fading light, he was a crumpled heap on the ground. Bobby sighed, his warm breath turning to a visible mist in cool October air. He shifted his backpack and pulled his thin jacket close around him and trotted off toward home.

A cool wind blew across the bloodied face of Robert Gashnaw. His chest moved as shallow breath came from his mouth. The pain was intense during the beating, now he barely felt anything. He saw nothing thanks to the blood in his eyes and swelling. It wouldn’t have done much good anyway; it was hard to see anything when one drifted in and out of consciousness. The bleeding continued, and his breathing became softer and softer. His muscles tensed. He stopped breathing.

A car drove by moments later on the road, not far from the stream. The tires spit small pebbles over the hill. The subtle exhaust note hummed as the car continued on its way.

Mister Fairfield looked at his passenger. God she was sexy, and he had just had her on her knees. He shook his head, smiling unintentionally.

She could feel his eyes on her. It might nauseate other young women, but this would be worth it. A blowjob a month to get a passing grade, this would be the easiest
A
she had ever gotten.

“Just ahead on the right.” She pointed. Her fake-fur lined jacket hugged her arm. Her legs were cold, but she loved to dress the part. It was about time to put the skirts away and have her father get her winter clothes out of the attic.

The car pulled up at the curb where the police car had been parked just hours earlier.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, looking at him with her big sparkly eyes.

“Maybe you could return the favor one day,” he replied with a perverted smile. She returned his smile, but with no enthusiasm. She stepped out of the car and waved with her fingers at him. As she stepped out, the front door of the house opened. Loretta stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her breasts.

“Where have you been young lady? Where is your brother?” She tapped her foot.

“Mom, this is Mister Fairfield, my history teacher from school. He gave me a ride home.” Mister Fairfield leaned across the front seat and waved. Loretta returned his friendly gesture. Jessica shut the door and crossed the lawn to the front porch.

“Not a bad looking man,” Loretta said, “but isn’t he a little old for you?” Jessica rolled her eyes as she stepped past her mom.

“I haven’t seen Bobby either.”

Her mother nodded. “I hope he gets home soon, you’re father isn’t here either.

“Great, what’s for dinner?”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Loretta turned and put her arm around Jessica as she shut the door. The two sauntered together into the kitchen.

* * * *

Bobby stood at the back of his house. He was dirty and bloodied. Blood spatter covered his jacket and spotted his face.

He looked for a way to get inside quietly without his mother finding out where he had been or seeing him like this. The left hand basement window sat slightly ajar. “Yes.” He clenched his fists and looked up into the darkening sky.

The basement was dark. It smelled, musty, but now a new scent wafted toward him a heavy scent that hung in the air overtop the other smells. He knew the scent, but he couldn’t place it.

He felt around in the dark, stumbling over objects in the way on the floor. He had to find a light; he had to clean the blood off at least. He clutched at the darkness; he knew that pull-string was there, all he had to do was find it. His fingers found the string dangling in space and he tugged on it. His eyes adjusted, and what he saw disturbed him. What he saw literally made his bladder lose control.

Chapter Five

There Bobby stood, staring at his father’s back, the kind of stare that parents get when their child walks in on them, mid-thrust. His father, a huge cleaver in hand and held high over his head, stood covered in dark red liquid. There was liquid on his hand and forearms and dried and somewhat crusty on the rest of his body. In the weak glow of the forty-watt bulb that hung overhead, a partially dismembered body lay on the work table. The same work table that Bobby and his father had once built a soapbox car on. Memories came back of the two of them building the car, and of the time he had to work on his bicycle. This was the table. Now it held a dismembered body and was covered in blood. The cleaver came down, fast and hard. It seemed as if the light had no effect on him. Why would he work in the dark? Not long ago, light from the late autumn sun glared through the basement windows.

Bobby stepped forward. “Dad?” His father brought up the cleaver and back down again. “Dad!” He said it louder. This time, his father turned. The wild look in his eyes told Bobby to step back. His father raised the cleaver again. Down it came through the meat of the arm and stuck in the table.

“Hello, son,” Herman said, nonchalantly.

“Dad, what the hell are you doing?”

“Watch that tongue young man,” Herman replied and pulled the cleaver free. “I’m working, what does it look like?

“God, Dad, I didn’t know you brought dead people here and chopped them up. I thought you burned them and buried them.” Bobby stepped back into the light. As he got closer to the table he saw it. The head that sat upright on the table looked just like his father. “Oh, God, you’re an alien!”

Herman burst out with laughter, a laughter that would send shivers down the spine. “An alien.” He laughed harder. “You have been reading those comics again, huh? I’ve told you about those. They’ll rot your brain. Just ask Uncle Bob, he used to read them. Would you like to see how rotten his brain is?”

“Uncle Bob? Is that Uncle Bob?”

“Oh, yes. Whose blood do you have on you?”

Bobby stepped back and got choked up. Should he tell the truth? What was going on? Bobby wondered.

“Dad, I’ve lied to you and mom. I lied about this guy that was bullying me at school. Those times I came home kind of beat up, it was him.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re telling me now, but that did not answer my question.”

“It’s him, it’s his blood.”

“Oh, yeah?” Herman looked at him with more interest. “Did you beat him good?”

Bobby smiled. “Oh, yeah!” After a moment of awkward silence he looked back up at his father. “Why did you kill Uncle Bob?”

“Son,” Herman put a bloodied hand on his shoulder, “your Uncle Bob was a bad man. He was going to try to bring harm to my family, and I just couldn’t allow that. He was going to try to take from us and never give back; you just don’t do family that way. So I,” Herman paused a moment and retrieved the short handled sledge hammer from beside the table next to the wall. “So I hit him with this hammer.”

Bobby eyeballed the old scratched up hammer, most of the scratches now filled in with dried blood. A chunk of scalp clung to the hammer like a person hanging on the side of a cliff. It fell free and landed on Bobby’s shoe. Gagging a little, Bobby brushed it off with his other foot.