PillowFace (2 page)

It wasn’t. 

Mom and Dad had done what any parent would have in the same situation: left it all to their children.

Ruth Gimsby, someone who’d claimed to be a distant Aunt of their Dad’s, offered to take Joel and raise him with her Mormon family in Utah for a generous lump of the inheritance. 
Just to make things easier for Haley
.  She’d thanked her for the offer, but declined. It was written in the will that until Joel was eighteen, Haley was to be his rightful guardian, and a judge agreed, granting her sole custody of him. That was what finally put an end to all the squabbling. 

Haley was grateful their parents had put so much faith in her to raise Joel, but was terrified of the obligations and responsibility.  Truthfully, she felt so burdened that it was sometimes hard to breathe. Given the circumstances, she felt she’d done the best she could so far, but understood there was much room for improvement.  Only being twenty-three, her job and own life kept distracting her attention away from her twelve-year-old brother. 

He’d need her now more than before, especially with school out for the summer. 

The first weekend of summer vacation had started with the unexpected death of their dog Rusky, a thick haired, five year old hound dog.  He went to sleep at the corner of the house, where the trees from the woods shaded a nice pool of comfort from the heat, and never woke up.  Joel found him around nine last night when he’d failed to come home for his favorite meal of Gravy Train.

Joel had wanted to tramper into the woods and bury him right then, but Haley had refused. It quickly became a shouting match. She finally said they could go out there together to bury him, and that seemed to have angered him even more.  He’d wanted to be alone to do it.  She understood and even respected that, but she wasn’t going to allow him to go into the woods by himself at night.  He could get lost, hurt, maybe even worse.  After hours of arguing, he’d finally agreed to wait until the morning, and then he’d stomped away to his bedroom and drifted off to sleep watching chainsaw murder movies.

Him wanting to bury Rusky was the only reason she’d attempted to get him up so early this morning.

Where’s he at? He should’ve come down by now.

The phone rang, only once, but it was enough to ground her where she stood.  She knew who it was. 
Him
.  The one who kept calling.  He was just saying hello.  Unlike last night when he’d offered her the smacking sounds of him masturbating.  Of course she’d hung up, but that hadn’t discouraged him from calling back in time for her to hear a repulsing, whispery moan of ecstasy as he climaxed. 

“On my way,” Joel cried, jarring her from her thoughts.  She could hear his clumsy, tired footsteps treading from the living room.

Haley took another sip of coffee, and suddenly felt nervous. 

How
did Mom and Dad do this?

Joel entered the kitchen, dressed still in what he’d been wearing last night.  His hair was a rustled mess.  Flat in the front, it pushed its way back on his head and stuck up in points. 

“Good morning,” she said.

“Hey.”  He squinted at the brightness of the kitchen.

“How are you feeling?”  She stood by the island, tossing things in her purse as he sat at the table.  He groaned his response.  “That good, huh?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Fell asleep watching Chainsaw videos again?”

“It helps me relax.”

Hearing him say that made her feel weird. 
How can movies depicting scantily clad women being devoured with various gardening tools be relaxing?
  She enjoyed reading something with scares and chills, but not blood and boobs. She’d never understand someone’s love for gore, which also made her fear she’d never understand her own brother, either.

“Are you doing okay, I mean, after Rusky……”

“Stop it,” he said, cutting her off.

“If you want to talk about it…”

“I don’t.

This was already harder than she’d anticipated.  “Sure?”  He nodded.  “Okay.”

“What’s to eat?”

Raising her shoulders, Haley lowered her head while warily grinning.  “Well…”  She grabbed a paper plate from the counter, and carried it to the table like a waitress, sitting it in front of him.  He frowned at the two, rectangle-shaped pastries, burnt in the corners.  

“Pop tarts?”

“Yeah……It’s strawberry, your favorite.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Uh… no, I’m not.  I figured I would bring pizza home for dinner or something else that you like.  Haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.  I would have done more this morning, but…I just…ran out of time…”

“Uh-huh.”  He clucked his tongue, staring hazily at her feeble breakfast attempt. “You woke me up at seven in the morning, on the first official day of summer vacation, just to feed me Pop-Tarts?  Wow, you’re the best big sister in the whole world!” He intentionally spoke to her as if he were five.  Something he’d always do when he didn’t get his way.  He obviously hated the breakfast.

“I know it’s not fantastic, but it’s something, right?”

“Oh, it’s something.”

She sighed.  “I just wanted to make sure you ate something…and this was all I had time to make.”

“You’re not adapting to this whole ‘Mom’ thing very well at all, are you?”

Ignoring his abuse, she sat an empty glass beside the plate, filling it to the brim with orange juice. “Is this okay or do you want to make me feel like shit because I didn’t squeeze the oranges myself?” On her way to the fridge, she immediately regretted having said that.

“Wow,” he said. “Ouch.”

Putting the orange juice on the top shelf, she glanced back at him. He looked pitiful, sitting over the burnt tarts, poking them with his finger.  “I’m trying my best here; this hasn’t exactly been easy for me, either.”

He flicked a tart; it spun off the plate, and onto the table. “Whatever.  You run off any chance you get and leave me here to fend for myself with Pop-Tarts and frozen dinners.”

He was right.  The freezer was overloaded with frozen meals.  Haley felt a weight in her stomach.  She thought he liked them. 

Doesn’t he get how hard this is for me? 

How could he?  He’s only twelve.  But, he thinks he knows every goddamn thing about everyone
. 

Now she sounded like Mom.

Haley could feel her eyes swelling.  Her jaw seemed to be coming to life on its own, trembling and shaking.  She was going to cry.  But, she wouldn’t do it in front of Joel.  He wouldn’t get the benefit of seeing it.  She slammed the fridge door so hard the magnets flew off.  They spun across the floor.  “I’m sorry about Rusky, but I’m also sick of you talking to me like I’m a piece of shit.”

“Oh, boy.”  He looked to be tensing in preparation for the oncoming fight. 

“After you bury Rusky…I want you to mow the yard!”  She felt stupid even saying it, but it was the first thing that came to her.

“What?”

“Yep, weed-eat, and all that other shit that makes a lawn look pretty.  I’ve been doing it since the spring, it’s your turn now buddy-boy.”  The back of her head was going numb with anger.  Her mouth moved, wanting to keep the lashing coming, but her mind didn’t know what to say next.  She allowed her instincts to speak on her behalf.  “And, if it’s not done by the time I get home, I’m going to fucking burn your mask collection.”

Ga
sping, he said, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

He stared into her eyes, looking for the spot inside of her where she knew self-doubt lingered. He wouldn’t find it this time. Her earthy eyes had turned cold and callous. 

Looking away, he buried his face into his hands, and nodded. He was muffled when he said, “Fine, Haley.  You can leave now.  Have a good day at work.”

Haley snatched her purse from the counter. Keeping her head aimed high, she marched out of the kitchen.  On her way out, she glanced back and watched Joel as he folded his arms on the table, and buried his face into them.  She slammed the door to ring her point home. 

In the garage, Haley sat in the idling car.  She geared it into reverse and thumbed the red button on the remote attached to her sun visor.  The garage door slowly began to lift. By the time it was high enough for her to pass under it, she was crying too hysterically to leave. 

Putting the car back into park, she leaned her head against the steering wheel.  It felt cool and hard under her wet cheek. She spent that next five minutes crying, screaming, and beating the seats with her fists.

(I)

A crow cawed, pulling Dawn from her slumber.  It hurt to open her eyes, but when she did she discovered that not only had morning replaced the night, but she was still naked.  The sun sparkled off the dew-slick trees and her sweat-layered skin, casting a golden glow in the light mist.  Pine needles carpeted the ground and felt soft and prickly under her feet.

She could vaguely remember diving into water so cold that it felt as if her body was being punched by icy fists, and making it across the lake only to be ambushed by a rather attractive man who was probably in his thirties.  He’d been waiting for her with a smile on his pleasant face.  She’d thought he was there to help, but she couldn’t have been more wrong.  

A twig snapped somewhere in the distance. Dawn whipped her head around, expecting someone to be there, but no one was.  Her neck was tight and sore, and her head felt as if it had been pounded against concrete for hours.  Her long hair, caked with mud and congealed blood, was glued to the sides of her pretty, yet bruised and scabbed face. Both eyes were blackened and swollen. The vision was blurred in the left.  A trickle of blood slid down her head, down the nape of her neck.

She had no clue exactly where she was, but it was deep backwoods, where all she could see was thick walls of green and brown, choked with a calm miasma.  It was almost beautiful. 
A perfect morning
.  The kind she enjoyed with Kevin and some coffee.  The thought of Kevin brought a fresh batch of tears to her already stinging eyes.  She was surprised there were tears left to shed.

She went to wipe her eyes, but found her arms felt jellied and artificial.  Looking up, she saw both wrists had been bound to opposing trees by barbwire in a Jesus Christ pose, and then looped over two separate tree limbs.  She scanned her body.  Leads of barbwire had been wrapped around her naked chest, and were pricking her breasts, fastening her to the tree behind her.  Tiny rivulets of blood tapered down the valley between her breasts. 

It hadn’t hurt until noticing it, but now she felt every puncture and poke to the slopes of her breasts and dark coins of her nipples.  She tried pulling away, but it only made the sharp jabs even worse. 

Dawn tugged at her wrists, feeling her flesh ripping through the numbness of her hands.  She bit her lip to stop from screaming.  She tried with the other hand this time, only to have the same result.  The barbwire was just wrapped too tightly to wrench her hands free.

She let her weight drop into her knees.  It wasn’t the best position to be in, but she was exhausted, and her legs felt too weak and stringy to stand.  Bending them at the knees felt much better, but the incisive points of barbwire burrowed even deeper into her wrists and breasts, but at the moment, she didn’t care. 

When the burning from the penetrating points became too much, she stood up straight again. 

Her eyes surveyed the area, searching for him.  Turning right, then left, she didn’t find anybody. He’d stayed with her most of the night, watching her writhing against the tree, making her scream. She’d passed out after he’d used the machete to saw into her left calf muscle.  She tried looking back to check on it, but couldn’t bend back that far. 

Dawn looked for him, again, but he still wasn’t there. 
Just be glad he’s gone.
He must have hung her up while she was unconscious.  If she’d been coherent, she sure couldn’t remember him doing it, but it might be for the best that she couldn’t.

How close to the lake was she? It felt like she was miles away from anywhere, a secluded planet where she’d been dumped.  She wondered what they’d done with Kevin’s body.  One of them had to have done something with it.  It was unlikely they’d just leave
it there for someone to find. How many of
them
were there total?  More than the man in the hat that had left her there hanging.  He was number two after the man at the lake, the handsome man with the gorgeous smile.  He’d been there, filming with some old camera, while the one in the hat had tortured her. 

And he was also wearing a mask. 

Something scampered in the distance, but big enough that she heard it. 
Now would be when I’d get attacked by a mountain lion. 
She listened another moment, and was finally unable to stand it any longer, so she called out, “Huh-hello?”  She spoke barely above a whisper, but it hurt as if she’d been shrieking.  Her throat had been screamed raw.  She was parched and probably dehydrated.  Her pores felt as if they were producing sweat, but her skin was dry, save all the blood.  Patches of brown stains dappled over her breasts and stomach, the clear dried currents of sweat cutting paths through the redness.  Her legs glistened with the combination, changing them from a bronze tint to a tacky burgundy. 

There was an abundant snapping of twigs behind her somewhere.  Her heart raced, her skin went prickly. She expected at any moment to see the hat man returning with more devices to harm her with. 

But he never came. 

She exhaled a measured breath.  With her teeth clinched, the air made hi
ssing sounds as it wafted out.
Why can’t the animals out here be like the kind in Disney movies and help me get loose?
That wouldn’t happen, and the men would come soon, she could feel it.  She needed to be gone before they did. 

Dawn checked her left wrist.  A line of blood seeped down to her armpit, sparking an idea–one that would hurt.  That didn’t matter though; she’d been hurt so much already that it didn’t scare her. 

She jerked her hand as hard as she could.  The skin tore in skinny, serrated lines around her wrist.  Blood deluged around the bracelet of barbwire.  Twisting and turning, the thorny tips slashed and shredded her flesh away until there was enough blood to act as a lubricant.

As hard as she could, she yanked one more time, tearing her hand free, and leaving pieces of flesh dangling from the wire.  Her arm sagged to her side like a useless appendage.  Dawn gawked at her wrist, crying.  There wasn’t much left of it.  It no longer resembled a part of her body, but only mangled meat.  She was lucky she hadn’t severed an artery and bled to death.

At the first hint of sensation returning to her arm, she raised it to the other and began unraveling it from the barbwire. The knot was tight, but she managed. After a struggle, and jabbing most of her fingers, she got it undone.  Not giving it time to become useful again, she began working on her breasts.

Reaching behind her back, she found where the wire had been roughly rigged together.  She needed to be very careful here since the skin was much more sensitive.  Finding two tips, she began uncoiling them as if they were a bread tie.  It had been tethered crudely, so it wasn’t long before it became loose enough to drop.  It fell to her ankles, slicing her all the way down.  She collapsed onto her stomach, breathing heavily, and not wanting to move.  But, after a moment Dawn forced herself to stand.  Her legs wobbled, trying to give way as she looked around.  The coast still seemed unbelievably clear.  Gazing from right to left, she tried to decide the best way to go.  Whatever she chose was a gamble.
She’d never been a lucky person to begin with, so she decided to go with her gut, and charged to the right. 

She nearly fell several times.  But, as she struggled to find her rhythm, a second wind gracefully kicked in.  Soon, she was soaring albeit with a slight limp.  Leaping over fallen branches, roots that jutted up from under the ground, dodging jagged tree stumps, she raced on.  She ignored the pain in her feet.  Low hanging limbs whipped her as she ran, but she didn’t let them slow her down.  Their stinging lashes were nothing compared to what she’d already endured.  With her eyes focused forward, she slid on loose leaves freckled across the ground.  Mother Nature was determined to make her fall, but through it all, she managed to stay upright.  Her breasts bounced and swayed, slapping against her ribs.  Her blood pumped in a brisk surge. 

Then her vision became hazy, slowing her to a trot.  Every inch of her was vaulted with heat.  Her forehead tingled.  Mini sets of fireworks exploded in front of her eyes.  A battering ring clamored in her ears. 

Don’t faint damn it…

Dawn stumbled over each sloppy step.  Unable to go any farther, she dropped to her knees, trying to regain her strength.  Her damaged wrist screamed at her.  She started to cry.  All of her abrasions and holes wrenched as her sweat seeped into them.  If she ever got out of here she’d have to bathe in a tub of disinfectant.  She hugged her wrist to her chest.  It seemed to help, holding it close like this.  

Unbeknown
st to her, someone wearing old camouflage pants, and a work shirt with the sleeves ripped off at the shoulders, baring his thick muscular arms, had crept up behind her.  Lines of strength cut through his biceps like thin valleys through concrete.  His grimy boots were caked in dark colored filth.  The clothes were horribly stained.  Blood, food, bird shit, and sweat had all left splotches across the fabric.  His hands, black from blood and waste, ended in jagged fingernails. 

Covering his face was a rough-hewn mask made from a white sack.  Straps had been sewn on the sides and wrapped around the back of his head, disappearing under the short patches of hair projecting through the age-worn gaps.  Three holes, two for the black eyes and one for the mouth had been sloppily cut out of the front.  The mask, much like the rest of his attire, was tattered and torn. 

Dawn sniffed.  A revolting stench leached its way into her nose.  Her scalp went crawly.  Her nipples stiffened with her rising fear. 

Someone was behind her.   

She could smell him.

As the light breeze calmed, softening the rustling leaves she began to hear his deep, heavy breaths.  The lively woods altered to a halt, as if it was also waiting for his move. 

Then the calm hush was disrupted with the explosive sound of a cranking chainsaw.  It bellowed from behind her, revving several times.  She couldn’t hear her frantic screams over the boisterous motor.  She whipped around, catching him moving in on her, hunched over so his colossal height could step under the branches of a nearby tree.  She didn’t recognize this man.  He wasn’t either of the two men she’d already endured.  He was all new.

How many are there?

The left corner of his mouth curved upward. 
He’s smirking at me.
  He was convinced he was about to kill her, and she wasn’t sure if there was a way of proving otherwise.

He’s not getting me without a fight!

She sprung to her feet, and bolted, trying to put distance between her and him.  His stalk turned to a fanatical dash in pursuit.  The chainsaw revved in front of him like a can
non.

(II)

Joel stood over Rusky, tears flooding his eyes.  He backhanded them away as he gaped at the dark sheet covering the remains of his departed friend. 
A shell. 
That was all that was left of him, an empty box, like a DVD case missing the disc.

The gentle morning was fading fast.  The air was already becoming heavy on his skin.  It would be scorching soon.  He could smell just a hint of decay coming from under the sheet.  Part of Rusky’s left rear paw was poking out from under the blanket.  Eager flies buzzed around it. Joel squatted, fanning them away, and pushed the foot back underneath.  There was some resistance, but he managed to do it.  The paw no longer felt soft and warm, but dry and stiff like old matted carpet.  He knew he needed to get the dog in the ground before it got much hotter, but he dreaded doing it.  He had wanted to do it last night, because the dark would have hidden Rusky’s lifeless eyes, and the blank frozen expression on his normally happy, and enthusiastic furry face.  If he couldn’t see Rusky the way he was supposed to be, then he’d rather not see him at all.

Rusky was the kind of dog that always seemed to be smiling, especially when Joel came home from school.  They lived deep in the country on Marble Lane, which was on the outskirts of every school district, so his school bus wasn’t permitted to drive to his house.  So, as a compromise, the driver would let him out at the end of the road, which left him having to tolerate a mile hike back to his house.  He didn’t mind it, really, and had told his Mom she didn’t have to wait for him out there with the car.  The true explanation behind that was he was tired of being picked on about it by the other kids on the bus–asking him if he was afraid to walk home alone, or claiming Mama held his dick when he pissed.  The quantity of humiliation he received from the guys on the bus also made talking to the girls that rode with them hopeless.

Ethan and Paul, who he considered to be his friends, would do little to defend him.  They knew to keep their mouths shut or the abuse would turn on them.  Joel didn’t blame them for not getting involved, but still
, it angered him.

But, no matter how bad the bus rides were, he quickly forgot them thanks to Rusky.  Somehow, which Joel could never figure, the dog knew the time Joel was set to come home as if he had a timer hidden somewhere to alert him.  Didn’t matter if it was sunny, raining, hot, cold, or if asteroids were pounding the earth, Rusky was programmed to the comings and goings of Joel.  So, when he’d be pretending to casually stride the mile long walk, he’d come to a halfway point where the road curved at the Whitmore’s house, and just on the other side was woods and an open field. It was kind of creepy really. He often imagined werewolves lurking behind the trees, or trolls clambering through the high grass.