Prodigal Blues (12 page)

"Just… be careful what you say, all right?"
 
False-Face looked right at me.
 
"I am not sure we can trust him yet."

Arnold looked at me, then shrugged.
 
"He seems cool to me."

"You said that last time, and look what—"
 
False-Face stopped himself, then shook his head.
 
"Never mind.
 
It seems like we are all talking way too much for our own good."

I raised my hand like a kid in class.
 
"Can I ask something?"

False-Face tilted his head but made no reply.

"Would you please tell me what your name is so I'll know what to call you?"

"Why is that so important to you?"

"It's common courtesy.
 
Besides, you know a helluva lot more than that about me.
 
If you want my help, it seems the least you could do is tell me your name.
 
Call it a gesture of good faith."

He thought about it for a moment, then said:
 
"Christopher."

"As in the saint and 'Robin'?"

"…Robin?"

"
Winnie-the-Pooh
Christopher Robin."

He squinted, looked at Arnold, and then said:
 
"I have… no idea what that is."

My mouth may have actually dropped open.
 
"You're kidding?"

"Three guesses."

I laughed out of surprise.
 
"One of the most famous children's books of all time and you have
no idea
—?"

"What did I just say?
 
Did I mumble?
 
Do you have trouble hearing?
 
I
do not know
what that is!
 
I have
never heard
of it!
 
I have never
read
it!
 
So how could I understand the reference?"
 
He was getting progressively more agitated.
 
"Are you trying to make me feel
stupid
?
 
Is that it?
 
Or do you just want to confuse me so that you can pull something while I am busy trying to make sense out what you said?"
 
He stormed over to the bed and punched me in the nose, then shoved me up against the headboard, cracking the back of my skull against the wall.
 
"I do not
need
anyone else to
ever
make me feel stupid and worthless again!
 
Do you understand?"
 
He grabbed my throat with one incredibly strong hand, holding my head in place.
 
"
None of us
needs to feel like that,
not ever again!
 
Ever!
"
 
He squeezed harder, pressing me into the wall and headboard as blood from my nose streamed down his hand.
 
"
AM I GETTING THROUGH TO YOU?
"

"Stop it," said Arnold, grabbing onto Christopher's arm and throwing all his weight into breaking his grip on me.

"
DO NOT MAKE FUN OF ME!
"

Arnold pulled again.
 
"Knock it off, Christopher!
 
He cannot breathe!"

"
DO NOT MAKE FUN OF
ANY
OF US, PRETTY-BOY!
 
EVER!
"

The room was starting to spin out of focus; my chest felt like it was imploding; the pressure in my skull was almost unbearable.

Something flew across my field of vision and struck Christopher right in the face.
 
He let go of me and stumbled backward, knocking Arnold aside, his arms pinwheeling for balance as he fell over the footstool in front of the chair by the lamp; he hit the floor with a heavy thud as part of his face fell off—the prosthesis of the upper lip—and then Arnold was on top of him, kneeling on Christopher's chest and holding down his arms.

"You stop it," said Arnold.
 
"You get hold of yourself right now.
 
You hear me?"

"Get off my chest!"

"Not until you calm down."
 
He reached out and grabbed the boot that had struck Christopher's face.
 
"You settle, you do it right now, or I will conk you a good one with this, I swear to God!"

I bent forward, coughing and rubbing my neck, pulling in as many deep breaths as I could without hyperventilating or gagging on the backwash of blood from my nose.
 
I blinked and wiped my eyes before falling back against the pillows; as I lay there waiting for my heart to stop trying to squirt through my ribs, I turned my head to the side and saw Thomas in his wheelchair, holding the first boot's mate, which he looked ready to heave at a moment's notice.
 
I smiled at him, mouthing "Thanks."

He nodded his head, then said:
 
"It is not like I really need them anymore."

The bathroom door flew open and a very irritated Rebecca came out.
 
"All right!
 
That is
enough!
"
 
She pulled something from the back pocket of her jeans that made a quick, loud sizzling sound and spit out a concentrated flash of bright-blue electricity.

She lifted the
Taser
and bolted over to the guys on the floor.
 
"Stop it right now, Christopher"—she made the
Taser
snap and sizzle—"or I will use this on you."

Still, he struggled against Arnold.

"If you think I am kidding," said Rebecca, "then keep it up.
 
You have three seconds to start behaving.
 
One…two…"

The struggling stopped almost immediately.

Rebecca nodded her head, smiling.
 
"That is much better.
 
Thank you."

Arnold rose, the boot still in his hand, and sat on the edge of my bed.
 
"Are you all right, Mark?"

I wiped blood from my nose and face.
 
"I think so."
 

Arnold dug into his back pocket and pulled out a wad of tissues, which he handed to me.
 
I thanked him and pressed the tissues up into my nostrils.

On the floor, Christopher glared at the ceiling; then, wordlessly, sat up and tore away his hair piece and the rest of his makeup like a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum.
 
It couldn't have taken thirty seconds for him to rip it all away.

The sight of his real face hit me the hardest of them all.

One of his jaws was completely metal.
 
His nose had been severed just like Rebecca's, only Grendel hadn't stopped there; Christopher's disfigurement extended to the removal of his upper lip and a half-inch of tissue on either side:
 
the center of his face was one large vertical gash, exposing clogged sinus cavities, swollen gums, crooked, discolored teeth, and the shredded remnants of what were once
temporalis
muscles around the corners of his mouth, leaving him with a permanent rictus grin.
 
His left ear had been torn off.
 
Half of his scalp had been peeled back like an orange, and what little hair remained up there looked like cobwebs covering a piece of spoiled meat.
 
Across the middle of his head, like some toothless maw, was an open wound beneath which a smooth yellowing skull gleamed.

He looked up at me with tears of rage in his eyes.
 
"On the bright side, at least I will save money on Hallowe'en costumes, right?"

"Pay no mind, he is just trying to shock you," said Rebecca.

"He… he succeeded," I whispered.

She looked at my face, then at Christopher's.
 
"Are you proud of yourself?
 
Hmmm?
 
I certainly hope so, because it is going to take us
forever
to get your makeup fixed.
 
What have I told you about these little snits of yours?"

"…do not lecture me right now…" he whispered.

"Who is lecturing?
 
I am merely pointing out that your behavior has given us yet
another
mess to deal with.
 
You promised me you were going to stop acting this way.
 
You
promised
, Christopher."

"…I apolo—"

"Oh, no," said Rebecca.
 
"Not this time.
 
Absolutely not.
 
You broke a promise, Christopher, and you know what that means."

He nodded his head, not looking at her.
 

No one said anything for several moments, then Arnold turned toward me and whispered:
 
"This is actually pretty serious."

"I think I figured that much out already, thanks."
 
Then:
 
"What does it mean, when someone breaks their promise?"

"It means," said Rebecca, "that the person they made the promise
to
gets a request, and that request has to be granted, no matter what it is."

"No matter what," said Thomas, then giggled and went back to his song, singing softly to himself, which was starting to get on my nerves because I couldn't make out the words.

Christopher looked up at Rebecca.
 
"All right, then, all right."
 
He got to his feet.
 
"I broke my promise."

"You broke it
big
," said Arnold.

"Yes, you did," added Rebecca.

Christopher sighed, then folded his arms across his chest and waited.

"Does that mean something else?" I asked Arnold.
 
"Is it worse if you break a promise
big
?"

"You know it."

"If you break a promise
big
," said Rebecca, "then the other person gets
two
requests; one now, and one later."

"Do not push this too far," Christopher said.

I watched silently.
 
There had been a definite shift in the dynamics; Rebecca was, for the moment, in charge, and Christopher was respecting that; but I had the feeling that Rebecca's reign could only go on for
so long
before Christopher took back control—and when he did, Rebecca would respect his actions.

For the moment, I was reminded of the way Gayle and I used to go back and forth when we were kids.

Christopher massaged a part of his forehead, then exhaled loudly.
 
"I am not going to stand here all day.
 
You get one now, one later.
 
What is your first request?"

Rebecca smiled, then cocked her thumb in my direction.
 
"Unlock him."

"Now, wait just a minute—"

"No!
 
That is my first request and you
have
to do it.
 
So do it."

"I do not think it is a good idea.
 
He might try something."

"He is naked underneath that sheet.
 
He is not going anywhere.
 
Un.
 
Lock.
 
Him."

Christopher pulled a set of keys from his pocket, flipping through until he found the one he was looking for, then removed it from the ring and tossed it to Arnold.

"I wanted you to do it," said Rebecca.

"You did not say that.
 
You only said 'Unlock him.'
 
Who
does it was never specified."

Her eyes narrowed.
 
"That is
so
very close to cheating."

"But not close enough that it counts against me."

"They do this a lot," said Arnold, unlocking the leg iron and removing it from my ankle.
 
"But it is not always this entertaining."
 
He bent down and removed the rest of the chain from the bed frame.

I leaned forward and began massaging my ankle.
 
"May I please have the rest of my clothes?
 
Including my shoes and socks?"

"Your pants and underwear are not dry," said Rebecca.

"I could give a shit—wait, sorry, excuse my language.
 
It doesn't matter if they're dry or not, I'll wear them."

"Are you sure?"

I grinned at her.
 
"No, but it beats being like this."

She and Arnold retrieved everything.
 
I slipped into my damp underwear (beneath the sheet), then stood and put on my pants, socks, and shoes.

"Better?" asked Arnold.

"Kind of squishes when I move, but at least I'm not dangling in front of everyone."