Skulls (11 page)

His mother suffered from hypertension and depression and a host of physical ailments that left her unfit to work. Her alcoholism only added to the cocktail of inability. When Dennis was home, he was saddled with everything she couldn’t handle, which was simply
everything
.

His days started with chores and progressed steadily through catering to his mother to picking her up off the floor at the end of the night and dumping her limp body into bed. Often Dennis sat semi-conscious in a chair in her room, waking up with a start to turn her onto her side to keep her from choking on her vomit. The last of their utility money was spewed warm across the mattress, more often than not. He’d clean the mess and try once more to sleep. The bitter scent of regurgitated alcohol lingered in his nose.

When he wasn’t at work or school, or tending to his mother, Dennis found what solace he could in the woods. Still sore from the beating his father had given him before he left, all the bruises conveniently hidden, Dennis needed the escape.

Up on the hill, well into Old Man Jenks’s property, he wandered without direction, every step a nagging pain. His chest and stomach hurt, but it was his head that needed healing.

A thick fog of despair crowded his mind, casting a black pallor over every thought. Though there wasn’t much peace to be found anywhere for Dennis, the woods gave him a few minutes away from his problems. It was often just enough to give him the courage to go home.

The animals and insects he shared his walk with didn’t badger him with questions or tease him for not showering. They simply went about their business as he went about his. It was a comfortable counterpoint to all the screaming and crying that leeched the joy from his life.

As he strolled between the trees, his chin raised just enough to see what lay right before him, he wondered how much more he could take. It was a question he asked himself often.

His jaw hurt every night when he crawled into bed—he clenched his teeth all day. He could feel it aching even then and took a moment, out in the woods, to relax.

Caught up in his own world, Dennis didn’t realize someone had come up behind him until he heard the snap of a dry twig. He spun around to see a gloved fist smash into his face.

Just like he did at home, he took the blow without complaint.

* * * *

His head throbbed. Bright light pierced his lidded eyes like scalpels as Dennis flickered into awareness. Strands of his hair clung to his face and he reached to brush them away, but he couldn’t move his arm. He squinted and looked up at his arm to see a metal clamp around his wrist. It held his arm pinned to the wall that pressed uncomfortably into his back.

He glanced at his other hand to see the same kind of shackle. Dennis swallowed hard, the pressure against his throat making it difficult. He lifted his chin and found the wall as the back of his skull thumped against it. Able to breathe a little better, he braved the glare of the light.

As though staring into the sun, dots of darkness danced across his eyes. The brilliance was almost too much to bear. He shook his head a little, so more of his hair dropped onto his face to help shield his eyes against the light. Partially successful, he let his gaze drift to the side of the light where he could see some shadows beyond.

Something moved in them.

Dennis’s mind cleared quickly from the blow—he was used to it. He stared at the shape that came to stand beside the light. His subconscious mind recognized the shape of a man. He knew the man’s eyes were on him. He could feel their stare.

Several moments passed, the silence in the room deafening. Dennis never took his eyes off the figure. After what seemed forever, the shadows swirled and parted. A colossus of a man stepped into the light.

The brightness tamed by the man’s presence, Dennis could see clearly at last. Masked, twin orbs of black stared at him from the eyes holes of a ski mask. Dennis couldn’t look away.

Dressed in all black, every inch of skin covered, save for his eyes, the man came to stand before Dennis. The smooth dark leather of his apron shimmered in the reflected light. In his hand, he held an axe.

Dennis knew right then what fate had in store for him. He sighed, expecting no less, but he couldn’t bring himself to be afraid.

Born into suffering, Dennis had never known anything else. He’d been beaten for as long as he could remember. Starved and neglected, he’d spent many nights sleeping under the stars. The cold and wet grass was better than the lice-infested mattress that squirmed beneath him.

He’d never known love and truly never expected he ever would. He had never felt welcome in the world, its cruelties a prison. His sentence was life.

As he stared into the man’s dark eyes, he saw mercy buried there, a reprieve from the sadness that hung over him like a funeral shroud. His heart thumped hollow in his chest as he swallowed deep, moistening his mouth to speak.

“Kill me,” Dennis said in a whisper. The words lingered in the air.

The man’s eyes widened a moment as he stared at Dennis, then narrowed to tiny slits. He reached out and set his gloved hand gently on Dennis’s cheek before brushing the strands of hair out of his face.

He nodded, the wish granted.

The man took a step back as Dennis drew one last breath. The cold air tingled in his lungs. His eyes locked on the axe and he watched as it was hefted into the air. The glistening edge sparkled in the light.

As it streaked toward him, Dennis couldn’t help but feel relief. He watched the axe, through dry eyes, until it disappeared from view. The shuddering thud of its impact echoed through his bones. There was the sudden sense of falling and Dennis saw the ground approach.

He felt the rough plastic flooring scratch at his cheek when he landed. His eyes lolled back and forth a moment before settling. He looked at his body and marveled. It twitched and struggled against its binds, a geyser of red spewing from his neck.

His sight darkened at the edges. He glanced at the man who knelt before him. Dennis met his gaze and smiled up at him. The man was slowly swallowed by the encroaching blackness.

Though he couldn’t be sure through the mask, he thought the man had smiled back. It was Dennis’s last thought.

Chapter Sixteen

Jacob fell to his knees, his eyes locked on the empty sockets of Dennis’s skull. He felt as though his head were full of cotton candy.

He hadn’t paid much attention to Dennis since he’d known him. Apparently, no one had. A sinking guilt settled like an anchor in his fluttering stomach. He staggered to his feet and returned Dennis to his niche. He’d found a happy home at last.

Jacob apologized out loud. The words were hollow in his ears. He knew he wasn’t responsible for Dennis’s death—or even his life—but had he known how bad things were, he might have been able to help. He could have been the friend Dennis never had, the one he needed. Instead, Jacob had ignored him like everyone else had. Now he was dead.

Worse yet, he died with a smile on his face. He’d wanted to die. He’d
truly
wanted to die.

That was too much for Jacob. He staggered to the ladder and took his time climbing up it. He made sure each hold was solid before he went on to the next. One second he could see clearly, and the next, the world had grayed. Katie, Terrance, and Dennis stared out from the gloom.

He shook his head, but the visions pelted his mind like a steady rain. Afraid he would fall, he clutched to the wooden ladder.

It took him twenty minutes to climb free of the bunker. He lay in the foliage shelter, peering through the thick leaves as he waited for his mind to settle. Finally, he realized the sun was sinking from view. The shadows thickened around him.

Wanting nothing to do with the woods after dark, Jacob got to his feet and sealed the bunker. He made his way through the shrubs and out into the woods. His sight continued to flicker, his mind drifting as though his brain had slipped a gear. He made it to the barbed wire fence after just a few moments.

The sun almost set, he ran as fast as he dared. He plotted his course through the lightest gathering of trees. The branches lashed at him as he passed, but he welcomed their attention. Each tiny sting cleared his mind a little more than the last. The burning of his lungs injected just enough pain to keep him from slipping back into the dreams of the dead.

As the sun disappeared, Jacob found himself panting down by the highway. Though it made his walk longer, he was grateful for the yellowed lines that would lead him toward home.

The whirr of passing traffic kept him to the side of the asphalt, but it also gave him something to focus on. He was weak, his legs trembling. He stumbled on, then cut across the Downs where the highways met, hoping to shave time off his trip.

As he made his way through the quiet neighborhood, Jacob felt a tingle at the nape of his neck. He glanced around, but saw no one there. He traveled a little further and once again felt as though he were being watched. He stopped and looked to the windows of the nearby houses, but saw nothing. There were no flickers in the curtains, no creases of light through the blinds like he was used to from the park. There was nothing to indicate anyone even knew he was there. But still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on his back.

Cold sweat trickled down his scalp. He dashed along the sidewalk and stuck close to the streetlights that fluttered to life above him. He held his breath as he ran through the darkness that welled up between them.

Everything around him was a blur. He snapped his head around as he passed a clustered grove of trees, certain he saw something move within them. Images of Jenks and the old man’s axe crowded into Jacob’s head, pushing the dead aside.

He was fueled by fear. No longer worried about shadows or streetlights, he ran until his heart threatened to explode. His footsteps barely made a sound as he flew along, finally reaching home with a shuddered gasp.

Jacob dug in his pocket for his keys. He forced the key into the handle and pushed his way inside. He barely opened it wide enough for him to get past before he slammed it shut behind him. He let his keys fall from his hands as he fumbled with the locks. The front door secure, he bolted through the house making sure every window was sealed tight.

When he was done, Jacob found himself staring out the front window. He saw the lighted road sign of the trailer park as it flickered off in the distance. Only the first four letters of the word
Paradise
still shone bright, the
Park
part still clear.

A shiver ran down his spine as his subconscious mind read it as Paranoid Park. With that, he went to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife he could find. He ran to his room and locked the door behind. Then he hunkered down in his closet, the knife held out before him. He struggled to catch his breath.

It would be hours before he felt safe enough to leave the cloistered sanctuary of his closet. His hands and knees ached when he got to his feet, his back throbbing. Adrenaline had long since burned off into exhaustion. He set the knife beside his bed, within easy reach, before turning off the lights and dropping onto the mattress. Darkness claimed him almost immediately.

Chapter Seventeen

“Are you stupid, boy?”

Jacob’s eyes popped open at the sound of his father’s voice, a rough hand pulling him from bed. He looked up through sleep-glazed eyes to see the fury carved deep into the lines of his father’s face.

A handful of possibilities for what he could have done flashed through Jacob’s mind, but he kept his mouth shut. The stale scent of liquor on his father’s breath was a warning. His dad took his silence for a yes.

Jacob was hauled to his feet, still dressed from the night before. His father latched onto the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the room. He pulled him down the hall and through the living room to the back door.

Jacob knew better than to resist. No clue what had his father so angry, he hurried alongside him to keep from being choked by his own shirt collar, which had bunched around his throat.

His dad pushed the door open and shoved him outside. He barely managed to get his feet beneath him as he hit the steps. Jacob bounded down them fast before scuffling to a stop at the bottom. He blinked his eyes clear in the bright, morning light and looked out into the yard.

He knew then why his father was so mad.

The lawn bags full of yesterday’s grass clippings were shredded over the length of the yard. The cut grass was everywhere, strewn about in moist piles. The trash cans, which had been on the side of the house, had been tossed into the yard as well. Their contents dumped on top of the grass clippings. A mountain of beer cans and empty liquor bottles shined in the early morning sunlight.

The bitter stink of old whiskey hung heavy in the air, fighting for supremacy over the fresh stench of cut, wet grass.

No clue what had happened, Jacob turned to his father. “I don’t—”

His dad stomped down the stairs and backhanded him. Jacob fell onto the clippings, holding his cheek.

“Don’t you dare tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this.” He waved his arms about. “You and your worthless long-haired friends were out here drinking all night like a bunch of idiots. You weren’t even smart enough to pick up your damn bottles.” He pointed at Jacob’s shirt as if just noticing what he was wearing. “Shit, you’re still dressed even. Too drunk to get undressed for bed, but you had no problem making a fucking mess, huh?”