Prologue #2
“So what the fuck she hiding?” Rod screamed, punching Harry in the chest. Harry stepped back, didn’t fall.
A movement to his right. Harry looked down. A small hand held out the doll. Harry’s heart twisted. Crissy was sacrificing her Barbie to the monster, to save her brother.
Harry tried to push her little hand back but it was too late. Rod’s eyes lit up with a wild light. He snatched the doll. It looked ridiculously small and frilly in his huge paw.
He looked at it the way a monkey would, holding it this way and that. Harry could almost see the steam rising in Rod’s crazy brain as he worked himself up into a rage.
He shook the doll in Harry’s face. “So where the fuck did you find the money to buy this? You been holding out on me?” His voice rose with each word until he was nearly howling. It raised the hairs on Harry’s neck.
The monster stepped back, still dangling the forgotten doll by his hand. He lurched, rocked unsteadily, then found his balance again.
“You got money in here! I know it!” Fuckhead bellowed and ripped the head off the Barbie, then the two arms and legs.
He tried to poke a huge finger into the holes, couldn’t do it, tossed the trunk of the doll away.
He looked around, eyes narrowing when he saw Harry’s baseball bat.
He picked it up, gave it a few experimental slaps against his left hand.
Harry backed slowly away, heart hammering.
Fuckhead stepped forward, giving a swing through the air with the bat. The whoosh of displaced air sounded loud in the room.
“What else you hiding from me, you little shit? I’ll bet you got lots of stuff, you’re not as stupid as you look.
I’ll bet you got just shitloads of stuff that you’re hiding from me!
” The last said in a bellow, as he turned and brought the bat down heavily on the rectangle of particle board resting on two trestles that served as Harry’s desk.
The rectangle pulverized in an instant, dust rising in the room.
Fuckhead poked around the ruins for a moment with the tip of the bat.
“Nothing here,” he growled and swung the bat into the crates where Harry and Crissy kept their meagre belongings. The crates exploded, tossing up jeans and hoodies and tiny tee shirts and shoes.
He turned to look Harry in the face. His eyes went down to Crissy then back up. He smiled into Harry’s eyes.
“I know what’ll make you talk. Take a bat to that little brat and you’re talking, oh yeah.” He swung it suddenly, viciously, against the wall, gouging a hole in the crumbly cement.
“Like that, punk?” he yelled. “What’s the little bitch’s head gonna look like, huh? Like a fucking watermelon that’s dropped on the ground, that’s what. You tell me where you’ve got your fucking stuff now! Now! Now! Now!!”
He was screaming, slashing the bat viciously through the air, walking slowly forward.
Harry stepped back, almost tripping over Crissy who was clinging to his legs.
He could feel her wild trembling. He didn’t dare pick her up, didn’t dare even acknowledge her existence.
Fuckhead seemed to have forgotten about Crissy for the moment and Harry wanted to keep it that way.
“What you hiding boy?” Thwack! Another huge hole gouged into the wall. “You tell me now!” Another swing, barely missing Harry.
“Rod?” Harry’s mom stood in the doorway, unsteady. Her eyes were glassy. “What’s all the commotion?”
Harry had never been able to figure it out. His mom lived like a junkie—was a junkie, though it hurt his heart to admit it because despite everything he loved her—but she spoke like a real lady.
The monster stopped, turned slowly around, thought processes almost painfully clear.
He smiled, baring his rotted teeth. “Your shitty son. He’s hiding stuff from me, and I want it. He’s got some money hidden somewhere, just for himself. What the fuck does he care about us? About our needs? All he cares about is the little brat.”
Harry’s mom was trying to process this through the fog in her head. “Harry?” she said slowly. She looked around the bare room. “Hiding something? What? Where?”
The monster seemed to swell with rage as he advanced on Harry’s mom.
“You bitch, I’ll bet you’re in cahoots with him. All three of you, it’s a conspiracy, you’re robbing me and keeping me from what’s mine!” His voice rose to a raw cry. “You three think you’re so much better than me! Snooty bastards, I’ll show you!”
Harry’s mom frowned. “Hey, Rod, there’s no need to—“
“And you’re the worst of all, you cunt!” he roared and swung the bat straight at her head.
The crack was loud in the room as Harry’s mom crumpled to the floor, bright red staining her long blonde hair. She lay still, a pool of red gathering around her head.
“You bastard!” Harry’s head filled with rage. “You killed her! You killed my mom!”
Rod stood for a moment, mouth open, the rotted teeth of a methhead like dark tree stumps.
Harry jumped him, fists flying. He’d been fighting since he was five and though he had no training, he knew what he was doing.
The first blows took Rod by surprise, then he shook his head and bellowed with rage.
With one backhanded blow, he slammed Harry against the wall, knocking him off his feet. Harry blacked out for just a second and came to just as Rod, screaming, brought the bat down hard on his legs. Harry cried out as his bones crunched.
Pain shot through Harry, so intense he nearly passed out again.
He fought to remain conscious with everything in him, ignoring the ferocity of the pain, because Rod had straightened, knowing Harry was out of commission, and now was advancing on Crissy, step by step, screaming words Harry couldn’t understand.
Crissy pressed against the wall, shaking, as she watched him approach with huge, terrified eyes.
Harry shook with rage. Rod had killed his mom. Fuckhead wasn’t going to get Crissy, too. No way.
Harry tried to stand, but he collapsed in fiery agony.
There was no way, both legs were broken, jeans already soaked with blood.
A shard of bone had broken through the skin and stuck out from his left thigh, piercing his jeans.
His hand scrabbled for his only hope as Crissy darted away from Rod’s big hairy paws swinging that bat.
Under the mattress was Fuckhead’s cell, which he used to make his deals. Harry had stolen it from him a couple of days ago. Some instinct had told him he’d be needing a way to call for help.
Rod was screaming now, completely out of control, lunging for Crissy who kept slithering out of his grasp. Hands trembling, fumbling in fear, Harry punched 911 and quickly gave the address. Rod’s bellows could be heard in the background.
“Hurry,” he whispered.
He was about to black out from the pain and had to grit his teeth to remain conscious.
Rod’s huge hand caught Crissy by the arm and Harry nearly threw up when he heard the sharp crack of her small bone breaking.
“Harry!” Crissy screamed, terrified eyes meeting his, and he pulled himself over to her by his arms, moving as fast as he could.
But it wasn’t fast enough.
Rod picked Crissy up as if she were the Barbie he’d held a few moments ago and slammed her against the wall. Blood spattered as Crissy’s tiny body crumpled to the ground.
“You son of a bitch!” Harry screamed as his hand found the bat Rod had dropped. He swung it with all his strength against Fuckhead’s kneecap and heard the sharp crack of his knee exploding.
Rod went down like a felled bull and Harry was all over him, swinging the bat against his head again and again until Rod’s face was a mask of mushy red tissue that bore no resemblance to a human face.
Panting, Harry threw the bat away and pulled himself with his arms over to Crissy, ignoring the fiery pain as he scraped his way across the floor. He gathered up her limp little body, holding her against him, smoothing out her soft golden hair. He wept, the sound raw in the room.
In the distance sirens sounded, the last thing he heard before the blackness took him.