C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation (20 page)

“
Indeed,” he said, with a thick English accent. “Mr. Riker would like to have words with you now that the boy has been safely delivered. I believe you know the way to his study.”

“
I do.” Murphy said, with a nod. “Good luck kid.” he said with an evil grin then got close and whispered in his ear. “You’re going to need it.”

“
Uh, hi.” Jake said slowly, not sure what to make of this.

“
My name is Paul. Please follow me. I will take you to your room. Your grandfather will meet you later this evening for dinner.”

“
Uh, okay.” Jake said, slowly. “Is there any way I could make a phone call real quick? To make sure my Grandpa is okay.”

“
You may not,” Paul said, heading up the stairs.

They walked up the stairs, down a hall completely void of color or pictures to a room at the very end. Paul opened the door to the most amazing sight an eleven-year-old boy could hope to see. The room was absolutely packed full of toys and games. Three large arcade games sat in the corner as well as four different pinball machines.

The biggest TV that Jake had ever seen sat against the southern wall with a VCR and state of the art surround sound system sitting on top of it. Next to that was every gaming console ever made with several hundred games. Jake’s mouth hung wide open. Everything a kid could ever want was right in front of him.
Maybe this won’t be so bad after all!
He thought to himself. Walking slowly into the room he tried to take it all. He turned to say something to Paul only to see he was already gone. “His loss!” Jake said, aloud.

Jake immediately ran over and grabbing the remote off the top of it, turned on the TV. “Yes! Cable!” He exclaimed flipping through the channels. Turning on the Super Nintendo, Jake sat down on the edge of the king size bed, controller in hand and went to work. For the next two hours he did his very best to play through every video game.

Right about sundown, as Jake was winding down a game of Super Mario World, Paul returned with a handful of clothes. He laid them gently on the king size bed in the middle of the room.

“
Dinner will be served in one hour,” he said, in a thick English accent. “Shower and make yourself presentable.” he then walked out of the room closing the door behind him.

Jake took one look at the clothes and knew he wasn’t about to change into them. He’d never worn a tie in his life and he wasn’t about to start now. An hour later, he walked downstairs still wearing the clothes he had put on that morning.

Paul stood at the bottom of the stairs. Jake took one look at the rage building in the old butler’s eyes, and knew he had made a big mistake. “Stupid boy!” He yelled, his voice echoing through the large room. “I gave you express orders to change!”

“
Orders?” Jake reached the bottom of the stairs and looked down at his faded black T-shirt. “Who are you? The clothes police?” Jake never saw it coming. Paul backhanded him right across the bridge of his nose knocking him to the bottom step.

“
You will do as you are told!” he exclaimed. “You will not dress as a common hoodlum! Not whilst you reside in this house!”

Jake grabbed his now throbbing nose in shock.

“
Come.” Paul said, seeming to gather his wits. “Your grandfather is waiting.”

Jake stood up hesitantly keeping his distance from him.

Paul led him through the giant entryway into an even larger room with wood paneling on the walls. As with most of the house, he had seen so far, the room was completely devoid of any pictures or artwork. A long mahogany dining room table sat in the middle of it. At the head of the table sat a very old, very frail looking man with an overly large straw cowboy hat on. His bushy gray eyebrows threatened to overwhelm his cataract covered eyes and an overly large blue flannel shirt hung loosely on chest. Instead of a dining room chair, he sat in an electric wheel chair. Oxygen tubes attached to his nose and a brownish yellow urine bag hung from the side of his chair with a tube running up under a stained blanket covering his lap.

Jake tried to hide his disgust. Even from across the room he could smell the old man’s strange musty stench. He stood there nervously not quite sure what to do next when Paul’s overly loud voice caused him to jump. “Mr. Riker, sir! May I present your grandson, Jacob!”

“
Eh?” the old man screamed across the room.

Jake could have sworn he saw a glint of annoyance in Paul’s eyes but the butler quickly hid it. “Forgive me sir!” He said, even louder. “Your grandson sir, Jacob!”

The old man didn’t say anything but nodded, his mouth chewing some unseen morsel hidden away in his cheek.

“
Uh . . . hello.” Jake said, nervously.

“
You’ll have to speak up. Mr. Riker has trouble hearing.” Paul whispered.

“
Hello!” Jake yelled across the room.

“
Hmmph.” The old man muttered then began coughing. “What the hell are you wearing?” he said, when he was done hacking. Reaching into a pocket on his flannel shirt, he pulled out a very thick pair of glasses and placed them on his nose. His eyes seemed huge as he stared at Jake for what seemed like an eternity before speaking again. “You look like a hippie.”

“
Nice to meet you too.” Jake said, rolling his eyes.

“
Don’t give me lip boy!” He exclaimed then began another hacking cough that ended with him spitting a large wad of yellow phlegm into a rag.

He hears better than he lets on.
Jake took a second to remember his mother’s smiling face. This was her dad. Disgusting or not, he deserved a little respect. “I’m sorry, um, Grandpa!” he said, loudly. “I didn’t mean any disrespect!”

“
Ah well. I guess you can’t help it.” He said, snapping his frail boney fingers. “Your daddy was trash. Only figures you’d come out the way you did.”

Jake was speechless. He hadn’t the slightest idea how to respond to that.

Paul walked into what could have only been the kitchen, and returned with a very large, very rare, bloody T-bone steak and set it in front of him. A matching steak he set in front of Jake. There were no sides, no baked potatoes or vegetables just a large bloody steak. Jake stared down at it in disgust. It wasn’t that he didn’t like steak. He
loved steak!
He just preferred them not to still be mooing.

Paul stepped away from him and began cutting up the steak for the old man. When he finished, Riker, without a word of thanks, waved him away with his hand.
Man Grandpa and Dad were dead on about this guy.
Jake thought to himself
, He’s a real mean son of a bitch.

They ate in silence for the next ten minutes, all of which Riker chewed or rather gummed the same piece of steak the entire time, his eyes never leaving Jake. Jake felt a tingle up his spine as if someone had just walked over his grave. He lowered his eyes unable to meet those of the old broken down man before him. “You look like your daddy.” He said, then snorted and dropped his napkin to his plate. Without saying another word, he turned his electric wheel chair and wheeled away.

Paul walked over and looked down at Jake. “Return to your room. Dinner is over.”

“
But I’m not done yet.” Jake said, quickly taking another bite of his bloody steak. It was disgusting but he was ravenously hungry. Paul hit him in the back of the head knocking the piece of meat from his teeth. “I said, dinner is over!” he jerked the plate away.

All the video games in the world aren’t worth this.
Jake thought to himself. Alone he walked slowly up to his room and laid down on his bed then stared around at all the pointless stuff surrounding him. When his parents had been broke and living in little more than a shack, he had dreamed of having a room like this. Now he would gladly give it all up just to have them both back. “I sure miss you Mom and Dad.” He said aloud into the big lonely room. A tear fell down his cheek. “And you too Grandpa.” Although it was barely nine pm, he fell asleep.

The next morning he was awoken bright and early at five am by Paul opening his curtains. “What! What’s going on?” Jake said, jumping out of bed, images of creatures lurking in the darkness filling his mind. He had the same old nightmares again.

“
Your tutor will be here in one hour’s time.” Paul said, “Do not make the same mistake you did last night. Get yourself bathed, and dressed
properly!
I will return in one hour.”

Not wanting to be hit again Jake did what he was told. He stepped into his very large personal bathroom and stripped down to take a shower. When he got out, the clothes he had laid on the marble countertop were gone. Angrily he stepped back into his room with a towel wrapped around him. He was beyond mad. First, they had left his suitcase back in Lubbock now they had stripped him of the only clothes he still could claim as his own. “Where are my clothes?!” He yelled out to no one in particular.

“
I disposed of them.” Paul’s voice carried in from right outside his door. “Now put on something presentable before your tutor arrives.”

“
But it’s Saturday! School’s out on Saturday!” Jake yelled back at him.

“
School is never out here. You will be taught every single day from six am to three pm.”

Jake heard the butler’s footsteps proceed down the hallway. He dropped the towel around his waist in disgust and grabbed up the shirt and tie neatly laid on his bed. Jake shook his head in disbelief then dressed. Less than thirty minutes later a “properly” dressed Jake made his way downstairs, where Paul handed him a plate with two dry, nearly burnt pieces of toast on it. Jake picked one of them up and hit it against the plate. It was stale as cardboard. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“
Breakfast. Not hungry? Fine.” Paul said, reaching for the plate.

Nearly starving from barely eating the entire day before, Jake jerked the plate away before Paul could take it. Grabbing up a piece in each hand he shoved them into his mouth as quickly as he could. “Sumting drink?” He asked through a mouthful of bread.

Paul disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass of warm water. Jake didn’t even bother arguing, but downed the entire glass then finished the last of his toast. After he was done Paul led him to a large room where dust covered books lined the shelves. A single solitary table sat in the middle of the dim room with a single green lamp sitting on it.

Sitting at the table with a worn black briefcase in front of him was an overweight, white haired man with a thick set of bifocals covering his eyes. He wore a tight fitting suit with a red bow tie. He nodded at Jake and smiled warmly. “Good morning Mr. Riker. I am Mr. Orwell. I will be your tutor.”

Jake turned around half expecting to see his grandfather wheeling up behind him. When he noticed there was no one but him standing there it dawned on him, the tutor was addressing him. “Uh, my name isn’t Riker. It’s Bishop. Jacob Bishop. But you can call me Jake.”

“
I’m afraid you are mistaken.” Paul said, coming up behind him with a stack of books. “Your name is no longer Bishop.”

“
What do you mean?” Jake asked spinning around to face him. “You can’t just change my name.”

“
It is your grandfather’s wish. He is your guardian now and he has decided you need a name more befitting your new stature.”

“
Unfreaking believable.” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “Just when I think this can’t get any worse.” Paul ignored him and walked out of the library, closing the doors behind him.

Mr. Orwell leaned across the short table and just barely above a whisper said, “It’s not all bad lad. Believe me, things could be a lot worse.”

HOW!
Jake thought but didn’t dare say. Over the next six hours, he struggled to stay awake as his tutor prattled on about the great Roman Empire and Julius Caesar. At twelve, he was given a one-hour break for lunch but was not allowed to go outside. “It is forbidden.” was all Paul would say as he brought him a peanut butter sandwich.

Undaunted, Jake tried to sneak out anyway and ran smack dab into three armed guards who quickly escorted him back inside. To his relief they didn’t tell Paul. At three, he was released back to his room where he was able to play video games and watch TV until dinner, but Jake didn’t feel like doing any of that.

As he lay on his bed, his mind began contemplating plans to escape. From what he could see there was no way out. The windows were all heavily barred. The only way in or out that he had seen was the front door but beyond that was two fifteen foot tall, electrified, razor wire fence. There was little hope for an escape, but his Grandpa Cort had taught him that even the worst of situations could be gotten out of if a man just took the time to stop, think, and plan. So that’s just what he did.

At dinnertime, he was once again escorted to meet his grandfather in the great dining hall. Again, they sat at the football field length table. Riker, as Jake had begun to think of him, seemed to be wearing the exact same clothes he had had on the day before. “Hmmmph.” he said, making a deep rasping sound in his throat. “That’s more like it.”

“
More like what?” Jake asked, looking at him confused.

“
Your clothes. That’s the way a boy should dress. Not like some bum off the streets.”

Jake couldn’t take it another second. He threw his fork down on his plate. “Why did you bring me here? I was more than happy at my Grandpa Cort’s house.”