Infinite Testament (7 page)

“I’ve had it with you, Bruce!” he said in his trademark
nasally tone. “These next few years will
not
be pleasant if you
continue these transgressions.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ixley! Ronnie was beating him up so I
helped. Stephen is my friend. So I helped him.”

Stephen shot a glance at Bruce. Bruce was his
friend? That would mark his first at Lincoln School. This made
Stephen happy. All it took to make a friend was to get beat up. He
looked at Mr. Ixley and smiled, as big as he ever had. Bruce was his
friend!

Mr. Ixley asked, “And what are you smiling at, Mr. Pandora?”

Stephen locked his eyes with Mr. Ixley’s. He
continued smiling, bright as ever. “Bruce is my
best
friend.”

This perked Bruce’s ears. What? His best
friend? He just met him! Bruce had plenty of friends but never had
a
best
friend before. This made him ecstatic. Most kids were
afraid of him just because he was a little bigger than everyone else. Now
he had a best friend. And all he had to do was beat up tough-guy-wannabe
Ronnie. Bruce smiled at Mr. Ixley.

Mr. Ixley looked at both boys, who were smiling brightly at
him. This was not the reaction they were supposed to have. It was
clear that nothing he could say would work. “I’m going to call your
parents right now,” he threatened. Stephen and Bruce remained
unfazed.

They had just become best friends.

Stephen was in a headlock by a crazed cult member.
The man’s face remained hidden. Stephen struggled, “Let me go!” The
man had no intention of doing that. Stephen kicked and flailed his body
around to no avail. The man’s grip was too strong.

The man wasn’t going to hurt him, but he had to be taught a
lesson. “What’s your name?” he whispered into Stephen’s ear.

Stephen defiantly remained silent.

“What’s your name!?” The man grew agitated and
gripped Stephen’s neck even harder. It was becoming hard for Stephen to
breathe.

The man turned to lead Stephen back to his cult, where
their ritual was back in full swing. Unexpectedly, the man felt a tapping
on his shoulder. Who could be tapping him? It definitely wasn’t any
of the cult members. They wouldn’t…POW! The cult leader was clubbed
in the side of the face by a log. Bruce swung it like a baseball bat and
mercilessly followed through. The pain stung the man like a thousand
volts of electricity jolted the side of his face. The man fell to the
ground, freeing his grip on Stephen.

“Come on!” Bruce yelled. He had returned to save
Stephen from a forest of cult members. He wouldn’t leave him
behind. They were best friends.

Stephen ran with Bruce as they ventured out of the
forest. The man lay on the ground, screaming in pain.

The next day at school, Stephen and Bruce found themselves
in the dean’s office. It was a little, dimly lit office meant to
intimidate students. Stephen stared straight ahead, bored as he waited.
Bruce picked his nails. They sat amidst the silence as they waited for
the dean. “There’s no way he can get us for this,” Stephen asserted.

“No way,” Bruce agreed.

“Things happen in dodgeball. Patty shouldn’t have
left herself unguarded.”

“She we asking for it.”

“We’ll be fine.”

They sat in their seats waiting. It was a spot they’d
been in countless times before. “Oh look, he got a new painting,” Stephen
noticed.

Bruce noticed it too. “How about that? Wasn’t
there last week.”

“Ixley’s got good taste.”

“He’s doing a nice job with the office.”

“Agreed.”

Mr. Ixley had become dean of the high school.
Unfortunately for him, it coincided with the arrival of his rivals from his
grade school principal days. Mr. Ixley hated the thought of having to
deal with them for four more years. But after that was over, he’d never
have to see them again. Stephen and Bruce couldn’t have been more
delighted for the opportunity to gray his hair for four more glorious years.

Behind them, the door of the office opened. They
continued to look ahead, anticipating Mr. Ixley to proceed to his desk.

“Hey Ixley,” Bruce said, “you’re settling in nicely.”

Stephen asked, “How’s high school life, Ixley?”

“Boys, you need to call me
Mr
. Ixley…” He
walked over to his desk in front of Stephen and Bruce and sat down. They
gasped as they witnessed something different about him: he had a large bruise
on the side of his face. It was bright red and purple, a wound obviously
inflicted recently. It looked like one side of his face was hit by a
truck.

Or in this case, a log from the hands of Bruce.

Bruce’s eyes widened and made their way to Stephen’s, whose
eyes were equally wide.

Three years later, Stephen and Bruce were seniors in high school
and not much had changed. Bruce was the star quarterback of the football
team and Stephen was the leader of his class, on pace to be
valedictorian. The two were arguably the most popular kids in school, a
fact that pained Mr. Ixley. Stephen and Bruce were the model citizens:
the ones who dictated to the rest of the student body what was ‘in’ and what
was ‘out’. And what was always ‘in’ was driving Mr. Ixley crazy.
Last year, they held the first annual “Mr. Ixley Is A Dick-sley” event.
The whole thing, of course, mocked Mr. Ixley. Unfortunately for him, it
also made the school a record amount of fundraising money so the event was
scheduled again and approved by the school board.

Away from the mayhem, Mr. Ixley sat at home. He was
in his reading chair, wearing his glasses and reading a book his daughter
bought for him. It was a Friday night, so thankfully, there would be no
school the next day. In his reading chair, he found solace. It was
a majestic place where he could get away from the stresses of working in a high
school with hormone-raging lunatics.

Mr. Ixley was waiting up for his daughter, Sara. He
told her she had to be home by 11. If she wasn’t, she’d be in big
trouble. She was a teenager, so she was prone to rebellion. What
made matters worse was that she was a junior at his high school. Mr.
Ixley had an eye on her at all times. She lashed out every now and then,
but the bond between them was strong. He loved his daughter more than
anything in the world, and she loved him just as much. She just didn’t
always show it.

He checked his watch: 10:58. He took his glasses off,
placed his book on his lap, and watched the front door. She’d be walking
through any minute. He folded his hands. Waited. The door
handle sat idle. It would jump to life and she would walk in, excited as
ever to see her dad. He took a deep breath as his eyes became
heavy. He continued to watch the door. The ‘tick’ and ‘tock’ of the
clock seemed to grow louder every second. The time between them seemed to
stretch. What interesting patterns the wood in the door had, he
thought. He could almost see faces in some of them. It would be any
second now. He relaxed his eyes for a minute. Closed them.
She would be home soon. Real soon. Any second.

Mr. Ixley fell asleep.

The door opened. He knew it! He checked his
watch: 1:13. He slept for two hours! Worse, she was late!
Sara stood at the doorway. She was a beautiful young girl, 14 years
old. She had her mother’s dashing green eyes and her long blonde hair
flowed angelically. She was gorgeous, innocent; Daddy’s little
girl. He would kill the boy who tried anything beyond a passing
glance.

Sara smiled at her dad, Mr. Ixley.

“Where have you been?” he asked sternly.

“I was at Emily’s. It was just a small get-together,”
she replied with her sweet innocent voice. And of course, she wasn’t
lying.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Her glossy eyes stared at him,
like a puppy that knew it was in trouble.

He couldn’t resist. So she slipped once. Big
deal. He loved his daughter too much. He’d let this one
slide. “Alright, but next time you’re in trouble!”

“Thanks!” She ran over and gave him a hug.
“You’re the best.”

This filled Mr. Ixley with joy. He smiled and rubbed
her head.

“Alright, head to bed Sara.”

Sara ran to the stairs. “Oh, Daddy! You won’t
believe it!”

He sat back in his chair, his heart radiating with
warmth. “What’s that sweetheart?”

“I got asked to go to prom at school today!”

The radiator in his heart shut down and broke. The
gentle warm feelings were instantly replaced with a deep arctic freezing.
His face turned to stone. “What?”

“Isn’t that exciting?”

Although she was a junior, he wasn’t ready to let his
daughter go to prom. He would never sign the permission slip.
Wait. He was the dean. She didn’t need a permission slip. It
didn’t matter. He wouldn’t allow it. She would have to go with a
boy: a boy who would probably try to take advantage of her. Much more
than a passing glance. No. It was not exciting. Not exciting
at all. His frozen mouth moved enough to mumble, “Who asked you to prom?”

Sara’s face lit up. “The cutest guy in school:
Bruce.”

Mr. Ixley lost all feeling in his body. A jackhammer
turned on in his brain and pounded away, offering no mercy. He thought he
would throw up right there on the spot.

This was the worst-case scenario.

“I’m sorry Bruce,” Sara Ixley said, “I just can’t do it
anymore.” Tears drew lines down her face, which had turned puffy
red. The innocence that once emanated from her core was gone.
Besides her obvious sadness, there was something drastically different about
her. A light inside her went out; her life had become a disaster.

Bruce sat in Mr. Ixley’s reading chair. Mr. Ixley
used to hate when he sat there. But there he was, looking at the girl he
had grown to love. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. She was
an incredibly strong woman. He was losing her; she was losing it.
“Please Sara…”

“No Bruce,” she interrupted, “I…I can’t. Every time I
look at you, it just reminds me of what happened.”

Bruce gazed into her eyes. She refused to look into
his. She stared in the distance, looking at nothing in particular.
Her green eyes were empty.

The whole situation deflated Bruce’s heart, which shrunk
painfully like a balloon that had lost all its air. There would be no
dissuading her. She wasn’t the same girl he fell in love with. What
was done was done. He had done more than anyone could expect. But
it wasn’t enough. Not for Sara.

What happened on prom night changed them forever.

Bruce entered Mr. Ixley’s home.
It was
prom night and Bruce was there to pick up his girlfriend: Sara Ixley. He
was exquisitely dressed with a fancy black tuxedo. Mrs. Ixley, who
actually liked Bruce, opened the door. She was so fond of him, she
insisted on being called by her first name: Rachel. It was hard for Bruce
to remember and he often slipped. It just seemed unnatural to call
someone’s mom by her first name. Nonetheless, Rachel was an attractive
woman whose resemblances could be seen in her daughter. Everything about
Rachel and Sara seemed to match: their personalities, their looks, their
mannerisms, it was like they were the same person. The female members of
the Ixley family were the polar opposite of Mr. Ixley-they were delightful.

Rachel exclaimed, “It’s so nice to see you, Bruce!”

“Thank you!” Bruce said as he hugged her.

Mr. Ixley stood at the far end of the living room, staring
at Bruce. His hair was straightened and he looked as stiff as he did at
school. It was obvious he wasn’t happy. Not happy in the
slightest. “Hello Bruce,” he said without emotion, “I see you are here to
pick up my daughter.”

“Hello, Mr. Ixley,” Bruce replied, “I’m here to take Sara
to prom. We’re going to have a great time.” Bruce displayed a level
of respect he had never given to Mr. Ixley before.

Mr. Ixley slowly nodded his head. He didn’t buy it
one bit. Bruce was not to be trusted. Mr. Ixley stood with his arms
at his sides. It was like he was in the military and had to maintain
perfect posture. What was he doing? Bruce laughed on the
inside. What a strange man.

There was a long pause and uncomfortable silence between
the two rivals. They stood staring at each other until finally, Bruce broke
the silence. “So….” What came next eluded him. For now, it
would be the best he could come up with. Just one word: “So.”

“So….” Rachel interjected, trying to break the silence,
“Sara is in the bathroom getting ready. She should be out in a few minutes.
Why don’t you take a seat, Bruce?”

“Oh sure, thanks, Mrs. Ixley… I mean, Rachel,” he
said. Bruce and Mr. Ixley maintained eye contact. It would not be
broken easily. Bruce took a seat in Mr. Ixley’s favorite reading
chair. When that happened, Mr. Ixley nearly keeled over. He felt a
wrench in his gut; his majestic sanctuary had just been violated. He
maintained his calm and sat on the couch across from Bruce.

It was Bruce’s first time in Mr. Ixley’s house. He
noticed the fancy “I’m smarter than you” decorations adorned all over. A
wooden globe, African sculptures, a fully packed bookshelf, and elaborate
paintings were just some of the things oozing of Mr. Ixley’s
‘intelligence.’ Apparently, he just couldn’t resist.

“Nice globe,” Bruce said as he attempted to give Mr. Ixley
a compliment.

Mr. Ixley nodded. “Yes.”

Bruce smiled at Mr. Ixley. He didn’t smile
back. Mr. Ixley stared at him with the blankest expression a human being
could ever wear.

Rachel sat next to Mr. Ixley, maintaining her chirpy
enthusiasm. “Isn’t this exciting?” Mr. Ixley was silent.
Bruce laughed. It sure was.

Out of nowhere, Bruce’s bladder came calling. “Hey,
do you think I can run to the bathroom real quick?”

Rachel replied, “Sure! You’re going to have to go
upstairs since Sara’s in the bathroom down here. Just go up the stairs
and it’s the first door on the left.”

Bruce leapt off the beloved reading chair and the wrench
promptly left Mr. Ixley’s gut. Bruce headed to the stairs near the front
door and traveled upward. As he made his way, he saw a plethora of framed
family photos hanging on the wall. Mr. and Mrs. Ixley were with Sara in
all types of poses: some spontaneous, some planned. The photos depicted
Mr. Ixley at his happiest. Bruce had certainly never seen Mr. Ixley like
that at school. His bright smile humanized him a little bit.

Sara had that effect on people.

Bruce reached the second floor of the house. Where
did she say the bathroom was? He headed to the right. The first
door on the right. That’s what she said. Right? Nope, he
stumbled upon a bedroom. He presumed it to be Mr. and Mrs. Ixley’s.

Ever since that night in the forest freshman year, Bruce
wondered what Mr. Ixley might be hiding. Stephen and Bruce only had
speculation. It was a secret they kept from everyone. But a secret
they always wanted an answer to. If Bruce took a quick peek inside the
room, he might find something interesting. But if Mr. Ixley found him, he
would kill him. Literally.

Bruce popped his head in the bedroom. It would be a
risky move. He leaned toward the stairs and listened for voices. He
could hear Rachel. She was talking to someone; it had to be Mr.
Ixley. If he moved swiftly, there was no way they would ever know.

Bruce slipped into the bedroom.

The room was spotless. There was a king size bed,
neatly made, against the wall. Not an article of clothing anywhere to be
found. Just more artwork and a bookshelf. Bruce approached the
bookshelf. Maybe there would be some cult books… or something like
that. He glanced at the titles. Nothing out of the ordinary.
There were even a couple titles Bruce was forced to read in class.

Bruce’s heart raced. Each passing moment, they would
be waiting for his return. And each second he didn’t emerge, they would
start to wonder what he was doing.

There was a closet door deep in the room next to the
bed. Bruce tiptoed and approached the door. He put his hand on the
handle and noticed his hand shaking. The adrenaline was pumping
now. Maybe he should leave the room. But he had to know. He
came this far. There was no going back. He opened the door.
It was a walk-in closet. It was fairly big, about six solid steps
long. Pretty normal so far. He walked inside.

One step. He saw some of Rachel’s clothes.

Two steps. Some of Mr. Ixley’s clothes.

Three steps. Shoes, ties, and laundry: all to be
expected.

Four steps. He started to realize he was entering a
point of no escape. There would be no hiding if Mr. Ixley came looking
for him.

Five steps. There was no point. There was
nothing in here. He had to leave.

Six steps. He stopped. There
was
something. The closet reached a dead-end. A white sheet covered the
wall in front of him. He lifted the flimsy cloth and moved it
aside. A door revealed itself underneath.

The door looked like it was hundreds of years old; it was
made of dark, ugly wood. The round handle was rusted and could fall off
at any second. There was a giant letter X with a circle around it carved
on the door. The circled X extended from the top of the door to the
bottom. It was clearly marked as an X, not just two crossing lines.
It had a daunting look to it. Not surprisingly, it was the same symbol he
had seen several times before.

The door had no place being there. It looked like it
belonged on an abandoned haunted house. The sight scared the wits out of
Bruce. What was Mr. Ixley up to? This door confirmed at least one
thing: Mr. Ixley was keeping plenty of secrets. Bruce could only imagine
what was behind this door. The answers to every question he ever wondered
about that night in the forest awaited him.

Bruce put his hand on the doorknob and creaked opened the
door. He looked inside.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Mr. Ixley’s voice
rang out.

Mr. Ixley was standing at the entrance to the closet.
There was no escape.

Bruce’s bladder was definitely calling now.

Bruce was gone. Sara had officially ended their
relationship.
She held her head in her hands. Tears poured
from her eyes.

Sara felt like she had nothing left. It had become
hard to wake up in the morning. The beautiful girl who had once been the
envy of every guy at school was now replaced with a dark, lonely creature that
wanted nothing to do with anybody. She dragged her feet up the
stairs. Every step seemed to produce a slam that echoed through the
house.

She entered her parents’ bedroom. Books were
scattered everywhere. The bed was disheveled: the mattress was stood up
against the wall and the sheets were sprawled on the floor. The artwork
that used to grace the wall was ripped into shreds on the floor. The room
looked like a war zone. But there was no war. Just Sara.

The shades were closed. The room was dark. Sara
could see, but it wasn’t easy. She noticed a picture resting on the
nightstand. It was of her with her parents. The three of them sat,
smiling. She missed that. Everyone in the picture was happy.
She remembered that day. It seemed like just yesterday. She would
do anything to live that day over again.

Little did she know, she would.

On the floor in front of her sat a knife. She had
considered using it before, but failed to go through with it. Life was no
longer worth living. Every waking second was painful. Her heart was
tortured. She was sick of crying. Enough was enough.

Sara picked up the knife. It was long. It was
sharp. It would get the job done.

She held the knife to her wrist, weighing whether she was
sure this was what she wanted to do. The cold blade rested, waiting to
slice her open. She would never forgive herself for what happened.
That was the agonizing truth. She shut her eyes and thrust the knife
downward, digging into her skin. She hurriedly slit her other wrist, just
to be sure.

Blood poured out of her like a stream. It was much
quicker than she imagined. It was also a lot less painful. Her body
cooled. It was an oddly pleasing sensation. Her eyes felt relaxed.
Truthfully, she hadn’t felt this good since before the prom night
incident.

She fell to the ground. It would all be over soon.

Unexpectedly, a light clicked on. It tugged at Sara’s
eyes. It wasn’t the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. The
light peered from a crack under the closed closet door. Who could’ve done
that? Mr. Ixley was off meeting with somebody, totally unaware of the
extreme level of Sara’s torment. No one was in the house. The light
went on by itself? Impossible. She must have been
hallucinating. A side effect of dying maybe?

The light spread wider as the closet door started to open.
Sara was curious. Despite everything around her blurring in and out of
sight, she lifted her head to get a glimpse.

Everything moved slowly. She couldn’t tell the actual
speed at which the door was opening, but it seemed to take hundreds of
years. The light crept up from the floor toward her face. Inch by
inch, it crawled upwards. The door snarled open and her face
illuminated. The light was blinding. Though just the closet light,
it was the brightest light she had ever seen.

The light disappeared off her face. A figure now
blocked it. The glow protruded from around this mystery person. Her
eyes squinted, trying to catch a look at the figure. She couldn’t tell
who it was.

Sara Ixley was inches from death. Unfortunately for
her, her attempt to die was about to fail.