Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales (22 page)

"Smacking at my arm, Mama continued her rant. ‘I told you to turn this heap around, boy!'

"'Yes, Mama, in a minute.'

"'Right now I said, you little shit!'

"I turned off the engine, and for the first time in my life, I simply ignored one of Mama's orders. Something about Daddy's house made it possible. I opened my door, leaving Mama behind fuming like a coiled rattlesnake.

"I climbed the steps and crossed the wide porch, rummaging for the key in my pocket. It was a skeleton key, tarnished black with age, but it fit right in the hole and turned with a loud click. The door moaned as if the hinges ached from the movement, and the pent up heat rolled out of the house with the musty smell of decay. From behind me, the low sun poured into the entry hall, lighting a huge room with covered furniture and a massive curved staircase. The stairs dominated the entrance and climbed to the second floor in a broad curve, its dingy spindles like the grin of an old crone.

"The lawyers had tried to have the utilities turned on, but only the water could be restored. They told me the old place needed to be rewired for proper electric service, but there'd be lanterns to use. Mama was going to love that part.

"'HEN-RY! Where in the hell are you?'

"I turned back to look just as Mama stepped out of the van, collapsing to the ground in a heap. I ran, leaping over the steps, to find Mama unconscious. As I lifted her in my arms I could see that her head was bleeding. My god, what had I done? I should never have disobeyed her. I should never have left her alone in the van. She groaned and her head lolled around as she began to come to. I carried her inside to the big room and laid her on the sheet-covered sofa.

"'Mama, I'm sorry.’ I stroked her hair and dabbed my handkerchief at the cut on her forehead. Her eyes fluttered, and she started to come around. ‘Mama, are you okay?'

"What did you do to me?” she whimpered. “You hit me, didn't you? Your own Mama.'

"'No, no,’ I said, trying to calm her. ‘I would never ..’ Seeing her fragile state, I couldn't stop my eyes from watering.

"'Oh, Henry, what's happened to you? You used to be such a good boy.’ She began to cry. I dried her tears in the dim light, and bent to hold her, to comfort her. ‘You don't love me anymore, do you?’ she said in my ear, as I leaned over her.

"'Of course, I love you.'

"'I repulse you,’ she said.

"'No, Mama.'

"She wrapped her thin arms around my shoulders and nuzzled into my neck. ‘Henry, I miss my little boy. You know that no other woman will ever love you like your mama.’ She kissed my neck. I felt her reach back and pull up my shirt; she skirted her long red nails across the bare skin of my back.

"'Mama...’ I tried feebly to pull away, but it was never really my choice.

"'Tell me you love me, Henry. Tell me you love your mama,’ she whispered, her breath hot against my ear.

"It had been so long since she held me that way. I groaned as my body responded to her touch. The old longing and loathing were mixed with my body's need. She slid her hand between my legs, probing for my response. When she found it, I could feel her smile widen against my cheek.

"'I see that you do still love your mama,’ she said. ‘That's a good boy.'

"She bit my neck and pulled me closer, tugging at my pants. With the force of my need, I shoved my tongue deep into her mouth, my hand slid beneath her dress. I slipped my fingers under her panties, feeling for the familiar wetness that she taught me to coax, to penetrate, to love. But new hate was flowing through me, too. I ripped at her panties as she shoved my pants down. I slammed into her. She moaned, then screamed—grinning. I pressed deeper and harder, wanting her to feel my pain and loathing. Instead, it excited her. She rode my rage, bucking against me, clawing and urging me on.

"I climaxed as she screamed in ecstatic victory. She had won, again. I was hers and would always be hers. I collapsed against her, weeping into her soft hair, hating my need for her love.

"She stroked my back and cooed, ‘Yes, you're a mama's boy, aren't you?'

"I slept naked in my mother's arms until a chill slipped into the room. I'd left the front door open, and a breeze rustled in the dry hedges outside. Mama slept the deep sleep of a satisfied lover, and I covered her with sheets from the furniture. She preferred young boys, so it had been a long time since I fucked my mother. I'd forgotten just how good it felt.

"She still looked beautiful, her red hair streaked with silver. But her health was failing. Many years of heavy drinking were taking their toll. In the dim light, I looked down at her and worried that I might lose her. I hated Mama, but I despised myself because I couldn't live without her."

Henry stopped speaking and looked down at the clay orbs he had crafted into eyes. Rebecca jumped when he struck them with his fists, pounding over and over until the clay was flat, flaccid. The tension in his jaw forced a pulse in his temple. His face flushed red, and his breathing came fast as he clenched his fists into white knuckles.

"Breathe, Henry. Breathe,” said Rebecca in a smooth tone.

Flinching at the sound, he shot her a dark look but she did not react. Holding her gaze steady, Henry finally looked away.

"That's it. Keep breathing,” said Rebecca. “Relax your shoulders and release the tension in your jaw. Good, that's it, Henry."

Before she spoke again, Rebecca waited until his rage appeared to have passed.

"How did it feel to smash the clay, Henry?” she asked.

With shocking speed, he snatched the clay knife into an angry fist, and with a slow deliberate turn of his wrist, pointed it in Rebecca's direction.

"Henry?” Her voice was steady, but tight. For a long time he glared at her with cold, hooded eyes, fondling the knife. Rebecca remained vigilant, watching as Henry's expression changed, like a storm passing from his features. As his dark mood shifted, he turned his knife to the flattened circles of clay and worked to scrape them free.

Shaken, Rebecca maintained a close watch, her jaw steeled with tension. Still scraping the clay, Henry went on with his story, talking to her as if he had never stopped. Rebecca felt chilled by his detachment and the casual tone of his voice as he went on.

"I left my mother covered on the sofa. Then I thought of Victoria—my girl from the convenience store. I knew that with her, I would never be alone.

"She was different than the others, like my first. I wouldn't need to pay her. I would take my time, get to know her and groom her to be the perfect bride. Then Mama could teach Victoria to be the perfect wife; after all, she knew exactly what I liked. And I was sure Victoria would grow to love Mama.

"I found a lantern and matches on a table near the front door . As I lit the flame, its light cast deep shadows around the corners of the great room and up the long staircase. The shadows seemed to slip and flow like ink. I figured it must have been the globe of the lantern that made the light act so strange.

"When I went out to the van to get the bags, I was surprised that it was still warm outside. Inside the house was downright cold.

"While Mama slept, I explored the old mansion, lighting lanterns as I went. Slippery shadows moved along the walls as I carried our bags up the staircase to the second floor. I found the master bedroom, deciding right then that it would be the perfect honeymoon suite for my bride. Against the wall was a large canopy bed, and even though the curtains were tattered and the quilts were yellowed and covered with dust, I would transform it for my Victoria. I'd replace the peeling wallpaper, polish the dirty floors, oil the woodwork, and make the windows shine. The entire mansion would become a palace for our little family."

Henry put down the clay knife and picked up the spray bottle. Rebecca let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She forced herself to relax.

"Our time's up for today,” she said, feeling stiff. “We'll start where you left off, next week.” She reached over and grabbed the knife, tucking it inside her jacket. She opened the office door, calling for the orderly to take Frank back to his room.

"He's not expected out for another fifteen minutes,” said the orderly. “And they're cleaning the patients’ rooms. What am I supposed to do with him?"

"Get him washed up, and take him for a walk. I don't know. That's your job."

Looking a little bewildered by the abrupt end of his session, Henry got up and followed the orderly out into the hall. He glanced back at Rebecca as she closed the door in his face.

I had an unexpected visit from Rob today. He could complicate things if he realizes...

As the darkness of the winter night bled into Penn's Asylum, Rebecca's office was awash with shadows. With its snake neck curving toward her, the desk light held the only warmth in the cluttered room. Unaware of the piles of books and files that clogged the office around her, Rebecca leaned into the circle of pale light, pouring her thoughts about the disturbing session with Henry onto the pages of her journal.

The knife had exposed the memories she wanted to elicit, but she knew that giving it to him had been a reckless decision. But withdrawing it at such a vital stage could destroy the delicate trust she'd been building, and Henry's trust was central to her plan. But could she trust him enough to continue?

Tap! Tap! Tap! Rebecca was startled by the sound. Someone was rapping hard on the frosted glass of the office door. Flustered by the interruption, her heart raced as she shouted a curt, “Yes?"

The door creaked open and the sheepish face of Rob Silvani peeked in. “Sorry, Beck. Did I disturb you?” He eased his way into the dreary room.

"No, you just scared me half to death."

"Sorry. As usual, my timing sucks. I was just stopping by to see if you would make good on that dinner you promised me.” He gazed around the file-cluttered office. “But by the looks of things, you need more than dinner—you need a vacation."

"Look, Rob. I've got a lot on my mind."

"I know, Becky, but this looks like some of your old obsessive-compulsive crap from college. You just work here. You shouldn't be living here. This place could drive you mad.” He chuckled at the pun, but Rebecca wasn't amused. Rob spied an empty vial on her desk. He picked it up, looking at it closely.

"What is this, Becky?” he asked, with shock in his voice. “This hallucinogenic shit nearly killed you in college. No more self-research—you swore to me!"

"It's not what you think, Rob.” Feeling panicked and angered by his discovery, she lashed out. “It's none of your damn business, anyway. Someone like you wouldn't understand."

"Not my business? Someone like me?” He raised his eyebrows. “I get it. Use the idiot when you need him, then insult him until he leaves you alone."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh no, don't worry, Doctor. Sit here and rot with the lunatics. I don't give a shit anymore."

"Rob,” she said, exasperated.

"You're right. I'm pretty damn stupid. Trust me though, I won't be the one bailing you out of your dark hole this time."

Before she could reply, Rob turned and walked out. Rebecca closed her eyes and sighed, hoping that he would forget about the vial, but she wondered if he was right. Was Henry worth it? But she was so close, she couldn't stop now.

Note: Henry refused to come to his session today. He was upset about the way the previous appointment ended. After some coaxing...

"Henry, thank you for agreeing to come. Again, I'm sorry you felt hurt by our last encounter.” She brought out Henry's sculpture.

"I don't want the fucking clay!"

"Okay. We'll just put it at the end of the table in case you change your mind."

"No! Get it the fuck out of my face,” he shouted.

There was a knock at the door, and the orderly popped his head in. “Everything okay in here?"

"I think we're fine. Thank you."

The man gave Henry a stern look, “I'll be right outside if you need me, Doc.” He closed the door with a click. “So, what's going on, Henry?"

"What's going on? I'm having fucking nightmares because of you! That's what's going on."

Rebecca waited. Henry sulked, and minutes passed. Then in an outburst he blurted:

"Since last week, it happens every damn night. I dream I'm working on the old Rutt house. It's dark and I can't see, but I'm sawing and crying, sawing and crying. The saw just keeps grinding away while warm liquid oozes over my hands and down into my shoes until it floods the room, but I keep sawing as it rises past my waist. I'm still pushing and pulling the blade when the slippery juice covers my mouth. I spit and cough, struggling to breathe and then I drown until finally I wake up."

Henry looked down at his shaking hands and back up at Rebecca, tears welling in his eyes.

"Dreams can be powerful healing tools, Henry. It's probably your mind sorting through something you've forgotten. Given time, we should be able to uncover what it is. Maybe continuing with your account from last week will give us some clues. Do you think you can do that?"

"I guess,” he said, swiping at his eyes.

"I know it's hard, Henry. But you're right on track.” She glanced down at her notes. “I believe you left off with the honeymoon suite."

Still reluctant to go on, Henry took a loud breath and thought for a moment. His eyes looked far away, his tone robotic, but he began his story once again:

"After I left the honeymoon suite, I discovered a room with a small bed and a kid's dresser—both were painted with faded cowboys and Indians. I wondered if it might have been my daddy's room. It was cold and I felt a wave of dizziness as the light of my lantern wavered along the walls. Shaking off the feeling, I blamed it on the late hour and my lack of sleep, so I spread my bedroll out on the bare mattress to get some rest. It had been a long day and no doubt Mama would have demands in the morning. Seems I was asleep before I even put my head down.

"Waking up, as I usually did, before dawn, I heard footsteps on the creaky floorboards of the hall. I was surprised that Mama had come looking for me; usually she'd just scream my name and wait for me to come running.