Never Wake (15 page)

“I don’t give a damn if you loaded the fucking washing machine last week. I can’t find one sock that matches the other, and why don’t you use some bleach for once?” The Boy was always surprised when Hoyt’s voice got even louder.

“Least I don’t have to go to Bernie Ann’s to eat,” The Boy said, and his grandmother rocked forward as if agreeing. He had told her about how the food made him sick.

“Why don’t I wash the clothes? Why don’t I? ’Cause I am the one with a real job in this motherfucking house, remember? You think doing nails part time could even put clothes on your back? I put food in all three of your mouths, and now you want me to wash my own goddamn clothes so you can sit up in here and watch Oprey all day?”

“Oprey?” The Boy repeated the word and grinned at Grandma. “It’s ‘Oprah,’ he is sooo stupid.” He saw a flash of pink, and this time he was sure she was laughing. Grandma was the only one he could talk to. She listened when he had troubles and never made him feel like he was annoying like Hoyt and Pam did. He had even told her his most powerful secret. The one that could send him to jail if anyone ever knew. That is, if Hoyt didn’t kill him first.

He had been so angry when Hoyt had made him miss the opening of the show to get sodas. The hairs on his arm stood up and he felt heat at the top of his head when he handed them over, neither Hoyt nor Pam seeming to care that the cans were already open. He sat down and leaned real close and whispered into Grandma’s peeling ear. “I put bleach in both of them.” He needed to go to the bathroom, but he had been afraid he would miss what happened when they drank from the cans. Grandma and he watched as first Pam and then Hoyt took drinks from their cans. He had smelled the lids and didn’t notice any strong odor before he brought the cans out. Nothing happened. No death, no hospital, nothing. Hoyt did complain of a stomachache and went to bed without watching
The Simpsons
, but he was fine the next day.

The Boy put the book up to the side of his face and leaned in like he was telling a secret. He dropped his voice and squinted his eyes. “All I do is work day in and day out,” he growled in an imitation of Hoyt’s voice.

“All I do is work day…” Hoyt bellowed, and The Boy giggled. Hoyt was so stupid he didn’t realize he said the same every time they had an argument. He hated him, and he hated Pam for picking the same fights that always ended with—

The sound, like an open palm landing on a side of beef, and the whimper after should have been no surprise, but he jumped when it happened.

Pam didn’t scream. They all knew better than to do that, even Grandma. Crying was okay, but things got worse real fast if you screamed. He didn’t look at his grandmother to see if she had that jack-o-lantern look on her face, but he knew she would. The back of his neck prickled. He was afraid to look at her.

The bedroom door slammed back against the wall. Relief flooded through The Boy’s body. He’d been scared this was going to be a bad one. The Boy pretended to read the book, but his back had stiffened. Hoyt had not stormed through the living room and out the front door like he usually did.

“It’s your birthday, ain’t it?”

He had to look up then. He had no choice. “Yes, sir.”

Hoyt looked like he was sorry for having forgotten. For some reason that scared The Boy more than the possibility of the police coming to the door again.

“What’s say you and me go out and celebrate on our own? Just us men.”

It took him a moment to understand. “Just us men,” Hoyt had said. Was he a man? Or was Hoyt just kissing up to him ’cause he didn’t even remember to get him a card. Nah, that wasn’t it. He never remembered.

“Come on, boy. You coming or not?” Before The Boy could answer, Hoyt was already out the door. The truck would be starting any moment now, and if The Boy didn’t hurry, he would be left behind.

He put the remote in his grandmother’s hand and wrapped her bony fingers around it until she gripped it so tight that his fingers were imprisoned in her grasp. He heard the truck’s engine start.

“Grandma, let go.” Pink gums glistened, only this time her eyes were moving back and forth, and there was a long stream of spit going from her top gum to her bottom lip. The Boy heard the loud crack and the squeal that meant that Hoyt was rolling down the truck’s window.

“Boy, you gonna’ sit around cuddlin’ with your grandma all day or come on here?” Hoyt yelled and gave the truck a rev so that The Boy knew he was losing patience.

The Boy leaned close and stared hard into her eyes. “Let—me—go—bitch.” He said each word, hard and firm like he had seen Hoyt do. The claw loosened and her watery brown eyes moved to the TV, and it was like he wasn’t there. It was always like that with her. Sometimes she was there and sometimes she wasn’t. So he didn’t have to feel bad about what he had just called her.

He ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him. As he climbed into the truck, his mind started creating scenarios for where they could be going for his birthday.

“Put your seat belt on. You have dinner yet?” Hoyt asked before The Boy had both feet in the truck. He never had to be told to put his seat belt on. Not after the beating Hoyt had given him after he had gotten a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar ticket.

“Yeah, I had dinner.” That was a lie, sort of. He’d had some Frosted Flakes, or rather, sugared flakes; they weren’t the real thing, but some cheap brand from the discount store. They tasted all right for dinner. Truth was he could eat again. He was just afraid that Hoyt was going to take him to Bernie Ann’s Corner Side Café to eat.

“That’s too bad. I could sure use some BurgerCity.”

“Oh, I could eat,” The Boy said, and his stomach growled loud enough to be heard over the truck’s engine. Hoyt laughed and put his hand on the back of The Boy’s head and pushed it forward. Warmth started in The Boy’s chest and spread to his stomach. Maybe he had been wrong to try to poison Hoyt.

“All right, that’s what we’ll do, then. You and me gonna get us some dinner and leave the women folk at home. I just got one thing to take care of first, and then we’ll get us some burgers and fries and maybe some beer. We’ll sit up at the park and have a few. That sound good?”

The Boy agreed that it did sound good. Maybe Hoyt hadn’t been kidding about the man thing.

He watched his school flash by the side window. He saw the wash house and the gas station and then he was in a neighborhood he didn’t recognize. The sound of Hoyt’s even voice faded into the background along with all the landmarks The Boy recognized. This didn’t feel right. Why was Hoyt being so nice? Why was he telling him he was a man? He wasn’t a man, he was a boy. What if he was going to leave him out here in the dark? How would he find his way home? The Boy gripped the door handle hard. He looked out the window for something he recognized. The turns, he would remember the turns.

“One left turn,” he said to himself, “one right.” He was able to remember six turns, but he lost track after that. Wherever Hoyt was taking them was not in town. The roads were too dark. The Boy figured they were in the Stix. The Stix wasn’t the real name. It was part of Standard, but the Stix was an area on the outskirts of town where a lot of rich people had their second homes. They called it the Stix because of all the young trees surrounding the area.

He wanted to ask where they were going, but he didn’t because he was afraid of what Hoyt might tell him. Afraid that Hoyt might just stop the truck and put him out. He knew Hoyt never wanted him. He had heard it screamed through walls for as long as he could remember. He had seen Pam’s bulging belly in their wedding photo. Was Hoyt done with him? Tired of feeding and clothing him? He wanted to cry out and tell Hoyt that it wasn’t his fault. He wanted to beg him not to leave him out here. It was too dark and too far from where someone could help him. Tears stung the corners of his eyes before spilling down his cheeks.

“I got to pee.”

“What?” Hoyt sounded surprised, like he had forgotten that he wasn’t alone in the truck.

“I got to pee real bad,” he said, trying to keep the sob from his voice. Hoyt was silent for a moment. He expected him to say something angry, maybe even hit him, but the truck began to slow. He gripped the armrest, determined not to make Hoyt angry by peeing in his truck.

The moon peeked through the trees and the boy saw with great relief that they were on a driveway. If Hoyt left him here, he could go to the door and ask for help. The house was one of the biggest he had ever seen. Hoyt pulled the truck to a halt. The Boy had always thought of his father as handsome. Mostly because Hoyt had always assured him that he would grow up to be just as good looking as he was. But in that moment, in that light, The Boy thought Hoyt looked like a gigantic gorilla. His head hung forward as if it were too heavy for his neck to carry, his shoulders hunched as if to help support the weight.

“You just hold it. We’re almost there, and you can ask the nice people in the house if you can use their bathroom.”

“I…I can just go in the woods.”

“Naw, you can’t, either.” Hoyt’s voice sounded gruff and mean. “You and me are gonna go ask those people if you can use their bathroom, you hear me?” Hoyt got out of the truck and walked around the back of it.

“Yes, sir.” He was already reaching for the door handle. He had to stand up. He had to move, or he would pee in Hoyt’s truck. He already felt the smallest bit forcing its way out, but he clenched real hard and cut it off. He could hear Hoyt walking behind him, not trying to keep up but not letting him go too far ahead either.

The Boy was scared. He didn’t know these people. Why would they let him use their bathroom? “Go ahead, ring the doorbell. I thought you had to pee so bad.”

He rang the doorbell twice, switching from one leg to the other before a light flickered on and a man peered out of the window.

“Excuse me for bothering you, sir, but my boy and I are on our way back home, and he can’t hold it no more.” The man looked from Hoyt to The Boy and back to Hoyt again.

The Boy couldn’t help it. His hand went to his crotch; he was about ready to explode. The man grinned. “Yeah, just a minute,” he said, and within seconds, the door was opening. The man called to his wife in the den, “It’s all right, Liv. It’s just the handyman and his son needing to use the bathroom.” He turned back to Hoyt and The Boy. “It’s right down here,” he said. The Boy followed him, gritting his teeth and holding on to his privates, not caring if it looked rude or if he was embarrassing Hoyt. He figured Hoyt would be a lot more embarrassed if he peed on this man’s nice floor.

The man pointed to a door at the end of the hall and The Boy hurried past, still holding his crotch.

“What you say, boy?” Hoyt asked from down the hall.

“Thank you, sir,” he said as he kicked the door to the bathroom closed behind him.

His fingers shook as he unfastened and unzipped his jeans praying that the little trickle of pee that he had been unable to stop would not turn into a flood. He sighed in relief as he began to pee. He held back a smile on his face. The fist clamped around his stomach released its grip. His pee sounded like Multnomah Falls as it hit the commode. He let his head loll back and closed his eyes. He hated having to hold it for so long. It made his tummy feel all crampy.

He opened his eyes and looked around the bathroom as his pee slowed. He was surprised. It was smaller than the one at his house, no bathtub or shower or anything. He was reaching for the flusher when he heard it. He’d heard that same sound so many times in his own home that he almost believed he imagined it, but then, as his urine trickled to a miniscule stream, he heard it again, followed by a woman’s scream. Not loud. If it had been loud, he might have been more frightened. It was a soft scream. Just the one. He stood there transfixed, his privates in his hand. He shook it, then tucked himself back in. A wet circle darkened his underwear, but it wouldn’t show through his jeans. He hadn’t imagined the cry, he was sure of that, but he was afraid; he didn’t know if he should flush the toilet or not.

“Boy?” He whirled around and faced the closed door. He put his hand out to open the door, but something told him not to. That same something told him to turn that little knob on the door so that Hoyt couldn’t come in. “Boy, I know you hear me.”

“I’m not finished using it.” He tried to keep the fear out of his voice.

“That’s all right.” Again, Hoyt’s voice was nice—too nice.

The Boy shuddered, his eyes focused on the knob. Please don’t turn; please don’t turn.

“Me and these folks got business to discuss, so you stay in this bathroom until I come and get you.”

The Boy felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that Hoyt was doing something bad. He knew he was hurting people, and yet he couldn’t figure out why.

“You hear me, boy?” Hoyt’s voice started to sound not so nice and The Boy thought he saw the door knob move, as if Hoyt was resting his big ape-like paw on the door. “You stay in here until I come get you.” Hoyt’s voice was rising, but not in anger. He seemed excited.

The Boy pictured the ape again, this time hunched outside the door, salivating. “Okay,” he said, backing away from the door. He waited for a response, but there was only silence. He stared hard at the door.
Please stop this. Please someone stop this. Grandma. Grandma
, he cried out silently, but his grandma wasn’t there. No one was. And although he didn’t know what was going on on the other side of that door, he knew that Hoyt was making someone cry. He put his hands over his ears so that he wouldn’t have to hear any more and squeezed himself in the tight space between the toilet and the wall. Tears seeped down his cheeks and neck and were now pooling at the collar of his shirt. He slid down the wall and started to pray. He didn’t believe in God any more than he believed in Santa Claus, but sometimes, if you said things out loud, it helped to make the bad things go away. With his hands over his ears his whispered prayers seemed to come from way far off. He closed his eyes and rocked a little as he repeated his prayer over and over again. “Don’t scream, lady. Please don’t scream.”