Torn Apart (15 page)

He kept watching the sky as he paced, anxious to leave. He hadn’t spoken to Katie in days, and it was driving him crazy. At first he’d laid blame on the storm for his being unable to get through, but now, while all his calls went through, he kept getting busy signals, or messages that the number was no longer in service, and that made no sense. What he did know was that she wasn’t answering the phone. He knew she was mad at him, but he hadn’t expected her to isolate him like this from Bobby.

Frustrated by the fact that the chopper still wasn’t here, he glanced at his watch. It was a little after one in the afternoon. He couldn’t help wondering where Bobby and Katie were, and what they were doing. Katie always loved summer, when Bobby was out of school. He could imagine them at the park or at the city pool, having a picnic or swimming, just as they’d always done—and always without him.

He glanced at Blalock, making sure the troublemaker stayed within his sight, then took out his cell and walked a short distance away, determined to call one more time in hopes of getting through. When he flipped open the phone, he realized he’d missed a good half dozen calls.

He scanned the numbers quickly. One was a message from his phone carrier, which he deleted, four were from the accounting firm that did payroll for Macklan Brothers Oil and related to the men who’d been fired and one was from a number he didn’t recognize.

Anxious to call Katie, instead of listening to the message he opted out of the list and made his call.

When the call began to ring, his hopes rose, and then the recorded voice came on again, stating that the number was no longer in service. At that point the hair rose on the back of his neck. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like the odds that it would be good. Just as he was about to go back to the menu to check that last call, Blalock yelled.

“Chopper! Inbound!”

J.R. turned. It was barely a spot on the horizon, but it was definitely the chopper, and it was coming fast.

Finally,
he thought, and walked back to where he’d left his bag.

It took a good half hour to welcome the new crew chief and the four replacements, and give them a tour of the rig. Once he’d introduced the new crew chief to Charlie Watts, his duties were over. Leaving the two men to their business, he went back up top to check on Blalock and his cronies.

They were right where he’d left them, seemingly as anxious to get off the rig as he was. When he saw the pilot coming across the deck, he turned to Blalock.

“Load up and buckle in,” he said shortly, as he picked up his bag and tossed it into the belly of the chopper, then slid into the seat beside the pilot.

The rotors were turning, making it difficult to be heard inside the cockpit, so he gave the pilot a thumbs-up.

“Everyone turn off your cell phones,” the pilot yelled.

The men reached into their pockets.

Moments later, they lifted off.

J.R. never looked back.

Newt woke up needing to pee. He glanced down at the blisters on his belly and winced. One of them looked infected, so maybe he would finally go back to see the doctor and get the dressings changed, and they could figure it out there.

He glanced over at the small dark-haired boy beside him and grunted. Thanks to the constant round of sleeping pills he kept putting down the kid, the boy’s presence had posed no further problems.

But there was a downside to keeping him doped that Newt didn’t like. It critically limited the time they had together, which would also make bonding with him that much harder.

With a regretful glance for what he was missing, he eased himself up from the bed and exited the bedroom. A few minutes later he emerged from the bathroom and headed to the kitchen. As he was in the middle of making a pot of coffee, there was a knock on the door.

“What the hell?” he muttered, and peered through the venetian blinds.

It was Sam. That was when it dawned on him that it was rent day.

Newt cursed. “Hell’s fire, doesn’t he know I got more problems than worrying about my rent being a day or so late?”

It occurred to Newt that if he stayed quiet, Sam might leave. Then the knock came again. Fearing the noise would wake the kid, he called out, “Just a minute!”

He shuffled to the bedroom, retrieved the sheet he’d been using as a robe and wrapped it around him toga-style, then closed the door behind him as he left—just in case.

He was careful not to open the front door too wide and give Sam the mistaken belief it was an invitation to come in.

“Hey, Sam. What’s up?” he asked.

Sam frowned as his gaze slid across what he could see of Newt’s blistered body.

“Damn, man, you look awful.”

Newt frowned. “If that’s the only reason you came, you might be interested to know that isn’t news.”

Sam sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just shocking to—” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. Today is rent day, but I thought I’d see if you need some groceries or maybe a ride down to the doctor’s office. Shouldn’t you go back and see him sometime?”

“Yeah, I probably should,” Newt said.

“So how do you think you’re doing?” Sam asked.

“I think I’m getting an infection.”

Sam craned his neck, peering over Newt’s shoulder into the darkened room. Even though he could smell coffee brewing, he saw nothing but clutter.

“I think Mrs. Waller at trailer ten cleans house for people. If you want, I could see about getting her here to help you out. Might keep down infection and the like if the place was a little cleaner.”

Newt frowned. “I don’t need you telling me how to live my life. I appreciate the ride, but I don’t like visitors, understood?”

“Yeah, sure, Newt. I was just trying to help.”

Newt’s frown deepened as he pointed to his truck, all but invisible among the downed trees.

“If you want to help, you could get those trees cut away so’s I could get my truck out.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know, I know. But it’s not like you can drive yet, and there’s not a spare chain saw to be had in the whole of Bordelaise. Everyone has their own debris to clear or is already hired out by others.”

“Well, hell, Sam. You can’t just leave the damn trees there,” Newt snapped.

Sam’s chin jutted angrily. “Like I don’t already know that? My boy lives up north of Baton Rouge. He promised to come down this coming weekend and help me clear all this out.”

This was Thursday, Newt thought. A couple more days couldn’t matter. Not when everyone thought Bobby Earle was dead.

“Well, yeah, that would be okay, I guess.”

“Great. So…when do you want your ride?”

“What time is it?” Newt asked.

“Almost eleven.”

“Give me thirty minutes to get myself together.”

“Right,” Sam said. “I’ll be back here at eleven-thirty to pick you up.”

“Thanks,” Newt said. “I’ll bring the rent check.” Then he stepped back, and closed and locked the door.

No sooner had the door swung shut than he heard a thump from the back of the trailer. The kid must be awake. Good. That left him just enough time to get the kid up, let him pee, then feed him and dope him back up. He thought again that he hated to keep drugging him, but at this point he didn’t really have a choice.

There was another thump, and then a high-pitched squeal.

“I’m coming,” he muttered. “I’m coming.”

Bobby Earle was dreaming.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, watching Mama making pancakes. A big tub of butter was on the table in front of him, and his favorite brown sugar syrup was in that little blue pitcher with the tulips on it.

Mama was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying, and every time he asked her to repeat herself, she got smaller and smaller, until finally, the last time he called her name, she completely disappeared.

In the dream, he was crying.

Then all of a sudden he was awake. That was when he remembered. Mama was dead. She’d died in the tornado. That was why she’d disappeared in his dream. She wasn’t real anymore.

A huge ache welled up and gushed through his body, and then he was crying in real life, too. God had taken his mama away and let the monster catch him. He couldn’t understand why this had happened. He didn’t tell lies, and he wasn’t mean to people, so why was God punishing him like this?

He could pray to God again and ask, but he was mad at God and didn’t want to talk to Him anymore.

He would have to ask Daddy. Daddy knew the answers to almost everything. Only Daddy didn’t know about Mama yet. Daddy was in New Orleans. Bobby knew he needed to get free. Then he could find someone else to help him—someone who wasn’t smelly and scary, someone who didn’t yell at him and tie him to the bed.

In frustration, Bobby kicked and yanked against his restraints, then began screaming and rolling his head from side to side, trying to dislodge the gag.

A cockroach ran across his shirt. At the sight of the bug, he flopped and kicked until it ran scurrying from the bed.

He hated those bugs. They crawled on everything, making this house even scarier—almost as scary as the monster who lived in it.

He thought of his house, of his bedroom and his clothes, and how good they always smelled, and how good it felt to put on clean clothes. For the first time in his life he actually wanted to take a bath, but that would mean taking off all his clothes, and while he wasn’t sure why, that didn’t seem like a good idea.

The monster already watched him eat. He watched him go to the bathroom. He watched him do everything, just like their neighbor’s cat watched for gophers to pop up out of their holes—lying in wait for hours and hours, not moving so much as a whisker, until a gopher stuck his head up out of the ground. Then the cat would pounce. That was how the monster made him feel: like he was waiting for him to make a mistake, so he could pounce and eat him up.

Bobby kicked the mattress again, yanking hard on the ties that bound him to the bed and then stopping when the room start spinning. Frightened that he would get sick and throw up beneath the gag, he closed his eyes, willing the bed to settle. Then he kicked again, taking comfort in the angry thump as the headboard bucked against the wall.

Suddenly the door flew open.

Bobby flinched.

“Hey, hey, now!” Newt cried, as he scooted onto the side of the bed beside Bobby and began removing the gag. Once it was gone, he smoothed the hair back from the kid’s sweaty little face. “Glad you’re awake, little guy. I’ll bet you need to piss, don’t you?”

“That’s a bad word,” Bobby muttered, then held his breath, afraid he would be chastised for talking back.

But Newt was on a deadline and couldn’t afford to cause a ruckus. He needed the kid to do his business, eat some food and down another sleeping pill.

Choosing not to confront the sass, he quickly untied Bobby’s wrists and then urged him to the bathroom.

“Go do your business, and then come into the kitchen. I’ve got some real good bologna and cheese. I’ll make sandwiches. You like mayonnaise, right? See, Uncle Newt knows what you like. He’s taking real good care of you.”

Bobby slipped into the bathroom and, before Newt could stop him, closed the door in his face.

“You little bastard,” Newt muttered, then added louder, “Just so you know, the lock don’t work, so as soon as you’re done, get yourself to the kitchen before I get mad—and you already know, you don’t want to make Uncle Newt mad.”

Bobby shivered as he relieved himself. His act of defiance was over. He looked longingly at the small window above the tub. It was too high for him to reach, and there was nothing inside the bathroom for him to stand on.

When he washed up afterward, he scrubbed hard at his face, wanting to make sure that the tears were all gone. He’d already learned that showing weakness to this man could be dangerous. As for accepting the status quo, Bobby Earle was nothing if not his father’s son. Instinct told him that even if Mama was in heaven, Daddy would come find him.

It wasn’t much comfort, but it was enough to get him out of the bathroom and into the kitchen without further tears.

He did, however, come out with far less bravado than when he’d gone in. He scooted a chair up to the table and grabbed the sandwich without looking up.

When he took a big bite and began to chew, Newt joined in, wolfing down his own food in short shrift. He glanced at the clock, then reached for an Oreo, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth.

Eat up, kid. Your day is coming, he thought, and was reaching for another Oreo when a sharp burning sensation suddenly ran up his arm. He looked down, eyeing two blisters that had suddenly broken open in the palm of his hand.

Bobby saw the sores oozing fluid and pus, and shivered, afraid that the monster would put those hands on him.

“Finish your Pepsi,” Newt said.

Bobby grabbed the drink and downed it, then started on his own stack of Oreos. He was in the middle of his third cookie when the floor started to look wavy. He grabbed his stomach, afraid he was going to be sick.

Newt had been watching him, waiting for a sign that the pill had kicked in. When he saw a sheen of cold sweat break out across the kid’s upper lip, he relaxed.

Bingo.

“What’s wrong, kid? Don’t you feel good?”

“My tummy feels funny,” Bobby muttered.

“Maybe you better go lay back down,” Newt said.

But that meant being tied back up, and Bobby didn’t want to give in.

“No,” he said. “I don’t want to lie down.”

Newt stood, purposefully letting the sheet fall to the floor. Even if he couldn’t do anything about it, he liked being naked in front of the boy.

“Come on, I can’t have you throwing up on my floor.”

Confronted by the horror of all that burned and peeling flesh right under his nose, Bobby stood and then started backing away.

Before he knew it, he’d backed himself all the way down the hall and into the bedroom. Once again, he was trapped.

“Lie down,” Newt ordered.

Quiet tears welled and ran down Bobby’s face, but he did as he was told.

When the man began retying his wrists to the bed, the stench of the unwashed body and running sores was frightening. And when Newt reached for the gag, Bobby begged.