Mama's Boy And Other Dark Tales Part 13

"'Henry, my baby,' she sobbed. She was sitting in a chair just beyond the kitchen door, her red hair falling around her shoulders. Calling to me, her arms open, she pleaded, 'Henry, please come here, baby.'

"Like a robot, I walked to my mother. I let her wrap her slender arms around me and run her fingers through my hair. Laying her head on my young shoulder, she said, 'Henry, I need you, baby. You're the man of the house now.'

"She wept ugly lying tears, and still, I let her touch me."

January 17-Personal Journal I'm not sleeping; no appet.i.te to speak of. And lunch with Rob was difficult today. But no matter what, I've got to stay focused on Henry...

Fashionably rumpled, the young doctor set his lunch tray down on a table in the cafeteria and stepped around to hold the chair for Rebecca.

"Thanks for accepting my invitation. I know it's not Bookbinders, but I've been trying to catch up with you since you started work."

"I'm sorry I haven't called, Rob. I've been preoccupied with my case work."

"So I hear. Making quite a name for yourself already. But you know the saying, all work and no play." He raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"I know, and the fact is, I owe you big for this job."

"No way," he said. "You got the job on your own merit. I just helped to put a little bug in Director Daddy's ear. No need to thank me ... but then again," he said with a wink.

"You're incorrigible, Robert. You never give up."

"Well, you're one to talk. I've never seen anyone pursue a position with such determination. Why the h.e.l.l you wanted to work here is beyond me."

"It's for my mother, Rob."

"Yeah, I know the story. But my grades sucked, and my father's the boss. That's why I'm here. But you? With your residency recommendations, you could have worked almost anywhere."

Rebecca shrugged. "Here I can make a difference."

He leaned forward with serious eyes. "If you really want to make a difference, Becky ... then stop breaking my heart and have dinner with me." A silly grin spread across his face; he looked hopeful.

"Soon, Rob, but not right now. I have to get back to work. I've got a patient at one." She stood up with her tray.

"You just got here! And you haven't eaten a thing."

"I know, but duty calls. I promise we'll do dinner soon." Rebecca turned away, disposed of her untouched food, and headed back to work.

January 17-1:00PM: Frank Doe Session "Henry, I have a surprise for you today," said Rebecca.

"Maybe you should call me Frank."

"I promised I'd keep your secret. In fact, all of our work together is completely confidential," she said. "It's just between you and me. So, for the purposes of our work, I think it's best to call you Henry. Don't you agree?"

"No." He scratched at the lone wisp of hair on his scar-riddled scalp.

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun. Besides, I brought Henry a present. I can't give it to Frank." She tilted her head and gave him a smile.

"What present?" he asked.

"First, are you in? Is it Henry, or Frank?"

He rolled his lashless eyes. "Okay, it's Henry."

Rebecca opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a leather pouch, handing it to Henry.

"Here, they're yours."

"What is it?"

"Go on, open it," she said.

Henry unfastened the flap, and the pouch rolled open. It was slotted with the tools of a professional clay artist: the wire trimmer, the needle tool, the clay knife, and shaping tools.

"You've been doing such beautiful work, I thought it was time you had some proper tools."

Henry fondled the knife.

"But, of course, you can only use them during our sessions. I'm bending the rules for you, Henry. I trust you won't let me down."

"Thank you." Henry smiled with childlike grat.i.tude.

"Well, let's get to it, shall we? Might as well give your tools a test drive today."

She retrieved Henry's sculpture from the cabinet, along with the spray bottle. With new enthusiasm, Henry began work immediately. Orbs for the eyes were his first order of business.

"Henry, last week you were telling me about your trip to Blue Bell. You checked the map, and were on your way to the estate."

He thought for a moment. "Yeah, once we hit the Skippack Pike there were just a few turns before I found the road that lead to the estate. Two large stone pillars marked the entrance-RUTT was carved in fancy letters. When I got out to open the rusty entry gate, I realized just how much I still missed my daddy. I knew I'd rather have him than the estate. With the thought of his death, my old anger at Mama flared up inside me. I hated her, and I hated myself because I let her get away with murder. But most of all, I hated myself for letting her touch me again, letting her take me to bed, their bed, the very night of my father's death. After the police left that night, I cried in her arms, despising her and loving her all at once. And standing there at the gate of the Rutt estate, I knew both those feelings were still true.

"Back in the van, I drove along the washed out drive leading up to the estate. The lawyers warned me, but it was worse than I imagined. The old mansion sitting at the top of the hill was in sad shape. The setting sun illuminated broken windows with shutters hanging crooked off their hinges. Faded paint peeled like bark and overgrown hedges and weeds choked what must have once been a gardeners dream.

"As the van b.u.mped slowly up the long driveway, Mama stirred from her sleep. I braced myself for her opinion of the rundown estate. One particularly bad pothole in the road jostled her around in the seat; she woke up at once with a frown already plastered on her face.

"'Where in G.o.d's name are you takin' me, Henry?' she said. Then she looked up-her frown turned to disgust. 'What in the h.e.l.l is that supposed to be? Those Rutt b.a.s.t.a.r.ds did this to me on purpose! It's a sick joke, I tell ya'. They hated me from day one.'

"She stopped ranting about the Rutts when she caught herself saying more than she meant to. To cover her tracks she shifted her aim to me.

"'What in the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing, bringing me to this dump? You just turn this piece of s.h.i.t truck back around and take me some place nice. This just proves what I've said all along, Henry. You don't care about n.o.body but yourself or you would never bring your own mama to a s.h.i.t hole like this!'

"I pulled up in front of the big wraparound porch. I could see that the boards were warped from the weather, but I wanted to take a look; I needed to take a look. This had been my daddy's boyhood home.

"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 s.h.i.t!'

"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 ma.s.sive 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 h.e.l.l 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 G.o.d, 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 f.u.c.ked 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 pa.s.sed.

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

With shocking speed, he s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 pa.s.sing from his features. As his dark mood shifted, he turned his knife to the flattened circles of clay and worked to sc.r.a.pe them free.

Shaken, Rebecca maintained a close watch, her jaw steeled with tension. Still sc.r.a.ping 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.

January 17-Personal Journal 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 gla.s.s of the office door. Fl.u.s.tered 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 c.r.a.p 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 s.h.i.t nearly killed you in college. No more self-research-you swore to me!"