| |
Crack!
The sound woke Bark from a deep sleep. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings and realize that the sickening pop came from his nightmares. During waking hours, he did a good job of keeping the memories at bay, but the bloody mess of meat and bones couldn’t be completely compartmentalized. It’s not that he didn’t regret what he did, but the opportunity had just fallen into his lap, allowing him to a test a theory that might have saved more people than it hurt.
He still didn’t know if his theory would hold.
Newt had been gone for hours, long enough that Bark wondered whether he meant to come back at all. Maybe he had decided to abandon the call. Or worse, he had been caught in a lie and confessed to everything. At any rate, Bark needed to get down to the docks. Every minute Newt delayed brought more frustration.
Bark stood and stretched his back. Sleeping in a chair invited a lot of pain for a man so long in the tooth.
The kid still hadn’t woken up. Maybe for the better. Bark could already tell that he needed to refine his kidnapping technique. The teenagers had been drunk and too eager to get a tour of a fishing boat, but if he’d be making a life of detaining people, he’d need to figure out how to keep people unconscious in a more elegant way. He vaguely remembered TV shows mentioning chloroform, but he had no idea where he’d even buy something like that.
Bark hobbled to the kitchen and pilfered a bottle of beer from the unplugged fridge. It wouldn’t be cold, maybe not even cool at this point, but at least it would still serve to dull his senses, and the pain.
Once he drained the entire thing, he sat the bottle on the counter and made his way back to the chair. He didn’t want to commit to anything too rashly. He needed to wait. To see where she might pop up next. The iceboxes on the Mayhem still held remnants he hoped to use in order to keep her at bay a while longer.
Before sitting down, Bark quietly twisted the handle of the bedroom door, parting it just slightly so that he could peer inside. He had sat in the darkness long enough that his eyes could easily make out the shapes in the room. The kid laid on the bed, his arms stretched above him and handcuffed to the headboard. Still there. Still safe.
The room smelled of piss. An inevitable consequence of keeping someone chained up without the use of a bathroom. But Bark wasn’t about to inject a catheter into this kid. What he smelled like didn’t matter.
Bark nearly crapped his own pants when he heard a voice in the darkness. “Who are you? Where am I? What happened?”
Dammit. Surprisingly, the kids voice wasn’t nearly as frantic as Bark might have expected.
“You were in an accident,” Bark replied from the doorway.
The handcuffs rattled as the kid twisted his wrists, trying to make sense of the situation. It would all start clicking into place soon, and the gentle questions would surely give in to desperate screams. Bark didn’t want that.
“Stay calm. I know this seems weird, but it’s for your own good,” Bark offered, trying to keep the inevitable panic at bay.
“Where’s Miriam?” the voice asked.
A good question, which Bark couldn’t answer. Alive, as far as he knew. But she wouldn’t be coming to this kid’s rescue.
Bark sighed and picked up the baseball bat leaning against the back of his chair. He really didn’t want to do this.
The kid startled. “What’s going on?”
Just one whack. If Bark could make it a good one, then hopefully the kid would just go back to sleep for a while. He stepped into the room and lifted the bat before crossing over to the bed.
“Listen, kid. I don’t want to do this, but you gotta keep quiet. Y’hear me?” Bark said as menacingly as possible.
Bark inched forward. From here he might be able to get in a hit, but he’d need to move closer to be sure. He tried to think of another way, but he felt cornered. The house was old. The walls were thin. If the kid made a racket, someone might hear, and then everything would get much, much worse.
Surprisingly, the kid didn’t yell as Bark moved closer, the bat slowly rising above his head. Maybe the confusion of it all had left the kid paralyzed, but Bark could see the whites of the kid’s eyes watching intently.
Another step, and Bark moved to slam the bat into his prisoner’s head when the kid’s sneaker-clad foot slammed into Bark’s belly, shooting pain through his abdomen. The kid screamed, as if the kick hurt him as much as it had hurt Bark. Bark swung the bat down with less force than intended, missing his target and landing on the mattress.
“Help!” the kid yelled.
Bark doubled his grip on the bat and reared back for another shot, but the kid twisted this time, screaming in pain as he wrenched his own wrists to avoid the bat. Bark felt anger rising in his chest, no longer regretful about having to silence this kid. He’d strangle him if he had to.
Another wild kick caught Bark in the thigh. He backed up, dragging the bat along the covers, then letting it thunk to the floor.
“Help!” the kid yelled again.
Bark lifted the bat, intent on rushing in and striking before the kid could react. Bark lunged forward. The bat flew down. The kid screamed and pulled on the cuffs, and Bark only barely registered one of the cheap chains snapping before the bat stopped.
Almost impossibly, the kid positioned his free hand alongside the chained one to catch the bat flying at his head. Though the kid grunted at the force against his fingers, he still managed to dig in with an unrelenting grip. Before he knew it, Bark lost his balance and fell onto the bed.
They wrestled each other for the bat, but the fact that Bark’s hands weren’t confined gave him the upper hand. In a few short seconds, Bark straddled the kid, pressing the bat across his neck and pushing down hard. The kid kicked his feet, but he couldn’t buck off Bark’s weight. The kid sputtered and gurgled as the bat crushed into his windpipe.
Bark wondered if this might kill the kid. He didn’t want that. Not if he could help it. He loosened his grip on the bat, and the kid gasped for air. Maybe this experience would be enough to keep him quiet.
Suddenly, the kid shoved the bat forward, catching Bark right in the nose. Blood gushed out, dripping onto the bat, the sheets, the kid’s face.
“Goddammit!” Bark exclaimed, scuttling off the bed and holding his nose.
No more Mr. Nice Guy. Bark slammed the bat into the kid’s knees, gaining strength from the howls of pain. Then into his stomach. And, while the kid crumpled in pain, Bark took the shot he needed the most and cracked the bat into the kid’s skull. His body went instantly limp.
Bark breathed hard and dropped the bat on the floor before crossing over to check for a pulse. Not dead. Good.
He dragged the bat back into the living room, dropped it on the floor next to the chair, and then slammed the door shut.
“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!” Bark yelled to beat away the pain, both hands squeezing at the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know if it was broken, but it hurt like hell.
At least they had running water.
He made it to the kitchen, turned on the tap and splashed some water onto his face. He couldn’t see well enough to know how much blood there was, but the stinging and the volume of blood on his hands told him it was probably a lot.
As he started to get a handle on the pain, he heard the screen door squeal, then the front door swing open.
“Perfect timing, Newt. Perfect timing,” he said, as he held a dish towel up to his nose.
“Bark?” a female voice echoed into the room. “What are you doing here?”
Goddammit.
He rounded the corner back into the living room and stared at the silhouette of Stacy Hampton. He stopped, trying to fight through the pain to find an answer that would make sense. Something that would make her leave.
He watched her head spin down to the bat, then back up to him, the waning light shining through the door enough for her to surely see the carnage on his face. And the blood on the bat.
“I heard screaming. Are you ok?” she said, clearly more cautious than she’d been when arriving.
“I’m fine. I just... fell.”
He knew immediately how stupid it sounded.
“What are you even doing here?” she asked again.
“Just helping Newt out with something.”
She hadn’t moved from the doorway yet, and Bark wondered whether she believed him. Maybe it didn’t even matter, as long as she left without knowing what really happened.
“No electricity?” she asked.
“Uh, no. Newt hasn’t used the place in a while. Um. Thinking of fixing it up. Seeing if maybe he can rent it out.”
She seemed to be relaxing. “Well, I appreciate him mowing the yard. It was getting to be a real eyesore.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
She started towards him. “Do you need some help? Are you okay?”
Instinctively, Bark held up a hand and spoke more sternly than intended. “I’m fine. Fine. It’s fine. Just a nosebleed. Don’t worry about it.”
She persisted, reaching up to his face and tugging on the towel. Bark held fast, despite the pain it caused. He jerked away and turned his back to her.
“I told you I’m fine. Just go back home.”
She responded sharply, “Stupid men and your stupid pride. I’m just trying to help.”
He could feel her eyes rolling behind him, and then he heard her move away.
He turned back and let out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. What can I say? I’m a man of the sea. We’re tough.”
“Oh, don’t I know it.”
She stood by the door now. It was nearly over. Bark held his breath, waiting for her to leave, when Stacy turned at a noise behind her.
“Help!” the kid’s voice pierced through the walls of the living room.
Stacy jumped and turned towards the door to the bedroom. It was closer to her than Bark. He’d never make it before she would be able to get there.
“Who’s that?” she asked, stepping towards the door before she got an answer.
“Stacy!” he yelled, causing her to pause briefly as her hand hovered above the knob. “Don’t go in there.”
She looked back at him, but he couldn’t make out the expression on her face. For a moment, he thought that maybe she would heed his direction, but then she twisted the knob and pushed the door wide open.
“Thank god! Help me. Please!” the kid pleaded.
Bark dropped the towel on the floor as Stacy stepped inside the room. The panic flooded his veins as he realized what he would have to do. He heard the bed creak as she sat on it, promising the kid that he would be okay. Asking him what happened. Maybe it hadn’t registered yet, or maybe her nurturing instincts had overridden her good sense. Either way Bark needed to act fast before she could turn on him.
He scooped the bat up on his way to the room, never missing a step. Lord help him. He didn’t want to do this, but he was too far in now.
“Watch out!” the kid yelled to Stacy.
Stacy spun and jerked her hands to her face. “Bark! What the—”
She never finished her sentence. The force of the bat slammed into her arms, smashing them against her face until the bat cracked into the crown of her head. She slumped over on the kid as he stammered in the dark, offering words of apology to a woman who couldn’t hear him. The kid jerked at the handcuffs, trying to get both hands to her head. Trying to comfort her. To hold her.
The kid didn’t even know her.
Bark did. Bark loved her. Just like he had loved Joe. He tapped his forehead, trying to beat away the throbbing behind his eyes. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
The boy screamed and yelled. No words. Just unbridled anger and hatred.
Bark needed quiet. He needed to regroup.
He raised the bat above his head again, rushed over, and clocked the kid on the head as hard as he could. He didn’t even check to see if he had killed the kid this time. He just dropped the bat in the middle of the floor and stumbled back into the kitchen for another beer.
