Previously on… Father Death (6)
2
“Where have you been?” Hank Loomis asked as Billy pressed the front door closed behind him.
“Stu’s.”
“Not Sidney’s?” Hank appeared in the hallway, and Billy bristled at the sight of him.
“Not today.”
“How is Sidney?”
Billy flinched at Sidney’s name in his father’s mouth. His hand clamped on the doorknob to diffuse the rage tingling down his arm.
“Fine,” Billy said.
“Sidney’s a good girl,” Hank continued. “You need to take care of her.”
Billy heard the slur on the tips of his father’s words before Hank’s steps faltered. He knew where this night would go. He could see his father’s short glass pooled with the dark brown liquid on the kitchen counter even though it was out of view. He did not want to hear where his father’s words would eventually wander because he would never say what Billy wanted to hear. He would never admit anything.
Billy grunted in acknowledgment, unable to conjure words, unable to think of any that would not inspire his father to keep talking. He flitted his eyes at his father and hurried to the stairs to disappear into his room.
By the time Billy cleared the threshold, his heartbeat battered his head. He slammed the door behind him harder than he intended. Turning on the small television on his dresser, he clicked until he found a horror movie. The haunting melody of The Exorcist soundtrack filled his bedroom and poured over his mind.
His head throbbed with ideas, with plans. There were so many variables, so many potential witnesses swirling through scenarios in his mind. There was no script. After Casey and Steve, it would be largely improvision. As long as it led to Sidney. It only seemed appropriate to tie up that end, to see that same look on Maureen’s daughter’s face as she died.
The future taking shape in his brain tempered the anger ever-writhing in his chest. He didn’t think about his mother’s absence or his father’s fault. He didn’t think about how he could not convince Sidney to fuck him. He didn’t think about how he could not get anything in his life the way he wanted. He focused on Casey and Steve and all the things they would do to them.
Steve would be easy enough to take after football practice. He would be in the typical circle jerk in the locker room. Billy and Stu would only need to call him close enough to the car in the parking lot. Then the fun could begin.
As he thought of the game, he smiled. Sprawling across his mattress, he reached under his bed and snagged the notebook. He wiggled the pencil from the spiral and flipped to the active sheet. He placed the eraser between his teeth to watch Regan projectile vomit across the screen then added more questions to his list.
Name the killer in Halloween?
Name the killer in Friday the 13th?
With each word, Billy was in that future, holding the phone then the knife, carving a different life than where he currently breathed. It was so close he could nearly nudge it with the tip of his pencil.
“Stuart Macher!” Gloria Macher shouted from the kitchen.
“Yeah, Ma?” Stu called, draped across the couch.
“Look at this kitchen! Get in here!”
Stu exhaled a weighty breath and rolled his eyes to the ceiling before dragging himself from the cushions and to his mother. Gloria moved around the kitchen island, picking up dishes and dropping them in disdain.
“How many people did you have over? How are there this many dishes everywhere?” Gloria continued raving.
“Just Billy.”
“The entire house is like this, Stuart!”
“You have been gone for two weeks, Ma,” Stu whined.
“And we leave again tomorrow.” Gloria planted her hands on her hips.
“And this trash hasn’t been taken out,” Nathan Macher said, entering the kitchen from the garage.
“You guys expect me to handle everything while you’re gone?” Stu protested.
“You’re nearly an adult, Stuart,” Nathan said. “You need to be able to take care of yourself.”
Stu exhaled slow and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been busy,” he groaned.
“Busy with what?” Nathan asked. “Your grades would indicate not school.”
Stu’s face collapsed. The words evacuated his mouth as he felt his parents’ eyes burning into him. He shifted uncomfortably until their stares grew bored and wandered.
“Where are you guys headed now?” Stu asked, massaging over his face.
“Mexico,” Gloria shrugged. “You know I love Puerto Vallarta this time of year.”
Stu offered a pained smile and nodded.
“Just make sure to handle all of this while we’re gone,” Nathan commanded.
“Yes, Dad,” Stu said and shuffled out of the kitchen.
Stu left the television mumbling and the light on in the room and plodded up the stairs to retreat into his room. Leaving the light off, he navigated the scattered clothes and shoes littered over the floor. He flipped on his small television and found the same thing he had been watching downstairs, yet he just looked through the flashing images.
Most nights, he didn’t want Billy to leave or needed Tatum to linger. He never wanted to be left in the massive house full of vacant rooms. Yet now, the house felt too full. He felt crowded as he hid from his parents’ narrowed eyes. Sprawled out on his bed, he wondered what his father’s insides looked like, how loud his mother would scream before the knife bit her neck.
It was in his power. He could feel it. No one would even know they were missing for weeks.
If Billy said so.
Stu closed his eyes and thought about Casey and Steven. All the gruesome steps in Billy’s plan walked him into his dreams.
Continued on… Father Death (8)
Christina Bergling
https://linktr.ee/chrstnabergling
Like my writing? Check out my books!
- Followers – You never know who is on the other side of the screen. Followers is a mystery and thriller that blends women’s fiction with horror.
- The Rest Will Come – Online dating would drive anyone to murder, especially Emma.
- Savages – Two survivors search the ruins for the last strain of humanity. Until the discovery of a baby changes everything.
- The Waning – Locked in a cage, Beatrix must survive to escape or be broken completely.
- Screechers – Mutant monsters and humans collide in the apocalyptic fallout of a burned world. Co-authored with Kevin J. Kennedy.
- Horror Anthologies