Tenth of December Read Free Page B

He should’ve never stepped outside. Once they were gone he’d just go back inside, pretend he’d never stepped out, make the model-railroad town, still be making it when Mom and Dad got home. When eventually someone told him about it? He’d make a certain face. Already on his face he could feel the face he would make, like, What? Alison? Raped? Killed? Oh God. Raped and killed while I innocently made my railroad town, sitting cross-legged and unaware on the floor like a tiny little—
    No. No, no, no. They’d be gone soon. Then he could go inside. Call 911. Although then everyone would know he’d done nothing. All his future life would be bad. Forever he’d be the guy who’d done nothing. Besides, calling wouldn’t do any good. They’d be long gone. The parkway was just across Featherstone, with like a million arteries and cloverleafs orwhatever spouting out of it. So that was that. In he’d go. As soon as they left. Leave, leave, leave, he thought, so I can go inside, forget this ever—
    Then he was running. Across the lawn. Oh God! What was he doing, what was he doing? Jesus, shit, the directives he was violating! Running in the yard (bad for the sod); transporting a geode without its protective wrapping; hopping the fence, which stressed the fence, which had cost a pretty penny; leaving the yard; leaving the yard barefoot; entering the Secondary Area without permission; entering the creek barefoot (broken glass, dangerous microorganisms), and, not only that, oh God, suddenly he saw what this giddy part of himself intended, which was to violate a directive so Major and absolute that it wasn’t even a directive, since you didn’t need a directive to know how totally verboten it was to—
    He burst out of the creek, the guy still not turning, and let the geode fly into his head, which seemed to emit a weird edge-seep of blood even before the skull visibly indented and the guy sat right on his ass.
    Yes! Score! It was fun! Fun dominating a grown-up! Fun using the most dazzling gazelle-like leg speed ever seen in the history of mankind to dash soundlessly across space and master this huge galoot, who otherwise, right now, would be—
    What if he hadn’t?
    God, what if he hadn’t?
    He imagined the guy bending Alison in two like a pale garment bag while pulling her hair and thrusting bluntly, ashe, Kyle, sat cowed and obedient, tiny railroad viaduct grasped in his pathetic babyish—
    Jesus! He skipped over and hurled the geode through the windshield of the van, which imploded, producing an inward rain of glass shards that made the sound of thousands of tiny bamboo wind chimes.
    He scrambled up the hood of the van, retrieved the geode.
    Really? Really? You were going to ruin her life, ruin my life, you cunt-probe dick-munch ass-gashing Animal? Who’s bossing who now? Gash-ass, jizz-lips, turd-munch—
    He’d never felt so strong/angry/wild. Who’s the man? Who’s your daddy? What else must he do? To ensure that Animal did no further harm? You still moving, freak? Got a plan, stroke-dick? Want a skull gash on top of your existing skull gash, big man? You think I won’t? You think I—
    Easy, Scout, you’re out of control.
    Slow your motor down, Beloved Only.
    Quiet. I’m the boss of me.
    FUCK!
    What the hell? What was he doing on the ground? Had he tripped? Did someone wonk him? Did a branch fall? God damn. He touched his head. His hand came away bloody.
    The beanpole kid was bending. To pick something up. A rock. Why was that kid off the porch? Where was the knife?
    Where was the gal?
    Crab-crawling toward the creek.
    Flying across her yard.
    Going into her house.
    Fuck it, everything was fucked. Better hit the road. With what, his good looks? He had like eight bucks total.
    Ah Christ! The kid had smashed the windshield! With the rock! Kenny was not going to like that one bit.
    He tried to stand but couldn’t. The blood was just pouring out. He was not going to jail again. No way. He’d slit his wrists.