The Minds Eye Chapter Two

 

Chapter two;
 A mother’s love

    The blood still warm on his hands, Brian ducked into a small copse of trees to catch his breath and consider what had just happened. He could hear the sirens of police cars and ambulances heading towards the school. Soon, if not already, they would be heading his direction. He wondered what was happing at this moment, had his mother been called yet? How would she handle what they would surely tell her? For that matter, how would the Cartwright’s handle the news of what befell Terry?

    In the pit of his stomach he knew he had hurt Terry badly. He could still hear the sickening crunch of bone as he relentlessly pounded away at his face. He could still hear the blood splash as he slammed his face into the floor, could still see the look of fear in his eyes, taste the sweat and tears. What had he done? He wondered, but more importantly, why had he done it? What was it that made him snap like he did? Then on top of everything, he had injured someone else. Just before he ran from the school, someone tried to either attack him or pull him off of Terry. Not knowing who was then on top of him and still afraid he grabbed something attached to Terry’s’ shirt pocket, a pen, he thought. Purely reactionary he stabbed the person behind him with his makeshift weapon and without another thought ran from the school. He never looked back to see who it was he stabbed. What was he to do?

    Terry was scum, no doubt about it. He was one of those guys who lived his life for the sole purpose of those who witnessed it. He was an a*****e, disliked by even all the other a******s just like him. The only real friends he had would just as soon piss on him as he was drowning. The only common ground it seemed any of them had was their solid dislike of Brian. Since that first day it seemed Terry had made it his goal to make his life a living hell. Of course many others tormented him but Terry was by far the most common of his antagonists.

    Still, did that justify what he had just now done to him? Did he really deserve it all? Brian knew that Terry was hurt badly; he didn’t even believe he could have done what he did to him. The visions that flashed over and over in his mind though were proof of it all. What if he was hurt too bad? Would he ever be the same? What if by some chance he were disabled or, what if he… dies? He thought to himself.

    Then again, would it be so bad? Would it be all that bad if the world would lose Terry Cartwright? So what if he didn’t survive? Would that be so bad? Would anyone really mourn his loss? Of course they would. The media would eat it up. It would become one of those stories they use to pinpoint the instability of America’s youth and the school system. Parents would march in front of the superintendents’ office yelling for stricter rules, better security, and all the other bullshit that will never work. None of it can ever control the unpredictability of human thought.

    Nothing could have stopped what had happened this morning. If someone would have told him yesterday that this would happen, he probably would have told them to screw off, he would have laughed and walked away. This type of thing wasn’t in his nature to do. Brian had never hurt anyone, nor had he ever wanted too. Of course when the media did get hold of it he knew they would spin it to make him seem like some kind of closet nutcase. He could hear it now. “Well he always seemed such a nice boy.”

    “He was a loner, the quiet type.”

    “I think the boy was on drugs.”

    Terry, on the other hand, would become some Adonis amongst his peers. People who had never said more than two words to him would cry and tell stories about why he was such a good person. He would become a new cause for the drones to hoist on there shoulders and parade through the streets, well at least till next month.

    “Oh God!” Brian cried. “What have I done? What am I thinking?” he said aloud for only him to hear.

    This was someone’s child who he hurt. What if it had been him? How would his mother feel? What would she do to see that justice was served? Granted they didn’t always see eye-to-eye, in many respects she never really acted like a mother to him, but she was. She would be devastated it was him.

    No longer could Brian hear the sirens. He needed to go home. He needed to tell his mother what happened. She was the only person who could help him. A mother’s love is unconditional; she would help him make this right.

    When Brian moved from the safety of the woods overhead he could see that it was fast approaching noon. The smell of trash warming in the midday sun clung thick to the air. The dump trucks would soon be making their rounds through each neighborhood to collect the refuse and haul it away. It made Brian laugh a little, the association between life and the garbage we discard. How similar life was to it all. Each passing day the s**t would pile up, start to spoil and become rancid. Only to all be cleared away and replaced the following day. Thinking it best to do so, he stuck to the back alleys and side streets so as not to be seen by the police he knew must be looking for him. After all the paths were familiar to him, he had traveled them many times while he looked for a safe path to take to and from school each day.

    Staring around the corner of Thompson’s Grocer, he could clearly see his house straight across from him through two of his neighbor’s yards. His mother’s brand new two thousand seven silver Saturn Sky, with it black racing stripes and gray leather interior, sat safely in the driveway. No other vehicles were outside his home. Relieved that the cops had not shown up yet he darted across the street into the first yard.

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    Janice Dickerson stood in her quaint little kitchen still wearing her satin nightgown; she danced to the music playing from the small wall mounted radio she bought a few days back. By no means overweight, she was five-nine and weighed barely a hundred and thirty pounds. Her long black hair that hung a few inches below her buttocks only accentuated the Caribbean tan she paid to have year round. Even though she still kept up with all the new diet and exercise fads. Though she didn’t need it, she knew why she did so. Something was missing in her life something, which had been taken from her long ago. She knew this, and she knew she was powerless to it. Nothing could ever replace that part of her she had lost so long ago, so instead she lived her life in a manner to keep it from her mind. So there she stood, dancing and singing slightly off key, eagerly she chopping away at a plethora of vegetables she intended to turn into a salad.

    Out of the blue the phone rang, almost causing her to drop the large kitchen knife onto her awaiting bare foot below. Grabbing a towel close at hand she set down the knife dried her hands and reached for the telephone.

    “Hello” she said into the receiver.

    “Mrs. Dickerson? Is this Mrs. Janice Dickerson?” Came a deep male voice she had never heard before.

    “Yes” she replied, “This is she, can I help you?”

    “Yes, Mrs. Dickerson, this is Detective Burstow with the Cameron City Police department. By any chance, would your son be home with you?”

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    There he stood, outside the front door of his house. Nervous, heart pounding in an attempt to escape from its prison in his chest he didn’t know what to expect when he opened the door and walked inside. Looking down to where the dried blood was cracking away in flakes around his knuckles he wondered if maybe he had made a mistake in coming home. What if the cops had already called her and she was in there packing what ever she could get into the car so that when he arrived they could escape the town, never to return. She would harbor him and become an accomplice. He didn’t want her to be involved in all of this. Deep down, even though he may not show it all the time, he loved his mother but what else could he do. She was all he had ever had. He had nowhere else to turn. No, somehow, she would help him and they would make this all better. With a trembling hand he reached out and turned the doorknob.

    As he stepped in he saw that she was just then hanging up the phone. It had to have been the police on the other line because when she turned to him, the mascara she had put on in preparation of her day out, was now a smear of streaks that ran from those bloodshot brown eyes to the underside of her chin. Brian burst into tears as he stood there watching the look on her face. What had he done? He couldn’t take it, with his arms outstretched before him he moved toward her so he could hug her. She moved towards him as well. Right before he was close enough to wrap her in his arms, she looked into his eyes and without any hesitation, slapped him hard across the cheek.

    “You b*****d!” She screamed at the top of her lungs and slapped him again.
    “What have you done? You f*****g piece of s**t!” Repeatedly she slapped and clawed at him. One time a nail caught him good under his right eye. He felt the sting and the warm touch of blood on his check. The tears he shed caused the wound to burn, he tried to speak, tried to block her assault but he could do nothing.

    “What do you have to say yourself you f**k? Hunh? No save it!” She screamed as yet again one of her fingers dug into the skin of his face.

    You’re a mistake! I should have aborted you when I first got pregnant, but no! My parents said that all babies are here for a reason! What did they know? They weren’t raped! I WAS!”

    Brian’s heart sunk into him. Pain. That was all he knew. The world around him was pain. There he stood, seventeen, the world crashing around his feet and his mother, the only person who had ever been anything to him, tells him how she really feels about him. Brian had never known his father, now he knew why, the real reason why. For once his life made sense. All the little pieces that never added up finally did. The pain in his heart stopped.

    In front of him stood a woman yelling loudly. The words she screamed were an incoherent mass of slurs and curses. She was clearly upset, about what, he didn’t know, nor did he care. She swung at him wildly with much force and anger behind the blows. He took a step towards her and she struck his jaw fiercely. By this time his head was starting to hurt and her screaming had become an incessant drum in his mind. He had to stop her yelling. With slow grace he moved the forefinger of his left hand to his lips and made a shh sign. She struck him again. His head turned slightly from the blow and something caught his eye. Reaching for it with his right hand he once again made the shh sign. Again she struck and yelled some more. He could feel his lip swell some, could taste the blood. He smiled a sweet calming smile, his right hand made a sweeping motion. The woman’s eyes widened as he felt the warm touch of blood splatter across his face. A thin dark red line appeared across the woman’s neck. She reached her hands up to the wound that now allowed her life’s blood to flow freely from her. She tried to say something, anything, yet only blood came out. A tear dropped from her eye as her body went lax and fell to the floor.

    Turning, Brian walked to the door of the kitchen he no longer recognized. Knife in hand he looked out side, paused to take a deep breath and allowed a large grin to grow upon his face. The drumming in the back of his mind had at last stopped.