The Minds Eye Chapter Four

 

Chapter 4
Gods and men

The rain, like little daggers of ice, fell across the darkened city. A storm had slowly drifted over Cameron and long ago families had snuggled under blankets next to loved ones in their warm houses and even warmer beds. For the most part, the streets were empty.

Standing alone and unmoving though the rain pelted him with its icy talons, never once did he look to find shelter. He welcomed the touch; the little drops of cold fire kissing his skin gave him knowledge, the knowledge that somewhere in him, some part of him, no matter how small, was still alive. He could still feel.

The past seventeen hours had been a blur. Scenes like those he’d witnessed in horror films during his life passed over and over in his mind. Visions of Terry came to mind. The sickening crunch and snap of bones breaking under the force of his blows, the putrid scent of urine and feces mingling in the air as the boy lost control of his bodily functions. The look on his mothers face as she reached to him, her words an incoherent burble of blood and saliva, again he asked himself if it was all a dream, if he had just imagined it all. Had he really done this all or was this just the product of his sometimes overactive imagination? The answer was always the blood caked to his body, now running freely in tiny crimson rivulets off his hands.

Everything was distorted. Terry Cartwright was an a*****e yes but he was also a football player. How could he have gotten beat so badly by someone his size, he wondered. “And so what if I did kick his a*s, who would care. No one really liked him.” Brian scratched his head.

“My mind has to be magnifying what happened. There’s no way it couldn’t have been as bad as what my mind says, but they called my…”

“My mom” Her face appeared in his mind, grabbing her bleeding throat. Her eyes silently pleading with him as she lay on the floor, reaching out to him as he steps over her dying body.

“Oh!” he moaned, doubling over in pain. “What have I done?”

His heart began to pound like hammers in his ears, vision blurred and unable to breath he fell to his knees and cried, the realization of it all landing square on his shoulders.

“No, momma, I’m so sorry… Oh GOD please this can’t be real, Please!“ Losing what little strength he had left, Brain fell to the pavement and curled into a ball, and like the heavens above, he cried.

For a long time he stayed there, lying in the street, only the rain to witness his sorrow. Glimpses of his mothers last moments a slow moving slideshow in his mind. “Why?” he kept asking himself in sobs. Why did he hurt her, of all people, his loving mother. Why did he hurt the one person he ever cared for, the only one who ever cared for him? No one else in his life had ever been there for him. He was never able to go to any one else for help, and when he really needed her he… killed her.

“No!” he cried again, wracked by the pain in his heart. She was the only one who ever stood up for him. He could never go to the teachers or faculty. Not even the principal helped him. His mother was the only one who helped him. She had been there step by step. No one else knew what tortures he had to deal with. They weren’t tortured. “I was!” he cried out in anger.

Something triggered in his mind. Something said to him earlier today. Who? He thought. Who said it? What was it? He rummaged through the images in his troubled mind for a hint to what he sought. A bolt of lightning tore the sky apart; he flinched and saw his mother again, in tears. He was holding out his arms to hold her, she struck him. She yelled and struck again.

“You b*****d!” she struck again. His mind continued deeper. “What did they know? They weren’t raped, I WAS!”

Sitting bolt upright, he no longer wept. It was clear to him. He could remember it all. He needed her, and in that moment the life she had faked since before his birth had reared its ugly head. She never loved him. No, she hated him, despised his very existence. He loved her, he even tried to hug and comfort her, and she attacked him. She attacked him and yelled at him and made him feel like he needn’t exist, just as Terry had all of his life, just as everyone at school had. Terry, his brother Matthew, just like Derrick Marshall, Ty Davis, and every other prick that paved there way in life by walking over those deemed beneath them.

“You deserved this you b***h,” he said in a silent whisper for no one but the raging wind to hear.

“Just like Terry did, just like everyone else deserves what is coming to them.”

Standing, he looked at the lit up face of his dollar store wristwatch. It was almost midnight and the storm above was slowly getting worse. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the cruel grin on his face. “I think it’s a good time for a workout.” With that, he started walking. He had to hurry; soon it would be too late.

********************

The large parking lot was bathed in darkness save the small amount of light shining from inside Marshall’s fitness center. Inside, one lone figure was just toweling the sweat from his shaved and chiseled chest. Being almost midnight, his workout finished, and there being school in the morning, Derrick Marshall was in the midst of getting ready to lock up for the night and go home.

This was his usual routine, three nights a week Derrick would spend about four hours working out on a particular part of his body, Mondays would be upper body, Wednesday he concentrated on abs, and Fridays he would devote to his lower body. Tonight was Wednesday and his abs still burned from the intense workout he had given them. Looking in the mirror everyday let him know the torture was worth it though. Most other guys in school would kill for his body; he knew this, which was one of the reasons why he was so popular. Every guy in Cameron High wanted to be him and every girl wanted to have him.

Popularity went hand in hand with him. He had been the star Quarterback for the Cameron Colts for the past three years. In that time he had led them to two state championships and because of him they walked away with the trophy each time. That was the first time in the past twenty years that the team had gone that far even once let alone both times. Each year he won Prom king, or homecoming king, or whatever other award by a landslide.

Yes he was well liked but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that when he wasn’t around, the very people who held him on that pedestal didn’t care one bit for him. He didn’t care. They only hung around him because of the status he attained, well most any way; the others did so out of fear. It didn’t faze him a bit, what they truly thought of him, because at the end of the day he knew that they would be there at his beck and call. They were sheep and he was the shepherd. He was God to them.

Staring in the mirror at his nearly six-foot frame once more for good measure, he smiled.

“You are one sexy mother, Picasso couldn’t have created a better piece of art.” Derrick would have never been able to pick a piece of Picasso’s handiwork out of a museum. He just knew the name from history class and thought it an intelligent thing to say. Pulling on his shirt and flexing once more, he grabbed his duffle bag, shut off the light in the locker room and headed down the corridor to the main entrance.

The building nearly empty, rain, like grease in a skillet, popping and spattering on the tin roof of the building, could be heard clearly. Normally after locking up he would have jogged the two-mile distance home, however with the weather, he was glad he brought his car tonight. He took great pride in his car, maybe just as much as he took in his body. Since childhood he had a thing for muscle cars. On his sixteenth birthday his father surprised him with a mint condition nineteen seventy-one Barracuda.  It was his pride and joy, next to his physique. Royal blue with black interior trimmed in white. It had a Hemi and it was convertible. What more could he have ever wanted?

Turning the corner to the reception room, Derrick was able to see how nasty the weather had turned through the buildings large plate glass windows. Trash blew about the lot in a chaotic ballet; rain fell in giant crocodile tears to the pavement below before shattering upon it like glass. Every so often a tree of light would separate the heavens granting everything outside an eerie glow for a split second before fading, once again, to pitch. Fiddling in his pocket he searched for his key as he turned out the interior lights, once found he stepped outside and slid it into the lock. Behind him, a noise, something out of place, startled him. Whipping around he peered into the shadows. Rain, like a thick blanket, made it hard for his eyes to adjust. Still he could swear that over near his car, not too near, was the small shape of… something moving.  

Looking around him he searched for something, anything, to throw at whatever it was near his vehicle. Many coy dogs inhabited this area of the state. Derrick had had a few run-ins with some in his life. This was probably one of them now, trying to find shelter from the coming storm. His eyes narrowed as he found an ideal weapon for his task at hand. Leaning over, all the while keeping his eye on the creature not too far from him, he picked up a fist-sized rock. It was heavy for its size. It would get the point across. Hefting it he hurled the stone through the air his aim true it hit the animal. A canine yelp echoed through the lot as the dog scampered away in a hurried run. Derrick smiled arrogantly, triumphantly he yelled  ”Yeah b***h! That’s what ya get for messin with the Star Quarterback of the Colts! Ha!” He was out of breath now and his heart beat like a marching band in his chest. For a moment there he was actually scared. Not that he would have ever admitted it to anyone else. Smiling a little to reassure his manliness (just incase anyone was looking) he slid the key into the door lock, twisted it until he heard the tumbler fall into place then turned to leave.

His car, though not too far, seemed to be floating in an ocean. The parking lot was flooded and if he didn’t hurry, it would soon seep though his doors and destroy his interior. With one hand holding his duffle bag over his head, to stop his hair from getting wet, he plodded in hurried flight through the rising waters to his car, his other hand holding the key to its door ready in hand. Coming to a stop was not the easiest thing to do with all the water. Coming to a slow sliding stop that forced him to bump into the side fender Derrick quickly went for the door lock.

From out of nowhere a sharp pain, like a thousand fire ants biting him at once, shot through the roof of his left foot. Screaming he grabbed the injured appendage and fell to the pavement. A vision of the coy dog he threw the rock at swam into his mind. It must have turned back and hid under his car while he locked up. It must’ve gotten scared and bitten him when he slammed into the car. Partially blinded by a mixture of tears and rain Derrick tried to see if the cur was still under his car or not. A glint of light reflected off of metal. It shimmered again and moved forward. With great ease a figure emerged from the under belly of the classic, a long kitchen knife, dripping blood, in his hand.

A lump in his throat the size of a grape fruit, Derrick tried to scream. The pain in his foot throbbed as the rainwater slowly saturated the insides of his shoe and the wound itself. Rolling over he clawed at the gravel in an attempt to escape his attacker. The effort was rewarded by yet another sharp pain, this one in his right foot.

“F**k!” He half yelled half sobbed. “F**k! You f**k! What? Who? Whadoya want?” His words mingled and formed one string of thought as he desperately tried to escape.

“Shut up” came the calm, calculating voice from behind him. “You’re pathetic. Where is that cocky, confident, idol everyone looks up to? The one everyone secretly fears. Where is that God amongst men? You cower and slither like a snake on the ground. You’re not even trying to fight back. Terry did more than you. He was more fun.”

It was him. Derrick thought as he pulled himself a few more inches away. This was Brian, the kid who beat the hell out of Terry Cartwright, the kid that everyone teased and bullied. The one the cops were looking for. Rolling over to look at his attacker he whimpered. “Please, please don’t hurt me. Please I wont tell anyone I swear. Please I never meant to hurt you if I did. I’m sorry.” In frantic sobs he begged.

“Begging for mercy, now I can remember a time when I asked the same of you and, well we both know what happened.

Derrick did know because it happened on a weekly basis. He never left him alone. Brian would always ask for them to leave him alone, it only made it worse.

” Christ man I’m sorry… please, please don’t do this. You’re better than this, better than me. Please!”

“God man, you don’t know me. Don’t even pretend to. You fear now because I am in your shoes. I am the attacker and you, the victim. I would have never gotten reprieve from you.” leaning over he turned Derrick over to face him. Stepping on his right wrist he smiled, “Star quarterback hunh?”

With that the knife came down slowly and punched through he top layer of skin on his dominant hand. He leaned in and twisted it deeper as Derrick struggled and screamed in pain, the tendons and bone snapping, his visions of scouts recruiting him for colleges now only a dream.

“Pleeeaasse.”

“Stop, this is belittling. I know! Lets see if we can bring back that luster, that all-star attitude.” Grabbing his shirt collar he pulled Derrick along on the pavement back towards his car. Opening the back door he tried to force his victim inside. Derrick fought for all his ebbing strength to get away. A blow to the temple disoriented him and made his body easier to work with. Soon he was in the cars backseat and Brian was at the wheel. They were going somewhere but either the loss of blood or the blow to the head made sleep a welcoming friend for Derrick.

*******************

The car was still running when Derrick woke up. Skid Marx, the nightly D.J. on WTKO 105.9 The Knockout, was blaring on the radio. Though it was hard to move Derrick could see that Brian was not in the vehicle at the time. ‘Where is he, is he gone? ‘ He wondered. The pain seared into his mind as he tried to move. It brought tears to his eyes. His hand and feet burned as he tried to maneuver himself about. Gritting his teeth against it he opened the door and slid out of the car onto rain moistened grass.

They were in a field of some sort. The grass was short and smelled strongly of a fresh cut. Something rubbed against his head. He tried to see what it was but couldn’t make it out. He went to touch it and a sharp point jabbed his finger pain shot through his injured hand. Biting back the tears he tried to scuttle along the ground, somewhere away from here, somewhere safe. Something tugged at his neck. Course and grainy it rubbed against his skin. It was tied there tightly even with two good hands he would have a problem with the knot, it was weird and long stretching almost a foot. Sheer will power gave him the strength to stand and try for a run. He had to escape. No way would he let this s**t do to him what he wanted. He half ran half hopped away until a sudden jerk on the rope sent him crashing onto his back. The sound of clapping filled the air.

“There he is. There’s that all-star spirit that I wanted to see.” Derrick could see him walk up to him slowly and stand above him, hands on hips smiling down at him as though he were truly happy with his attempt.

“F**k you!” Derrick screamed as he kicked at the air, his pain forgotten.
“F**k you, you sick b*****d! What do you want from me?” he screamed

“Want, I don’t want anything from you.” he replied in monotone.

“You are a disease in this town, as are your friends. A plague. A slow moving destructive force of power only suppressed by those who show more power than yourselves. It is you who want. You want approval from those who follow you. All of your adoring fans see you as a pinnacle, a paragon of man. They scream your name, can’t you hear them?”

Brian held out his arms and held still for a moment. Looking around him he smiled again and looked about the field he stood in. Derrick, eyes now having adjusted to the darkness could see where he was, the football field behind the school. Though the stands were empty Brian looked at them as if they were packed with screaming fans.

“There waiting for you.” he said as he stooped to his knees and looked into Derrick’s eyes again. Derrick spit in his face. “F**k you! Leave me alone! I’ll kill you; I’ll f****n kill you, you piece of s**t! Again the knife punctured his skin. His left hand burned as the knife entered and twisted around in the wound. Wiping the spit from his face Brian stood. Turning he walked away without another word.

Rolling over again Derrick tried to force himself back on his feet. He had to get away. The car door slammed shut from behind him. He couldn’t help but look back for just a second. The wheels spun in the grass and it took off. The rope around his neck tightened and his vision went to the rear bumper of his car. Once again he was off his feet. Being drug behind the car, he tried to pull at the rope that was slowly choking him. His hands hurt tremendously; he tried as his body was being lifted from the ground. His back to the goalpost his limbs went limp. He couldn’t breathe and his eyesight was failing. He heard the car stop and the door open right behind him. Everything tunneled before his eyes as he felt Brian stab him in the right side of his rib cage. He tried to scream in pain.