Damaged (16 page)

"Not much, you?"

"I just woke up, actually. I feel great now that I hear your voice!"

She did not Awwww like she normally did.

"You are perfect," Adam told her. "Did you ever ask or find out from your mom about meeting halfway somewhere?"

"Well, that's the reason I called you. I don't really know how to say this to you," she said casually, "but I don't think this is going to work out."

—
blow my
brains
out.

His mouth dropped. Adrenaline led the way. He had to survive.

"What do you mean, Erin?" he said, trying to hold back from crying. It wasn't working, however. The tears broke through his brick wall.

"I just don't think it's going to work out between us. I'm sorry."

"What are you saying?" he said, trembling worse than his dog.

"Well, I'm just not ready to—really start a relationship. Besides that, being long distance keeps us apart, and my mom—"

Adam was bawling now. "Your mom what?”

"She doesn't want us to be together. For some reason, she thinks all you want is to, you know, take advantage of me. She's overprotective. There's just too many things in the way. Sorry, Adam."

In less than a minute, Adam had to breathe from his mouth. His nasal passages were clogged with snot.

"But don't you love me?" he asked.

"I did. I thought I did. When you first told me you loved me, it really surprised me. I'm not ready for that. I'm still only thirteen."

Complete disbelief. His heart was with her, belonged to her, but had now been thrown back at him, an absolute bloody mess.

"We can make this work, I swear. I'd do anything for you! I love you with all my heart! Remember the astrology signs? We're meant to be."

"That's another thing. You talk to me like you want to marry me or something, and I—I’m still way too young for that. You'll find someone else, Adam. You'll forget about me, I'm sure."

Erin did not sound upset at all. She was obviously not crying, not even sad. To Adam, she seemed far too timid for ripping him to pieces.

He remembered then that she'd first asked
him
out online. He'd declined, she'd cried, he'd sympathized and made her a princess. Now the roles were reversed, and Erin was not the least bit empathic.

"What can I do, Baby? I need you. I love you soooo much! I'll move to you, if I have to. I'll show your mom how I really feel. I—"

"Adam, I'm sorry, but I got to go. I hope we can still be friends and chat online. Good-bye."

The hum of an open line...

The phone slipped out of Adam's hand and hit the floor. Adam covered his face and let loose some major waterworks.

He fell back into the chair, screaming as loudly as he could, dying internally and unable to believe what had just happened. His heart felt blacker than night, empty, soulless, cold. Unfixable, bleeding,
damaged
to the optimal degree. There was no going back to any former life, any former sanity. This was the end of it all, the end of him. His cries were so loud, he could not hear the television. Muffy was standing by his feet, licking his pant leg to try and ease his anguish.

"
Errrrrin!
" he screamed, throat as hot as coals. "
Jesus Christ, now I have nothing!"

***

A breaking news story appeared on the tube, but Adam was too trapped inside his own story of disintegration to notice. Muffy, however, accidentally stepped on the volume button of the remote control, turning it up all the way. Things got drastically worse when Adam consequently heard the news reporter talking:

"It's a mess. Flight seventy-seven crashed upon take-off at Pittsburgh Airport. It was headed for Houston. By the looks, there are no survivors. The runway is ablaze."

That was all Adam needed to hear. It sent him right over the edge. This was indeed the
worst
day of his life. His mother had just died in a plane crash and his girlfriend had just broken his heart—all in two minutes apart.

He had trembled before, but never like this—this was physical trauma. He felt like his soul was tearing through his flesh, trying to flee to anywhere but here. He could never see his mother or Erin again. Game over, end of story.

He jumped to his feet, almost falling, and zoomed into the kitchen, high on adrenaline. Maybe it was some other emotion. He yanked the butcher knife from the rack. His ass hit the tile floor. His eyes were sharper than the blade he was holding to his wrist.

Do it.

Do it, pussy!

“I love you, Adam”
—he remembered Erin saying.

Get it done and over with already!

Adam remembered a time quite recently when he said to his mother:
"I ain't going to fucking school, you dumb bitch. I hate you!"
He would never get to apologize to her or tell her how he really
felt about her.

The metal teeth dug into his wrist, right by a pulsing blue vein. One slice, one kill.

But the pain?

Fucking up and being sent to some mental institution?

"Fu-huck!" he muttered, but it was hardly decipherable. He wanted to stop the gnawing pain
so
badly. His hand vibrated so uncontrollably that it, alone, made the blade penetrate the flesh.

No more girlfriend, no more happiness.

No more mother, the time when I need her the most.

He did not have the guts to run the blade across; he did not have the willpower to stand.

Adam just sat there, bawling and foaming at the mouth. His mind was spinning, altering, falling apart like a house of cards. Sanity faltered and anger boiled. A new, more intense form of anger on a whole new level replaced everything humble and weak within him. This rage had a mind of its own. Adam was officially no more.

He could not wait for school tomorrow.

***

To say that Adam wasn't the same on the school bus that Friday was an understatement. All the kids sensed it—teenagers especially could sense the weaknesses in their fellow peers. He'd never been weaker.

"Hey, moron!" some kid said. It was Bill Michaelson, the kicker for the Blake High football team. He was sitting two seats ahead of Adam, in the next row.

"What's up? Duuurr!" the jock said, moving around like a retard, trying to humor his friends. "Look at me, I'm a Satan worshiper. Durrr!"

Adam calmly took his notebook out of his book bag and wrote down Bill's name. Before
his
name was a list of twenty more, all kids from Blake High.

"Writing something about how your mom sucks cock?"

Adam erased the name of the fifth kid down on the list and put down Bill's.

Bill and his friends laughed away.

Adam sat away from his friends at lunch today and ate what he usually ate in a very mechanical way. His eyes were not the same. His walk was not the same. He stormed out of the lunch room three minutes before the bell rang.

At 12:37, while everybody was still eating in the cafeteria, Adam did something unusual. He sneaked into the science lab and quietly stole a small jar of Chloroform off the top shelf behind the sink. Nobody saw him. Nobody even noticed it missing after school was over. The teacher, Mr. Porris, didn’t use it often anyway, except for the few times a year when he used it to show his students its qualities as a solvent.

***

He got home at 2:53 and lived his life very much the same: by watching Full House and writing. He did not work on Darkworld but began a new story entitled: My Pain. His darkest work yet. The words of this one flowed like greased water. Adam identified with this character more than any other. But he did not want to write for the rest of his life about fictional characters battling monsters; he wanted to live the real thing by battling his own living monsters.

Last night was the bottle-breaker.

His connection to the underground sewer system was the prime way to get to their destinations without being seen. It was as if it was meant to be.

Where am I?

Killing his enemies from school was too easy; he wanted them to die a more living death, to suffer like him.

Who have I become?

"Tomorrow night, come hell or highwater,” he said to his computer screen.

Adam signed online to get information about his first victim, Erica, who lived only three blocks away.

I've passed the point of no return.

***

The funeral for Alice McNicols was the next day, on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon at Blake Hill Cemetery. Adam was there, although he didn't want to be. He didn't see any point in funerals.

Just a reminder of somebody who's gone forever and ever and ever.

My own mom.

He was surprised by the turnout. Many people came that he didn't know or didn't know his mom knew. Some were Alice's old friends he had not seen in ages. Every two minutes a crying middle-aged woman or man came up to him to ask how he was holding up.

“
Fine,” he said every time.

Stupid question. How do they think I am?

He really didn't want to be bothered, not even by his father, who drove him there.

David had bought a new walking cane—black with a horses head for the grip. His limp was worse than before. He could barely walk ten steps without stumbling. The man had damaged his left leg several years ago in a car accident out on Barron's Pike. Alcohol had played a factor for both drivers.

A hundred or more folding chairs were arranged in rows, and there was hardly an empty seat in the yard. Everybody was wearing black. Adam wore his black Dockers and a dark gray button-up shirt. He, his father, and the rest of his sorry family, sat in the front row. Adam kept looking at the large oak casket, wondering if her actual body parts were lying within. A picture of his beautiful mother at the age of 20 sat on the lid. She was smiling, her eyes gleaming, without a worry in the world.

"You sure you don't want to live with me, buddy?" his father asked him.

Adam was sick of him asking that. He wanted to stay by himself for a while. "Later. I think I just need some time alone."

"I could stay there at mom's home with you. You don't even have to pay attention while I was there. You need somebody." David put his hand on his son's shoulder.

Adam brushed it off.

"I don't need anybody,
David
. I said I want to be by myself."

"I know we've had some rough times in the past. I stopped drinking last year. Your mother knows that. I'm not the same person. You know I'd never hurt you. Don't you?"

Adam did not answer. David looked at his child with tears in his eyes.

First I lost my wife, now I lose my son.

"Adam, please, all I want for you is—"

Adam interrupted: "It's not what you want anymore. It's what
I
want. Now just give me some space. Please?"

David stood up and hobbled away on his cane. He almost fell four times.

Adam looked around the graveyard... at the miniature stone plaques with crosses on them... at the hundreds of marble tombstones with unfamiliar names written on them... at the concrete-angels with their hands folded together, praying to the absent God from above. His stomach churned. He wanted to live
forever; never
buried six feet below ground and rot and be eaten away by dirty maggots. Even if he could make a legacy, he would still, in some way, pass this place by, transcend it.

God will never destroy me. I will punish him, instead.

Many of the people got quiet, broke apart, sat down. The priest, dressed for business and bible in hand, approached the casket. Adam's gaze went from looking at the brightly-colored flowers to looking at the old man with the white collar.

"Before I start reading some passages from the bible, I want to tell you about Angela, the person I knew," the man of faith began. "She hasn't been to church in a while, and we've missed her dearly. All of us. She was a person who would do anything for anybody, no matter what. When there was a problem in her life, instead of her fixing it, she would help somebody else first. These are the things I most remember. Debra, I know she visited you while you were in the hospital. She leaves behind a son, Adam McNicols, for whom I can only express my deepest sympathies. I am sorry for your loss."

Adam said and did nothing.

The priest licked his lips and opened the Big Black Book. "Lord, in Your hands we commend the spirit of Angela Beth McNicols. We ask that You take care of her, bless her, and welcome her into Your precious kingdom. May You, Lord, guide her and grant her peace. In these things we ask You through Your son, Christ Jesus, our Savior.

The priest shut his book and walked away. The casket was lowered slowly into the rectangular tunnel. Adam watched the remnants of his 44-year-old mother leaving the surface of the living world. He wanted to cry but wouldn't. He looked crazed while everyone around him looked desperate and broken. The sun blazed down through the cloudless sky.
This is not the end,
Adam thought.