Ghoul (24 page)

That he didn't need to be afraid of talking about it.

But they'd lied.

Lying there in the dark, he was no longer filled with sadness. He was consumed with rage.

After the very last comic book, an old Classics Illustrated adaptation of Ivanhoe, was destroyed, Timmy's father had sent him to his room. As he'd slunk through the living room, Timmy looked at his mother for support, for a condemnation of what her husband had just done, for some inkling that she disagreed or felt sorry for her son. But instead, his mother had merely dabbed her eyes with a tissue and turned her head away.

He interlaced his fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Go ahead and cry, he thought. Both of you. Just wait until I prove you wrong. I'll show you. I'll prove I wasn't lying. Then you'll really have something to feel bad about. He'd show them all. He might be grounded now, but when that was over, he 'd get the proof he needed.

If it wasn't too late by then. ...

He thought about it some more. It probably would be too late by then. He couldn't wait. He'd have to sneak out at night, after his parents were asleep, and get the proof he needed. Maybe he could get a picture of the ghoul. That should be enough to shut everyone up. But not tonight. It was too late, now. He 'd have to wait one more day. And besides, he couldn 't do it alone. He'd at least need Doug with him, and preferably Barry as well, especially since his father was involved.

His thoughts focused on Barry. Timmy closed his eyes. He was wondering how his friend was doing, and how he was coping with everything, when there was a light tap at his window. Timmy's legs jerked in surprise, and his eyes popped open. The tap came again, still light, but more urgent.

He slipped out of bed, went to the window, and opened the shades.

Something that looked like Barry stared back at him, but it couldn't actually be Barry, unless he'd just gone ten rounds with the X-Men's Juggernaut. His friend's face resembled a package of hamburger--raw and pink and bloody. Despite this, Barry smiled.

Timmy put a finger to his lips, advising his friend to be quiet. Then he opened the window and the screen.

“What happened,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” Barry's voice sounded funny. Slurred. “I've had better days.”

“Your dad did this.” It wasn't a question.

Barry nodded. It looked like he was about to start crying.

“Jesus Christ, man.” Timmy ran a hand through his hair. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“No way.” Barry shook his head. “No doctors. No adults. I'm out of here, dude.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm leaving. Running away.”

“You're hurt. You can't just run away.”

“Well, I am. I can't take any more of this shit.”

And then Barry did start crying, and somehow, that scared Timmy worse than his appearance did. His split lip quivered and tears spilled from his swollen eyes.

Timmy sighed. “Hang on. I'll be right out. Just stay quiet. If my parents wake up, we're both screwed.”

Sobbing, Barry nodded again, and then slipped off his book bag and crouched down by the side of the house.

As quickly and silently as possible, Timmy changed out of his pajamas and into some clothes. He checked on his parents, making sure that they were both asleep and their door was shut. Satisfied that they were, he grabbed a flashlight and then climbed out the window. He left the screen and the window open a crack so that he could sneak back in.

He stared at Barry. Barry stared at him.

Then they hugged. Spontaneously. Uncharacteristically.

But the gesture was real all the same. Timmy patted his friend's back, and Barry winced, and then pulled away.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Timmy apologized. “He messed up your back, too?”

“He messed up my whole body. Even my bruises have bruises.”

“You really should see a doctor, man.”

“No. That would just be one more delay, one more excuse. And then I'd be stuck here again tomorrow night. If I don't leave now, I might not ever.”

“But your face ...”

“I'll be okay. It's not as bad as it looks.”

Timmy disagreed with his friend's diagnosis, but didn't argue.

"What set him off? Was it what happened earlier, at the shed? If so, I'm really sorry.

I shouldn't have gotten smart with him."

“No, it wasn't that. Who knows? It started because I didn't want to finish my dinner, but if it hadn't been that it would have just been something else.”

Despite his friend's obvious suffering, Timmy felt an immense surge of relief. Finally, after all these years, they were actually talking about the abuse. It was out in the open. No more excuses. No more pretending that it wasn't going on. Now, maybe they could finally get Barry some help.

“Can I ask you something?”

Barry nodded. “Sure. What's up?”

“How long? How long has this been going on?”

Barry looked at the ground. “As long as I can remember.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't you ever tell somebody?”

“Who would I tell?”

Timmy shrugged. "Well, on those after school specials, kids tell their teachers.

You could have told Mrs. Trimmer."

“Mrs. Trimmer hates us. No way I was telling her.”

“You could have told me and Doug. We kinda knew about it anyway.”

“You guys couldn't have done anything. Not really. It just didn't seem fair to get you involved. And besides, Doug's got his own problems.”

They sat in silence, huddled together against the side of the house. Elizabeth's wind chimes rang softly. The notes seemed melancholy. A dog barked, far away into the night.

After a few minutes, Barry said, "You know what the first thing I remember is? I mean my very first memory? I was like two or three years old. I was sitting on the kitchen floor, underneath the table, playing with one of those plastic telephones.

Remember the ones with wheels on the bottom, and the smiley face and eyes that moved when you pulled it on the string?"

Timmy nodded, smiling at the memory. He'd owned one, too.

"Well, I'm sitting there playing with that thing, calling Daddy on the telephone and pretending to talk to him. And then my old man comes home. He'd been working all day. Back then, I was too little to understand that he just worked across the street. All I knew was that I missed him. So he comes in and sits down at the kitchen table, and he's talking to my mom. I think they were arguing. I'm not sure, but they probably were. And meanwhile, I'm trying to get his attention. Trying to get him to pay attention to me, because I'd missed him all day. I'm still under the table, tugging on his leg, and he's just ignoring me. So I bit him."

“You bit him?”

"Yeah. Like I said, I was just little. I don't remember why I did it. Just seemed like a good way to get his attention, to let him know I was down there. It wasn't hard. I mean, I just had baby teeth, right?"

“And what did your old man do?”

“He kicked me across the room. I can still see that very clearly. He hollered something and then kicked me across the room. And that's my very first memory.”

“That's messed up.”

“Yeah, it is. And every day since then has been the same. I'm not putting up with it anymore. I can't.”

“And you're really planning on running away?”

Barry pointed at the overstuffed book bag. "Not planning. I'm doing it. Tonight.

I just wanted to tell you first, you know? I didn't want to leave without saying good-bye. But now that I 'm here ... well, goodbye sucks, doesn't it?"

“Then don't say good-bye.” Timmy's voice cracked. “Stay. We'll figure something out.”

Barry began to cry, softly. “How?”

“I don't know. But we will.” Timmy's eyes filled with tears. "We'll figure it out together. Me, you, and Doug-- the Three Musketeers. We're like Luke, Han, and Chewie, man. You can't break up a good team like that."

“Only if I get to be Han.”

Timmy smiled. “Sure. I'd rather be Luke, anyway, and Doug's obviously a good pick for Chewbacca.”

Both of them wiped their eyes and then laughed.

“Jesus Christ.” Barry groaned. “It hurts to laugh. But it feels good, too.”

Timmy appraised his friend's face. “He really cut up your cheek. What did that? A knife or something?”

Barry's expression darkened. “No. It was a ring.”

“A ring?”

“Yeah.” He paused, unsure of how to continue. "Timmy, I need to tell you something.

It might make you angry."

“Dude, I couldn't be any more pissed off at your old man than I am right now.”

“Don't be so sure.” He took a deep breath, kneaded his ribs, and then continued.

“Your grandfather had his Freemason's ring on when he was buried, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because that was what cut my cheek up tonight. My old man was wearing it.”

To Barry's chagrin, Timmy seemed only mildly surprised.

“Aren't you pissed off?” Barry asked. “He stole your grandpa's ring, man!”

“I've got something I need to tell you, too,” Timmy said. “I suspect that your dad's taken a lot more than just the ring.”

Barry was shocked. “What are you talking about? You mean you knew he was robbing dead people? You didn't say anything?”

Timmy stood up, peered through his window, and made sure his parents were still asleep.

He didn't hear them moving around, and there were no lights on. Assured they were safe, he knelt back down and told Barry everything he suspected and everything that had transpired since their fight with Barry's father behind the utility shed. He started with the legend that Reverend Moore had related to Katie and him, and then worked his way chronologically through the past month's events, lying out the supporting evidence and bolstering it with his research.

Finally, Timmy voiced his suspicions regarding Mr. Smeltzer 's compliance and added Barry's admission that his father had stolen Timmy's grandfather's ring as further proof. He left out his suspicions that it had also been Barry's own father who hid Pat kemp's body, because he wasn't sure how Barry would react to that. Grave robbing was one thing. Accessory to murder was another.

When he was finished, Timmy braced himself, expecting Barry to scoff just like his parents had. But he'd forgotten something. Barry was his friend-- and Barry believed him without question.

“I knew about the old church,” he said. “My old man told me about it once. If you look carefully, you can still see some of the foundation stones. The grass has pretty much grown over them, though. There are pictures of it down at the library. Never heard about the ghoul, though.”

"Well, for whatever reason, they imprisoned it, rather than just killing the thing.

I don't know why. But now it's loose again."

“Okay,” Barry said. “What are you going to do about it? Have you told your parents about the ghoul?”

“Yeah.” Timmy's voice grew sullen. "They didn't believe me. Dad grounded me and ...

ripped up my comic collection."

Barry gasped. “Holy shit! All of them?”

Timmy nodded. “Every last one.”

“Oh, man. That's ... I don't know what to say. My old man, I could see him doing that. But your dad? Never in a million years.”

“Well, believe it. The proofs sitting in the basement right now.”

“I'm sorry about that, man. What are you going to do?”

Timmy shrugged. “Nothing I can do. And it's not like I can run away with you. Not now. Not after ...”

“Katie?”

“Yeah. You can understand that, right?”

Barry spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. "I guess. I mean, she's cute and all. I don't know. Just seems like me, you, and Doug have been hanging out longer. I 'd think we would come first."

Timmy's temper flared. “I'm putting everybody first. If I don't do something about this ghoul, then everyone's in danger. Katie. Doug--”

“Not me,” Barry interrupted. “I'm out of here, man. Tonight.”

“What about Doug?”

“I'm stopping at his house next. It's on my way. Who knows? He might want to go with me, crazy as his mom is.”

Timmy's spirits sank even lower. He hadn't considered the possibility that both of his friends might want to leave.

“Doug won't go. He'd chicken out.”

“Probably,” Barry agreed, “but I at least want to tell him bye.”

“Then what?”

"Figured I'd walk to Porters or Jefferson and hop a freight train. They're both close enough that I could make it before dawn. Then I'll just hide out in the woods along the tracks until a train comes by. I don 't want to grab one here in town because all of the ones that come into the paper mill are either coal trains or log carriers, and it would be too hard to hide on one of those. Dangerous to hop, too."

“So you'll hop a train. And go where?”

"Wherever it takes me. Hanover is too close, but maybe Westminster or Baltimore or down into West Virginia or Ohio. Wherever. As long as it's away from here, I really don't care."

“Barry, you just had the shit beat out of you, man. You can barely talk. You're moving like you're eighty years old. There's no way you can hop a train tonight.”

“Well, then what do you suggest I do, Timmy? Hitchhike? Get picked up by some psycho, and dumped alongside Interstate Eighty-three? No thanks. Or maybe busted by the cops and then brought back home to my old man?”

"Stick around for another day. Rest up a little bit. Recuperate. Doug and I will hide you. When your mom reports you missing, we'll say we don't know anything about it. At least get better before you leave."

"Where are you gonna hide me? The Dugout? No way I'm staying there. Not if there really is a ghoul on the loose. And I can't stay here. Your parents would want to call the cops and stuff."

“And then your dad would go to jail.”

"Probably not. This isn't TV. And even if the cops did put him in jail, what if they took me away from Mom and stuck me in a foster home? That would be just as bad."

“How about you hide at Doug's house?”

Barry snorted in derision. “Yeah, right. With his mom? Get real. Would you spend the night there?”

“No.”

“I'm sorry, Timmy. I really am. But this is the way it's got to be. I can't stay around here another night. If I do, I'll never escape. I don't want that.”