Hair, Greg - Werewolf 01 (7 page)

“Lonely, I’m mister lonely, I have nobody for my own.” His hot breath stunk.

“Please, my name is Sarah. I have a three-month-old son. His name is Tyler,” she said, her throat hurting from so much crying.

Jerry and Bobby sang in unison.

“I could be your girlfriend. We could go on a date, and see how it goes.”

The dancing stopped as the music continued.

“You’d be my girlfriend?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, we could give it a try, and see how it worked out.”

“See
how
it worked out. Why wouldn’t it work out? You’re already planning your breakup with me?”

The angel in blue suddenly spun around and back into Jerry’s waiting arms. And a five inch blade.

Sarah felt her knees give under her, but was unable to fall. Jerry held her up, continuing their slow dance. Another stab in the left side. The blade slid in and out with ease.

“Please, my son,” she whimpered, the tears and blood streaming out simultaneously. “I’m his mommy.”

She felt the knife enter her back. She pictured Tyler, his birth, and all the special times in his life she’d miss as Bobby crooned.

They continued dancing in circles, Jerry propping Sarah up throughout as the blood and the life flowed out. Her blue dress was now streaked with red. She slowly laid her head on Jerry’s shoulder as he serenaded her, the words he sang seeming to fit the moment just right—“I’ve been forgotten, yeah forgotten, oh how I wonder, how is it I failed…I wish that I could go back home.”

Sarah barely cringed when her throat took the final cut. There was no sound, just as steak makes no sound when cut. One could only hear her labored breathing.

“Tyler,” she said, gurgling. “Mommy loves you.”

Sarah suddenly went limp, dying in Jerry’s arms. He continued dancing with her lifeless body.

A moment later, Jerry let her body fall into the puddle on the floor, smiling. Then, bending down, he laid beside her in the pool of blood. He wrapped his arm around her and caressed her skin. He leaned in and kissed her lips. Still warm and moist. Then, kneeling over her, he took the knife, and, quickly and crudely, removed her heart.

“Looks like you gave me your heart after all.”

Jerry stood, gathering his equipment and Sarah’s formerly beating heart, walked out of the warehouse to his car, and drove away down the streets of Seattle.

8

Three Months Ago

Jamie walked out of the hospital and to the bus stop. He knew that arrangements would have to be made soon, but there were other things on his mind. He thought about the life that just ended and the circumstances that led to that end, about the previous night and about all the things that he’d been enduring for so long, about the abuse. He thought about—yesterday.

By the time Jamie had gotten home from school, his father had already been sitting in their trailer’s floral-print kitchen drinking for about an hour. Hank drank a lot. He was the kind of alcoholic who actually functioned better when he was drinking. He had recently been laid off from the local factory, which only served to increase his love affair with the bottle. Hank filed for unemployment but hadn’t, as of yet, heard any news. The bills piled up, and his severance check wouldn’t last long, especially with his habit.

Jamie’s mom, Angel, sat in the wood-paneled living room with her head in her hands, crying softly. Everyone in the neighborhood called her Angel because of her looks and singing voice. They always remarked about how beautiful she was, even with some of the premature streaks of grey in her dark hair. Sometimes the family went to church, and when they did, she was always invited to join the choir. She refused every time, afraid that someone would somehow discover her secret.

Jamie sat on the worn, brown couch beside her, the springs underneath the cushions beginning to protrude, and lifted her head. The purple ring that had formed around Angel’s left eye couldn’t be disguised by any amount of makeup. This wasn’t the first of its kind. Usually, the bruises were on places hidden by clothes; occasionally, there were broken bones. This was the secret she was keeping from friends at church. Jamie had a secret of his own, however; Angel was not the only one sustaining injuries. Jamie often bore the brunt of Hank’s misfortunes, and he did his best to hide it from her.

“Why don’t we just leave? Why do you let him do this to you?” Jamie asked.

“Where would we go?” asked Angel. “There’s no one to take us in, and we can’t just leave. You’re sixteen; you’re still in school. I’m sure things will get better soon. He’ll get word on unemployment any day now, and then he can afford to find another job. He’s just having a tough break. We all are. Everyone is.”

“Not everyone responds the way he does, though. Not every unemployed husband is beating his wife. Besides, the hits don’t occur only when he’s taking hits. This shit’s been going on for years,” he said.

“Honey, it’s only been once or twice, and he apologized right after.”

Once or twice a month
, he thought. He had always kept quiet, but not for Hank’s sake. He could care less about what happened to him; he remained silent for his mom. She would believe her son, there was no doubt about that, but she was right, where would they go? It would only make things more difficult for her.

“Okay,” Jamie said. “But sooner or later, somebody’s gonna give him a taste of it. And I hope I’m there to see it.”

Jamie walked to his bedroom, glancing at Hank out of the corner of his eye. He noticed Hank looking back at him, as if he were waiting to see if Jamie were going to make a move. Hank looked like he wanted Jamie to do something. The teen kept walking to his room, closing his door behind him.

Jamie wasn’t a popular kid in school. The female student’s often talked about how attractive he was, but that’s as far as they took it. He had what they considered a beautiful face, framed by alt-rock style blond hair. They labored to think of anyone else as good-looking as Jamie. But they also considered him too weird. He was known as a loner. He had a few acquaintances, but none he really hung out with. His mom would often tell him to get out of the house, to go somewhere, be social. He simply replied that his friends were busy and he was fine staying home, locked in his room listening to music, though still able to hear what was happening on the other side of his door.

The truth was that he stayed home as her protector. He felt responsible for her well-being. Hank couldn’t be trusted, and there was no reason to believe that, if the house caught fire, Hank would get anyone out other than himself. Jamie even suspected that his father had been cheating on his mother.
Who in their right mind would
be as happy as he is to go to work? In a factory? Who in their
right mind would want to have an affair with him?
Still, the boy was sure there was some ulterior motive to Hank’s pleasantries when he had been called in on his days off.

Jamie hated his father. He often relished the idea of killing the man, but always came to the conclusion that he didn’t have it in him. They didn’t own a gun, and he wasn’t strong enough to take him out himself; his father was three times his size. Even if he were able, he didn’t really think he could go through with it.
I’m not a
killer
. So he prayed for an unfortunate accident, or that maybe Hank would cross the wrong person. Either way, he always felt powerless to do anything about it. So he retreated to his bedroom, just like any other day, listening to his music, just like any other day. But today wasn’t going to be like any other day.

Suddenly, Jamie heard plates and glasses breaking in the kitchen, and rushed to the scene to check on his mom. There he found Angel lying on the kitchen floor, covered in glass. Hank stood over her, a broken picture frame lying on the counter, evidence that the man had slammed his wife’s head into it.

“Come on, get up bitch, you good for nothing woman!”

As she started to stand, Jamie ran over to help her up.

“Don’t touch her!” yelled Hank, pushing the boy to the side.

“Leave him alone, Hank,” cried Angel. “You take it out on me, not him.”

“Yeah, stand up, and I’ll take it out on you,” he said.

Jamie tried again to reach in and help his mom up, only to be knocked farther back with more force than the first time.

“Touch her again and you’re next, boy.”

Angel jumped up between her husband and son.

“No, he’s not! He’s done nothing to you,” she said.

“Mom, please,” Jamie pleaded. “Let’s go, let’s get outta here.”

“Go? Where the hell you gonna go?” asked Hank. “Where you gonna go that I won’t find you?”

Hank shoved his wife into the kitchen counter, grabbing her by the hair, and dragged her across the floor. Jamie watched in horror, afraid for her life, afraid for his life, and afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stop his dad. Finally, he spoke without thinking.

“Hey, why don’t you be a real man and stop beating on a woman?” he said.

Hank dropped Angel to the floor. He turned, smiling, looking at Jamie, his eyes like two black holes, like there was nothing there, devoid of all life and light. Hank laughed as he walked across the kitchen to the trembling boy.

“This has been a long time comin’, hasn’t it? I’ve been waiting for you to man up. You been slinking ‘round here like some kind of scared animal,” Hank said. “Now I’m gonna teach you how to take a beating.”

Angel picked herself up and ran over, grabbing Hank from behind, trying to pull him away from her son. With little effort, Hank threw her back onto the floor, giving her a swift kick to the stomach. Jamie lunged at his father, striking him on the left side of his face. Hank swung his large left arm, propelling Jamie into the wall. Hank, picking Jamie up by the hair with one arm, began hitting him with the other. He was relentless. Angel lay doubled up on the floor as her son’s blood sprayed the floral wallpaper.

Then it happened. Jamie screamed in agonizing pain as Hank flew across the room and out the kitchen window. Angel rolled over to witness her son’s skin rip apart, his bones protrude, and new flesh form over his elongated limbs. Blond fur now covered his body. Angel tried to scream, but the terror couldn’t make its way to her voice box. She stood, trying to limp through the kitchen and out the back door.

Jamie’s thoughts were to reach out for his mother but, with his new form, he hadn’t yet learned how to move gracefully. Unable to control his new self, he slashed through both her sides. Now she could scream. The sound jolted him, and he burst through the same window Hank had exited a moment earlier. He found the man lying on the ground, his neck broken. Jamie howled with anguish and took off through a field, down a back road.

The next morning, he awoke to find himself naked in a ditch on a country road. The taste of blood permeated his mouth, and the smell of vomit was all over him. He stumbled toward the road and flagged down an approaching car with one hand, doing his best to preserve his dignity with the other. The car picked up speed and drove past. A moment later another vehicle approached, this one stopping, the blue lights coming on.

“What the hell is going on here?” asked the officer.

“I don’t know,” answered Jamie. “I’m confused.”

“Well, who knows how much you had of whatever it was you had last night. Get in. But don’t sit up front.”

At the hospital, Jamie gave his name, address, and nearest relative, but nothing more. Then he learned that his nearest relative was nearer than he thought. His mom had been brought in with deep lacerations to her sides, and multiple broken bones and bruises. The doctors were able to stop the bleeding, but her internal injuries were too severe. She was alive, though her punctured organs wouldn’t ensure that status much longer. After giving his statement to the accompanying officer, he was escorted to Angel’s room.

Jamie scanned all the grey wires and cables entering and exiting his mother. The machines keeping her alive beeped continuously. He heard himself say, “I did this.”

Angel noticed his reflection in the window as he stood at the door. She turned and, smiling, gestured him to enter. He entered the cold room slowly, never making eye contact. She reached out for his hand. He shrunk back.

“I’m not going to pretend that I understand,” Angel said. “I see what you are, but I don’t understand. But I want you to know that I still love you. There are some things that we’re not meant to understand.”

Jamie stood beside her bed, looking out the window.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t know what to say,” Jamie said, not bothering to hold back the tears.

“Maybe I should clarify. I need to talk. I know you don’t understand what happened last night. Neither do I. But there are things that I know that you don’t.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, finally looking at her.

“I know I don’t have much time left. That’s okay. I see now that you can take care of yourself. I have secrets of my own.”

The beeping of the machines kept echoing in his ears, driving him crazy.

“It’s time you knew,” she continued. “Hank wasn’t your father.”

Jamie nearly fell to the floor. It wasn’t enough that he had given his mother a slow death. Now, the man he grew up with was not his father. The man he killed last night after all the years of abuse was not his dad.