Ch. 2: Childhood Fables

Chapter Two: Childhood Fables


As I sit here chained and alone with my head resting in my hands, I wonder what must be running through their minds. They have to be surprised. I am sure they came in here today expecting their usual short interview with an idiot instead the found a semblance of the real me. Most likely they are arguing over wether or not they continue for the day or postpone until they can formulate a battle plan. They do have to consider the fact that this might just be a one day thing. If they haven’t, well I will have to remind them.

The door opens and nervously they return to their respective seats. Dr. Sisken is carrying a tray with what appears to be a pitcher of coffee. Sitting the tray down she makes a hasty retreat to her chair.

I fill a cup watching them out the corner of my eyes. The Styrofoam cup is swallowed in my hand as I sip from it slowly. It’s strong, black, lightly sweetened, and delicious. Grateful, I nod to Dr. Sisken.

“Your welcome,” she blushes in return.

Can you feel that? The air just grew thick with anger and frustration. It would seem that the good doctors are not all in agreement on how to proceed. Dissension in the ranks. How fun?

“Mr. Ward, there has been some concern voiced about maybe rescheduling our interview for a different day.” Dr. Carl smiles nervously.

Sipping my coffee slowly, I watch them. Of course it is Dr. Clark who is trying to bring about the resolution to tonight’s gathering. You can see it in her amphibious little eyes. Dr. Lee was probably her second. It was not Drs. Sisken or Effers, they are too curious about what has happened so far. Dr. Carl doesn’t have to backbone. That leaves, the imminent Dr. Lee. They are off balance right now, so I think we should continue.

“Man, but this coffee is really good. I think I feel up to continuing for now at least. I do rather feel like talking and who knows when that will change.” A tooth-filled smile broadens across my face.

Dr. Clark rolls her eyes and I want to laugh. The seeds of discontent are planted so let us see what bountiful harvest I can reap.

Dr. Effers is tapping his pipe against his teeth and it is irritating me. The noise is digging into my ears like fingernails on a chalkboard. Kinds of like what a dog whistle must sound like to a mutt. Irritating, grating, shrieking.

“All right Mr. Ward, why d-d-don’t we s-s-s-start with your earliest memories.”

Sipping my coffee, I nod ever so slowly. “I can tell you as much as I have been told. Fair?”

Dr. Effers stares at me and I can see Dr. Carl getting nervous. “That will be quite all right.”

Watching them wait patient, nervous and impotent I drain my cup and take my time in refilling it. Always make them wait. You know, like foreplay. It’s always better after a build up. Another painstaking sip and I sit the cup aside.

“I have seen pictures of my parents when they were younger. Specifically there is one of my father looking back over his shoulder eating from a bag of chips. There is a Coke bottle pushed into his back pocket. His hair is greased into an early Elvis curl and he looks full of himself.”

“Now my mother, on the other hand, all of her pictures show her hair pushed back by a thick white hair band. She looked beyond innocent in every single picture.”

“Why is this important you ask? For as long as I can remember they always talked about themselves as hippies. All they managed to be was wannabee’s. They talked of hippie beliefs and hippie ideals. They were crazy over the hippie music. That is as far as it went. No hippie hair, no hippie clothes, hippie friends, and god forbid hippie drugs. They were hippies in theory not action.”

Slow sips. Make them wait. Damn fine coffee.

“They were lovers since high school. Even though my father quit in the ninth grade, they dated until my mothers’ graduation. They were married within two years. Parents within three. I was born just after my father’s birthday, just as the first hurricane of the season was bearing down on our little world.”

“The hospital I was born in was the exact definition of poor, even by poor standards. The emergency room had the highest mortality rate for the entire state, and their equipment was sub standard.”

“When I grew older, my mother would tell me how scared she was while giving birth to me. She used to always tell me that God had special plans for me because I was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around my throat. I was born blue and not breathing. The lights flickered constantly. Wind and rain screamed against the windows. No one would answer her as she tried to find out why I was not crying. Near hysterics they drugged her unconscious.”

Finishing my second cup of coffee I watch the doctors through half lidded eyes. Pouring another cup, I continue.

“When we were released from the hospital, my grandparents drove us home in their ‘54 Studebaker. The rain was coming down in sideways sheets and the wind kept snapping back the windshield wipers. My grandfather drove slow and patient, which was his virtue, smoking filter less Camel cigarette’s. He drove along yes dearing my grandmother as she screamed to my mother for me to be quiet. Of course, that just made it worse. In an attempt to get me to stop she would smack my mother until her ear was red and throbbing.”

Sip, sip, ah, swallow, mmm, sip. Make them wait. Dramatic pause. Ok.

“My father and uncle had gone down to Florida in an old International pick-up to grab a small tractor and bailer for their hippie farm.” I sigh deep and shack my head continuing. “The truck broke down and they had to get jobs to make the money to come home. While all that was going on my mother was struggling in a tiny apartment above an ice plant. It was always cold even with the heat on but, it was all that they could afford.”

“By the time my father first saw me I was ten weeks old.”

“You know. It’s funny. When you are little people always try to make you, seem older. Oh, little Timmy, why he’s twenty weeks old. Then when you get old they try to make you young. Well Gramps just turned eighty years young. Weird. What people will do to comfort themselves? Well where was I? Oh yeah.”

“By the time my father first saw me I was two and a half months’ old. Was he excited to see me? I would like to think so but I doubt it. I think he was just aggravated at another mouth to feed. Now my mother told me that he looked at me with a shrug, asked for hist dinner and when she was going to lose the birth weight.”

“When I grew older, I never saw my father hit my mother, but on some nights I would hear her cry in their bedroom and my father just snored away.”

“There were never many friends in my parent’s lives. There was just one other couple really. They were a little older with two daughters about ten years older than I was. They lived just down the street from us. The only importance that I remember them having in my mother’s life was giving my father another reason to yell at her for a later dinner. Like I said the apartment was always cold so she was all the time over the couple’s house and losing track of time.”

Another long slow sip of coffee and I watch. By now they should be getting the picture that I am painting with such broad strokes. They love to use abuse as an excuse. Fallacy upon fallacy. In case they have missed it, perhaps a little heavier.

“I remember that place always being cold. Even in the summer time. One hundred degrees outside, freezing inside. We could never turn the heat on unless my father was home. My mother used to say the only good thing about the apartment being so cold was that it kept out all the pests. All that is except my father.”

“When we moved to another apartment, I was four years old. Their friends had moved first since they now had four kids. The youngest two being two and three years younger than I. Anyway they needed a bigger house for all them youngins and the house they moved to happened to have an upstairs apartment that was available.”

“For the year we lived in that rathole my mother worked with my father and uncle on the farm. You know, because my father was to cheep to actually pay someone to do it. On the days she worked I would stay with the neighbor and the four daughters. There was really no one around that was my age.”

My mouth opens to continue and my eyes fill with tears. Quickly, I drop my face so they will not see the smile fighting at the corner of my mouth. My chained hands cover my face and my shoulders hitch four times. Not too soft, not too hard, just right. I hold my audience in rapt attention before I wipe my eyes and look back at them.

“Look around at the people sitting beside you. Everyone harbors secrets. Especially those you presume to know so well. Even at your little table there are secrets. Every person in this room and in the world only show you one face and paint themselves another. What I am about to share with you colors the soul of the person you see before you. It is something that is not known by any other living person.”

That should pull them in good. I can almost feel them struggling not to lean closer onto their table.

“Take your time, Mr. Ward.” Dr. Carl offers softly.

I must admit that I am a bit surprised by who speaks up first. I really did expect for it to be Dr. Sisken. Hiding my surprise at his voice, I nod slowly.

“One afternoon I was left under the supervision of the two oldest daughters. The mother had some errands to run. I had come inside from playing because I was thirst. The two youngest girls were asleep in their cribs. The door to the older girl’s bedroom was shut. Their room was just off the kitchen and as I drank my water I began to hear strange noises coming from their room.”

“Curious I crept up to the door and tried to listen in. I gently put my ear against the door. I could hear faint laughter and talking. Every now and then I heard a soft moan. I started to leave and the door slipped open. The room was suddenly silent. Tears filled my eyes and I froze. My mind was screaming to run, but my body refused to listen. “

”The door opened and I flinched. The oldest girl, Lois, was standing there naked except for a pair of red socks. I remember wondering why she was wearing socks. Grabbing me by my hair she yanked me into the room. Tripping over my feet I fell head first into the headboard. While I lay their crying with Lois standing above me the two sisters argued about things I had no understanding of.”

“Shortly thereafter Lois focused her attention back on me. She smacked at my head and kicked at my legs almost in a tantrum. At some point she pulled me to my feet and threw me onto the bed just about into her sister, Maggie’s lap. Maggie was also naked I noticed. There was a look in Maggie’s eyes that I have only seen on rare occasions. It was a mixture of shame and excitement. Fear washed over me and I tried to push away. “

”They threatened me by saying that if I did not do what they said they would tell my father that I was spying on them changing. They said I would be called a pervert, my thing would be cut off, and worse of all I would not get the little puppy I was asking for. Sniffing and wiping my eyes, I nodded in agreement.”

The coffee still tasted wonderful. Swallowing the cup down I watched them at their little table. The coldness coming from the table was starting to warm as they were softened by the pan of my story. They are starting to fall for the fallacy. I do wonder though if they will see the truth within the lie? Again my eyes moisten and it seems so does Dr. Sisken’s.

“Lois made me do things to Maggie. It was like she was using me as an instruction tool to show Maggie pleasure. They made me do things to them both. With my mouth, my fingers, even my hands. At first Maggie would try to stop things saying it was wrong. Gradually she warmed up and started to enjoy herself without restraint.”

This went on for nearly a year until we moved away. At first it was always the three of us and every now and then it was just me and Lois. Maggie and I would never be together unless Lois was there. Eventually Maggie found ways to get me alone and have me abuse her the way she liked. Afterward she would always cry. I would feel sorry for her and do the best my four-year-old mind could do to comfort her. I would rub her hair and tell her everything would be all right.”

“Lois on the other hand was an evil hateful little bitch. Whatever sympathy I had toward Maggie was doubled in anger toward her sister. Maggie in her own way was just as much a victim as I was. For Lois I had nothing but pure unbridled hatred. There was a burning pit in my stomach every time I saw her or heard her voice.”

“Some nights she would watch me at home while my parents were working late. While I hid in my room she would have her boyfriends over and they would screw on the couch. After they were done, her current stud would leave she would come into my room and abuse me without cleaning herself of whatever mess her company had left behind.”

“I hated every breath she took! I wished the most fiendish and hateful things on her! I wished them and I wished I could be there when they were visited upon her soul!”

My hands are aching and moist. The chain is twisted around my hands again. This time they have broken the skin and blood is beginning to flow. Undoing the chains from my hands, I can feel places that have started to grow sticky.

Now I have to wonder how long did I lose control this time? For how long did they catch a glimpse of the real me? I really need to be more careful around them.

Look at them sitting at their little table looking all smug with fake compassion on their faces. They think that they are better than me. They assume that because I am chained that they are safe. If I wanted to, I could get to them right now.

What’s that I see in their eyes? Is that remorse? Pity? Who are they to pity me!?

My eyes drop to my hands and I rub the blood between my finger tips. It is better that I not look at them right now. The control I have over my anger is tenuous at best. A few moments of silence is all I need to compose myself.

Without looking up I can tell that it was Dr. Carl who cleared his throat. A few moments was all I needed. Is that too much to fucking ask!?

My heart begins to pound in my chest. The artery inside of my thigh starts to pulse. The throbbing moves to my wrists, my neck, my temples, and back to my chest. Again he clears his throat and every pressure point in my body is vibrating in a symphony of rage.

“Mr. Ward, do you need some time? Perhaps we could leave?”

All I can take from that is the saccharine sweet sound of feigned compassion. Like everyone else he does not care. They do not care. To him I am just a way to get notoriety by getting his name published. When he looks at me all, he sees is a paper he has yet to write. To him I am just his own personal Jesus that he wants to crucify so it washes away the sins of his life in medicine. To him I am the monster to his Dr. Frankenstein and he hopes to control me and learn my secret to further his own ends.

“Mr. Ward.”

Again even above the cacophony of anger in my ears I can make up the false concern.

My eyes meet his and the world is tinged in red. My hands scream in agony wound amidst the chains again. The caged beast inside of me is struggling to be free. Slowly I stand, blood dripping from my chained hands.

Their faces fill with real fear as if they see me for the first time. At nearly seven feet I stand before them a behemoth and they realize that they have no idea what I am capable of.

My hands rise before my face and the blood seems too bright. I begin to smile. A cold scream tears its way out of my throat and I rush the table trying to get my grip on Dr. Carl’s shirt. The chain connecting me to the floor strains to pull me around away from them.

Looking back over my shoulder at them, my throat burns. Dr. Carl is looking up at me from the floor trying to slide away from me and meeting the wall still kicking. Everyone else has moved to the door screaming for help. Everyone except Dr. Sisken who stands at the wall looking at me with real tears of sorrow in her eyes.

The door comes open and the doctors flee the room for their lives. Dr. Sisken is crying as she walks out.

The guards enter with electric prods before them screaming for me to calm down. Shocks hit my body with the force of punches and I begin to smile. I hear bones break and a voice scream.

It is not mine.

The last thing I remember is the sound of laughter in my ears. As I lose consciousness, I realize the laughter is mine.

Ch. 3: And The Past Shall Haunt You  (18+) A "new" chapter three after requests to show Eddye in another environment. #989482 by Solitary Man