This episode is dedicated to Warriorwitch, who reminded me that there was a place that all of this started out from, and that I needed to get back there to continue writing this story. She helped me understand that writing 'well' wasn't where this came from, orginally, and writing 'well' wasn't as good as writing from the gut. Thank you, Warriorwitch. I love you.
And now for the portrait of The kid, done by Vikki North of the The Red Chair Gallery, to open this .. The Kid ... Part 7.
There were times his dreams seemed more like movies - like he stood outside his dream and just watched. Not a participant. Not involved. An observer. With no control - no way to move or alter the flow or stop the dream when it got too hard. And man, it got hard. Like now. He was back in the orphanage ....
"Mr. Burress, I'm tellin' ya this kid is crazy!! We caught him skinnin' a cat back behind C Building - and this ain't the first time. No sir, it ain't! We don't want him in our dorm, Sir. I..I..We're all scared, Sir. That cat was still alive ...."
"You boys go to your dorm. I'll take care of this."
He watched the boys leave the room, leaving him alone with Mr. Burress.
"You been a bad boy again, haven't you. You know what happens when you're a bad boy, don't you? Don't you? Answer me!!"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"Then come around the desk ... come over here ... "
He watched himself move around the desk toward Mr. Burress, watched as Burress unzipped his trousers, reached out and grabbed his head with both hands ...
And the scene changed .... Juvenile Hall, this time ....
"Get out of my room."
"We just come ta visit ya, Kid. We're da welcomin' committee. We wanna make sure you feel welcome here .... Grab 'im!! .. That's it boys ... hold 'im down .... spread his legs ...."
And the scene changed again .... the hooker ....
"Oh, it's you." She walked over to the bed and let her robe fall to the floor. She raised her hands up over her head and turned around, slowly, to show him her hairlessness. He waited until she turned around and knelt on the bed, knees apart, leaned forward with her elbows close together and her head on her hands, so she couldn't see him. He took off all his clothes and approached her .. from behind ...
The scene changed yet again .... an alley this time ....
The broad was there, givin' some guy a blow job. He waited. The guy gave her a bill and zipped up and walked toward the streetlights down the alley. He walked up to the girl. "Jaime says you been makin' money off the books. I have a message for you, from Jaime." Before she could think or react or say a thing his hand moved like lightning and opened a cut in her cheek from her ear to the corner of her mouth. "Don't do that no more. Jaime says next time, you're dead."
And the scene changed again .... another alley ....
He stood over Mr. Burress, his knife in his hand and dripping with Burress' blood. Burress looked up at him, the fear gone, the pain gone, his body rapidly bleeding out from the gaping wound where his genitals used to be. The Kid pressed the knuckles of the hand that held the knife against Burress' chin, forcing his mouth open. In his other hand he held the balls and the penis he used to know so well, those years ago at the orphange. He stuffed the penis in Burress' mouth. He watched himself walk away as Burress died.
Her hand on his forehead woke him up.
"What're ya doin'?"
"You were very restless, and you're sweating. I was just making sure you're alright. Besides, you've been mumbling some strange stuff in your sleep. Some of the other passengers are a little .... concerned."
"Why? What did I say?"
There was that flat, hard tone in his voice again.
"Nothing, really. Not much made any sense at all. But some rather rude words, from what the passengers are saying. Maybe you'd like some coffee."
He knew it wasn't a question.
He smiled. "Yeah. Coffee. Maybe I'd better wake up, huh? Wouldn't wanna educate none of these fine folks, would I?"
She brought him coffee.
"Don't dawdle. We'll be landing soon and you don't want that coffee in your lap."
He sipped his coffee and looked out the window at the now visible desert landscape
No one had ever woke him out of that dream before. He was thinking to himself that she had made him save the good parts for later.
Good parts. Lots and lots of good parts. He knew that dream. It was always the same - a review of his deeds and misdeeds - always the same sequence - at least until something new was added, always the same result when he woke up.
His bed would be drenched with sweat. He would be cold, shivering, and every detail of that dream would be etched in his mind like acid etches steel.
And he knew that next time, next time there would be two new scenes added to the long list of fucked up things he had done. He wondered where they were going to fit into the sequence - where the fuck was his crazy head going to put that guy from Kansas City, where was it going to stick Joey.
He giggled softly to himself.
That's a good one. Stick Joey.