Hell She Screams

Chapter Three

The Flesh and the Fury

I left for work the next morning. Artemis had already gone. Before I walked out the door, I turned back to take in the scene. Starr was curled up beneath the comforter, a hand clutching my pillow. I should not have been feeling bad about tomorrow's get-together with Linda. Linda was so natural. She was everything my life was missing. Starr was just...

Lost. I tried to help her. I was the only one who ever did. Could that constitute as a commitment? I used her. She used me. Our relationship was parasitic in nature. We each created the need for the other.

I left for the school, attempting to push the thoughts aside. I really did not have any reason to be having second thoughts.
I walked into the classroom and sat down.

"And how are we, today?" I asked them.

They were horrible at doing that collaborative 'good' that other classes answered with. They all began talking, telling me thirty different stories at once. I sighed.

"Devon, did you fulfill your dream of laying Kacey?" I asked. Kacey did not appreciate this. She slammed her book shut and glared.

"Naw, I didn't get to see the red squirrel, but I did get trashed." He said with a shrug.

"That's always good." I mocked. "Nathan, how about your night?"

Nathan's face was buried in his arms atop his desk. I thought at first that he was sleeping, but his head rose upon mention of his name.

"Oh, uh..." He grinned at me. "I don't know, man." He shook his head slowly. His eyes were lidded, a direct contrast to his sham smile.

"He probably got high, too. Look at him." Tyrone said.

Nathan took the interruption as an opportunity to let his head fall back into his piled arms. The class laughed. I found nothing funny. He looked as though he was struggling. Something more was going on with him. I began to wonder whether any of his magnetic laughter or crescent-eyed smiles had been real.

I thought of him as I walked to the board to make up a lesson. I needed a topic, a word. I looked around the classroom. Most were in their seats, turned to the person next to them, engaged in conversation. A few of them were sitting on top of their desks. Of all of them, my eyes once again settled on Nathan. The words streamed into my mind.

"Have a seat and listen." They looked up as I began to write. "You get two days to finish this. It's going to be a reflective essay. Reflective, boys and girls, means you take it from personal experience. Write about a time you experienced... strife." I circled the word for them.

They began to copy the lesson down in their notebooks. Nathan raised his hand.

"What?"

"It's reflective? If we make something up for it, will you even know?"

Shit. That would completely defeat the purpose if Nathan, of all of them, made up some elaborate fabrication. I wanted very much to know what was plaguing him of late, and I thought the lesson would be the perfect ploy.

"No, dude, he's fucking psychic." Chris said.

"That's enough!" I shouted. They jumped at the sudden change in tone. "Nathan," I said, softer. "To get the true lesson, I would prefer it be personal. No lies."

He nodded, but the damage was already done. I watched him look around, thinking of some boring essay topic about how his dog died or his grandma went to the hospital once. I certainly could not confront him. At his age, what would I have said if a teacher asked me about my personal life?

"Help me."

"What?" My head shot up.

"Come help me with this." Nathan said. "Is this a good intro?"

I walked over and leaned over his shoulder.

This essay is about strife. Strife is when something bad happens. Something bad happens to everyone. Some people deal with it good and some people dealing with it bad.

I looked at him and he at me. Nathan was not to grade level in any of his subjects. Nor close. He studied hard and was allowed to pass on the bare minimum. The city did not care about the students' abilities. There was only so much I could do in their last few months of high school.

"It'll do for a rough draft. It needs to get more specific in your supporting paragraphs, though."

I sat back down and watched him scribble away along with the others. There was going to be a huge pile of bullshit to grade when they were all finished. At least I gave them two days. I could sit back and have a few drinks tonight without anything to grade.

I leaned back in my chair and tilted my head back to see the clock. It told me just how long of a day it was going to be.

Nathan left class before I had a chance to talk to him about his biographical piece. I let him go. He seemed to be having a rough day, and I had not really decided how much of myself I was willing to offer for the sake of a project.

The remainder of the day seemed to pass excruciatingly slow. I gave up on even teaching by the time my final period walked in. I was ready to leave by the time the final bell rang.

"Artemis! What a surprise you're here. Who would have guessed that you would be in my house when I got home? Not I! I rarely see you these days." I shut the door and tossed my keys onto the counter.

"What are you on about?" He asked, distracted by the computer monitor. He was scrolling through some search engine. I lit up a cigarette and sat down at the kitchen table.

"Why don't you just move in? You help pay rent, you buy food for the place, you never leave..."

"Only if I can have your bed, boy." He said. His eyes never left the screen. He chuckled. "Go back to work so I can jack off."

"Since when do you care if I'm home?" I took a long drag of the cigarette and made my way over to the desk. "Who do you got on there? Anyone worth doing?" Artemis' tastes usually ran young. He was indifferent to sex, though he preferred the women to be older. I was hoping that was what he was looking at, not the young foreigners that usually occupied his browser.

"They're all worth doing. Watch this video with me. I know it's not your thing, but it's unbelievable."

He played the video. I quickly realized why he had said it was not my 'thing.' There was a muted, blurred video of a man and a boy. A young boy.

My heart raced. My stomach turned. I recognized the room in the video.

Artemis had always been a pervert, but he had no idea this time. When the tall brunette cornered the boy, he had no idea that the boy was begging, bargaining. He had no idea that the man did not care. The man never cared. When the boy cried, it was an annoyance. He was hungry and the boy was there only to sate him.

The man threw the boy against the wall. Artemis did not hear the thud, nor the boy's panicked breathing. The room was small. There was room for a dresser and a bed dressed with a frilly floral comforter. Artemis did not know how the boy resented how pretty the room was. He did not know that this was one of the very first times. The boy only knew to fight off the man he once sought after as a father figure. Artemis did not see the woman in the doorway looking on, boredom clouding her pale features.

The man grabbed the darker featured boy around the arms and tossed him onto the bed. The small boy bounced against the springs, struggling to right himself and get away. The man jumped over him. It was a game to him.

The boy swatted at his face and was met with a series of blows to his own. Artemis did not hear how sickening the sound of the fist was when it connected with his skull. He did not know the pain. The pain was unforgettable. He did not know. How could he?

The helplessness. The feeling settled into the boy's stomach. The room spun, spots clouding his vision. The tears accompanied the deep, gut-wrenching fear. They tore through him, causing him to shake, convulse.

The man struggled to get the boy's pants off.

"Fucking hold still." He growled. Artemis did not hear this.

The boy cried harder. "Stop! No, don't do it! Please... please..." Violent sobs broke his words.

The man leaned down and whispered into the child's ear. "If you don't quit your shit, I'll just kill you."

The boy tried to stop crying. He quivered uncontrollably. He tried to keep his mouth shut and his sounds quiet. His jaw felt as though it may break under the pressure. The man got back to pulling off the child's jeans. Terror kept him from fighting any more. He looked out the corner of his eyes and watched the woman watch him. He silently begged her to stop this. He remained so focused on her that he did not even notice the man had removed his own pants until he was on top of him again.

The boy called out to the woman, calling her what she had always asked him to, "Mo- Mama, please. God, PLEASE!" He screamed out to her, desperation tearing away at his voice.

She walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

The boy's eyes rolled upward and he tried something he had only ever heard about. He prayed. Not to God. No, it was obvious God had forgotten him, or never really knew him at all. No, he prayed to the two people he loved the most in the world. He prayed to his mother and to his daddy. Come back. Oh, please let this stop.

His eyes squeezed shut just before the seething pain in his ass. He finally did the only thing he could think of doing.

Nothing.

He bared it and did not fight it any longer. He was exhausted. He was drunk with pain and bile was building. He tried to imagine his mother's dark eyes and silky, black hair. His daddy's smile and blonde curls that tickled when he got his hug goodnight.

Oh, daddy. Daddy, please. Please, help me. I need you. Come back for me. Take me. I miss you. I miss you, daddy, please. He begged the dead. There was no response. Artemis could not have known how this tore the boy even more than anything that man could have done to him.

He imagined his parents again to distract himself while the man thrust and blood trickled and stained that stupid rose pattern. The dream quickly turned to a nightmare as he wondered whether his parents could actually see him. Shame crawled into his mind, overtaking it like a cancer. He never called upon his mother or his daddy again. They could not possibly love him after seeing him like this.

Hate consumed the boy's entire being. His eyes stared off, unfocused. He was numb. There was no more pain, no more shame. Emptiness consumed his shell of a body. The boy was dead. Dead to the world. Torment had become him.

"Turn it off." I said, weakly.

Artie looked up at me, annoyed that I would interrupt before the video was finished. Before the man in the video was finished.

"TURN IT OFF!" I screamed. My hands tugged at my hair. Agony cut through my chest. I could not breathe.

He clicked, navigating away from the page and got up to help me. I dropped to my knees, tears streaming. I could not relive that. I just...

He hurried away to the kitchen drawer. He broke open a tiny balloon and piled the tar onto a spoon. He tore open the package to a new insulin needle and measured out water from the faucet. I watched him as he stirred it, and then sucked it up into the needle.

He pushed all of the air out as he walked back to me and sat down on the floor. Concern made his eyes well. He handed me the needle.

I had not asked for it, nor did I truly need it.

But I wanted it. I was weak in its presence. I had always had a reserve of ways to decline him. It had been so many years, too many years. Seeing it again, I could think of little more than the effects it would have. I could taste it. Desire settled into my stomach and made me sick with anticipation. I could have said no. I could have recited any of my usual excuses.

But what would I have gained? There was no stress, anxiety, or self-resentment once I had it in my system.

I felt the inside of my elbow and found a vein easily. I slipped the needle in and drew back to make sure I had hit the vein. Blood flooded the needle. That was my flag. I pressed down slowly until it was empty, then I handed it back to Artie to dispose.

Warmth flooded my entire body. The heat rushed upward, making me lightheaded. I felt sleepy, but profoundly good. Just good. There was no other feeling like it. I had missed it much more than I realized.

The heroin pressed my memories back into the depths of my mind where it had lied rotting for years. For the first time since the last time, I could breathe.

I lied on my back and watched as the living room danced all around me. A smile touched my lips. Artemis fell onto his back beside me. He kept me company until I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I did not go to the school the next morning. I was not sick. I was just not in the mood to teach. They already knew what their assignment was, so what was the point?

I logged onto the computer and looked through the history. He liked watching child porn. It was a sick fascination, but there was nothing I could say to him. I had known about his attraction for years, but he had done so much for me in and out of prison that I remained silent about the more morbid parts of his personality.

Crazy Eights was the name of the website. Amusing. The first videos were from when I was only eight.

She thought she was funny.

I scrolled through the pages. There were hundreds of videos. I left the computer to shoot up again, before paging through them. There had to be something I could do with this. I never knew she had posted these videos. This was good, though. I could wield it like a weapon against the two of them. Relief washed over me. I could not tell whether the heroin or the contemplation of revenge was contributing more to the waves of solace.

A five-year statute of limitations started at the age of eighteen. It was coming up on my twenty-second birthday. I had one year to make a case. The task seemed daunting, but the evidence I now had was gold. I tilted back my chair and laughed. It was finally going to be over. Maybe I could ask for damages. A couple thousand dollars for a lost childhood and a soul for the one she stole.

I waited for Artie to return from work and we drank to me. Revenge was best served cold - with salt and a lemon.