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Most of the profiles didn’t have pics. I’d noticed that some girls had become somewhat camera shy, their Friend counts similarly vacant, despite the ‘pictures or it didn’t happen’ ethos stalking our beleaguered generation like a specter.
Within minutes, I was tapping to open the public profile of the ethers cutie sequestered in the room beside me. Locked away as though she were in protective custody. At least whomever had hurt her couldn’t get to her anymore.
There wasn’t anything too unusual. Or there at all really, much of the page having been left blank, at least in terms of text. There were photos though. Albums of them. Most of them including the same two people, who I took to be her parents.
There was a shock of sick recognition. Those eyes, smiling but vacant. That smile, stilted and humorless except in the most macabre way. Yes, I knew the bastard. The one Rachel probably still called ‘daddy’ because he had her in such a fucking age regression. Mentally if not physically.
I had seen it so many times. My family making a habit of taking in kids rejected from ‘civil society.’ Sometimes just for dinner, others for the night until their pious parents had a chance to sober up. I didn’t laugh when Amelia once asked me how many brothers and sisters we had. Honestly, I had lost track myself for a while.
I could feel the rage rising inside me. The ones I had been taught to repress. Certain people had the philosophy that others were going to hate us anyway. No need to give them more ammunition or reason to think that they’re right. If we did what would be the point? Our opposition became gang rivalry and ‘fuck that stupid bullshit.’
It wasn’t what they did to me that I minded. O’Flanagan and his flock of Jesus stalkers. I could take it. It was when they went after the younger kids, calling them ‘vile spawns of Satan’ that really got my hackles up. They were kids and names like that could really mess them up mentally. Though not nearly as much as the rocks the bullies would routinely huck at us, Old Testament style.
The computer lost power so hard the desk rattled. Taking a moment for several long, deep breaths, I tried to calm down.
The chair rolled back so hard it bounced off the opposing wall. Dropping to my knees before the shire of vinyl I made my selection and put on some of the most brutal Black Metal known to humanity.
I’d long considered starting a band called All Gods Are Bastards, or AGAB. Our first and likely last, record would be called Songs for Exorcisms.
“The power of Satan compels you!” I bellowed, surprising even myself.
The first song came to an end, along with my gusto. My exhausted carcass collapsing to the carpet in a mix of pants and sobs.Chapter Nine - RachelAs the rooster crows. Not actually a saying but it should be. Though indeed that wouldn’t express how early I woke up the next morning. Even nature's alarm clock still fast asleep in their coops when my eyes eased open to the dim blue dawn.
I listened for a moment, no sounds forthcoming. Not even the low rumble of fresh morning traffic. I checked the clock. Five in the morning. Late enough to be morning but early enough that most of the world would still be deep in slumber. Perfect.
Tossing my blankets aside, I touched down as light as you please. My bare feet made not a sound. All but tip-toeing through the early morning light to the ghostly looking door. With customary stops to look under the bed and check in the closet just in case.
The chair was still in place under the doorknob so it didn’t seem likely that anything would be amiss. Though my dad had well and true put the fear of God in me.
It was odd seeing the apartment that early in the morning. The same as in the daylight only with a slightly surreal edge. Empty and slightly other worldly. Like the furniture hadn’t quite woken up yet.
Keeping things on the down low, I whipped up a hearty but low-cal breakfast, using only the stove, since the toaster or the blender were a bit too noisy to risk trying.
I couldn’t believe I was roomed with him. Let alone that we were in lockdown. Forced to share a space in a form of imposed house arrest unseen since the Russian Revolution.
I was suddenly reminded of the book I’d read about the boy who got stuck in a life-boat with an adult tiger. Dad threw it in the fire, saying it promoted heathenistic beliefs because it was set in India but I had managed to finish it first.
I wasn’t afraid that Augustus might eat me or even that he would hurt me. At least not in the corporeal sense. It was my soul for which I was most concerned. From what I could remember the TST never really fought back. At least not against us.
