::CHAPTER 11::

I was perfectly conscious as the dream unfurled. My eyes were shut and my body was locked off on the most basic level, always ready to awaken at the slightest nudge. Even as the first scene of the dream began, I knew that I had lived this moment before. The déjà vu-like sensation of reliving it was a fist to the gut. This was part dream part memory and I was looking on as a third party. A third party who, oddly enough, seemed to know the most elusive details that weren’t overtly shown in the dream.

It was the year 1829. A teenage boy stood at a window shaking at the bars that kept him from opening the glass panes leading outside. He was thirteen but he was no twig. The boy had the lean muscle of the farmers who plowed the fields in the area, making a living from the calluses on their hands and the sweat on their brows. He helped his pa every morning at the crack of dawn and the hard work showed in the arms that flexed with every shake of those motionless, metal bars.

He was not trying to get out. He was smart enough to know that the bars would not budge. This was not a bid for escape. It was a show of anger and frustration. It was pointless but he felt the grueling need to vent to the point of exhaustion. Even if that meant looking like a caged animal turned mindless with rage and desperation.

The boy knew that they were coming for him. The hospital had been around for only a few months but his ma didn’t want to send him away until she knew that he would be well taken care of. No one knew much about the place except that it was where they took people who were sick in the head. Loons they called them. It was the first and only hospital of its kind. One meant to help its patients not simply contain them. The young boy didn’t want to go and once upon a time, he could count on his ma to be on his side.  Now, she had no say in the matter.

The neighbors had taken it into their own hands and gotten the police involved after yet another pet turned up mutilated in a backyard. It was stupid. The boy knew that. He should have been more careful. He shouldn’t have showed off. Should have hidden the bodies. Buried them. But he didn’t. He hadn’t wanted to hide them or his talent. He was an exhibitionist. He wanted everyone to see what he’d done.

In the beginning no one had known who the perpetrator was. The police had no leads and no one could do anything about it. Then he got sloppy. He went along with the crowds to see the looks on the owners’ faces when they saw their little Rover or Cupcake or Spike cut up, gutted and splayed open like some twisted offering. He hadn’t been able to resist the smile. The look of pride and unbridled satisfaction. This was his work and everyone had come to see it. He felt like an artist at a showing. Every week the turn out grew more and more and no one suspected the little boy next door.

It was five kills ago where people began getting suspicious. His own parents had turned a blind eye to the hints; the missing kitchen knives, the muddy shoes and mysterious stains on his sweaters. They didn’t want to believe that their sweet boy would do something so heinous. He was the yes-ma’am, no-sir sort of boy. Nice to everyone in the town and so polite too. No one could fault his manners. He didn’t – no couldn’t – murder anyone’s pet.

But he had.

When people began to suspect, the rumors spread like wildfire but the police had no evidence. Some neighbors had seen the gleam in his eyes, the joy on his face and his enthrallment with the mangled animals when the crowds gathered. Absolutely sloppy. Last week put the final nail in the coffin.

The boy wanted to show off his genius. He wanted to be looked at with awe and to see the horror that always splashed the owners’ faces when they came face to face with their animals. He had begun his work, cutting with meticulous motions. This one had to be perfect.

He had invited Augustus from down the street to come over and play that evening. The poor kid hadn’t expected what he’d seen when he climbed the tree house. He saw his neighbor huddled over Twitch. The bunny had been sliced in two, heart plucked out of it's tiny body and beating it's final beat in the other boy’s hands. For the initial second, Augustus had been rendered speechless. His eyes were wide and brimming with tears before the scream tore from his little lungs.

The boy had closed his eyes at the sound. He embraced it, held it close and savored the sweetness of it. He’d been nervous before. Worrying if it wasn’t good enough. But the first scream always spoke wonders. It was more than good enough. It was a perfect kill. He smiled at the child. Augustus seemed to lose his ability to breathe. His face scrunched up and he gasped for air, unable to tear his eyes from his mutilated bunny. His eyes were as large as tea saucers.

Now here the boy was, a week later, wanting to escape from his room before they came to take him to the hospital. He’d failed in the last part of his plan. He’d taken too long to savor the moment.

Augustus was not meant to ever make it back home. He was never meant to see his family again, far less lead them back to the boy’s tree house which was absolutely soaked and stained through the planks with blood.

The boy shook the bars again in a futile effort to empty himself of anger. Anger at his failure to complete the task. Anger at being scorned for his talents. Anger at being seen as crazy and not the blade-wielding genius that he was. And worst of all, anger at being taken away from his mama and pa’s home to stay with lunatics.

He stilled at the sound of wheels rolling over gravel. Heart in his throat he shook at the bars again. Heavy boots crunched outside and his anxiety tripled. He slammed his fist on the bars and then stopped altogether. It was as if someone had flipped the switch on him off.

His body relaxed. His fists unclenched. His young face was wiped of all expression. It smoothened into tranquil lines and his eyes lost the fierce fire.

He went over to the basin of cold water and wiped himself clean. He tugged off his shirt even as he heard his parents talking to people downstairs. The boy changed into fresh clothes after giving himself a good wash and eating some of the last of the grapes in the bowl. The footsteps grew closer. He combed his dark hair and peered at himself in the looking glass. The heavy wooden door swung open to reveal a doctor and three burly men. The boy paid them no attention, but continued to fix his hair.

“Alejo Veracci?” the doctor spoke up. The boy turned to him, dabbing at his face with a cloth. “We are authorized to take you to The Lennox House Hospital.”

The boy smiled the sort of smile that made you want to spoil him with all kinds of sweets and games. The friendliness of it was unexpected. The doctor blinked at him, stunned by the appearance of total sanity. The patients he usually came to collect were the biting, screaming, kicking and swearing sort. They wore torn clothes or had clumps of hair pulled out. Their eyes didn’t hold the normalcy that he saw in this child’s eyes. “Are you, him?” the doctor asked. The burly men exchanged a look with each other. This they didn’t expect.

“Yes I am he," was the lofty reply, "Good day sir, sir, sir and sir.” He nodded his acknowledgement to each man in turn.

“I – you – good day, young man. Did you truly do what they said you did?”

“I’m not sure. What exactly did the missus or sir say?”

“My, you’re well mannered,” he scratched his scraggly beard.

“Thank you so very much,” the boy smiled that heartwarming smile again, “So what did they say if you don’t mind me asking, sir?”

“That you were behind the animal killings in this neighborhood.”

“Me? Are they sure?”

“They seem positive about it. That’s what the police say.”

“Then it must be true. If the police say it is, of course.”

“They do.”

“Then you must take me away then? Even in my apparent sanity?” the boy asked chewing on the last grape.

“I…suppose. The police…” he looked unsure and glanced at the other men with him. They shrugged. None of them knew what to make of the boy either, “Perhaps I should speak with your parents again.”

“Perhaps.”

They closed the door behind them and the lock clicked. The boy smiled to himself and resumed the combing of his hair. When every strand was in place, he placed the comb down and waited for the men to come back. The water basin was in his hands and he waited for them to enter. His muscles locked at the sound of their footfalls.

The door unlocked and it swung open. Before any of the four could react, cold water splashed on them and some spluttered in surprise. That gave the boy ample time to dive through them and make it down the hall. He was already half way down the stairs when he heard them running after him. He dashed past the living room and heard the shocked cries of his parents.

As he tugged the front door open he collided with the back of yet another burly man. The boy fell backwards at the impact. The man turned around and hauled him bodily from the floor. The other four finally made it to the door looking wet and sour. “Manipulative little bugger, aren’t you?” one of the burly men pushed his damp hair out of his eyes. The boy smiled at the man, this smile harsher than the others.

His grey eyes were cold and calculating. No longer that sweet boy from upstairs. The doctor laughed to the boy’s surprise. “I’m going to enjoy getting to understand how you work, kid,” the old man said, “I will figure out just how you tick.” The boy had barely gotten the chance to understand what that might mean.

He was taken on a long ride to another part of the country. They travelled for days and stopped once per day at little inns where he was under the strictest surveillance. He was fed and well cared for despite him being made to feel like a criminal which, in some respects, he was. A person who killed was still considered a criminal even if the victims weren’t human.

Usually people were punished for their crimes but this situation was a little different. The boy hadn’t acted like a criminal apart from the actual crime. He hadn’t bothered to hide his tracks or lie about it even once. He had wanted to share it with everyone without worrying about getting caught. There was no remorse. Excitement and thrill perhaps, but no remorse.

The boy’s situation seemed to be that of unnoticed insanity instead of pure criminal behaviour and his case was pleaded as such in court. It became clear after his first outburst of fury and then instantaneous calm five minutes after that he was not entirely right in the head. The police had kept him under close watch for two days and his parents finally saw what they hadn’t before. Their son’s temper and stability was constantly see-sawing. They knew about his small bursts of temper but had thought it normal in teenage boys.

 They were used to him staying up in his tree house for hours at a time, but never guessed that he used the wooden hideout as a place to let loose in secret. The couple discovered broken bottles and crushed plates that had gone missing when they’d accompanied the police to the tree house. There were dents in the walls and torn paper strewn on the floors. It was as if a temperamental animal had been set off in the tree house destroying everything in a blind rage.

  In 1829 the term sociopath was not known as of yet, but the term insane was.

The boy sat in the chair with his wrists strapped to the handles. It had been four days and it had become apparent that not only was he both insane and sane, he was also highly intelligent. There had been seven almost-escapes in said four days and it was only sheer luck that he had been caught each time. Each plan was cleverer than the last and the doctor was more bemused than annoyed.

They had not arrived at the hospital but would be there by the next day. At the moment they sat in a room at a very nice inn run by a homely woman, her heavily bearded husband and her rather plain twelve year old daughter.

The boy sat patiently for the doctor to come feed him. They didn’t trust him with knives or forks or, after what happened the last time, even a spoon. He had destroyed what trust they had in him as far as mealtimes went. So now he was strapped down and fed.

Drumming his fingers on the wooden seat handles, he looked about the room they were staying in for the night. The windows were shut and the door locked. Escape plan number three had ensured that. The door clicked open but instead of the doctor or his three burly friends, the inn keeper’s daughter came in. The boy halted his drumming and stared at her. She had a tray of food clearly meant for him. There was no cutlery involved if not for the wooden bowl sitting on the tray.

She came over and placed it on the table in front of him. Her mother had instructed her to put the food on the table and leave. She was not to talk to the boy or so much as look at him. Those instructions had all gone to hell after he murmured his thanks.

She raised her eyes to meet pale blue-gray. No one in this town had such light eyes and she seemed to be captivated by his. In response, she stuttered a low, “You’re welcomed.” Still she didn’t leave as she had been instructed to.

He smiled in the way that always made the younger girls in his town color pink. She was no different. “I am Alejo,” he said with a warmer, friendlier smile. “What is your name?” She hesitated. She’d been warned time and time again not to get too close to this boy but ignored it all.

“Margaret,” she responded shuffling from one foot to the next, “Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, believe me.”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised by those words.

 “I know we only just met, but can I ask you a favor?” the boy asked breaking the long silence that had followed.

“What is it?”

“I am so very hungry. The doctor was supposed to come back and feed me but he seems to be busy at the moment,” he said, “Could you just pop a bit of that in my mouth? It smells so delicious and I really can’t bear that aroma when I am starved as I am now.”

“Oh, of course. You probably haven’t eaten since lunch,” she said and took a seat.

“You don’t mind?”

“No, not at all,” she shook her head.

The boy shot her a grateful smile that seemed to go straight to her heart judging by the sparkle in her eyes and the silly beam curving on her mouth. “Thank you. You are an angel,” he breathed shifting in his seat with apparent interest in the thick slab of bread and bowl of stewed chicken and gravy. She dipped a bit of it in the gravy for him and fed him.

He chewed and sighed another thanks. She seemed extremely pleased and went on to tell him that she had made the meal. After which he rained praises on her spewing words of deep admiration. By the end of it all her face burned red hot from the compliments. She was thoroughly enjoying herself at this point and had no qualms about staying in the room.

It didn’t take much for him to get her to begin opening up. They talked for a while and she told him more about herself and her family and especially this inn that made such nice chicken stew and bread.

Like many young friends in search of good, fun conversation, they began sharing secrets. The boy told her all about the secret hideout he’d kept back in his own town and all the great times he had in there when it got all rainy. Of course, it was all a well spun lie. He had no such place and had had no escapades like the ones he’d claimed to have.

“What about you, Margaret?” he asked, “Do you have any secret tunnels or rooms or anything in here that you like to play in?”

“A few. This place is really old so we have a bunch of rooms like that. There’s one really big, spooky room leading to the entrance that—.”

“Really?” the boy interrupted. His interest in that one was encouragement enough. She wanted to impress him like he’d impressed her and so she spun a tale of her own, though hers contained quite a lot more truth than his.

He listened on with eyes wide with interest. His mouth formed an ‘O’ at all the right moments and his jaw fell with flawless timing. He knew when to laugh at her feeble jokes and when to gasp when her story took a supposedly shocking turn.

“That is amazing,” he said when she was done, “I wish I could see it. Shame I have to leave tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“My mama says that they’re taking you to The Lennox House Hospital. Is that true?”

“Yes, but I really shouldn’t be going there. It’s all a mistake…obviously. I mean clearly I’m not crazy. I’m as sane as you are,” he said.

“I wondered. You don’t act crazy. Why would they take you to that place?”

“A whole long misunderstanding. They think I did something when I didn’t and they think I’m crazy for it. You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

“Of course not!” she said shaking her head emphatically, “This is horrible. They want to put you away for something you never did. That must be so frightening for you.”

“It is,” he lowered his eyes, “But I try not to think of it. It’s far easier when I’m talking to you, but I suppose a pretty girl can do that.”

He chuckled to himself and she looked pleased at his words. “None of the other boys think so,” she admitted rather than accepting the compliment, “They pull on my plaits and laugh at my dresses and tease me about my knobby knees.” She was shocked to hear him laugh in response. He’d been so polite up to this point. Hurt splashed across her face. He noticed and stopped his laughing at once.

“I apologize. It’s just that it’s so like a boy to do that. Boys always tease the girls they like. Most boys anyways. I prefer to tell them how nice they look in their dresses and how cute their little knees are and how pretty their hair is in those two little plaits.”

“Oh. Umm.” She didn’t know what to say to him.

The boy sighed to himself and closed his eyes. “It really is a shame that I may never see you again. Tonight is my last night out and there’s nothing at all interesting to do.” She stared at his closed eyes and frowning mouth.

And that was all he had to do to get her to decide to take him out on one last gallivant. She took out the knife she’d stowed in her pocket to cut the bread. With a sawing motion and a deft flick she freed him one limb at a time. He rose to his feet and rubbed his wrists with a smile. His eyes landed on the pocket where she had stowed the knife. For a second his eyes seemed to consider something before dismissing it.

“Show me your hideout,” he said. She nodded chewing on her thumb nail. She grabbed a lit candle and took him through a maze of short hallways and rooms before ushering him into a pitch black one. They linked hands. He was not going to lose her now. He was far too close.

The boy followed her as she lit the candles in the brackets on the walls. The room was cast in dim light. Margaret was restless and kept shifting from foot to foot beside the boy. “If my dad found us here he’d be furious,” she said. She seemed scared and just a little excited by that. The boy couldn’t care less about her father. He was busy eying the walls. So far he couldn’t find a second door anywhere and he was becoming agitated. The doctor was bound to have noticed him missing already. He needed to find the fabled secret entrance she spoke about because to her it was an entrance. To him it was an exit.

“Do you want to play one of the games I snuck up here?” she asked going over to a rickety table. He now held the candle. He touched his face and choked a little. “Are you alright? You don’t look well,” she rushed over to him.

“I feel a bit lightheaded. It’s sort of stuffy in here.”

“Some of my friends say that,” she nodded, ““Let’s get you out of here then.” She motioned to leave through the door.

“I need some fresh air. Where’s the entrance you told me about?” he asked holding his head and looking faint.

“Oh that. It’s just this way. It’s a makeshift window lower down here for plants to get sun. You have to crawl through,” she said, “Are you sure you don’t want to go through the other way?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said and touched her cheek for a fleeting, tender second. She was too stunned at the contact to argue further.

She looked down to see him shimmying through the small hatch and she followed right behind him. When she crawled through, he was taking gulps of cool night air and grinning from ear to ear. It was infectious. She began grinning too. As she opened her mouth to say something, she was interrupted. A large man came out of nowhere and lifted the boy bodily from the ground.

“Damn it! Are you serious?” he snapped.

“You tried to get away again. We were wondering how long it would take,” the man said and dragged him away despite Margaret’s protests that he let the boy go.

“Get over it,” the man told the girl, “He manipulated you. He has a habit of doing that to people. Don’t you Alejo? Go find yourself a nice, normal boy, sweetheart.”

He took the boy all the way back to the room where he was bound to the bed for the night. No security detail was overlooked after that. He was taken straight to The Lennox House the next day.

The boy was warded at the hospital by noon and he was sent to freshen up. There were three persons to a room and both people who roomed with the boy were children too. All of the boy’s time and energy had been put into escape and so he hadn’t come up with a plan to deal with the people yet. With no plan of action, Alejo opted for remaining silent. He figured that no one knew him or how he wound up here so he could pretend to be dumb and, for that matter, deaf too.

By the next day it had gotten around that the new kid couldn’t talk or hear and so no one bothered him at breakfast. He sat in the courtyard outside with the other, more mentally controlled patients. The long wooden tables were laden with plates and Alejo took a seat at one. The kids at that table all looked at him with open curiosity as he rolled his sleeves to his elbows and took off his shoes. He wiggled his toes in the grass and took a breath of rural air before spearing a piece of omelet on his fork.

As usual his hair was in place and his clothes clean and neat but not overly so. His eyes were kept in his plate at all times despite the constant chatter around him. He had no intentions of joining in or making friends. He was in no mood.

“Everyone starts off as the quiet one,” a kid took a seat next to him, “but once they make themselves a friend they warm up all right. I’m Erik.”

The boy didn’t respond. The kid could have gotten more of a response from a brick wall. The boy hadn’t so much as hesitated a fraction to betray the fact that he’d heard the words.

“Not even going to reply? That’s fine, I just—.”

“Hey new guy. Let me get the rest of that egg. I’m finished with mine and you look as though you’ve eaten your fill,” a second boy came up behind him.

Again, the boy kept his silence. The second, considerably larger boy seemed to take that as confirmation and proceeded to reach for the plate.

The plate never left the table.

The moment the second boy’s hand touched the china, he yelped in mingled shock and agony. A fork was jammed into this hand and held in place by the boy. As the second boy reached to pluck the silverware from his flesh, the boy grabbed that hand and kept it out of reach before pointing the knife into the pink flush of skin over the second boy’s jugular. The threat was clear in the boy’s eyes; move or die.

The others at the table were still in shock over how quickly it all happened. The situation had taken a mere five seconds to unfold and a nanosecond to turn dangerous. The impassive expression had not left the boy’s face for a moment. There had not been so much as a flare of anger in him before the attack. It appeared as though he’d stabbed the second boy out of principle or to make a point more than because of an uncontrolled emotion. That, above anything, made him more frightening.

Nurses rushed in on the scene and forced the boy to release the grip he had on the knife and the second boy’s wrist. It hadn’t occurred to the other children that the boy might have been a completely different sort of mad. One they didn’t usually see. Not raving and deranged but planned-to-the-millisecond insanity without a well working concept of consequences or conscience.

Even as the nurses took the second boy away, the boy shot the kid beside him a glance that quite plainly declined any invitation of friendship. The kid didn’t question it.

The boy took the napkin and slowly, methodically wiped the scarlet dripping from the metal of the fork. Placing the napkin back on his lap with enviable table manners, he went on to return to his meal even while the nurses behind him fussed over the second boy. He was no longer interested in the second boy. He was only interested in the egg speared on the end of his fork. It tasted of a metal now, but he didn’t mind. That was the taste of a point made and taken and a lesson well taught.

When he finished the last of his meal, the doctor came to him and led him away. The nurses hadn’t wanted to deal with the boy. They understood mad but not when it was premeditated and so accepted by the patient.

I stirred awake at the first breath of night. Blinking in the dark, I rose from my place on the bed. Breeze blew in through the window and the moon shined inside but none of it really registered. My mind was fixated on a time long past. In a sliver of memory that had filtered back to me from my human years.

“I remembered…” I murmured. 

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Heheee so what do you think about young Al <3 Somehow after writing this I like him a little more lol. 

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