Dismember Read online

  Only after he’d pushed Georgie in through the passenger-side door and buckled him into his seat did Dave say calmly, “Doesn’t make any sense to run away, does it?” He pulled the belt tighter and wrapped it once all the way around the boy. Not exactly handcuffs, but it kept him from making any sudden moves, and that would have to do for now. Eventually, Dave knew, Georgie would settle down. He was a good boy. “I’d find you, son,” he said, liking the way that last word sounded. “I’ll always find you.”

  He slammed the door and circled around the front of the truck, looking once at the forest around them, not expecting to see anything or anyone, just looking, remembering. He doubted he’d ever return to this particular stretch of the mountains. He wondered if the boy had already come to the same realization.

  Smiling, the birthday boy dropped into the truck behind the steering wheel. He’d started the engine and slipped the transmission into reverse, about to back his way downhill when he noticed the thing hanging from the rearview mirror. A flower-scented air-freshener. His air-freshener. He rolled down his window and ripped the thing from the rearview.

  “He always liked lilac.”

  The boy looked at him, said nothing.

  Dave flicked his wrist and sent the air-freshener spinning out the window. It didn’t fly far before making a strange dive through the air like a wing-shot bird and landing with a soft rustle in the weeds beside the road.

  “Won’t need that anymore,” Dave said, wiping his bloodstained hand on his pants as if, by touching the air-freshener, he’d only now gotten the hand dirty. “This is my truck now. Mine and yours.” He rooted around on the floorboards, found an old gas receipt, and poked it onto the rearview’s adjustment lever to replace the air freshener. Then he propped his arm on the back of the seat and backed slowly down the mountain road.

  The truck bounced over large rocks and pitted areas where the road had partially washed away. The few tools in the truck’s bed—a shovel, a rake, a toolbox full of old wrenches and screwdrivers—clanged and clattered while the truck continued its bumpy ride. Dave turned on the radio, which never worked well, and got no reception; the static whispered from the speakers, sounding almost peaceful, like a bubbling brook or the wind through overhead tree limbs.

  Dave reached a spot in the road wide enough to turn the pickup around and did so. When they were pointed front forward and rolling along once more, Dave said, “The family truck,” as if he’d been thinking it all along.

  NINE

  Trevor sat on the toilet in the far stall looking down between his bare, thin legs at his dangling thingy and at the poo smeared across the cracked toilet seat. He’d almost made it, had been within four or five steps of the stall when the final cramp hit him and the back of his pants just about exploded. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been runny. Trevor hated runny poo, hated the way it splashed up from the toilet water and the way it got all over the place so that you couldn’t hardly ever get it all wiped off.

  Of course, it was worse when it happened in your pants.

  He grabbed another handful of toilet paper from the roll on the wall beside him, lifted his leg, and tried again to clean off the back of it with a series of awkward swipes.

  Just a few more steps, or maybe if he’d just left the line for the merry-go-round one minute earlier. Except he hadn’t had to go one minute earlier. The urge had hit him all at once, like it sometimes did, and he hadn’t even had enough time to go back to the table and get his mommy. In fact, for one scary moment he’d thought he would unload right there in the middle of the waiting crowd. In front of those girls. Jeez. If that had happened, he probably would have curled right up in the puddle of his own stinking mess and died.

  So yeah, at least it hadn’t been all bad. At least he’d made it into the bathroom and most of the way to the toilet before the gunk had run its way out of his shorts, down his legs, and onto the floor. He’d even gotten some of it into the toilet bowl—the last few squeezes, at least.

  Plus Mommy and Daddy had found him. Somehow. He still hadn’t quite figured that out, but he was glad as could be. Here he was with both his mommy and his daddy taking care of him, when he could just as easily have been crying in front of a bunch of poo-covered girls and trying to explain to them that it hadn’t been his fault, that it had happened all of a sudden, that it had been the runny kind.

  He dropped the dirty wad of toilet paper into the toilet and reached over his shoulder to pull on the flusher. Beyond the stalls, he heard his daddy at the sink splashing water and scrubbing at something. Probably his shoes. Trevor didn’t think he’d gotten them very dirty, just a few smears down the backs, and he was glad the shoes wouldn’t have to get trashed, too.

  Stupid. He couldn’t believe how stupid he was. What kind of a kindergartener pooped his pants at the mall? Not even a kindergartner. Just a few more weeks and he’d be in the first grade. If any of his classmates found out what had gone on today, he’d be the laughing stock till the end of time. Maybe longer. They’d give him a nickname like Diarrhea or Number Two and hide toilet paper and diapers in his desk.

  At least he was pretty sure his name didn’t rhyme with any of the many kinds of poop. Last year, Scotty Peterson had gone an entire morning with a booger on the tip of his nose. Ms. White had cleaned it off with a tissue before the class went to lunch, but by then Scotty had already become Snotty Peterson, and that had been the least of his troubles.

  Trevor thought he was probably safe. Only his parents knew what had happened, what he had done. And why would they tell anybody? If he didn’t let it slip, Trevor didn’t think his accident would ever come back to haunt him.

  He hopped off the toilet, grabbed another handful of toilet paper and twisted around until he could see the top of his naked bottom. So much poo. He thought all his insides must have been completely filled with the stuff. He doubted even an elephant could have made this much of a mess. Maybe a dinosaur. If it was sick.

  “Dad,” he said, trying not to sound too pathetic, too babyish.

  A few footsteps, and then, “You doing okay in there?”

  “I think I got most of it,” Trevor said, “but I can’t reach everywhere.”

  “Okay, give me a sec and I’ll finish up for you.”

  Trevor heard some more splashing and the sound of paper towels being pulled from the dispenser. When his dad knocked on the door, he unlocked it and made a half-hearted attempt to cover his privates. His dad had seen him naked lots of times, he guessed, he shouldn’t have been embarrassed, but he was just a little all the same.

  And besides, you never knew when someone else might come wandering in. He definitely didn’t want to flash his thingy at some stranger.

  The towels in Daddy’s hands dripped and bubbled.

  “You got ‘em soapy,” Trevor said.

  “Mm-hmm,” Daddy said, spinning Trevor around and scrubbing at the backs of his legs and his bottom. “Gotta get you sparkling.”

  Trevor waited patiently while his dad finished cleaning him and wiped up the remaining mess on the floor. “Dad,” he said when it appeared he was finished. “I’m sorry.”

  Dad waved his hand. “As far as the mess goes, forget it. I’ve seen much worse. But you know you really should have told your mom where you were going. She was worried crazy.”

  “I know,” Trevor said. “But I had to go real bad. I didn’t want to go number two out there with all those people.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “There were girls out there.”

  “Were there?” Dad said, smiling just a little. “Pretty ones?”

  Trevor rolled his eyes. “Dad.”

  “Well,” Dad said, “I guess I can’t blame you too much. Now go ahead and lock this door until your mom comes back.”

  “Kay.” Trevor grabbed the edge of the door and swung it most of the way shut. “Hey,” he said, peeking through the opening.

  Daddy raised his eyebrows, waiting.

  “You wouldn’t ever tell anybod
y, would you? At school, I mean. I don’t want them to call me Diarrhea or Number Two.”

  Now Dad smiled for real and pretended to zip his lips shut and lock them tight.

  “Thanks,” Trevor said and closed the door.

  TEN

  As the truck drove over the gravel roads, Zach bounced on his seat and thought about his pants pocket. The seatbelt pinned his arms to his sides, and although he thought he probably could have gotten them out with a wiggle or two and a couple of bent elbows, he left them where they were and pretended he was bound up tight. He still wasn’t sure just exactly what was happening to him, what the rules of the situation were—more importantly, what he could get away with and what might get him killed. He wanted to reach for his pocket, see if the object that had been there earlier was still there now—all he’d have to do was bend forward a little and stretch out his fingers—but he didn’t dare. Not yet.

  The truck hit an large dip in the road, and Zach bounced so high he thought his head would slam into the ceiling. It didn’t, but he did land on his left leg in an awkward way that pinched the skin just behind his knee. He hissed. The man behind the wheel looked at him, but Zach didn’t look back, pretended nothing had happened. He wouldn’t give this psycho the satisfaction of watching him squirm.

  The man (Davy was the only name he’d mentioned, though he’d actually said he used to be Davy, a comment Zach hadn’t really understood) came almost to a stop at the next intersection and took a left without using his blinker. Zach slid sideways in his seat until his body pressed against the door. He felt the lump in his pocket dig into his right thigh and bit his lip to keep from whooping with joy. Still there. Thank God. He only wished he’d remembered it earlier, when he could have used it.

  As they moved, Zach watched for road signs, looking for some indication of where they were going. His head ached where he’d hit it on the tree fort’s railing, and sometimes his vision swam a little, though only briefly. If he could remember a few landmarks, maybe a couple of road names, he could get help later, could tell them how to come and save him. The problem was, he didn’t see any signs or markers, and the only junctions were with unmarked dirt roads that looked almost exactly the same one after another. The back road led through trees and trees and then finally some more trees; Zach didn’t think anybody could rescue him with directions that referred only to the differences between the passing foliage.

  The radio sputtered like a broken water faucet. Zach didn’t understand how the guy could drive with all that meaningless noise when it made Zach so totally crazy. He wanted to reach up a foot and kick at the radio’s dials until it shut the crap up. But of course he wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t say anything because he had no way of knowing if it might set the lunatic off. What seemed like a perfectly reasonable request to Zach might be an insult to the whacko. Zach might end up with a fist to the temple, or the guy might push him out the door as they rounded a sharp curve and send Zach rolling down a rocky incline. Or maybe he’d just pull out a gun and blow off Zach’s head. Zach hadn’t actually seen a firearm, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one around, and until he knew for sure one way or the other, he would expect the worst. Which meant that currently he was picturing his brains dripping down the windshield and thinking he could probably put up with a little white noise.

  The man spun the steering wheel and turned onto one of the unmarked dirt roads, whistling something that sounded similar to the theme from the Superman movies. Almost, but not quite, like the man had gotten Superman and something else crossed up in his mind and turned the two of them into something all his own.

  Zach ground his teeth and prayed he could get out of the truck. He’d almost stopped noticing the smell of blood, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the man’s blood-streaked face or his wide, maniacal eyes. He didn’t want to get used to them. If he ever thought these kinds of things were normal, he’d be crazier than the kidnapper.

  Kidnapper. The word entered Zach’s mind for the first time, although it was clearly the perfect word for the situation. He’d been kidnapped, and the whistling, bloody weirdo who claimed to have killed his mother was his kidnapper.

  Zach could blink back the tears at the thought of his mother only because he didn’t really believe she was dead, despite the blood and the man’s claims. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t. Hurt, maybe, but not dead. After he got help, they’d go and they’d find her and she would be fine. Just fine.

  The pain above his eye flashed. He risked a glance at the driver, whose eerie whistling had quieted a little but hadn’t stopped. The long sweaty lines down the sides of his face made him look scarred. Zach wished he could scar the guy. Scar him or worse.

  He never should have run. His mom was back home right that minute, bleeding and hurt. Maybe hurt bad. He shouldn’t have run. He should have stayed and fought the guy, grabbed a knife from the drawer or a frying pan to bash in his head. Something. And he definitely shouldn’t have gone up to his tree fort. God, that had been such a stupid move; he’d treed himself like an idiot raccoon. Although he wasn’t sure how the guy could have known it. Zach had watched him leave the house and come straight toward him, not looking around, not searching, just flying right at him like he’d had Zach on his radar the whole time.

  They made another left, and Zach felt the thing in his pocket punch into his leg again. It was his mother’s, really—Zach had gone back to her bedroom to get it for her before any of this mess had started—and he couldn’t wait to give it back to her, but for now he needed it more than he’d ever needed anything in his life.

  He only hoped she’d set it to silent, or at least vibrate—otherwise one mistimed call might ruin everything. He still had a chance, if the guy didn’t check his pockets when they stopped, and the cell phone got reception wherever they were going, and, of course, the guy didn’t kill him somewhere between here and there.

  Ignoring the hiss from the radio and the whistling that sounded as if it had come from the soundtrack to the kind of late-night horror movie he was never supposed to see, Zach continued watching for road signs. He wouldn’t give up until one of the two of them was dead.

  ELEVEN

  “I guess you found it.”

  Trevor heard his daddy’s voice from out by the sinks, where he’d blow-dried the shoes with the automatic hand dryer.

  “Not only was it still there,” said Mommy. Trevor hadn’t heard her come in, only realized she had when she responded to Daddy. “There was a woman guarding it for me. Eating a slice of pepperoni and waiting for me to come back. She said she knew I wouldn’t get far.”

  Trevor had returned to the toilet seat not because it was any cleaner than standing on the floor, but just because he was tired of standing.

  “—left in the world,” his daddy finished. Trevor missed the first part.

  “Yeah,” Mommy said, and then there was a crackling like someone digging through plastic bags. Trevor wondered if there were any other boys out there (besides his daddy, anyway), and what they thought of a girl in their bathroom. Sometimes his mom could be pretty silly.

  Daddy brought him the clothes, along with his cleaned sneakers, and he accepted them through the cracked stall door while keeping one hand cupped over his thingy. He guessed Mommy had seen him naked just as much as Daddy, but Daddy had already seen all that Trevor planned to show today, and that was enough peeping.

  Mom had gotten him a pair of brown shorts and some underwear that were plain and white and boring. He didn’t consider them a very good trade for the clothes he’d ruined, but he wouldn’t say anything. He knew they didn’t have a whole lot of extra money. Sometimes his mommy couldn’t pay the bills on time and she got charged latefees. Trevor didn’t know what latefees were exactly, but he knew they were bad and that they meant spending more money. In Trevor’s mind, latefees was almost a curse word, and he never said it out loud.

  The Gohan action figure he’d gotten at the toy store had already been a good surprise, a
nd now he’d gotten new clothes on top of it. He didn’t know for sure how much those sorts of things cost, but he did know it was something, and that something was more than nothing. He put on the new clothes with mixed feelings. While he was ashamed at what he’d done and felt more than just a little guilty about the spent money—even if he didn’t totally understand things like bug jets—he was also happy to be getting into a clean pair of shorts. Standing around half naked in a mall bathroom wasn’t exactly his idea of comfortable.

  The new socks, like the undies, were simple white things without even a red stripe at the toe, but Trevor didn’t care too much. Socks were socks. They kept your shoes from getting extra stinky and the chiggers from biting your ankles in the summertime, but otherwise they were worthless.

  His dad had done a pretty good job wiping the poop off the floor around the toilet, but the stall was still nowhere near clean. Trevor didn’t want to move around any more than he had to until he’d gotten his shoes on, didn’t want to get his new socks dirty whether they were worthless or not. He’d noticed a wad of yellowed toilet paper in the corner beside a spider’s web when he tried to clean himself earlier. It was still there, along with a sticky-looking puddle of goo that looked like part potty, part spit, part blood, and all gross.

  He slipped into the sneakers, and although he was not yet an expert lacer, he managed to tie himself a nice pair of looping knots that he figured were far from failures. Daddy had held the shoes under the hand dryer for a long time and gotten them mostly dried out, but they still squished a little when Trevor moved. No big deal. At least he was cleaned up. Who cared if he walked around sounding like the Swamp Thing?

  He turned the latch on the stall door and exited with his head hanging. When his mommy ran to him and cupped his chin, lifted his face to hers and gave him a slobbery kiss on the nose, he couldn’t help but smile. She hugged him so tight it hurt, but he didn’t push away or tell her to take it easy because it also felt good.