Mr. Monster

  Brooke? Her presence would probably calm me down, but how long would it take, and how much would she see in the meantime? I couldn’t risk horrifying her, not when she was finally starting to like me. I could visit Max, and sit back while he droned on about himself, or his comics. But he was sure to eventually start talking about his dad, and I didn’t want to deal with that tonight. Unfortunately, that was pretty much everyone I knew.

  Except for Margaret. I turned and headed towards her neighbourhood, taking deep breaths and driving slowly. I didn’t want to risk an accident, and I didn’t want to let reckless speed become a temptation to slam the car into a target of opportunity. Margaret was the happy one in the family; the simple one, the rational one. We could all talk to Margaret because she never took sides and never started fights. She was our refuge.

  When I pulled up in front of her apartment I could see her through the window, talking on the phone. It was probably Mom, warning her that crazy old John was out causing problems again. I swore and pulled away again. Why wouldn’t she leave me alone?

  There was one place I was sure to get away from her: Lauren lived just a few blocks away, in an apartment of her own. She and Mom hadn’t spoken since Mother’s Day, and only barely spoke before that. There’s no way Mom would call her, and if she did Lauren wouldn’t answer.

  I paused in front to look for Curt’s truck, but he wasn’t there, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. This was not the night to seek him out; I needed to stay calm and forget all about the bodies and the investigation and everything. I parked and walked into the complex, trying to remember which apartment was hers. I’d only been here once before. The stairs were crumbling concrete slabs embedded in a rusty metal frame, and the brick walls burned red in the early evening sun. It was either the third door or the fourth . . . The third door had a rolled-up newspaper thrown against it, wrapped in dirty plastic. I skipped it and knocked on the fourth.

  Lauren opened the door, and her mouth smiled almost as soon as her eyes widened in surprise - almost as soon, though not quite.

  ‘John! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just driving around,’ I said, concentrating on breathing slowly and evenly.

  ‘Well, come in,’ she said, standing back and gesturing inside. ‘Make yourself at home.’

  I stepped through the door and into the room, unfocused and uncertain. I wasn’t here for anything specific, just because I needed to be somewhere, and this was the only place to do it. Now that I was here, I didn’t know what to do.

  ‘You thirsty?’ asked Lauren, closing the door.

  ‘Sure,’ I mumbled.

  Her apartment was clean and bare, like a well-kept shell. The kitchen table was scratched, with the veneer peeled back in places to expose the plywood beneath, but it was washed and spotless, and all the chairs matched. The glasses in her cupboard were few and mismatched, and the water from the tap sputtered erratically when she turned it on. She handed me the glass with a smile.

  ‘Sorry there’s no ice.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. I didn’t really want the drink, but I took a sip to be polite.

  ‘So what you up to?’ Lauren asked, moving to the living room and flopping down on a couch.

  I followed her slowly, feeling the tension swirl inside of me, slowly beginning to seep away. I sat down mechanically. ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘School.’ I wanted to talk, but it felt better simply to sit here, saying nothing.

  Lauren watched me for a moment, her energy visibly draining away as she studied my face. She spoke knowingly. ‘Mom?’

  I sighed and rubbed my eyes. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, pulling her feet up onto the couch and resting her cheek on her knees. ‘It’s always nothing.’

  I sipped the water again. There was nowhere to put the glass, so I took another sip.

  ‘Is she still mad?’ asked Lauren.

  ‘Not at you.’

  ‘I know,’ she repeated, gazing at the wall. ‘She’s not mad at you either. She’s mad at herself. She’s mad at the world for not being perfect.’

  Lauren was blonde, like Dad, while Mom and I had jet-black hair. I’d always seen the two women as polar opposites, both in looks and personality, but in this light she looked more like Mom than I’d ever noticed before. It might have been the shadows in her eyes, or the way her mouth turned down at the corners. I closed my eyes and leaned back.

  There was a knock on the door, and my insides twisted instantly back into a tight knot.

  ‘That’s probably Curt,’ said Lauren, jumping up. I heard the door open behind me, followed by Curt’s voice.

  ‘Hey, sexy - oh, Jim’s here.’

  ‘John,’ said Lauren.

  ‘John. Sorry man, I’m crap for names.’

  He walked around my chair and sat on the couch, pulling Lauren with him. I wanted to get up and leave, right on the spot, but something stopped me. I took a sip of water and stared straight ahead.

  ‘Still quiet?’ asked Curt. ‘You realise I’ve never heard him actually talk? Say something, dude. I don’t even know what your voice sounds like.’

  There were so many things I wanted to say to him, so many insults and put-downs and threats I’d come up with since the last time I saw him. None of them came out now. I wasn’t afraid of anyone - I’d mouthed off to the bullies at school, I’d challenged an FBI agent right to his face, and I’d gone toe to toe with a demon, but for some reason I was completely cowed by Curt. Something inside of me went completely inert around him. Why?

  ‘He gets a drink and I don’t?’ asked Curt. ‘What, no love for the boyfriend?’

  Lauren slapped him playfully on the shoulder and stood up to get him a glass of water.

  ‘And put some ice in it this time.’ Curt grinned at me. ‘Your sister’s like the lava queen - she’s probably going to put it in the microwave.’ Lauren turned on the tap and Curt twisted round to yell into the kitchen, ‘Not water, babe, soda.’

  ‘I’m all out,’ said Lauren. ‘Shopping’s this weekend.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Curt called, then turned back to me. ‘She’s always forgetting something. Women, eh kid?’

  That’s what it was - the thing that kept me down. It was all around him, in his words, his attitude, and even the way he smiled.

  He was exactly like my dad.

  It was the way he treated people, gregarious and cheerful but completely removed. Aloof. He was so excited about himself that there wasn’t room for anyone else. We were an audience for his jokes, and a mirror to reflect his actions, but we were not friends and we were not a family.

  And if we made our own actions instead of reflecting his, would Curt explode like Dad did? Did he yell at Lauren? Did he hit her?

  ‘You still haven’t said anything,’ said Curt, taking the glass from Lauren’s hand and settling back into the couch. Lauren snuggled up under his arm.

  ‘I was just leaving,’ I said, standing up. I couldn’t stay with him any longer. I stood there a moment, as if waiting for his permission, then forced myself to turn away and walk into the kitchen.

  ‘You just got here!’ said Lauren, jumping back up. ‘Don’t go yet.’

  ‘Don’t let me scare you off,’ said Curt.

  I set my glass down on the table, then thought better of it and moved it to the counter. It had left a moisture ring on the table, and I wiped it away with my hand.

  ‘We could watch a movie,’ said Lauren. ‘I don’t have very many, but there’s that cheesy kid one Dad sent me for Christmas. The Apple Dumpling Gang.’ She laughed, and Curt groaned.

  ‘Please no,’ he said.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Now your movie’s scared him off,’ said Curt, still lounging on the couch. ‘Hey, Lauren, you want to get a pizza?’

  ‘Bye, Lauren,’ I said, and hurried outside.

  ‘Bye, John,’ she called, her voice higher than normal. She was worried. ‘Come back soon.’


  And Mr Monster promised, silently, that he’d come back to visit Curt just as soon as he could.

  Chapter 9

  The night that school ended, I stood in the bathroom and stared in the mirror, gripping the sink. Another teenager might have been looking at himself, I guess - combing his hair or dabbing on some Clearasil or making his collar perfectly straight. It was the night of my date with Brooke, after all, and I needed to get ready, but that meant something very different for me than for anybody else. I wasn’t trying to look good; I was trying to be good.

  ‘I will not hurt animals,’ I said, ignoring the rule sheet and staring straight into my own eyes. ‘I will not hurt people. When I think bad thoughts about someone, I will push the thoughts away and say something nice about that person. I will not call people “it”. I will not threaten people. If people threaten me, I will leave the situation.’

  I peered deeper into the mirror, searching. Who was staring back? He looked like me, he talked like me, his body moved when mine did. I swayed to the right, then left, then back to centre; the person in the mirror did the same. This was the thing that terrified me the most - more than the victim, more than the demon, more even than the dark thoughts. It was the fact that the dark thoughts were mine. That I couldn’t separate myself from evil, because most of the evil in my life came from inside my own head.

  How long could I live like this? I was trying to be two people - a killer on the inside, and a normal person on the outside. I made such a show of being a good, quiet kid, who never caused problems and never got into trouble, but now the monster was out, and I was actually using him - I was actively seeking out another killer. I’d given in. I was trying to be John and Mr Monster at the same time.

  Was I fooling myself, thinking that I could split my life like this? Was it possible to be two people, one good and one bad, or was I forced to be a mix of both - a good person forever tainted by evil?

  My throat grew cold, and I threw up in the sink. I shouldn’t be going out with Brooke - it was dangerous. She was the one thing that Mr Monster and I both wanted, and that made her the gap in my armour. She was the link between us, and anything that strengthened that link would make Mr Monster stronger. I could only hope that it would make me stronger as well. I was starting a battle that only one of us could win.

  But was Brooke the prize? Or was she the battlefield?

  ‘Hey, John.’

  Brooke opened her front door quickly; she must have been waiting for my knock. She was dressed in shorts, as usual, even though we were going to be out late. It was supposed to be pretty warm tonight, so she’d probably be fine, but if she got too cold we could hang out by the bonfire. Win-win. Despite the shorts she did have a jacket, though I stopped myself from looking at her shirt, to avoid looking at her chest.

  What kind of crazy date would this be, if I didn’t even know what kind of shirt my date was wearing? Was this really as insane as I thought it was? How long would it be before she realised I was crazy? The only thing to do was the thing I always did - fake it.

  ‘Hey, Brooke,’ I said. ‘Nice shirt.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, smiling and glancing down at it. ‘I figured it was appropriate, since this is kind of a school thing.’ I kept my eyes on her hair, which she wore long and loose like a blond waterfall. She looked like a shampoo commercial. I imagined myself washing it, brushing it gently, gently, while she lay still on the table.

  I forced the thought out and smiled. ‘This should be fun. You ready to go?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, and started to pull the door closed, but someone called her from down the hall.

  ‘Brooke?’ It was her dad.

  ‘Yeah, Dad?’ she called back. ‘John’s here.’

  Mr Watson stepped into the doorway smiled. ‘Headed for the bonfire tonight?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘Well, you be careful out there,’ he said. ‘A bunch of kids get together in the middle of the night, you never know when one of them’s going to do something stupid and hurt somebody. But then I suppose my baby’s in good hands with you, right?’

  It was frightening how much most people didn’t know about me.

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ said Brooke, smiling at me. ‘Besides,’ she said, looking back at her dad, ‘there’s teachers there too - it’s like a real school activity.’

  ‘I’m sure everything will go fine,’ said Mr Watson. Then he stepped onto the porch and put a hand on my shoulder, guiding me a little way off to the side. I glanced at Brooke, and she rolled her eyes. ‘I always wondered what I’d do, the first time my daughter went on a date,’ he said.

  Brooke groaned behind us. ‘Dad . . .’

  ‘I always kind of imagined myself threatening the boy who took her out, you know? “I have a gun and a shovel,” type of thing. But I doubt that would really be all that scary to you, after what you’ve been through.’

  He didn’t know the half of it.

  ‘The thing is,’ he said, facing me directly, ‘the experiences you’ve been through recommend you pretty highly for the job. Every time I pictured this in my head, she was hopping on the back of some gang-banger’s Harley and ignoring me as I waved goodbye.’

  ‘Oh my gosh,’ said Brooke, turning red and covering her face.

  Mr Watson kept going. ‘I guess what I’m saying is, given the options, I’m glad she chose the local hero instead.’

  What?

  ‘Hero?’ I asked.

  ‘And humble to boot,’ he said, slapping me on the shoulder. ‘Well, I won’t take up any more of your time - you asked her out, not me. Brooke, you remember the rules?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, turning to go.

  ‘And?’

  She recited, ‘No drinking, no driving fast, home by midnight.’

  ‘And you have your phone?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you will call home if . . .?’

  ‘If we get lost or stuck somewhere.’

  ‘And you will call the police if . . .?’

  ‘If we see drugs, or if someone starts a fight.’

  ‘Or if he tries to kiss you,’ he said. Brooke turned bright red this time, and Mr Watson laughed and winked at me. ‘Hero or not, you’re still out with my baby.’

  ‘Holy crap,’ Brooke muttered, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the car, ‘let’s get out of here. Bye, Dad!’

  ‘Bye, Bubba!’ he shouted.

  ‘He calls you Bubba?’ I asked. Brooke was thin as a rail.

  ‘Baby nickname,’ she said, shaking her head, though I could see that she was smiling. We crossed around the car to the passenger side and stood by her door.

  And stood by it a while longer.

  I suddenly realised that she was waiting for me to open it for her. I stared at the door. This was her door - one of things I never touched. I glanced at her, just long enough to see that her eyebrows were scrunching down a bit - she was confused. If I delayed any longer, or if I made her do it, what would she think? She’d seen me look at the door, then back at her, so I couldn’t feign ignorance or bad manners at this point, unless I wanted to look like a complete jerk.

  Reaching out my hand, I opened the door, imagining as I did all the times her hand had touched the same door, her fingertips pressed against the same handle. When it was unlatched I let go and grabbed the top of the door instead, pulling it open that way.

  ‘Is there something wrong with the handle?’ she asked.

  ‘There was a wasp in there earlier,’ I said, thinking quickly. ‘I think it was trying to build a nest.’

  ‘That seems like a weird place,’ she said.

  ‘That’s because you’re not a wasp,’ I said, holding it open as she got in. ‘It’s all the rage for wasps these days.’

  ‘And you’re up to date on wasp trends?’ she asked, smiling mischievously.

  ‘I read one of their magazines,’ I shrugged. ‘Not mine, of course - I saw it at the barbershop. It was that or Moose I
llustrated, and I had to read something.’

  Brooke laughed, and I closed her door. How long could I keep this up? It was six o’clock now, and her dad wanted her back by midnight. Six hours?

  Trying to look normal when I was one in a crowd was easy. Trying to look normal one-on-one was going to be very hard work.