Chapter 1
Another night began as young Bruce Kelly crawled into bed and slid under the covers. Like every night his mother would tuck him in after she urged him to say his prayers. He remembered reciting his prayers from the time he was old enough to have a memory, but that is one of the few things he did remember. It was funny how his life seemed to begin in second grade and nothing but a simple night time prayer would be all that remained of earlier times. Here he was, almost thirteen and he didn’t know a thing about who he was and where he came from. Nothing but a prayer that he didn’t feel it meant a damn thing to him. In fact, the more he had to say it the more revolting it seemed to him. How could there be a God who would let a boy always suffer through the nightmares he endured. The nightmares that interrupted his sleep, left a wet pillow, and rumpled sheets from a seemingly endless night of torturous dreams. And his mother! She was no help at all, so frail and so quick to run crying from the room if he confronted her with questions of his lost childhood.
His sister was younger and it never seemed to bother her that no one talked about the family that was missing in their lives. Why did they not have grandparents? Where, and who, was their father. All they knew was this quiet, sterile little community in which no one ever did anything wrong and the school children were all nearly perfect. Sometimes he would sneak some time to watch a television program that his mother would not condone. The sight of zombies or thrill killers excited him for some reason. He was drawn to blood. Blood so red and warm….blood so inviting to his thoughts.
Bruce shook his head vigorously as if to reject his own images he had conjured. “No wonder I have nightmares!” He admonished himself. He hugged his mother and told her good night as she exited his room to let him sleep. But he never slept for long before the nightmares came.
Chapter 2
“Bruce, get your ass up and get down to breakfast!” Yelled his little sister Hannah.
“You better not let mom hear you saying that, you little witch!” Bruce called from his sweat soaked bed.
“I’m telling mom.” Confronted little Hannah, just six years old and full of herself.
“Suit yourself, and I’ll just have to tell her you called me an ass!”
“Faggot!” She called back to him as she skipped down the hall to the bright yellow kitchen that let in all the sun anyone could bear so early on a school morning. Bruce wondered to himself where she picked up some of the stuff she said. Perhaps her school was not as squeaky clean as the one he attended. Hers was a public school, his was a private boy’s school. Mom would never answer his questions why he had to attend a private school, she just shined him over by telling him it was because he was special and deserved what a private school had to offer. Why was he so special and Hannah was not? She was bright and precocious. Public school was teaching her things she should not be learning…such a potty mouth she had!
Hannah was a baby of eighteen months in the earliest times that Bruce could remember. It was as though he was just created and never existed before then. Mom always kept such a strict watch over both of them. She was barely ever away from them and seemed to act like a prison guard at times. Bruce never knew when to expect mom to pop in on him as he lingered in his room watching his G-rated movies, playing with carefully selected G-rated video games, or reading books carefully selected for children. How Bruce longed to be able to watch the types of movies his friends from school watched or to play video games where he could be an avatar with a sword sharp enough to behead his enemy! Blood was so cool! So freakin’ warm and COOL!
Chapter 3
Hannah babbled on about this friend and that friend she knew from school. She had so many friends, it seemed to Bruce. Most of the kids in private school thought Bruce was a mamma’s boy. He wondered if he was. He yearned to escape the invisible restraints his mother had tethered to him…the proverbial apron strings.
“What’s on your mind this morning, Bruce?” Asked his mother as she gazed at her young son deep in his own world of concentration.
“Nothing much, just thinking about school.” He said as he left his dream world and shoved a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth. “Mom? Why can’t I go to public school? I could be so much help to you walking Hannah to and from school everyday.”
“Bruce, we’ve been over this a thousand times!”
“But I hate private school!” He protested, then grinned sheepishly “I’m getting to the age when I might want to get to know some girls.”
“Oh, hush!” His mother chided him. “I’m not ready to let some girl get her hooks into my baby boy!”
Hannah was laughing and sing songing, “Brucie wants a girl friend, Brucie wants a girl friend!”
“Damn straight.” Bruce said under his breath.
“What’s that you said?” Asked Mom.
“Uh, I said we’re going to be late…come on Witchy Woman, I’ll help you get your jacket on!” Bruce said to his sister as he got up from the table.
“Don’t call your sister a witch!” Scolded Mom.
“I don’t mean nothing’ by it.”
Hannah had already rushed to the closet to get her jacket and picked up her Sponge Bob lunch pail that sat next to the front door. “Bye Mom!” She called out as she headed for the bus stop just a few hundred feet from their house.
“Mom, can I walk today?” Bruce asked, crossing his fingers.
“No, I’ll drop you off on my way to work.”
“Sonovabitch!” Whispered an exasperated Bruce.
“What did you say?”
I said my foot itches!” Lied Bruce.
Chapter 4
The nightmares had been going on for years. Bruce tried to hide it from his mother because she always had him going to this counselor or that shrink. He was tired of that drill, but he often wondered how a kid so sheltered could have such horrible thoughts wrecking his sleep nearly every night. He found it embarrassing to talk about it because the dreams were so vivid…so vile. He felt so normal during the day, but at night he transformed into someone or something he had never encountered. He thought he was a good kid, but where did he get these evil thoughts?
“Mr. Kelly!” The teacher’s voice boomed and snapped Bruce back to reality.
“Huh? I mean, yes sir?”
“Have you heard a word I have said this morning?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night, sore throat, headache…”
“And I suppose that is why your homework assignment is on the wrong chapter?”
“It is?” Bruce asked, obviously confused.
The classroom of boys broke out into unbridled laughter as Bruce’s face began to redden. “I’m sorry, Mr. Voltz, I’ll do it over if you give me the chance.”
“You march yourself down to the office and see if Principal Woodly thinks I should. I am tired of dealing with your excuses, young man.”
Bruce got up and headed for the door when Mr. Voltz stopped him. “Take your books, I don’t want you back in here today.”
“Yes, sir.” Bruce walked to the door feeling the stare of forty eyes on his back and hearing snide comments from his classmates. They were calling him a loser among other things. He whirled around to face the class and glared at them with eyes so angry they could be shooting blood. “I’m NOT a fuckin’ loser!” He shouted as he hurled his books across the room. Mr. Voltz rushed over and tried to drag him out of the classroom as Bruce grabbed the pointer on the blackboard shelf and swung it with full force into the side of his teacher’s head. Mr. Voltz lost his footing and fell dazed to the floor as several boys ran to subdue Bruce and others ran to get help. The struggle was unbelievable as Bruce seemed to have a power much more intense than any other thirteen year old. It took most of the boys still in the classroom to wrestle him to the floor and keep him from doing anymore damage. The principal arrived to see Mr. Voltz still lying motionless on the floor while several boys held a struggling and cursing Bruce at bay. One of the boys was bleeding profusely from a broken nose which caught Bruce’s attention. Suddenly he stopped struggling and focused on the blood…the warm red blood.
Chapter 5
Bruce sat in handcuffs in the processing room of the local juvenile detention center. He was not crying, in fact he looked completely emotionless as the police officers who brought him in gazed at him intently through the one way mirror. The intake personnel were busy getting his information from his mother, who kept glancing through the glass at her son. She had tried so hard to protect him from his past. She thought she had done everything right by him at great expense to her own well being.
Bruce was a handsome young man who appeared physically more like a junior or senior in high school. His dark hair was close cropped and he wore the typical uniform of today’s teenager when he was not forced to put on his school clothes. Private school was chosen for him because he had lingering problems associated with his past. A past he did not remember, only in his dreams. By morning only the horror of his dreams followed him through the day. He had no idea that his dreams held the key to a dark past.
It was not surprising that it took so many students to take him down after his classroom outburst. Bruce was an athlete who took his training seriously. On the football field he had the reputation as being the hardest hitting linebacker in the conference. His baseball prowess was beyond compare and he would most certainly be sought after for his skills on the diamond. His power with the bat was unsurpassed and he was leading the way to break all the school records. In the summer local sandlot teams surried to get him on their team. It was only his teammates who resented his presence. He was not open and friendly to them and seemed to hold himself above the rest. If they only realized just how much Bruce craved their friendship. The distance he held between other boys and himself was not because he thought he was superior, quite the opposite, he felt vastly inferior. He was missing something important in his life. He didn’t really know who he was or where he came from. All he knew is that he had an overly protective but loving mother and a smart ass little sister who seemed to have the word by the balls.
Bruce continued to sit silently knowing that there were people behind that mirror dissecting him. Perhaps even his mother was there, alternating between he usual disappointment and despair, sadness and anger. His brown eyes were devoid of any sparkle that a person would have. His were like the eyes of a great white shark…lifeless, emotionless. Were his eyes hiding his emotions? God knows he sure displayed a variety of them today!
