Chapter 4:

Preston Dregor walked up the steps to his house and jiggled the key in the lock. He turned it, heard the latch click, and swung the door open. He stopped for an instant, listened, and then tip-toed through the kitchen into the living room and up the stairs. They creaked and Preston knew the old man heard him.

"Preston, is that you?" He wanted to run.

"Yes father." He waited anxiously. Finally.

"Come into my room Preston." He walked over to the door and pushed it open, revealing a bare, dark room. His throat felt bone dry. His father's back faced him and he stood looking out the window. Preston kept his head low, focused on his father's finely crafted Italian shoes.

"I received a call from your school while I was away. The vice principal told me you were causing trouble again. He said you beat up some boy. Caused a big racket right in the school hallway. He said this isn't the first time." Silence and then. "Is this how I've raised you? What would your mother think?" He turned and looked at his son.

"I don't like being disturbed, especially when I'm on a business trip. And especially not by this kind of news. When are you going to learn to act like a civilized human being?" His eyes were cold and Preston knew he was in trouble.

"Do you have anything to say, any excuse or reason for your hooliganism!" Silence was his best option. "I guess not." His father stepped forward. He was a big man with big hands and hard fists. The first punch landed on Preston's jaw. He staggered back but his old man grabbed him, pulled him forward, and punched him below the ear. It was useless to resist. He tried to once and the beating had only been worse.

"Do you know how disgraceful it is for me to have a son like you? The entire neighborhood must think I'm a laughingstock," He punched Preston in the stomach. "You're a dog, and if your mother was alive, she'd spit on you and curse the day she gave you life. Worthless trash, worthless trash, worthless trash!" he screamed louder and louder, as he kicked and punched and clubbed. Preston curled into a fetal position near the door and waited for the beating to pass. At last his father staggered back, exhausted, snot running in a swinging line down his nose.

"Eileen, how could you have left me, how could you have!"

Preston gingerly inched across the floor and out of the room. He pulled himself up and worked his way down the stairs. Halfway down, his strength failed, and he tumbled the last few feet. He managed to weave across the kitchen and out the door. He stumbled away from the front yard, zigzagging down the street like a drunk.

Preston collapsed into some shrubbery, scraggly branches digging into his cheek, the world fading into...numbness.

Fragments of dreams swirled through his sleep. His mother smiled, holding a screw driver and using it to put together his first bicycle. No, it had been a red tricycle with streamers and a white triangle emblem on the front.

A shadow. His father approached like an ogre. Thoughts spinning faster and faster - the bicycle, the trees and grass were gone. They were inside the house, his first house. It was nice and large and beautiful. Preston loved to play under the huge pine tree making mud pies and digging tunnels and trenches in the dirt. He saw his hand move through one tunnel, burying an ant in an avalanche of black.

Screaming, he heard the familiar screaming. Inside the house now. There was a shout, a whack, and more screaming. Crying, Preston was crying, wiping the tears with his dirty filthy fingers and smearing it over his face.

another scream. "Stop it Richard!" a whack, another whack, another whack. Stumbling and feet running down the hallway. pittar patter and light like his mother's steps. mommy bloody, eyes swollen, skin shredded and torn, clothes ripped. preston crying and mommy hugging.

"shhh, everything will be alright baby, shhh don't cry." in between sobs and gasps for air and winces of pain. daddy standing there. daddy looking mad. Preston scared of daddy. Don't like daddy.

"i'm leaving richard, to save preston." crying sobbing. preston sobbing and crying. bad and dark and scared.

"i love you eileen, you leave and i'll kill him." daddy looking at him, hate.

still with mommy in different room mommy crying and her arms shaking wildly kiss on the cheek and a "goodbye preston, i love you." more crying and one of mommy's tears on his cheek where was mommy going didn't want to be alone.

many round and soft things in mommy's palm swallowed with water curled up on bed with preston in arms preston smiled mommy groans, gasps, eyes role mommy silent growing cold mommy doesn't talk but very cold preston cried scared and alone

crying crying crying

He awoke to bright light. A streetlight loomed above him, moths flitting around the bulb. He lifted himself onto his elbows and felt a throbbing pain in his head. His lower lip was shredded and blood spotted the front of his black t-shirt. Preston crawled out of the bushes and onto the street.

He was fed up with his old man and the beatings. Fuck him, if he wanted to beat anything, let him beat off. Preston grunted at the thought and shuffled down the street, wincing in pain. Eventually he reached Wellow Falls Center. The city hall clock read four thirty in the morning. He rested for a moment before heading down Main Street. His mouth was sandpaper dry by the time he reached the railroad tracks. He rested and then crossed them into the woods.

The woods were his territory. Preston could follow each of the paths with his eyes closed and he had built half a dozen hiding places over the years to escape from his father.

"Fuck everyone," he whispered feeling a sharp stab in his chest. He walked towards the quarry, letting the sounds of the forest - the chirps and squeaks, the whooshes and the occasional howl - loosen and relax him.

He came to a large oak tree and swept away a pile of leaves and twigs. Lying in a small hole was a tightly rolled sleeping bag, a few cans of corn and beans, a knife, and a stack of books. He pulled out the sleeping bag and unrolled it. The flashlight clicked on and Preston bent over and examined his library - Anna Karenina, The Art of War, Gone With the Wind, and the Lord of the Rings. He pulled out a book titled Hitler and Stalin.

He opened to the bookmark as his mind wandered to first grade, to Ms. Jasper. When he was younger, his father avoided hitting his face - that left marks others could see. But he goofed one day and left a shiner below Preston's left eye. Ms. Jasper noticed and asked him about it. They called his old man. It was a mistake. His Father's family went way back in Wellow Falls and he had enough connections to quash any trouble. His father told the social worker Preston had accidentally fallen down the stairs; his son was so clumsy. Preston received a doubly bad beating that night. His old man was more careful, for awhile; he had an answer for every problem.

Preston found his spot on the page and started reading:

"To achieve this, the Germans must conquer a new German empire which would dominate the European continent. This pointed to a foreign policy that went far beyond the demands for the revision of the Treaty of Versailles...and became a full-blooded policy of acquiring Lebensraum (living space)..."

His eyes grew heavy and he fell asleep.

Crack.

His eyes shot open. He heard another twig snap and then heavy tramping footsteps.

Preston wriggled out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his knife. He crept forward, away from the large tree and towards the sound. The footsteps stopped and Preston slid around the base of another tree. The air smelled foul, like the stench of sewerage or a decomposing animal. He grimaced and stepped out.

Standing in the middle of the brambles was the nerd he had beaten up.

"No, please...can't do it..."

"Did you say something? What are you doing here? You stink." Preston remembered every blow he received as punishment for beating the kid up, and his surprise turned to anger.

"not a killer...I know, I know, it was promised but I don't want it anymore..." The boy's eyes rolled back like he was going into a seizure.

"Preston, run, please run, my mother and father. Run!" He sobbed and Preston took a step forward.

"I'm not running anywhere you half twit moron. Didn't you learn your lesson? Do I need to teach you again Limpy?" The boy's body shook, his eyes rolled back again, and then his head dropped.

"Perhaps you're right, nothing but cruelty." Preston unsheathed his knife and the little boy fell to his knees. The nerd stopped trembling and looked at Preston, smiling.

"Oh I've learned my lesson Preston. And I have you to thank for it." He rose to his feet and advanced.

"I have a friend, and my friend tells me that you are no longer the bully in town, the one calling the shots, the big, mean honcho. As a matter of fact, my friend tells me that you're only what I want you to be. Worm food, personal slave, slop boy. What will it be good old Preston boy?"

"Oh you're dead," Preston hissed, thrusting his knife. Red electricity crackled at the tip of Limpy's fuck finger before jumping onto Preston's hand. It seared and he dropped the knife.

"What the..?" Preston took a step back. He tried to throw a punch but his arm froze mid-air. The boy twirled his finger and Preston hurtled backwards and landed in a pile of thorns.

The nerd laughed.

"Did you like that?" What was that red stuff on his finger? He needed time to think and ran down the hill, deeper into the woods. That was fucked up, he thought.

"Run all you want Preston! Run to the ends of the earth! I've seen your destiny. You are mine!" Giggling reverberated through the forest. Sweat dripped down Preston's forehead and his lungs ached but he continued running.

Got to knock him out. Then I'll figure out what's going on.

He came to Vinyard Meadow, a flat, grassy area. Preston crouched in a hollow and groped in the sand until he found a large rock. A shadow plunged out of the woods and into the moonlight.

"Come on you little fucker, just a little closer."

"You are..." Preston slammed the rock into his chest. Thump. The body fell into the tall grasses. A dog barked in the distance. Insects chirped. Preston watched the spot sure the boy wasn't getting up. He had made sure to deliver a blow that would stun the kid and maybe even knock him out. A minute passed and he crept forward, sure he had succeeded. Before he could reach the spot, the boy spoke:

"It's going to take more than a rock. I've seen it all; I've seen what happens to you. My friend showed me. You're floating motionless, dead, on a sea of water. He says our destinies are linked, became linked from the moment we met." Another little giggle. "You're going to become one of us. You will serve me." Martin rose out of the grass. Dark liquid pulsed over the wound, like a breathing, black scab. The smell was putrid.

"I've become invincible, powerful. My friend says I can have everything I've wanted. Come Preston, come to me and you can have it. Come to me."

He was dreaming. That was the only explanation because limping geeks didn't suddenly spurt red electricity from their fingers and heal with black, oozing, breathing, moldy scabs.

"Come to me Preston," he said like a father talking to a naughty son and Preston's anger exploded.

"Fuck you Limpy!"

"Have it your way." A silver nail shot towards him. Preston tried to lurch out of the way but wasn't fast enough. A stabbing pain shot through his hand and he watched in shock as his middle finger bounced into the tall grasses. He staggered back, collapsed, and rolled down a small hill. He heard Limpy coming down the hill, trampling the grass, looking for him, hunting him. To stem the blood, Preston pushed the stump into his other hand. He got up and scampered back into the woods as blood spurted from his clenched fist.

He staggered through the underbrush and rested against a large rock, feeling dizzy and weak. Limpy's shuffling footsteps moved closer.

Preston knew that crossing the gulch was his only chance to escape. It wasn't far, maybe two or three hundred feet. If he moved fast enough, he was sure he could beat Limpy there. Preston gathered his energy and ran.

It felt like he ran miles and just when he thought he would collapse, Preston reached it, a long, deep crag in the earth that split the woods. At the bottom, a hundred feet down or so, were the rusted remnants of diggers, drills, boring machines, and other machinery belonging to the old mining company. The only way across was a narrow, twelve foot long plank which the local kids maintained as a shortcut.

Preston dashed across the gulch and kicked the plank away.

A moment later, Martin emerged from the trees, limped over to the edge, and glared at him. Preston knew that the games he played as a bully were over. Something happened to this nerd and he was inhumanly strong. Worse, he had a vendetta against him.

"You're not alive."

"More so than ever." The boy's smell and the blood loss made Preston nauseous. He vomited into the gorge. Limpy chuckled.

"This isn't over Limpy." The nerd gave him the finger.

"Pretty hard to do that now, isn't it Preston? You have no idea what's in store for you. You're nothing but our tool now. Remember that." Preston staggered away.

He left the woods, crossed Appleton Street, and stumbled towards Wellow Falls center. His right hand and pants were drenched in blood and he was shaking. Even though it was dawn, the world was darker. Preston stumbled and fell to his knees. He groped at a post, smearing blood over it before pulling himself back up. He started down Nestle Street and collapsed on top of a manhole cover. He felt the cold metal on his side and heard a hollow sound, like the sucking of a vacuum cleaner.

"No," he mumbled, "no," and managed to stand again. The Ame's house was vacant and Preston remembered seeing the For Sale sign by the house just a week ago. A car turned onto the street, headlights casting eerie shadows, and sped by. Preston lumbered for another block until he reached a large, white colonial. He collapsed against the siding, leaving a long red streak across several rows of shingles before inching over to the basement window and kicking the glass in with his boot. He fell onto the ground, cleared the shards away as best he could with his sleeve and then wormed his way through the small window. He fell onto the basement floor, groaned once, and then looked up at the ceiling.

The hollow sucking sound grew louder. A bloody bubble rose from his lips and popped.

It grew dark. The sound rippled and twisted and started to slowly rotate. Faster and faster it spun until it became a funnel that consumed the darkness to nourish its growth - a black hole. He tried to stop it and push away the dark but his hands and body were gone. The funnel grew and grew and Preston knew he was approaching the event horizon, the point at which he would disappear forever - death.

"Nooooo!" The black hole was massive, the size of thousands of suns and hundreds of galaxies. He fell towards it. "Noooo!" he screamed before the vortex of the hole erupted in red, smashing the blackness. For an instant, he saw a woman dressed in blue looking at him, and then she was whisked away.

He opened his eyes and a girl stood over him. Her finger was pressed to his stump, and where they touched it glowed a sullen red like the nerd's electricity. He tried to get up but couldn't, watching as his severed finger re-grew. Through the red haze he watched the bone re-build, followed by blood vessels, capillaries, and skin.

The girl smiled. She was beautiful.

"What is this?" he managed to whisper before returning to the darkness.

The hollow sound was back, although it sounded less urgent and menacing.

He sped over an ocean, passing waves and an occasional atoll. Finally, he saw land. A long, sandy beach stretched along the shore, followed by high cliffs and then a dense jungle which ended in a broad plain. It was an island. It wasn't the only one. Four smaller islands surrounded it.

He felt a tug. His momentum slowed and he started falling. He saw the swell of the sea, the white foam of the stormy ocean, and the speckles of sea weed and ocean growth. The big island loomed in front of him. He felt another tug, and then another and he fell faster and faster. The air rushed out of his lungs and his stomach heaved as the ocean grew closer. Preston screamed....

...and bolted upright.