The Hand That Feeds: A Horror Novel (4 page)

5

John realized he was holding his breath. Slowly, he let it out and took a step towards the door. He felt Angela grab a hold of his hand and pull. She was looking at him; he could see her from the corner of his eye.

“What?” he
asked.

“We can’t leave,” she said.

“Like hell we can’t. Don’t you see Rex?”

“That’s your son down there
, damn you.”

John
could argue the point, but hearing it made him think. It was the most inopportune time, but his mind was flooded with memories. He remembered holding Alex for the first time in the hospital. He remembered how small his hands were when he pushed his thumb into the center of his palm. In that moment, John remembered it all.

“
Alex?” John said.

Angela’s grip tightened.

“Alex,” she said.

John felt paralyzed.
Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t find the strength to move. Nothing made sense. “Alex, please, it’s daddy…” He went quiet as a sound came from underneath the bed. A hissing noise grew louder for several seconds then died away. A sudden movement from underneath the bed caused John and Angela to jump. Alex’s hand reached out from the dark space and into the light. The skin was thin and grey. Dark lines crisscrossed over the top of his hand, running down each frail and boney finger. His nails were caked in something John wouldn’t guess, but the stains on the tips of the fingers were clearly blood.

Alex
’s other hand lurched from underneath the bed, clawing at the floorboards. The hissing noise returned as John saw his son’s face pull out into the light. The color of his cheeks were more blue than grey. The jaundice-like glow was gone, but the dark veins were more prominent in his forehead and neck.

J
ohn felt Angela’s hand pushing against his back, but he held his ground. He gave her a shove in return with his elbow, and then planted his feet firmly. He did not intend to move closer to the bed until he better understood what was going on. He was horrified by Alex’s appearance, but as far as he could tell, Angela wasn’t affected by it at all.

“
Hey, baby,” she said as she got down on her hands and knees, looking into Alex’s eyes for some sign of her son. As she tried to move closer, she was crying. John put his hand on her back to stop her and was forced to step in front of her.

John got within a few feet of the bed
before Alex lunged forward. He made it a foot away from his father and then collapsed on the floor with his hands outstretched. John didn’t react quickly enough and if Alex would have had the strength, he would have had a hold of his legs. The boy laid motionless on the ground and the hissing turned to a growl. His exposed arms looked battered and bruised. Angela reached out and stroked his hair before John could stop her. Alex didn’t move.

“He’s dying,” she said.

That’s an understatement, John thought.

“Do something,” she
said.

John crept to his right so he could keep an eye on
Alex’s face. He saw the outline of blood on the boy’s ear and the side of his head. There was a dark brown clump stuck to his hair. It took John a few seconds to realize it was Rex’s fur. Now, closer to the bed, John could see the rest of the dog’s remains underneath. He could also see Alex wasn’t breathing. Even so, the boy’s fingers moved every couple of seconds.

“I think he’s…” John thought about what he was saying. “I think he’s hungry?”

“So, I’ll go get him a sandwich,” Angela said, then jumped up.

“I don’t think so,
” John said and she stopped at the door. “I don’t think a sandwich will do it.”

“What does he need?” she asked.

John looked over at the bloody pile in the corner of the room, but didn’t answer. Angela took a deep breath and held it for a moment.

“He’s our baby
, John,” she said then released the breath. “We can’t let him die.”

John didn’t know how to tell her that
Alex was already dead. He really didn’t know how to tell himself. His mind couldn’t piece together how his son died and then came back. Whatever it was that brought him back, scared the hell out of John. He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, but he considered his options. He’d been pulled into Angela’s world of madness and although he knew this world was a debilitating place to be absorbed in, it was easy to focus on his son and nothing else.

“Meat,” he said. Angela looked at him with a terrified expression. John couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“Meat,” he repeated. He looked at the remains of the dog, and then over at his wife. “He wants meat.”

#

They tried everything. Angela brought the meat from the kitchen while John waited in Alex’s room. It was plain to see that whatever it was that kept Alex moving, was fading fast. He placed in front of the boy’s face everything Angela found. She brought the ground beef first. It seemed like the logical choice. He’d heard her banging around in the kitchen as she tried to get out the frying pan.

“Don’t bother cooking it,” he’d
said.

She did
n’t question him. A moment later, a full pound of ground beef lay in front of Alex’s face. He moved slightly, only once, as the smell of the beef hit him and then laid still. Angela cleaned the refrigerator out. She brought in everything from hot dogs to boloney. Alex reacted twice more, both times trying to nip at John’s hands when he got to close. The mountain of meat stacked on the floor reeked.

John got back to his feet, out of
ideas. He staggered around to the end of the bed, crouched down and located Alex’s legs. Cautiously, he reached in between the rails of the footboard. His hands wrapped around the exposed skin on Alex’s leg and he wanted to pull back. The skin was as rough as sandpaper and cold to the touch. The repulsion of his son was a difficult emotion to swallow. He tried not to think about anything more than the task at hand. John took a firm hold of the legs and then pulled as far as he could.

After a few attempts, he
got Alex out from under the bed. He managed to stay away from the boy’s face at all costs. He loved his son without question, but he feared him enough to keep his distance as best he could. When it was done, Alex lay sprawled out in the center of the bedroom floor on his stomach, his arms and legs spread away from his body. Throughout it all, he never moved.

The smell of the warming meat mixing with the funk of the dog’s remains
made the room unbearable. The stench stung John’s eyes as he stepped over Alex. He considered trying to put what was left of Rex in a bag, but he didn’t want to leave Angela alone in the room for any amount of time if he could help it. She had moved closer to the doorway and from time to time, John heard her gagging. He worried that whatever was in her stomach might soon add to the mess on the floor.

“I want to get him up on the bed,”
he said.

Angela looked at him.

“Stay where you are,” he said.

He
studied the situation for a minute then set his mind on what he would do. Alex was nearly in line with the bed the way he was laying. He moved in close to the boy, in one quick motion pushed his hands underneath Alex’s chest and stomach, and lifted him. He stood up and flung the boy toward the bed, spinning him in the process. Alex landed awkwardly, but stayed atop the mattress. His limbs flung around as if they were no longer attached underneath the skin. His neck snapped hard as his head move toward the window and then back toward John. When he stopped, the boy’s eyes were open, staring at his father.

Angela gasped from the door. John waited for movement and was rewarded with a spasm.
Alex’s arm shook and moved down by his side. His mouth opened and his tongue flopped out like a dog. A gurgling sound rose from his lungs as if he was trying to speak in some language his parent’s didn’t understand. The stench from the boy’s lungs filled the room, saturating John like a burst of flames, and he was forced to turn away as his eyes watered.

John
turned back to find Angela crying again. He crossed the room and grabbed a hold of her. She buried her face in his shirt and cried louder. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed with all her might. John struggled to take a breath.

“It’s not fair,”
she said.

He
could barely make out what she was saying.

“We can’t lose him twice. We can’t lose him twice.”

He stroked her hair and tried to calm her, but there was little he could do. In the end, he settled for holding on to her until she got it all out. When she looked up at him, her eyes were swollen and red, her face streaked with tears. He had never seen such agony up close.

“I don’t know what to do,” h
e said.

H
e tried to think of anything to fight off the pain, but his thoughts were cut in two by the sound of the doorbell. Angela’s expression changed. She looked like they were doing something wrong and she didn’t want anyone to know. John tried to move past her, but she wouldn’t let go.

“It has to be Dr. Taylor,” he said.

“We can’t tell him, John.”

John pulled himself free and headed for the door. Angela ran after him
, but didn’t try and stop him. She sat down on the couch and tried to fix her hair as fast as she could. John wasn’t sure why she was trying to play it so cool. He never had time to consider her actions. He reached the front door as the bell rang for the third time. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then opened the door.

Dr. Taylor burst through the door as if he expected to find
the house on fire. “Is everything alright?” He scanned the living room and what he could see of the dining room before bringing his attention to Angela. “Good heavens,” he said, “are you alright?”

Angela tried to smile and nod at the same time. Her attempt to keep herself together was fading quickly.

“You’d better sit down,” John said as he grabbed Dr. Taylor by the elbow and ushered him toward the couch. “There’s a lot we have to talk about.” He realized he’d man-handled the doctor a little more than he intended.

Dr. Taylor eyed
them both suspiciously as he sat. He was waiting to hear about Alex’s condition and didn’t appear to be willing to wait much longer.

“This isn’t going to make much sense to you,” John
said.

“John
, maybe we should-”

John waved Angela off before she
got started. “Dr. Taylor,” he said as he sat in the chair next to the couch and leaned closer to the doctor. “Just hear me out.”

#

Dr. Taylor listened to John without saying a word. Even when the story pushed past the boundaries of modern medicine, he didn’t interrupt. John couldn’t tell what the doctor was thinking, but he guessed he was thinking of a good mental hospital to admit him to. John was having a little trouble believing the story after hearing it out loud. Once he was finished, John sat back in the chair and stared out the living room window. He’d noticed Angela’s growing agitation as the story went on. She leaned back on the couch before he’d finished and refused to look at him or the doctor. They waited for Dr. Taylor to gather his thoughts.

“Well,” Dr. Taylor said
, “it’s important to remember that both of you are going through a very difficult time.”

“I
’m not crazy, Doctor,” John said, although he wasn’t sure he believed it.

“I’m not saying that.” Dr. Taylor put up his hands in defense. “A traumatic experience can have dramatic effects on
the mind. The loss of a child is…”

“
Alex is not dead,” Angela said as she jumped off the couch. “He’s not dead.”

John came to his feet and grabbed her. He force
d her to sit back down, taking a seat next to her and keeping one arm around her shoulders. Dr. Taylor sat frozen for a time, shocked by the sudden outburst. When he did move again, he sat his satchel on the floor at his feet and began rummaging through it.

“Hold her still.”

John couldn’t see what Dr. Taylor was doing, but he had a good idea. He grabbed a hold of one of Angela’s arms and put all his weight against her body. They fell down on the couch and he pinned her there while keeping one arm stretched out as she screamed at him. He held her as still as he could, while the doctor leaned in and plunged a syringe in her vein. Whatever it was, it worked quickly. Angela stopped fighting after only a few minutes and fell silent. John stood up and saw she was still awake.

“Will that knock her out?”
he asked.

“No.” The doctor
put the syringe away. “It will make her passive.”

John sat back down i
n the chair.

“John, I’m not going to beat around the bush here,” Dr. Taylor said. “I believe
you’re becoming wrapped up in Angela’s sickness. This is not unprecedented. There are numerous examples of perfectly sane people being drug down into a psychosis type state by simply having close contact with a troubled mind.”