The Renfield Syndrome Ch. 06

He climbed out of Lori's car and crossed the wet lawn, dodging the small forest of yard signs cheering for this politician, saying fuck that politician, and the ever-present invitations to "come and take it". David was on the porch when he realized that he'd lost his key to this place along with all his others, but upon testing the door he found it unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside calling, "Dale, you up?"

The very first thing David noticed was the place reeked. There was no reply to his call, nor was there any sign of the Old Man in the kitchen or living room. David called his name again, keeping an eye out for what could be making that godawful stench. Then he realized it was his hypersensitive nose picking up the Old Man's usual aroma augmented by a lifetime of piss and beer farts ground into every conceivable surface.

"Oh God," David said aloud. He held his nose, but breathing through his mouth was even worse as now he could taste the myriad of horribly familiar scents in the air. Scents he could now remember breathing all his life and had very early come to associate with a place that was more enemy territory than home. David inhaled over his teeth and his newly supercharged Jacobson's organ processed the chemical information it was receiving with astounding speed. The olfactory bulb in his gray matter sprang into action, opening a direct expressway to the amygdala and hippocampus, the same regions of the human brain that process intense emotions and detailed memories. And so, David stood in the living room of his own old home and inhaled a thousand unwelcome recollections.

On the wall hung an ages old portrait of the entire family, painted when David was about twelve years old. It was one of the family's heirlooms, and David hated it. Two adults, five children, all their smiles artificial as hell and all their eyes painted so they looked dead. It always gave him a very Village Of The Damned vibe seeing all the Martin children lined up together and looking so much alike. This last was the most laughable illusion of all, because in reality David swore that they were all carbon-based forms of life and that's where the similarities ended.

David's brothers were universally big strapping lads, and even the youngest was large for his age. And of the multitude of values preached by Dale Martin to his clan, be they his religion, his politics, his view of this color person or that one, probably the single most important was masculinity. Men were men, they did manly things, and the very worst thing you could be was in any way effeminate. The Old Man figured that if a son of his wasn't coming home with broken ribs from the football field or some similar activity, that son had failed his father. Which, of course, was where David came into the picture.

While the facial resemblance among the brothers was strong, David had gotten his growth spurt late in life and spent most of his adolescence short, skinny, bespectacled, and just gender nonconforming enough to be noticeable. It could be seen in the toys he wanted to play with, the activities he liked, the company he kept on the playground. Rather than hunting, sports, and GI Joes like his brothers, David preferred cooking, reading, and playing with girls. Since childhood David had fit in better among women than men, and that went for all ages including his own household. His mother and younger sister were his safe islands in a very very stormy familial sea. But by contrast, the Old Man, his two older brothers, and even his youngest brother took great exception to having a "sissy" in the family.

Because that's what David always was, a sissy, a pussy, a girl, or a hundred other taunts because nobody at the time knew the word "gay". He was grateful every day that he'd managed to go so long undercover as the little weird kid instead of the little queer kid, the bullying for having a soft and bookish nature was bad enough as it was. He personally detested the word "bullying" because it was far too innocent, much too "boys will be boys" to accurately describe was it really was. It was fucking assault. And however bad it was in public places like the school system, it was a thousand times worse at home away from prying eyes.

And that's what the stink of this house brought back. David realized the smell had always brought it all back, he just hadn't been sensitive enough to notice on a conscious level before. But now that he could taste every molecule in the air and the accumulated decades of human habitation, the effect was staggering and it put his hackles up. This was a smell associated with a lifetime of never knowing where the next attack was going to come from or what form it would take. It was not safe here, and his animal mind knew it too well.

David's thoughts felt cluttered, and he shook his head to clear it. He had determined the ground floor was unoccupied, and so he climbed the carpeted stairs to the second where most of the bedrooms were. Pausing at the top, he tasted the air and grimaced as the stench of urine and human odor intensified sharply. David had to pass by his own old childhood bedroom on the way down the hall, and he glanced inside out of morbid curiosity. This was the room the Old Man continuously nagged him to move back into in order to provide twenty-four-hour care, and the one David swore he would never sleep a night in again. It had never been a safe place, there was nowhere in this house that was. Every room had its own unique and individual traumas that seemed to overshadow any bright memories David could dredge up.

This room for a perfect example. David had once shared it with his younger brother, who had made it his life's mission to report David's every move to his older siblings, lest any perceived crime go unpunished. Punishment had been the foundation of his life here. In his younger days the Old Man had been an old-fashioned spare-the-rod-and-spoil-the-child dictator of the house. And as David was barely taller than even his youngest brother, the role of "small kid in the family" fell on him instead. And being small and rather girlish was a crime to be punished in this household. Repeatedly. And that was before his tiny teenage porn stash had been discovered and confirmed everyone's worst suspicions about him. It got so much worse after that.

David retreated from his old bedroom and his old memories simultaneously. That was a nest of vipers that he didn't like to disturb without professional supervision from the various therapists he'd employed over the years. Before he emancipated himself at the earliest opportunity, his life after getting outed by his little brother was unbearable. David had become the dirty family secret, an aberration to be ashamed of. His sexuality was a stain on the Martin name, and a problem to be corrected immediately. And since no one, not even the church, could know his disgrace, at-home conversion therapy became the order of the day with the whole family called into service to straighten David out.

David walked all the way down the carpeted hall, the walls adorned with family pictures and various dead Jesuses at regular intervals. The door at the end was the master bedroom, and David braced himself before opening it and going inside. The king-size bed was vacant and unmade, with soiled clothes and dirty dishes piled everywhere, and the stench of the Old Man's ordure was choking. David gagged, and quickly turned to leave having ascertained the room was vacant, only to find himself confronted with the Old Man's bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey, perched on the dresser as if it were waiting for him.

David picked up the bottle and regarded it sourly. He had quite a history with this particular drink. For as long as he could remember, when the bottle of Jack appeared, abuse of all kinds was soon to follow. The Old Man was a mean drunk to put it mildly, and no one was safe. It was also the liquor that had served as David's gateway to a lifetime of overindulgence himself. His one and only transgression as a child, beyond simply being queer, was to steal swallows of this foul stuff, learning far too well and far too early how to kill the pain in a haze of alcohol.

Maybe it was the memories, maybe it was the scents still clogging his powerful olfactory system, or maybe it was just plain old self-destructiveness that made David untwist the cap of the bottle and take a large swallow. His stomach tried hard to recoil at the taste of it, but he grimaced and kept it down amid a surge of nausea. Then he took another, the whiskey feeling positively cruel as it seared its way down his throat. It was beyond stupid to be drinking, he still had to drive Lori's car home, but he might as well make his alcoholic failure complete with a DUI on his record. David kept the bottle and walked back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him in an attempt to block the ungodly smell of the past. It didn't work and the memories kept on coming.

With a sigh, David pondered what the best course of action was to take now. The Old Man wasn't home, but his truck was, which meant he'd left with someone else. His first thought was that the hypochondriac bastard had called the VA hospital and gotten himself admitted again rather than take care of himself for a day or two. He rather hoped that was it, the Old Man's hospital stays were David's luxury vacations. But once again, he didn't have the ability to call and find out, his personal lifeline to the world had been severed when he lost his phone. He was going to have to stop somewhere and find a prepaid one until he could replace the essential piece of equipment. That was assuming anyone still would accept a check from his ancient and long-unused checkbook which was his only means of paying without his wallet and plastic.

Ugh, it was all becoming too much to deal with. David regarded the bottle of whiskey and gave some consideration to simply sitting down, drinking the Old Man's booze away, and waiting to see if he came back from wherever the hell he was. The temptation to take another swig was strong, and had he been driving his own car today instead of Lori's (without his driver's license even), David would have surrendered to it. He longed for the brain fog that would cloud the memories in his head, dull his emotions to a flatline, and best of all, make him not care anymore. Trauma, depression, and anxiety he could handle fine, so long as he didn't have to care about it.

He had nearly made up his mind to pocket the booze and get the hell out of this miserable place when he heard the front door open downstairs. Surprised, David inhaled over his teeth and two distinct scents stood out in the miasma of aromas in the house, conjuring two distinct mental images. Suddenly David knew without a doubt that the Old Man had just come home and was downstairs in the company of his extremely nosy neighbor-slash-girlfriend, Gloria. David's nose not only identified them both, but it also gave him a clear image of their location one floor below. Likewise, his ears could pick up every word of their conversation as if they were standing in the room with him. David grimaced and considered the whiskey again, as the only thing worse than the Old Man on a bad day was an Old Man/Gloria tag team effort.

Bracing himself for impact, David descended the stairs and waved to the pair. The Old Man was in his beloved wheelchair as always, and Gloria stood hanging up their wet coats with her huge mop of hairsprayed and bleach blonde hair covered with a kerchief against the rain. They turned to confront him with surprise as he approached, the older woman's expression turning to a scowl as she recognized David.

"Hey, you two! I'm sorry for disappearing, I've..."

"You!" Gloria barked. "You left your poor father alone! How could you?"

"Where have you been?" the Old Man whined, then without waiting for an answer, "I fell and hurt myself!"

"Thank God I showed up to take him to church, like you should be doing, young man! We both know you don't go anymore!" Gloria's face was turning redder as her volume increased.

"Something... happened," David stuttered, realizing he was unprepared to explain his own absence. "There was an incident, something came up..."

"Something came up?!" Gloria screeched. "Your poor father was lying on the floor when I found him! He would be dead right now if it weren't for me, and you say something came up?"

"Oh, I've been stabbed!" The Old Man's wail was so well rehearsed it was practically his trademark. He grasped at his own head with both hands, stricken for all appearances by one of his post-stroke headaches that should have ended over a decade ago.

"Oh, you poor man!" Gloria simped over him. "Let's get you one of your pain pills. Thank the good Lord someone who cares about you is here. I hope you're ashamed of yourself, you little... deviant."

"Hey!" David protested, taken aback by the onslaught. "There's no reason to..."

"Oh, I know what you're about!" Gloria said smugly. "Your poor father has told me all about you. I'm not surprised someone like you would treat him so disgracefully! I'll have you know that I called the police and reported you for neglect!"

"Oh, my head!" The Old Man howled again, and Gloria immediately went in search of his bottle of OxyContin, alternately fussing over him and berating David.

"You poor thing, let's get you out of pain. And you, you ungrateful fairy! The Bible is clear about how we are to treat our parents. The fifth commandment says, 'Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you'. Exodus 20:12! God brings his wrath down on unfaithful sons, and you're already laughing in his face with your lifestyle." The older woman spit the last word out as if it were particularly distasteful.

"I'm here taking care of him every day, lady!" David snapped. "I had an accident..."

"Not enough of an accident! There's no excuse for your turpitude! You're lucky the police haven't locked you up already, I told them to do it when I called them. People like you should be locked up, you're a stain on society!"

"Gloria," David said with his temper rising. "That's enough, you've made your point."

But the older woman was just getting warmed up. Gloria procured one of the Old Man's white pills and one of his beloved beers from the fridge and delivered them both. Then she turned to confront David again, jabbing a finger into his chest and conveniently not seeing the smirk on the Old Man's face as he popped his drugs. "No, I haven't made my point!" she said. "Your soul is in danger young man! You're neglecting your father after all he's done for you, you're spitting in God's face with your venality, you've turned again Him and everything He stands for, and He won't tolerate it much longer!"

"I was lyin' on the floor all night prayin' you'd come," the Old Man said accusingly. "I was prayin' for you to come save me and you never showed up. You was too busy running around with your boyfriends to worry about your old Pa!"

"Disgraceful!" Gloria proclaimed as if she'd just caught David red-handed in some act of degeneracy. "People like you are on Satan's path, and he laughs every time you indulge in your immoral vices! And it almost cost your precious father his life this time! What will it be next time, David? What foulness will you bring into the world next if you don't turn back to God?"

"I'm not having this conversation..." David tried again, clutching the whiskey bottle in hands that had begun to shake. He suddenly felt trapped here in his childhood home with his head full of hated smells and memories, reduced to a little kid again, and his animal mind did not care for the feeling one bit.

"You've always been a worthless little fruit," the Old Man said accusingly. "Always too busy gettin' buttfucked to care about what you were doin' to your family."

"Homosexuality is a plague!" Gloria announced, having worked herself up to a proper righteous fury. "And you will burn in a lake of fire forever if you persist in your depravity!"

"Shut up..." David said in a dreadfully low voice, his hands shaking violently now. He knew this position all too well, standing in this house and being condemned repeatedly for being queer. Suddenly he wasn't pushing forty anymore, he was all the way back to sixteen again. Gloria preached on, but David was barely hearing her anymore. His head was too full of vivid memories of the Old Man's sermons, the abuse both physical and emotional, and all the other 'corrective' measures that had been tried to make David straight. He could smell his own fear now, oozing sourly through his pores, and that made the animal in him furious.

"...If a man lies with a man as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put to death, their blood is upon them..." Gloria recited.

"Shut up..." The Old Man's open hand, the fist, the belt, or anything else that was handy, ready to administer punishment at the slightest sign of weakness, of perceived femininity...

"Fuckin' little pussy, you always made me fuckin' sick."

"Shut up..." Always a pussy, always a sissy, always a girl, suffering at the hands of larger men for the crime of being small, all the abuse geared toward making a MAN out of him...

"Even as Sodom and Gomorrah, and the cities about them in like manner..."

"Shut up..." David's older brothers deputized into service, eager to help their father in his holy mission to beat the gay out of their younger sibling...

"...giving themselves over to fornication and going after strange flesh..."

David's little sister hiding in the closet as the Old Man raged throughout the house...

"...Are set forth an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire!"

David's mother looking on sadly, but never intervening, herself wearing sunglasses indoors to hide the bruises...

"...Likewise, also these filthy dreamers defile the flesh..."

His bedroom door opening late at night and the Old Man entering with a greased-up piece of broomstick in his hand, his personal tool of homosexual aversion therapy...

"GOD HATES FAGS!" The Old Man bellowed.

The whiskey bottle David was clutching between his hands exploded with a sound like a gunshot. Liquor and broken glass went everywhere as the blood began to pour from David's lacerated hands. Without a pause, he seized the heavy oak coffee table nearby and sent it sailing across the room to crash into the wall hard enough to halfway embed it. Gloria shrieked and David turned his gaze on her and the Old Man, seeing them centered in a haze of red. He could smell the fear on both of them now, and it was a glorious thing indeed. Crouched low to the ground and snarling like an animal, David advanced on them, savoring the luscious scent of their panic.

Gloria shrieked again and bolted for the front door, but she wasn't who David was most interested in now. Suddenly spry, the Old Man leapt up from his chair and positioned it between David and himself, his eyes wide and full of fear. David swung one arm and sent the wheelchair flying where it almost hit Gloria as she fumbled to fling the door open, her elderly boyfriend forgotten in her haste to flee the scene. The Old Man backed away as David advanced until his ass hit the wall, and upon finding he had nowhere to go, he held one hand up in a desperate stop gesture. "Woah, boy! Just calm down now son! Just calm down!"

David swung his fist and drove it into and through the wall next to the Old Man's head leaving a gaping hole, just to scare him that much more. His terror was ambrosial after a lifetime of abuse, and David was literally drooling with anticipation. The animal in him was free and it wanted to sink his teeth into that flabby neck and feel the lifeblood spurt down his throat while the Old Man was good and scared. With nowhere to retreat to, the fucker dropped down onto his ass and held both hands up to protect his face, whining like a terrified dog. David loomed over him, letting loose an involuntary growl of hunger as he bared his teeth and drew back one powerful arm with his hand hooked into a claw.