HOBO Kyle - chapter 6

The storm blew hard. Gusts of water and forest debris scattered into and throughout the night. Wind sent the rain in every direction, but down. Crashes of thunder punctuated the symphony of creaking trees, breaking branches, and rain lashing against the leaves.

Dr. Gargoyle had made it clear that the house was indefensible and it was time to find other accommodations, and implement a new strategy.

“We can ward them off while you prepare to leave, but time is not our ally. Take necessities only please, Ms. White.” His voice was calm, but also demanding, and she moved with a purpose.

Ilva grabbed a handful of venison jerky and dried fruit from the pantry, which was one of the few things in the kitchen area that wasn’t completely destroyed. She went upstairs, collected a small emergency pack that was used for supplies on hunting trips, and stuffed the food in.

Next, she retrieved the Ruger LC9 from Hugo’s room, as well as a pair of all-weather coveralls from his closet. Ilva stripped off her clothes, which were thoroughly imbued with blood and tears. Her brother’s hunting garment was a bit large for her frame, but there were enough velcro straps to make it fit usefully.

Ilva had her own gear, but it was all well-worn, hand-me-downs, covered in patches and heavy handed seam repairs. Her father had always been disappointed that she was a girl, and made just below a concerted effort to let that be known. He was old fashioned, in the worst ways, but also in the best. He didn’t hold with the equality of women, but did hold with equality of children.

She had been made to work and earn her keep around the property. She had made her hands rough with work, and her resolve hardened as well.

Her father did not go out of his way to teach her, but he also did not prevent Hugo from filling in the gaps in her practical education. Her mother taught her how to keep the house, but Hugo taught her how to track and shoot. How to use the knife. How to be still. How to survive, within and without.

Hugo’s coveralls had a myriad of pockets, filled with various essentials, from tissues to a magnesium fire starter set. She seated the Ruger in the attached hip holster and her hand brushed against the empty sheath where Hugo’s knife would rest. Ilva knew that the blade wouldn’t be there, but hoped all the same that it would be. It was the one item she most wanted to have on her person, everything else was gravy, and she choked on the knowledge of where the knife was now.

Somewhere among the pieces of Hugo.

The creeping realization weighed her shoulders down and allowed the pain and sorrow of the evening’s events to settle into her thoughts.

Ilva’s eyes wandered around the room as they flooded with tears. She shuffled toward the door and her knees buckled, forcing her to fall against the dresser. A framed photograph toppled from the impact and Ilva reached out to catch it before hitting the floor.

Her legs regained their strength and she righted herself. She turned the frame over in her hand to set it back in place and the image triggered a flash of memory.

The photo showed the entire White family gathered in front of their large stone fireplace. It was Christmas time, 10 years prior. The fully trimmed tree was tucked into the Northwest corner of the room. 7 stockings hung from the mantle. Garland and electric candles adorned the shelves along the back wall. Mother and the twins wore matching decorative sweaters. Father donned a red felt pileus, rimmed with white fur and capped with a white pom.

Ilva cracked a weary smile and snorted a quiet laugh through flowing tears. Her father was a disagreeable old bastard, but he did love to wear that Santa hat during the holidays.

Hugo stood on the end, stone-faced, nearly sullen, in jeans and a grey shirt. He was always so serious.

Ilva was in front of him in a colorful Christmas dress that her mother had made, and she was smiling wide.

She scanned the faces of the people that were her family. She etched the joy of the moment onto a lasting memory. This is how she would remember the people that she had known her entire life, and despite their general indifference, she loved.

The photo slid away from the frame easily and Ilva folded it and stowed it in one of her many pockets.

From her own room she gathered a pair of socks, a wallet, and the necklace that her great grand-mother had given her. A pendant of unremarkable rock dangled from the silver chain as Ilva removed the item from its satin pouch.

Mormor Ingrid was adamant that Ilva keep the necklace secret. That it was for her to guard, not to wear. She never explained what it was or where it came from or why it was important. But the urgency in Mormor Ingrid’s voice, and the earnestness of her manner suggested a deeper truth and an implied understanding.

Ilva took the necklace, promised what was requested, and upheld that promise, never showing or speaking of it to anyone.

This was the first time the piece was seeing light in 6 years.

It was lighter than she remembered and colder than it seemed it should be. The silver chain was thin yet strong, with a hair-like wire threaded through the links. The stone ornament was uneven and oddly crystalline. There were no facets, no finished edges, no signs of polish or smoothing, and no discernible difference between the front and back. Pock marks randomly covered the surface adding a depth to the muted, brownish color. The chain was embedded in the rock solidly and there was no clasp.

Everything about it was bizarre, but most peculiar of all was the sense of life the necklace had. Ilva had noticed it when Mormor Ingrid first presented it to her, but now, it seemed to thrum with some kind of inner essence. It pulsed with what could only be described as a heartbeat.

The satin pouch itself felt like a self contained fluid, and not like solid material at all as she held it open and placed the necklace back inside.

Ilva tucked the pouch in a concealed pocket on the inside of the coveralls, put on the socks, and zipped the wallet into one of the thigh pockets. She left the room and walked back downstairs.

Dr. Gargoyle was pacing quickly from the family room to the kitchen, and back. The fog of his thoughts was nearly visible.

HOBO Kyle sat crossed-legged on the floor, furiously twisting a Rubik’s cube. His wrists rotated with mechanical proficiency. Each finger moved independently from the others with unconscious and blinding speed, spinning, flicking, and shifting the puzzle. His eyes were fixed on the movement. His tongue rested in the space where his mouth parted, making it appear as though he had three lips.

The pervasive clacking sound that the cube made was both unexpected and unnerving, but for Kyle, it was a soothing bubble of white noise. He was entranced by it.

clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack

Coming down the steps, Ilva regarded Dr. Gargoyle and his clearly frustrated expression as he passed the base of the stairs heading into the family room. She turned to see Kyle, and his passivity was shocking to her. The stillness of everything but his hands was slightly unsettling, and struck her as child-like.

The clacking noise filled the room as she descended. Everything else was absorbed by it.

clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack

Dr. Gargoyle stopped, mid-step and started speaking emphatically to Ilva. But, she did not respond. The horribly hypnotic racket consumed all thought and all attention.

clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack

He repeated his question, but Ilva could not hear his words for the penetrating sound of the clacking. The sound reverberated at such a level as to even obscure her vision. It penetrated the levels and layers of consciousness to the point of neural disruption. And madness could not be far behind.

clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack

Ilva slowly began to list like a boat that was taking on water. Her eyes glazed over and her breathing slowed considerably.

clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack

Dr. Gargoyle was getting visually upset with what he perceived as Ilva ignoring him, but noticed her deteriorating state, and against his instinct, reached out and grabbed her by both shoulders and shook her back into coherency.

clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack

Ilva came to, quickly broke free from his grip and shuffled back several steps.

“What the hell, weirdo?” she said.

Dr. Gargoyle happily released her and mirrored her movement by backing away, arms raised. He also averted his eyes and his bright pink skin became redder.

“You were -clack- ing and -clackclackclack- we have to -clackclack- they are -clackclackclack- here soon!” Dr. Gargoyle’s words were being intermittently interrupted by the continued noise from Kyle and his cube.

Ilva blinked, shook her head and regarded the Doctor with confusion and a growing agitation.

clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack

He started to speak again and the sound continued to drown out his words. Ilva covered her ears with her hands and shut her eyes tight, mouthing the words: I can’t hear you.

clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack

Dr. Gargoyle spoke again. The shape of his mouth, the set of his shoulders, and the motion of his hands, were all clear indicators of someone yelling. He seemed oblivious to the noise, and was getting more and more angry, believing Ilva was being needlessly difficult.

clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack

Ilva cut him off by waving her hands in front of the Doctor’s face, and immediately turned toward Kyle.

clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack

She stomped over to him and unceremoniously smacked the cube out of his hands. It flew across the room and emitted one final clack as it hit the wall.

“Knock it, the fuck, off!” Ilva screamed in Kyle’s face.

She saw the expression on his face turn from shock, to injury, to anger, then settle into disappointment. He stretched out his arms, slouched forward and lowered his head. Ilva took it as an overly dramatic reaction, but still clearly negative and Kyle’s frustration and sadness was not lost on her. She felt guilt creep in hard and fast, like she had just backhanded an infant, simply for crying.

Kyle turned away from Ilva, crossed his arms over his chest and smashed himself into a tight ball on the floor. “I don’t care.” he muttered.

Ilva backed away, ashamed and confused. She was embracing this man just a few minutes ago, praising his strength and skill, and just then, she was ready to stomp on his throat. Just because of the noise he was making with his toy?

She tried to put it all out of her mind and focus up on what she was doing.

“Ms. White?” Dr. Gargoyle’s voice was even and concerned.

Ilva walked to the opposite side of the family room, down the small hallway, and entered the utility room at the end of the corridor. Inside she put on some sturdy boots and a heavy poncho. Then she unlocked the gun safe and retrieved the Remington 7600 pump action rifle. She also pocketed 3 extra magazines and a large box of .308 cartridges.

“Ms. White? Time is up. We must leave.” Dr. Gargoyle called after her again.

Ilva gave no reply as she checked and double checked that the items in her pockets were secured.

Dr. Gargoyle rounded the corner and poked his head through the door of the utility room.

“Ms. White…”

“It’s Ilva, godammit!” she retorted, “stop calling me ‘Ms. White’, like I’m your fucking 3rd grade teacher.”

She continued to adjust the various bindings and bulges of the coveralls and angrily tugged at the rifle strap so that it would rest comfortably on her back.

“Very well, Ilva…” Dr. Gargoyle began, but she spun to face him, interrupting immediately.

“Better yet, don’t!” Ilva spat. “I’m not gonna pretend I understand anything that has happened tonight. And right now, I don’t even wanna try. I just want to leave.”

Ilva advanced on Dr. Gargoyle as her tone darkened and her volume increased.

“You said that more, worse things are coming? For me? Why? Because I am the reincarnated spirit of some… witch or queen, or some other stupid shit? My blood has some mystical glop in it that makes fuckin’ inhuman monsters go crazy? Or some other hullabaloo bullshit? Right now, I. DO. NOT. GIVE. A. FUCK!”

She brushed past Dr. Gargoyle, slamming the door of the utility room, hard. Her anger and proximity caused him to bluster. He shifted away from her as she walked back into the family room, toward the kitchen.

Ilva continued: “Right now, I am not convinced that you two didn’t bring that fuckin’ animal here, but again, I don’t care. You sick bastards have some sorta agenda in all this, and you WILL make me a believer as soon as we are far away from here.”

She walked quickly past Kyle who had retrieved the Rubik’s cube from where it landed and was stuffing it back into his bindle.

“You are also going to explain, in excruciating detail, how Kyle can be a goddamn ninja, barbarian, wizard one minute, and…” She waved her hand in Kyle’s direction, “whatever THIS is, the next?”

Ilva entered the kitchen and began to scrutinize the mangled remains of her family.

Dr. Gargoyle caught up to Kyle and helped him tighten the knot of the bindle around the silver pole. He set his hand on Kyle’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. They watched as Ilva searched through what was left of her people.

“So many nights, I wished you all dead.” The mood of Ilva’s voice had taken a sharp down swing. “I never knew why you couldn’t accept me, and when I stopped asking why, it was just easier to hate you guys.”

The pieces were scattered about and ravaged by Adristya’s attacks. They were difficult to identify.

“And now that you’re gone, I regret all of that wasted emotion. All of that misspent time and energy. Just another thing you took from me.”

Ilva pushed over a torso and recognized a swath of unbloodied shirt as belonging to Hugo. On his right hip she spotted the knife, seated in his EDC sheath. Reaching over, she released the snap closure and pulled the cutter free.

The dark wood handle was sticky with blood, but the stainless steel drop point blade was clean and sharp. Ilva set one hand on the remains of Hugo, and using the other slid the knife into the sheath on her hip. “You weren’t so bad.” she whispered.

Dr. Gargoyle and HOBO Kyle entered the kitchen as quietly as possible, trying to give off the sense of urgency, without being too pushy.

Ilva stood up and straightened. She turned to her new companions, her eyes red and puffy with tears.

“Time to go.” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

Kyle shuffled past her and led out into the night. Dr. Gargoyle nodded to her in understanding and encouragement, then followed Kyle outside.

Ilva let out an exasperated sigh, knowing that everything had changed, and nothing was as it seemed.

She walked out of the house and didn’t look back.