horrors2

lemonlime.A_Butter_K.tex

  1\chapauth{lemonlime}
  2\chapter{A Butter Knife}
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  7Martin Boswell was always required to remain at table until Mr.
  8Boswell dismissed him. Some nights Martin would sit in his creaky
  9old wooden chair, picking at a tattered and threadbare corner of
 10its cushion, until long past midnight. Since eating his supper
 11never took more than an hour, Martin would be left with a very long
 12time in which to sit, pick at his lumpy old cushion and watch his
 13father watching the butter knife. This knife was dull, scratched
 14stainless steel with a rounded tip and a very slight serration; no
 15different than any other butter knife that might grace another,
 16happier supper table.
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 20At first Mr.\ Boswell would turn it around and around, so that the
 21lamplight flashed off its blade hypnotically. Then, holding the
 22handle lightly between his thumb and all four fingers, as one would
 23hold the bow of a cello, he would run that knife's dainty little
 24teeth slowly up and down the length of his forearm, occasionally
 25pausing to turn tight little circles over the network of veins
 26decorating the inside of his wrist and displaying to all the
 27precarious restraint in which his very life's blood was held.
 28Martin had used his father's butter knife once when Mr.\ Boswell was
 29at work; from that day forth, seeing his father's shivers never
 30failed to provoke an answering shiver in himself.
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 34Then Mr.\ Boswell would turn the butter knife's attentions to his
 35scarred, scabbed hands, those stained and stinking hands which had
 36fired the little gun that shot Martin's mother in the back as she
 37tried to run for the last time. He would drag those hateful smiling
 38teeth back and forth across the back of his hand as though
 39buttering an english muffin, hour after hour, until the skin began
 40to abrade and swell and eventually bleed.
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 44At first the wound was a minor one. But after being kept open by
 45Mr.\ Boswell's nightly ritual for the better part of a year it began
 46to grow wider and deeper. His flesh became purple and black and the
 47stench of putrefaction was so strong that no one would willingly go
 48near Mr.\ Boswell except for Luke Bavarious, a former police
 49detective turned bodyguard, and Martin.
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 53One night, around 11 o'clock, Martin saw bone. Not even the memory
 54of the four days of torment his mother suffered in the root cellar
 55as she died of her gunshot wounds could keep him in his chair then.
 56In his bedroom, Martin stripped off his soiled clothes and set them
 57to soak in the bathtub, then opened the window to clear the odor
 58and began to wonder whether a jump would really kill him. He didn't
 59feel like adding to the number buried in that grisly root cellar,
 60yet he knew that if he tried to creep out of any of the doors he'd
 61be instantly caught by the keen eye of Bavarious.
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 65There was a knock at his bedroom door, and it opened. Luke
 66Bavarious stood there and he said, ``I'm sorry, Kid, what you're
 67gotta live with is wrong. Just run back as quick as you can. Get in
 68your chair and I'll come in a bit later to shake him out of it. I
 69promise I'll hurry.''
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 73Martin threw on a clean set of clothes and dashed back downstairs.
 74His father never even looked at him as he took his seat as quietly
 75as he left it. Mr.\ Boswell did not shift his attention from the
 76butter knife until Bavarious walked into the dining room, claiming
 77to have seen an intruder across the courtyard. Martin was
 78immediately ordered to his bedroom for the night, and as he left
 79the table Martin felt a gratitude and devotion for Luke Bavarious
 80that he could never have imagined just fifteen minutes
 81before.
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 85That night taught Martin that while Mr.\ Boswell was watching his
 86butter knife, he could go anywhere and do anything without his
 87father seeing him. Only Luke Bavarious could keep him from leaving
 88during those times. One night, as Mr.\ Boswell sat mesmerized by the
 89clean red blood that seeped from his corrupted flesh, Martin went
 90to the linen closet and pulled out a backpack in which he'd stashed
 91clothing, food and a little money. Bavarious met him at the
 92door.
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 96``Let me go, Luke, please,'' Martin begged. ``You know he'll kill me
 97too, as soon as he sees that I want to leave.''
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101After looking at Martin for a moment, Luke said, ``I know, kid.
102After what he did to your Mom, I knew that I'd only leave this
103house when I was dead. Mr.\ Boswell, he'd kill me in a second if he
104knew I was standing here talking to you and not killing you. No way
105can I let you stay here. Your father doesn't love or respect you.
106But he was a good man once, and I can't bear to live with having
107done something to betray his trust in me. No, there's only one way
108it's gotta be.''
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112With that, Luke Bavarious pulled out the Beretta he'd carried since
113early childhood, applied the muzzle to his temple and squeezed the
114trigger. A scalding wave of blood drenched Martin's face as he
115stood frozen there. He turned suddenly and ran away into the
116night.
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120It would be a long time before Martin Boswell stopped running. He
121crossed oceans and traversed lands stranger than he'd ever imagined
122during the long empty hours sitting at his father's dining room
123table. During that time, Martin was a beggar, a slave and a whore.
124When he woke up one morning in a place where the air was so thick
125it could be used as a sandwich spread and the rain fell as warm as
126blood, he knew he was home.
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130Martin would forget, sometimes, why he'd run. He'd be eating supper
131at a cafe and the light shining off one of the diners' butter
132knives would make him shiver with some dark lust. But none of that
133mattered. Every time he felt the hot rain wash down his face Martin
134would feel the blood Luke Bavarious had shed, the sacrifice he'd
135make of his own body, so that Martin could be reborn into a new
136life. 
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