Fathers' Love

By: Adam Francis Smith
September 8, 2008

Jeremy sat up on his bed, a pillow stuffed between his head and the black painted wall of his bedroom. He was reading one of his favorite graphic novels, about a vampire in love with a mortal and his fight to resist the temptation to "turn" her.

"Jeremy." His father's voice sounded muffled through the wooden door.

"Yeah, Dad." He closed the book and set it on the bed beside him. The door opened.

His father stood in the doorway, hands at his side. Jeremy could see greasy smears on the man's glasses and noted a missing button on his faded Hawaiian shirt. "Son, do you remember little Melissa Coffey?"

Jeremy brushed his long bangs to the side. "Yeah. She's the missing girl."

His father stepped into the room, wiping his sweaty hands on his thighs. He looked around at the myriad of horrific movie posters that donned the walls. Jeremy had painted the room himself and despite some early misgivings, his father later admitted that it looked pretty cool.

"What's up, Dad?"

"Do you know anything about what happened to Melissa?" His father's eyes darted around the room, looking at anything but his son.

Jeremy's face showed his confusion. His left eye squinted and he cocked his head. "Only what I've heard around. Most people think she ran away or was kidnapped."

His father's lips pursed a little, and his eyes watered behind the dirty lenses. "No, Son. I mean, did you have anything to do with her disappearance?"

Jeremy scooted forward and put his feet on the floor. "What are you talking about, Dad?"

Two men stepped into view behind Jeremy's father. They were big men and each had a serious look upon his face. Jeremy recognized one of them as Mr. Coffey, Melissa's father.

Mr. Coffey stepped beside Jeremy's father and put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll take care of this Ben. Why don't you go downstairs?"

Jeremy's father nodded silently and then turned and left the room. Jeremy swallowed hard and looked at the man, not knowing what to do. The second man closed the door and stood with his hands clasped together at his waist.

"Jeremy. My little girl's been missing for over a year now and I've given up hope on ever seeing her alive again." The man's face remained stern. Jeremy just stared at him.

"My wife- " he cut himself off and indicated the man behind him with a nod, "this is her brother, Jim."

The man nodded to Jeremy and Jeremy nodded back. Sweat trickled down his back and his throat was dry. There was a tension in the air that had him looking around his room for a weapon.

Mr. Coffey cleared his throat. "My wife has tried everything she could think of to find out what happened to our little girl. We've had posters printed up and she's talked to all the papers and radio stations. She's been on television countless times." He looked intently at Jeremy.

"Have you seen her on television, Jeremy?"

Jeremy tried to speak, to say yes, but only a dry croak escaped his throat. He nodded.

"Good then. You know how much she's been hurting over this thing, and I can't tell you the strain it's put on our marriage. She thinks I haven't done enough, you know?"

Jeremy shrugged.

"Well, you're just a kid. What would you know about marriage, or children, or having your little girl disappear without a trace." Mr. Coffey advanced until his boots were touching Jeremy's bare toes. Jim stepped forward and pulled on Mr. Coffey's upper arm.

Mr. Coffey took a step back, "You tell him, Jim."

Jim stepped forward and smiled. "Hi Jeremy."

Jeremy was very frightened now. He placed his hands on the edge of the bed, ready to push off and make a break for the door.

Jim looked at the boy and then at the bed. "I see you like to read those monster books. Pretty cool stuff, huh?"

Jeremy nodded again and croaked, "I guess."

"You want to be like those guys, don't you, Jeremy? All full of super powers, sneaking around in the dark, pouncing on unsuspecting victims."

Jeremy looked at the book. "It's just stories. It's mostly pictures."

"Yeah, mostly." Jim waved a hand in the air, indicating the walls. "I see a lot of horror stuff around here. You get into that?"

"It's fun to watch."

"Fun to watch people get all cut up and bloody?"

Mr. Coffey interjected, "Fun to cut up little girls and hide their bodies?"

"Easy, George," said Jim. He waved his hand behind him to shut the man up.

"Jeremy, do you believe in psychics?"

Jeremy was very scared now. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow, his back and armpits were soaked. "I guess so."

"Well, my sister does. She's been to dozens since Melissa went missing. Each one had a different theory as to what happened to my niece. Can you imagine that? The police only have two or three theories." He reached behind him and snapped his fingers.

Mr. Coffey was glaring at Jeremy, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He slipped the paper into Jim's hand.

Jim unfolded the paper in front of Jeremy. "One of them psychics works with the police a lot, trying to help identify homicide victims, or clues about crimes. She was very convincing and has one hell of a theory about what happed to Melissa. She even drew us a picture of who she thought might have taken her." When the paper was unfolded he handed it to Jeremy.

Jeremy took the paper and looked at the picture. It was a picture of a teenage boy, with long bangs that covered half his face. He wore a black t-shirt with the word ZOMBIE spelled out in creepy looking white letters. Jeremy had just such a shirt, it was in the laundry hamper now. This was a picture of him, there was no doubt.

"I- I." He closed his eyes tight and swallowed. "I don't know what this is, Mr. Coffey. It looks like me, but I don't know why you have it. I didn't even know Melissa, she was like, six years younger than me."

Jim suddenly swung a meaty fist at Jeremy, connecting with the side of his face. Jeremy's whole body rolled onto the bed. The picture fluttered to the bedroom floor.

"Listen to me, you little shit." Jim's voice was harsh and Jeremy could feel hot spittle on the back of his neck. He was roughly pulled back into a sitting position. "You killed Melissa and we know it. The psychic led us right to the shallow grave out by the old ball field."

Mr. Coffey was crying and clenching and opening his fists. Jeremy suspected that he'd pounce any second.

Jeremy looked directly at Mr. Coffey. He shook his head. "It wasn't me. I swear it. I was there, that's true. But I didn't kill her, Mr. Coffey. You have to believe me."

Mr. Coffey inhaled deeply and wiped his eyes. Jim placed a hand on Jeremy's shoulder and looked into his face. "Who did it, Jeremy?"

"I can't tell you." He raised a hand to his face and could feel the swollen skin around his right eye. It felt tight, like the skin of an apple, and he winced when he pressed too hard.

Jim swung again, landing another hard punch to Jeremy's already battered face. Jeremy fell back again, holding his hands up to protect his head.

"'Gimme the rag and hold him down," ordered Jim. Mr. Coffey was soon on top of Jeremy, working to get the boy's arms behind his back.

Jeremy was stunned and in a lot of pain. Silver flecks floated in his vision and all sounds were muffled. He kicked as hard as he could, but somebody was sitting on his legs. He screamed for help, calling for his father until a hand with a rag forced itself onto his nose and mouth. The rag had a familiar smell and Jeremy held his breath.

Let them think the chloroform is working. Let them think I'm that stupid.

In a few moments he let his body go limp. He closed his eyes and feigned unconsciousness. He lay on his back on the bed and could hear the men arguing.

"It's time we called the police, George. If we go any further with this we'll end up in the cell next to this punk."

Mr. Coffey sounded very angry, nearly maniacal. "Eye for an eye, Jim! Eye for an eye. This boy took my precious girl away. What are the police going to do to him?"

"They'll lock him up, George. Forever. Lock him up and study him, probably."

"You mean, send him to some facility and let him read all this horror crap until his head gets so full of ideas that he starts hacking people up right there in the home. I won't have that. I want an eye for an eye."

"George. Think about it. He's old enough to be tried as an adult."

Jeremy listened as the two men argued. He waited until he thought the path to the bedroom door was clear and then he bolted. He pushed himself up from the bed and dived to the floor. He snatched the drawing and then scrambled to the door and flung it open.

His father was standing in the hallway. He carried a shotgun in a two-handed grip across his chest. "Down!" he ordered Jeremy.

"Boom." The gun fired. Jeremy felt a rush of wind pass his head as he ducked. He heard a loud thump behind him and then raspy wet breathing.

"You killed George," said Jim. Jeremy looked back and saw him standing with his hands raised before him. The walls were spattered with thick red blood and bits of flesh. Mr. Coffey lay on the floor to Jim's left, having apparently been blown back by the shotgun blast. His face and chest were ruins of raw meat, blood and bone.

Jeremy's father dropped the shotgun and Jim took a step forward. Jeremy stuck a foot out to trip the man but Jim avoided the trap. Jeremy rose to his knees and clawed at Jim's right leg but was pushed easily aside by the big man's massive hand.

Jeremy's father pulled a pistol from the back of his waistband and raised it to the level of the advancing man's face. He fired without hesitation and Jim dropped to the floor. More blood spattered the walls. Jeremy looked at the fallen man and noted the clean black dot in his forehead. His father reached out a hand to help him rise and Jeremy, accepting, pulled himself to his feet.

"I don't know what you did, Son, and I don't care. I blame myself. After your mother left, I tried to do my best. I guess my best just wasn't good enough."

"Dad-" started Jeremy, but his father raised his hand again.

"Don't say anything. The keys are on the table in the kitchen. There's an envelope with some money, too. As far as I'm concerned, you weren't here when all this happened. Just go and stay away for a day or two. When you get back, tell them you were camping or something. You'll figure it out."

"But Dad. What are you going to do?" Jeremy's eyes pleaded for an answer.

"It's already done, Son. Now get the hell out of here and don't come back for at least a couple of days. I wrote a note and I've got it here in my pocket. They'll believe I killed the girl, don’t worry. George and Jim gave me enough details about the crime scene that the note will be convincing enough."

Jeremy felt a tear on his cheek, beneath his undamaged eye. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Son. Now go!"

Jeremy was on the bottom step when he heard the shot. Then he heard his father's body hit the floor. He walked into the kitchen and took the envelope and keys.

In the garage, he moved a pile of camping equipment out of a corner and retrieved a small cardboard box. He opened the box and looked inside. There was a small pink backpack with the name "Melissa" neatly written on it in indelible black ink. The backpack looked like new but for a smear of dried blood on one of the shoulder straps.

Jeremy opened the car door, tossed the backpack in and pressed a finger to the garage door remote. The big door yawned open and Jeremy pulled the car out, leaving the door open and not looking back.