Randy and Walter: Killers (19 page)

Walter lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”

As usual, his school day was filled with bullying.  But like a good soldier he trudged through the day and eventually three p.m. came along and he was free for another day.

His father picked him up and drove him home and for at least the rest of the night, he was free to pretend school didn’t exist, that it was just a bad dream.

Sitting in his bedroom, he did his homework. The teachers had given him tons of homework to be done by the next morning. Walter sat at his desk with his nose in his math book. He was trying to understand the numbers that stared at him through the pages but he just couldn’t get it right.

Eventually he gave up and closed the book. He scribbled a bunch of answers down on his worksheet and placed it back into his backpack. With the rest of his homework finished, Walter went back to the book he was currently reading. The book was
Bram
Stokers
:
Lair of the White Worm
. He found it an interesting read.

In fact it was so interesting he’d read it at least five times a
l
ready. His mom had found the book at a yard sale and purchased it for Walter nearly a year ago.

There was a knock on his bedroom door and Walter looked up to see his father’s head poking through the open door.

“Walter, me and your mother are going out to eat. Would you like an
y
thing?”

Without taking his eyes away from the page he was on, he shook his head no and his father closed the door. A few minutes later he heard the family car back out of the driveway and pull away. Walter, glad he was alone now, began to read his book again; lost in a world of monsters and demons.

Walter had fallen asleep with the book clutched in his hand when he heard the sound of screeching tires outside. He sat up with a start and ran out his bedroom door, curious to see what was happening. He immediately remembered Stan and the sound of the truck’s screeching its tires but this wasn’t the same.

Before he reached the front door, it burst open and Walter’s f
a
ther came running inside. He had blood on his clothes.

Walter stared at his father, afraid as his dad grabbed him by his left arm and pulled him outside. Walter was pushed into the car which was still running and parked sideways on the front lawn.

As the car sped along the road, Walter looked at his father with frigh
t
ened eyes.

“What’s going on, Dad?”

Without turning his head or moving his eyes, his father’s fra
n
tic voice cried out, “Your mother! Someone just shot her.”

“What?
Shot her
?” Walter gasped, not understanding.

“Yes! Shot her! We were leaving the diner when I heard a gu
n
shot. The next thing I know she was on the ground beside me.”

“Who shot her, why?”

“I don’t know who! If I ever find out I’ll kill them! The amb
u
lance took her to the hospital but I wanted to get you first. We’re going to see her now.”

Walter gazed out the front windshield and watched the dar
k
ness and the few lights mixed within. He could see the full moon floating above the trees. Although he hated his mother for many reasons, he loved her at the same time, and he sure as hell didn’t want her dead. He glanced at the dashboard to the clock on the radio. It read 3:00 a.m.

At the hospital, his mother had been taken into intensive care. Walter and his father knew that they were going to lose her. The doctors couldn’t do anything to stop the bleeding as the bleeding was internal and had clipped an artery.

The bullet had found its way into one of her vital organs. A
l
though they had extracted the bullet it didn’t matter, she still bled profusely. As father and son sat on the white chairs against the wall of the hospital waiting room, two cops walked over to Wa
l
ter’s father and asked him to come with them.

Hesitantly he got up and followed them out into the hallway and outside the hospital. Curious and worried, Walter followed closely behind them. He couldn’t hear them clearly but something was going on. His father looked angry, as if he was yelling at the two cops. He was throwing his arms around in protest and neither of the cops seemed too surprised.

Whatever they were telling his father was making him angry and they had known it would. Walter heard footsteps behind him and turned to see the head doctor walking towards him. No, not towards him, the doctor didn’t even notice him.

He just exited the building and walked over to Walter’s father. The three men stopped arguing or talking or whatever they were doing and they now paid attention to the doctor. His lips were moving quickly and a look of worry came over the two cops. They backed away and held their heads, as if in shame.

Walter watched as his father, who had always been so strong, fell to his knees. He was crying. He beat his fists onto the ground. Walter no longer cared as whatever was going on was starting to annoy him. He turned away and walked into the lobby where a snack and soda machine stood. He placed three quarters in the machine and pressed the button titled B-7. Immediately a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips dropped into the bo
t
tom. Walter retrieved them and went back to his chair in the waiting room. Once there, he sat down, opened the bag, and hungrily began to stuff potato chips into his mouth. He heard the doors open at the end of the hallway, just outside the waiting room, and then the sound of footsteps rushing in. His father, the doctor, and one of the cops walked quickly past Walter. They went into the room where his mother was and the door closed tightly behind them. The other cop sat next to Walter.

“Son, I’m sorry to tell you this...” the officer began but Walter inte
r
rupted him.

“She’s dead right?” Walter asked.

The cop looked taken aback by the way Walter just nonch
a
lantly blurted the words out. “Yes, son, I’m afraid she is,” he a
n
swered finally.

“And one of you accidentally shot her?”

The cop looked even more surprised, “How…how did you know that?”

“Just a guess,” he said as he continued to eat his chips.

“It was an accident. We were trying to stop a vagrant who had become aggressive with us. The man pulled a gun and I drew mine...”

“You shot her?”

The cop lowered his head. “Yes,” he replied sadly. “I missed the man and the bullet accidentally struck your mother. It was an accident, son, a terrible one at that. I…I don’t know what to say.”

Walter looked at the cop and without a smile said, “That’s why people like you don’t deserve to be cops.”

The officer kept his head lowered, staring at the tiled floor. Walter crumpled the chip bag and threw it at a nearby trash can. It missed and fell to the floor, but Walter ignored it. Then he stood up and walked away, leaving the cop alone with his guilt.

He walked to the door of his mother’s room. Inside, his father was hol
d
ing her. He was broken, crying wildly.

Walter turned from the sight and walked outside into the cool night air.

He wanted to get away from the hospital and that smell they always had. He wanted to shrug off that sickly feeling you get whenever you go inside a hospital.

He wanted no part of it; any of it.

He felt himself becoming detached from everyone else in the world. He looked up at the moon and smiled. That night he made a promise to himself. He would never be like his father. He would never cry. He would never be emotionally involved with anyone and that way if they died he wouldn’t care, wouldn’t feel an
y
thing.

Walter felt that the world was too full of pain and misery and he wanted no part of any of it.

157

RANDY AND WALTER: KILLERS

Chapter 13

T
he next two years passed by quickly for Walter.

His father had been on a downhill spiral for the first year; ever since J
o
sephine’s untimely death he hadn’t been the same. Within the first year of her death, he lost his job and became an alcoholic. Not a mean one, but one who was ultimately depressed and tired of life.

Walter had started staying with a friend he’d made at school named Tommy Pelinotti.

Tommy was a short Italian kid with long black hair and a muscular ph
y
sique. Tommy was a real cool older kid who was in the seventh grade and his parents were even cooler. Walter loved being with them as they had tons of DVD movies and books and it seemed like they ate pasta for dinner every night, though it was really only two or three times. They would always have meat in the tomato gravy; sausages, steak and even chicken. Walter loved eating there.

One night, as Walter sat at the table with them, his father a
r
rived out of the blue. He stunk of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. His face looked like that of a broken man, deeply saddened by the way life had treated him.

He wanted to talk with Walter.

The Pelinottis let him in but only for a minute, as both parents disliked Walter’s father, knowing what he was putting his son through on a daily basis.

His father walked over to Walter and got on his knees in front of ever
y
one at the dinner table.

“Please, son, come home. I know I’ve been a bad father. But I’m going to change, I swear. Things’ll go back to the way they were, I promise. I’m going to stop drinking.”

“You missed my birthday,” Walter said softly.

“I know I did, but I bought you this.”

Walter’s dad pulled a small package out of his coat pocket and handed it to Walter who looked at the small square object wrapped in brown paper and covered in tape. Then he silently pulled the paper apart. Walter’s eyes widened when he saw what his father had bought him. Or rather found. It was a small black picture frame and inside the square glass was a picture of Stan. Walter looked up at his father who smiled back at him.

“Come home, son. Things will be just fine now.”

Walter turned the picture over and over in his hand. Then he handed the present back to his father.

“Put it in my room and clean yourself up. You can come and pick me up here tomorrow.”

His dad smiled and got back to his feet. He waved at the rest of Tommy’s family who sat in silence. Then he left.

T
he night air was nice and warm. Summertime had come. The stars shown brightly throughout the sky and the moon was cre
s
cent.

Walter and Tommy sat outside admiring the sky above them.

“Sorry about my dad,” Walter said finally

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Tommy replied. “You wanna play a game, Walt?” Tommy asked suddenly.

“What game?”

“It’s called lovers.”

“Lovers?”

“Yeah. Me and you act like we’re married.”

“Married?” Walter asked, confused.

“Well, yeah. Haven’t you ever played that game before? It’s like house.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would we be married? We’re boys,” Walter said.

Only it did make sense to Walter. He’d been feeling things about Tommy but up until now he hadn’t known what those fee
l
ings meant. He remembered what happened when he told Stan about those same feelings and knew not to mess up like that again, so had remained silent.

Tommy rolled his eyes and laughed. “It doesn’t have to make sense, stupid. It’s just a game.”

“Well...okay, let’s play.”

Tommy sat in front of Walter and explained the rules of the game. It turned out to be a simple game. The game started with the two flipping a coin to decide which one would play the girl and which one would play the boy. Heads; boy, tails; girl. Tommy flipped the coin first. Heads. Walter flipped next. Tails.

Then the boy (or in this case Tommy) had to ask the girl (Wa
l
ter) to marry him. Walter had to say yes so the game could co
n
tinue. They stood outside and pretended to get married.

They didn’t kiss.

After that came the second part of the game; the honeymoon. This was also simple. The girl had to follow the boy into whatever destination he chose. Tommy chose the wooden tool shed in the backyard. He led the way inside. Once inside, Tommy told Walter to shut the door. He did so and the two boys were now submerged in total darkness.

“Give me your hand,” Tommy said and Walter extended his arm t
o
wards Tommy’s voice. He felt Tommy grab hold of his wrist, then felt his hand pulled downward. Then he felt something warm in his hand. He wasn’t sure what it was at first.

“Pull it,” Tommy whispered, his voice heavy.

“What?” Walter said, knowing what he was holding. He felt a thrill run up his back and fill his stomach; one of excitement.

“Pull on it!” Tommy said again. “Go on, it’ll be fun. Besides, we’re ma
r
ried now, it’s okay.”

So Walter began to pull on the thing in his hand and while he did this he then felt Tommy’s hand touch his own crotch. Tommy’s hand unzipped his fly and slid his hand into the inside of Walter’s blue jeans and Walter gasped when Tommy’s hand grasped his penis.

Then the lights in the shed came on and the door opened.

Tommy pulled his hand away quickly to see J. Pelinotti, Tommy’s father, standing in the doorway with an angry look upon his face.

“What in the hell is going on here?” he snapped.

Walter hadn’t realized that he was still pulling on Tommy’s p
e
nis, which was now rock hard. He’d been too shocked to see Tommy’s dad open the door.

Tommy pushed Walter roughly away and ran to his father. Anyone else could have seen that he was faking as he started to cry. But to a parent all cries appeared real, especially when they didn’t want to face the alternative.

“It was his idea,” Tommy said while pointing an accusing finger at Wa
l
ter. “He made me do it!”

Then Tommy ran into the house, leaving his friend alone with his dad.

“I’m taking you home right now, boy.” Tommy’s dad said b
e
tween clenched teeth.

Walter tried to protest, to tell the truth but the man wouldn’t hear any of it. So Walter gave up and gathered his things. As he was leaving through the front door, he turned to see Tommy standing on the stairs leading to the second floor.

Tommy was smiling as he waved goodbye. Then he left his place on the stairs.

Walter knew then that Tommy was going to tell everybody at school. He knew that his troubles in school were only just the beginning.

J. Pelinotti drove Walter home immediately, without ever so much as looking at him. As soon as Walter got out of his car, the man drove off.

He made no effort to help Walter with his bags who barely got them out of the car before the car was backing out of the driveway.

Walter stared up at his house as he stood on the front walk.

Every light in the house was turned on so he was pretty sure his father was home.

With a sigh, Walter walked up the pathway to the front door, opened it, and stepped inside.

W
alter’s father had been sitting in his black recliner waiting for him to walk in. When Walter stepped through the doorway, he saw his father staring at him in anger.

“What did you make that boy do?” his father asked after Wa
l
ter had stood in the doorway for a full minute. “Tommy’s mother called me and told me everything.”

Walter didn’t answer; he wasn’t sure just how to answer him.

His father stood up and walked slowly to Walter who looked up at his father wondering just what he was about to do to him. Within a few se
c
onds he grabbed his son by his shirt collar and picked him up, Walter’s feet dangling five inches off the floor.

“I said, what did you make that boy do?” he yelled into his frightened son’s face. “N...n...nothing...” Walter stammered. His head was pounding and his stomach was twirled in knots. Fear grasped him by the throat and squeezed with its cold, clammy hands.

“I will not have my son become a faggot! You hear me? I’ll kill you b
e
fore I watch that happen!” With a growl he threw Walter to the floor. “I’ll kill you if I have to!” he continued to yell.

Walter turned and crawled against the wall of the living room beneath a lamp which shone brightly throughout the room. He looked up at his father who was now removing his belt and r
e
peating, “I’ll teach you. I’ll teach you,” over and over again.

Afraid and out of options Walter yelled out, “It wasn’t me! It wasn’t my idea, I swear! He made me do it! Tommy made me do it! I didn’t want to but he made me! He threatened to beat me up!”

His father stopped his hands from taking the belt off. He looked down at his helpless son cowering on the floor and he realized that Walter’s nose was bleeding and his neck was red where the shirt collar had cut into his skin.

Walter’s dad dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around his son. He was crying. Wet tears fell upon Walter’s shou
l
ders, dampening his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” he said between sobs. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m just so sorry. I’ll never hurt you again, son. I swear it.”

Walter wasn’t crying. He just stared at the far wall and said, “I hate this town.”

His father pulled away and looked into his son’s face. “I do too.”

“Can we leave?”

“Yes.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Let’s leave. Perhaps it’ll be best for both of us.”

“Where do we go?” Walter asked.

“Does it matter?”

“No, as long as it’s nowhere around here.”

“Okay, then, lets get packing and we’ll leave right now,” his dad said.

Walter got to his feet and his father followed. It took a few hours but they finished packing by midnight. They took only what they needed and with the car packed with their supplies, the two drove away from their home. They drove away from the town of
Burman
to an unknown destin
a
tion.

That was the way they wanted it to be.

Three years later, Tommy Pelinotti would be found dead by his parents in his bedroom. He would commit suicide, shooting hi
m
self in the head with his father’s silver handgun. The reason would never be known to his parents. Nobody but Tommy would ever know his reason for such a selfish act.

Six weeks later, Tommy’s father would be dead.

Two days later Tommy’s mother would also be killed.

The official report would say that the entire Pelinotti family had killed themselves one after the other.

157