Mercy

If given the chance to properly brew, my resentment towards Billie Joe in the moments after Jakob fled would have reached a boiling point so dangerous that I wouldn’t have needed to concoct a new bout of psychosis in order to get away with what I wished to do to him. I loathed him for what he had the audacity to inflict upon a child, loathed him for making me believe that he wasn’t any more of a cretin than Elliot or even Momma Cass, but he was already dying right in front of me. His sobs had escalated, causing him to lose all equilibrium until his body had slumped and crumpled in a nearly unresponsive heap on the ground a mere stone’s throw away from where his grandson was buried. The hysterical agony which had previously gurgled from his gaping mouth was rapidly reduced to choppy gasps and labored moans, and I found myself seriously contemplating the benefits of watching him die. It wouldn’t take long. The body needs oxygen to survive, but with lungs so scarred and teeming with cancerous growths his would never recover from the emotional ruin of being rejected by his second son. The consciousness would drain from him as each arduous breath grew weaker, and at once a divine authority over his life bore down upon me. Every action, or lack thereof, I took to potentially aid the ailing man would determine whether he would live a while longer or die on the spot, taking every truth among his days of damnable lies with him to his grave, his true resting place and not one filled with the corpse of another. All opportunity to interrogate the old man would be lost.

In the end, that godawful thirst for knowledge I had become a wretched slave to was what kept me from watching the miserable old cunt die.

I approached him and knelt, hands groping out to lift him, but as his bulging, watery eyes met mine, he tried to push me away. He attempted to shriek when my hands made contact with his arm, though in his fragile state it came out as nothing but a puff of a whimper. His free hand made a pathetic swipe at my body, brushing against my shoulder blade while I made to pull him off the ground, yet the gesture was ultimately unable to stop me from helping him. Even as he took one last impressive gulp of air to hiss out the word No! at me, I refused to heed his pleas. It was chilling how desperately Billie Joe longed for me to just let him pass away.

While I hoisted him up and began to carry him towards the house as if he was some sort of tragic bride, the old bastard slipped away into unconsciousness. Initially I was horrified, assuming he had slipped away in my arms exactly as baby Andrew had, swiftly and silently, but a few wheezing pants said otherwise. Perhaps with his mind trapped in a world where reality is only a myth, his drawing of breath could be made easier without the burden of panic perpetually gripping at his already feeble lungs. Sleep would be enough to assist in his regaining of strength, but for how long would it last? Would he even be able to walk after such an episode? I pushed the agonizing thoughts from my mind as I grappled with the back door and made an effort to keep from driving myself mad with the what if’s of the situation, yet it was all in vain. Every horrifying scenario tore holes into my psyche, and with a defeated whine I realized I did not want Billie Joe dead. In fact…

I think I was in love with him.

His mouth continued to suckle tiny bursts of air as I placed him into his bed and pulled the comforter over his frail form, and my heart bled at the massive amount of effort his body took simply to survive. I was compelled to soften the blows each gulp of air brought upon him, so after one last contemplative look at the unconscious man, I set off in search of one of the oxygen tanks he so despised. For one dizzying instant I wrongly believed I had left them in the trunk of Jakob’s car, but I knew that to be untrue. I had seen a flash of silver and green on my original introduction to the old bastard’s home, yet a violent argument between brothers had dismissed what I had seen almost instantaneously. Seeing as there was only one room to walk through before one had to traipse through a hallway which led to all the other rooms of the house, I supposed that the oxygen tanks were somewhere in the living room. Sure enough, after nearly running to retrieve them, I found those green little bastards nestled beside the couch with the tubing still attached to the one Billie Joe had been using when we left the hospital. I scooped it up and set off to ease the old man of his respiratory misery.

He groaned ever so slightly when I commenced in draping the tubes properly about his face, and I marveled at how quickly he was beginning to break through his unconscious fog. It wasn’t until I had them hooked loosely around his ears that his eyelids fluttered open to gaze in alarm about the room. His eyes rested upon the oxygen tank I placed next to him on the bed, and his cautious stare turned at once to a glare which he continued to hold long enough for me to all but writhe beneath it.

“Why di’n’t…you just…let me die?” he panted, the cords of his neck straining as consciousness brought about more difficult levels of breathing. It was nearly impossible to watch, but I couldn’t look away. He was unfeasibly alert for one so near his demise.

“Because I…” I bit my tongue. It was far too simple to blurt because I love you, and considering how he’d confessed to pedophilia prior to the severe deterioration of his health, my own admission of love seemed entirely inappropriate. “I need to know if it was real.”

“If…what…was real?” he questioned, glower softening as he realized I no longer wished to kill him.

“What you had with Frankie. Were you honestly in love with him, or was he just an easy target?” I asked gently, setting the oxygen tank on the floor beside the bed so I could crawl in next to the old man. He had no objections, though he flinched as my hand brushed across his chest.

“There ain’t…nothin’ easy…‘bout ‘im!” Billie Joe spluttered, evidently offended by my inconsiderate word choice. “I really…thought he was…seventeen.”

“Ok, ok, calm down. I seriously doubt you’d be able to survive another episode like before, so just relax. I’m not accusing you of anything. I want to hear your side of the story before I jump to any conclusions,” I assured him, taking his hand in mine in an attempt to comfort him. He grit his teeth and winced as if the mere act of touching his hand had ground his bones to dust.

“Fairy…let go. It burns,” he whimpered, his hand slithering away from mine.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. Subconsciously, I wriggled way from the old bastard in fear of bringing him any further distress.

“‘S’okay. S’pose I deserve it…after all the shit I put…you through,” he gasped.

“You were just trying to help me.”

“By bein’ an…even bigger dick than…Elliot? Fuckin’ lot o’ help I am,” Billie muttered, eyes breaking away from mine as he was consumed with a profound sense of shame.

“That’s only because you haven’t been outside of your fucking house in thirty years. No shit you were gonna be socially retarded,” I joked. Billie Joe tried to giggle beside me, and the simple sound was enough to significantly lift my spirits. Though it was only a pitiable rasp, his delicate laughter compelled me to believe he was going to be ok. He wasn’t going to die on me.

Not quite yet.

“Why’re you bein’…so good to me? You of…all people…should be runnin’ for the hills. ‘Specially after…Jake…” His voice shriveled in his throat and refused to continue, but he didn’t have to finish the thought for me to understand what he meant. He expected me to abandon him, not Jakob.

“I, uh…I think I grew fond of you or something,” I stuttered, face burning with an embarrassment that I shouldn’t have felt. I was afraid I’d come too close to pouring out my feelings to someone who honestly didn’t have the strength or will to handle them, yet it was exactly the type of conversation he’d attempted to pull out of me on more than one previous occasion.

“Aw, is that Fairy code…for love?” he mocked, though it was lighthearted and harmless.

Grinning, I replied, “Well, it’s definitely not hate…”

“Good ‘nuff for me. I’m…fond of you too.”

I lowered my head and made as if I was going to kiss the old bastard, but the image of him wincing at the feel of my flesh against his brought me to a complete halt. I hovered for a moment, wondering why in the hell Frankie felt it necessary to keep me from touching his former lover, when two shining green eyes captured my train of thought. He peered at me, almost shy in his hesitation, before his sucked in a gulp of air to speak.

“Go ‘head. I don’ care…if it hurts me. I…want you to.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry…but I swear I’ll find a way to reverse this. If the only way to get close to you is to allow you to read my mind, then fine. This…this disconnect isn’t worth it,” I rambled, knowing that little of what spewed from my mouth made a lick of sense to Billie Joe.

He shook his head and lifted himself the inch he needed to come into contact with my face. Without warning, his lips pressed against mine for an extended period of time which surely must have been excruciating for him, but he wouldn’t pull away. The old man persisted in showing his affection for me until a sheer lack of energy forced his body to collapse back onto his pillow, panting. The sudden movements made the tubing of the oxygen tank hang crooked on his visage in an oddly comical way that I found utterly endearing, yet the unnatural manner in which his lips had turned red fired up a brand new cause for concern in my gut.

“I promise I’ll take it back,” I repeated, referring to the paranormal deal I’d made with Frankie.

“You can’t do that, you cheatin’ little shit! You can’t take it back!” I heard Frankie scream, but his physical presence was nowhere to be seen in the old bastard’s room. Billie Joe didn’t hear a thing.

“I know, Fairy, ‘n’ I promise…to stop lyin.’ I’ll tell you a…a damn good story…when I can actually talk…without pausin’ ev’ry fuckin’ second,” he reassured me.

“That sounds wonderful. For now, you need to rest. Nurse’s orders,” I advised, flashing Billie Joe a cheeky smile. I wanted desperately to touch him, hug him, something, but I refrained to keep him comfortable.

“Can’t argue with that. Will…you stay here with me…until I pass out…again?” he pleaded.

As much as it ripped me apart to be beside him without being able to draw him into my arms, I stayed. If it would assist his recovery in any way, I would stay by his side forever.