"The Thousand-Eye Spy" - A HardFork Series Entry

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The boy played with a ball, bouncing it between his hands in a game of rhythm. He could keep up a quick pace before the ball left his control, free to roll along a shadowed carpet. The moon’s light crept in through the window, much like a sword cutting the darkness into fragments. Part of his face was shrouded in night. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled toward the ball.

His friend Red Eye watched from the closet and blinked every so often. Sometimes Red Eye would leave the closet and float closer, blinking several times in rapid succession. The boy always found it odd but never pressed the matter. Red Eye was different.

“Xander!” called a voice. “Dinner’s ready!”

Mother had a friend just like Red Eye. She didn’t mind her Red Eye being so close, either.

“These thrashin’ things need to be melted down and done away with!” Even before Xander left his room and sauntered toward the kitchen, he could hear his father’s profanity-laced tirade echo through the house, like his voice sprang across the walls.

The kitchen was dimly lit, lights so weak they sputtered in flashes of their former, brighter glory. His father’s features were barely highlighted. Xander could only catch a glimpse of his red puffy cheeks and brown hair, the crumbs strewn along his messy beard. Xander didn’t need much light to know that a bottle of beer was probably clutched in his father’s strong hand.

“Dale, you need to calm yourself,” said Xander’s mother sternly. Then she directed her attention to him. “Xander, honey. Come sit down, love.” Her tone was much softer. Gentle. Xander sat in his chair, needing to climb a bit to do so. Breakfast for dinner, second night in a row.

“These damned fuckers don’t need to know what I’m doin’, Martha. ‘Is all I’m sayin’.”

“Dale, watch your thrashin’ language around our son and eat your damn food.” Her voice sliced like a razor through the wintry air. He shut his mouth, chewed his french toast with a deliberate slowness.

Mother was skinny with red hair and her eyes were really green. Those same eyes locked onto Xander and he twitched as if she were going to strike him.

Xander picked at his eggs with a fork for a while till Mother pushed him to eat.

“C’mon, darling. You know what happens when you don’t eat, don’t you?”

“Martha --” started Father, but she quieted him with a harsh glare.

“Xander. I want you to tell me what happens when you don’t eat.”

“Red Eye tells on me,” said Xander, louder than a mumble.

“And who does he tell?”

“He tells Santa that I’ve been bad.”

Mother nodded and smiled. “If you don’t want coal for the holidays, you better eat up.”

Father went to say something, his mouth ajar, but he snapped it closed as Mother stared him down.

The boy and his parents ate in silence, except for the interjection of forks clanging against plates. No words between. Xander kissed them both good night and Red Eye trailed him into his bedroom.

Red Eye blinked. Twice. Xander stood near the edge of the doorframe, catching snippets of a heated discussion:

His mother’s voice rang loud.

“You need to stop this bullshit, Dale. You know what’ll happen…”

A clatter of glass. Mother was putting away dishes.

“This is wrong, Martha. All wrong.”

Mother lowered her voice to a whisper and Xander couldn’t make out any of what she was saying. A few moments later, father piped up: “I won’t have my son live like a thrashin’ prisoner!”

“Dale! Shut. Up.”

Xander closed the door behind him as he stepped into his room.

The boy picked up his ball, tapping a finger against its glass surface. It reflected the moonlight. A blurrier visage. The ball had a red dot that glowed, then died. Xander bounced it between his hands, then it slipped from his grasp.

His father stumbled in, the hallway light flooding into the room as he shoved against the door.

Father’s eyes were wide, his lips clasped shut in a thin line. He fell forward, landing just beside Xander. He lay perfectly still. Xander poked him. Shoved him. Father didn’t move a single muscle.

Red Eye blinked three times.

“What’s wrong with dad!?” yelled the boy. Tears threatened but he wiped them away. Mother didn’t like it when he cried.

“Xander!” called Mother, voice pitched high. Excited.

“Your father’s on TV!”

The boy sobbed. And Red Eye blinked.