Paul looked down at his hands in the fragments of light coming through the cracks of the wood panel door. They were bruising already, red and still throbbing. They hadn't even recovered from the last time he had used them for such a purpose. He had lost his temper again. Paul Morlock ran his thumb over the sore spot and thought of his father. Was he becoming like him?
Opening his fist, Paul flinched in pain. His mother would surely notice. So would his aunt … she never missed a thing. What would he say to them? He knew what he wanted to say. "You should have seen the other guy." He smirked to himself, and reclined his head against the back wall of the shed he was hiding in. Hiding like a scared little boy, what would his father say?
He took a deep breath and decided to make the most of his time in his self-made prison cell. He'd be late for his dinner, but he knew the Thomas McLane wouldn't be late for his, providing the perfect window of opportunity. McLane had two parents, one being a strict father, who wouldn't stand for such tardiness. He also had a large appetite, which wouldn't be suppressed long enough for another fight.
Paul took a breath and turned his attention to the stray boxes scattered to either side of him. His neighbors were away and he didn't see anything wrong with having a peek at what they were keeping in their garden shed. He took note of the inventory: some ceramic pots, two racks, a bucket of gardening tools, fertilizer, and some bottled chemicals. Paul picked up one of the bottles labeled "lye". He examined it carefully. A warning sticker indicated it was a corrosive.
Paul Morlock had been visiting demons again. The one in his mirror back in Derry and the many that lay quietly in his head had resurfaced that afternoon - the demons that told him it was all his fault. He had stolen his aunt's cigarettes again, and had been smoking one in an alley behind the drug store and shoe repair shop. It was a good spot to smoke a cigarette and not get caught, and a good spot for someone to be alone as Paul often was. He had stolen her flask too. It still had some whiskey in it. Paul didn't worry about getting away with it, she had more, and by the time he'd get home she'd be too drunk to notice.
Thomas McLane wasn't looking for the kind of trouble that followed. He was looking for the kind he couldn't find in his own home, the kind Paul was in possession of and unwilling to hand over.
"Bees Knees, Morlock, think I can get me one of them cigarettes?" McLane entered the alley from the back door of the shoe repair shop; he had been working there shining shoes for chump change on the weekends.
"For a price." Paul smiled. " I know you just got paid."
"I can't pay you Paul, my family needs the money. I'm going to give it to them when I go home for supper."
"Well, isn't that a crock of shit. Pops takes your pay, doesn't sound like family to me."
"I guess you wouldn't know anything about family since your father killed himself." Even being away from Derry the rumor mill had its ties.
Paul stood silent as the anger filled his body. His shoulder twitched and his eyes bore into Thomas'. He stepped up next to the larger boy, meeting his eyes with his cold gaze. He stood so close Thomas McLane could feel Paul's warm breath on his face.
"My father didn't kill himself," Paul spoke calmly but sternly. "Bloody Mary killed him."
Thomas stifled a laugh. He looked for humor in Paul Morlock's green eyes but there was none. A chill raced down his spine as he became suddenly unsure of Paul's intentions. Paul stepped back a little.
"Now that we've settled that, do you still want a cigarette?"
McLane laughed with a sigh of relief. "Yeah, sure. Heh, so you really believe in that craziness. I mean … that's lunacy. Bloody Mary, heh. You're kidding right?"
"Do you want the cigarette or not?" Paul asked, holding the pack up in his hand, seemingly ignoring the question.
"Yes, yes, give it here."
Mclane eagerly extended his hand to receive his reward. Paul opened the packet and removed one. He took another drag of his own and brought the flaming bud down on Thomas' McLane's outstretched palm, eliciting a high-pitched scream from the larger boy. Paul placed the unlit cigarette between his lips, savored the sight of the larger boy clutching his palm while screaming in agony, and then proceeded to sock him a few good ones in the jaw.
"That shit is for crazzzies! Huh? Well, you're looking at one! I'm crazy! Right? Crazy! And it doesn't matter what I do because I'm just so crazy!"
The larger boy swung his uninjured hand into Paul's gut and sent him backwards onto the ground. Paul recovered quickly and got to his feet. He turned and didn't look back, but he heard the other boy yelling behind him. Thomas ran after him, but Paul was far ahead and he gave him the slip into the Barren's garden shed, where he stood quietly until he heard Thomas pass by.
To the left of the bottled chemicals Paul saw an object of interest resting against the wall. It wasn't shiny like the one he saw in the sewer, not so bright and reflective. He thought about what he saw in down there that night long ago, the gleaming light that seemed to drain all of his rational thought, then the mass that hovered over it, the screams that made his skin crawl. Or was it all imagined? He began to think it had been. Paul was getting older, it wasn't a part of him anymore, or so he thought. But the ax on the wall was still tempting to touch. Ol' Lizzy Borden would be proud, he thought to himself with a smirk. The Barren's sure had some funny ways of growing a garden, Paul thought as he reached up to grab the ax off the wall.
No sooner than he got it in his hands on the wooden handle the poorly constructed shelf that it was supporting collapsed. Buckets and pots came crashing down on to the cement floor beneath him. The doors of the shed flew open before Paul could gather his thoughts. Light poured into the darkened room and the adrenaline began to rush through Paul's veins. Regardless of who or what was behind him, he knew he was in trouble and that he'd have to run. Without thinking he grabbed the ax.
A thick hand grabbed the back of his neck to pull him back. Paul tried pulling at the ax but it was stuck. He flailed his arms in an attempt the escape the figure behind him. Turning he saw Thomas Mclane's rage filled face. He tried yanking the ax once again to no avail. Mclane's shoe met Paul's back and sent the smaller boy onto the floor with the mess of garden supplies. Paul backed himself up into the wall and slowly tried to stand up.
"I'm gonna kill ya, Morlock! Look what you did to my hand, you son of a bitch!" Thomas yelled, shoving his large palm in Paul's face. To his right Paul saw the bottle he inspected before, the top still loose. Without a second thought he grabbed it and threw the thick liquid into Thomas Mclane's face. The larger boy shrieked in agony, but Paul didn't hesitate to run.
His heart was pounding, as he broke free into the late afternoon sunlight. Thomas wasn't chasing after him, in fact, at that very moment his face was practically melting off, but Paul couldn't see that from behind the walls of the shed, and he didn't see the body he collided into either. Donald Barren was on his way to see what the commotion was about as Paul crashed into him. He fell back onto the grass beneath him and looked up and the forty-something year old man looking down at him with a stern face.
"What the hell is going on in my garden shed? You trying to rob me, Morlock?"
"No sir, no, I have to go…"
"Oh dear god …" Donald Barren trailed off and ran to the boy stumbling out of his garden shed holding his face, still screaming.
Paul turned to look behind him, not to look at Thomas' distorted face, but because of a sound he heard, a sound he dreaded to hear, and to see a little girl standing back in the shed, ringing a bell. A little girl he knew far too well. This time though she had some strange animal standing next to her.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
Paul got to his feet and ran without ever looking back.
"With silver bells, Paul, with silver bells," A voice in his head seemed to answer him.