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Chapter 5
When Will got home, much too late again, Angela was not lying in wait to confront him. She seemed to be busy, wandering about the apartment in a determined fashion. When Will tried to talk to her, she barely acknowledged him. Back and forth, this way and that she went, into their bedroom, though she hadn't slept there much in recent times, into Henry's bedroom, into the living room, where she usually did sleep, even into the bathroom. Her activity was dizzying, and Will wondered what was going on, even though somewhere in the pit of his stomach he already knew. This suspicion was confirmed when he went into Henry's room. Spread out on the floor were suitcases, every one they owned, in fact.
"Where are you going?" Will asked, when she breezed by.
Angela just kept right on going. Will sat down on the couch in the living room. He was drained, but terror took ahold of his heart anyway.
"Talk to me, please!" he shouted.
"Just a minute," Angela answered, from their bedroom.
She emerged with armfuls of hanging garments, her own clothes, then went into Henry's room again. When she returned, she looked at Will and sat beside him on the couch.
"I'm leaving," Angela said. "Tomorrow morning."
"Where will you go?" Will said.
"I don't know yet. I just need to get out of here."
Will processed this information. There was still the barest hope in his heart.
"But you'll come back?" Will said.
"No," Angela said. "I don't think I will."
"But Henry," Will said. "You can't just take him away! Especially if you don't even know where you're going."
"I'm not taking him," Angela said.
"But you're his mother!"
Angela turned to look at Will. She was remarkably calm, but her eyelids looked heavy, as if tears might spill at any moment.
"Don't make me feel guilty," Angela said. "I already feel bad enough without you adding it it."
"I know I hurt you," Will said. "But I can change. I can make things better, if you let me."
"You can't. And you know why? It's because you are not the problem. Henry is not the problem. I am the problem."
"How can you say that?"
"Because it's true," Angela said. "Don't you think it's time we faced it?"
"But we've been so happy--"
"No we haven't. Maybe you have, maybe Henry has, but not me."
"What can I do to help? How can I fix it?"
"You're not listening to me, Will. I'm miserable. You can't change it. Nothing can if I stay here."
"So, what, you just take off for God knows where, for God knows how long?"
"Will, I'm leaving forever. I'm not cut out to be a wife and mother."
"But you've done great so far!"
"Don't kid yourself. I've been so unhappy. I feel like I'm stuck in someone else's life. Henry feels it, too. Why do you think he's so happy when you're around and so cranky when you're gone? He knows."
Tears burst from Will's eyes. Angela was serious. There was no getting around it.
"I didn't mean to hurt you!" he said.
"You didn't hurt me."
"I cheated."
"I know."
"Can't we work through it?"
"Will, you don't understand. When you got home Saturday, yes, I was angry. You were hours late and I didn't know where you were. But I was angry because I was worried about you. When you lied, when I knew you were probably having an affair, I didn't feel anything. No, that's not right. What I felt was relief. Immense relief."
"But why?"
"Because I knew that I didn't need to feel so guilty. Because I knew that you were capable of getting on without me."
"But that's not true!" Will said.
"It is true, but it wouldn't matter if it wasn't. Don't you understand? I am deeply unhappy. I have been for a long time, for years. I feel like I'm living in a dream, but it's someone else's dream, not mine. I don't belong here, and I know that I never will."
"But it can be better," Will pleaded. "I know I can make you happy."
"How can you make me happy when I can't even make myself happy?"
Tears were pouring down Will's face. He struggled to come up with another argument, but couldn't.
"I don't want to lose you," he said. "I don't want to lose what we have."
"What do we have? A miserable woman who doesn't want to be a mother or a wife. A guy who pretends, with every fiber of his being, that everything is perfect. And a baby who would be happier without me."
"It's just not true!" Will said.
"It is true. I think, after some time, you will understand better."
"But--"
"But nothing. I'm leaving in the morning. I tried so hard to wait until the holidays were over, but I just can't do it. I have to get out for my own sake. It's selfish, yes, very selfish. But it is what I have to do for myself. And nothing you say will change my mind."
With that, she rose and left the room. She continued packing through the night. And Will, poor Will, continued crying through the night.
Tuesday morning was a misery. Angela had managed to sleep some, but Will had not. She made some finishing touches on her packing, she called a few people, usually getting no answer. It didn't matter. She was determined. Everything could be settled after she got out of there.
When Will appeared in the living room, he couldn't look at her. His sad, puffy eyes looked at the floor instead. She went back and forth between the garage and their apartment, up and down the elevator, pulling suitcases, carrying odds and ends. Will felt guilty for not helping, but he just couldn't.
It was about three hours later that Angela felt she had everything. She went into Henry's room, held the gurgling child, and began to weep.
"I'll miss you," she said. "Be good for your Dad."
There was little response from Henry, but she didn't expect much from such a small child. It was a mercy, really, for her to get out early in the child's life, before he could form a lasting attachment. Before he could feel longing and the heartbreak of loss. She rocked the child, kissed him several times, then set him back in his crib.
Will was harder for her to face. He looked more like a child than Henry did, in some ways. His eyes looked haunted and wounded at the same time.
"I've left a pile of paperwork in my desk, with instructions," she said. "It shouldn't be too difficult for you to take over paying the bills."
"What will you do for money?" Will asked.
"I'm taking my debit card, and the Visa. I plan to get a job as soon as I'm settled. Until then, I am going to need some help."
"What can I do?"
"You're already doing it," she said. "Just keep up on the bills while I get my act together. It shouldn't be long. After that, I won't need anything."
"But half of everything is yours," Will said. "If we get a divorce, I want things settled fairly. I don't want--"
"Will, listen to me. You're going to have your hands full with Henry. I don't want to take anything away from him. All I ask is for financial help while I'm getting on my feet."
"Are you sure about all this?" Will said. "It seems so rushed."
"Believe me, it's not. I've been thinking of this for a long time."
She got up. Will started crying again, blubbering, really. She tried to suppress her sudden anger. It felt like a guilt trip, the last thing she needed.
"You can always come back," he said, through his sobs. "Whatever you need, it's yours. But I wish you would stay."
"I know you do. But this will be better for everyone in the long run. I have to go now while I have the strength to do it. Please don't try to stop me. For my sake."
She found herself, despite her resolve, growing weak and teary eyed. But Will simply sat there. When she was almost out the door, he said he loved her, in the saddest voice she had ever heard from him. She kept walking.
The tears rolled down Will's cheeks, and his body was wracked with grief. For over an hour he was like a tiny skiff struggling to stay afloat on a huge, roiling sea. He knew it couldn't go on forever. Henry needed him, and for that reason he was resolved to be as strong as he could. He didn't want the child to see or hear him crying. But when he went to the boy, he couldn't help himself. Emotion swept him back out to sea.
There was only one thing for it. Will got on his phone and called his mother.
Long had she kept a key to both the front door of the building and the door to Will and Angela's apartment, and she did not hesitate to use them, this mite of a woman, Amy Goodsen. She swept into Will's apartment, and he sobbed at the sight of her, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. She took him into her arms and held him for a long time.
Eventually, she pulled back, looked Will over, pity in her eyes and disapproval in the tight lines around her mouth.
"I can't believe Angela would abandon you and Henry," she said. "But I should have known!"
"It's not her fault," Will protested.
Amy did not acknowledge nor respond to those words. Her judgment of Angela had already been made, and her judgment was final.
"Poor Henry," she said.
She rose, went into the child's room. The angelic baby slept, blissfully unaware that anything was wrong. Although she wanted to wake him, she decided not to. She returned to Will.
"Have you eaten?" she said.
"I'm not hungry," Will simpered.
"Nonsense!"
Amy rose again, and made her way to the kitchen. She knew it well-- she had approved of its layout when Will and Angela first moved there. Through the cupboards she looked, until she found coffee, which she promptly loaded into the proper machine, and then she poured in the water. Next she brought out some eggs and butter, and then she tested the weight of the frying pans she found under the oven, choosing a heavy one. Eggs were scrambling inside of it in no time, and she had the bread ready for toast.
Although he didn't want to eat, Will found that he had an appetite when he was called to the kitchen counter. He drank his coffee, nibbled on his buttered toast and dove into the fluffy scrambled eggs. No one made them like his mother.
"Now, then," Amy said, for she was satisfied that Will had eaten, and felt that life could proceed again. "How did this happen?"
"She was unhappy," Will said. "I wasn't a good husband to her."
"Baloney!" she said. "She may have been unhappy, but it wasn't your fault."
"But it was!"
"Baloney!"
"She's not coming back."
"And good riddance!" said Amy. Then, realizing that she was acting a little too gleeful about Angela's departure, she forced herself to soften her tone.
"Will, I know you. I know you are a good man. I'm sorry that this has happened-- Lord knows I never expected a divorce in my own family-- but what is done is done. And now we must turn our attention to the future, not only yours, but Henry's."
"I guess I will have to look into day care. I can't take him to work."
"You will do no such thing! I will care for Henry myself while you're at your job."
"Don't you think you should discuss this with Dad first?"
"Your father has no say in the matter. If he objects, I will simply watch the child here, in your apartment. I'd like to see what he has to say about that when he has to make his own breakfast!"
"Mom--"
"I know, I know, honey. I have to take your father's feelings into consideration. But trust me, he will agree."
There was no evident doubt in her face. She moved immediately to the next topic.
"You must hire a lawyer, of course. She will get one if she hasn't already."
"I don't think she has. She just wants help getting on her feet."
"That's what she says now, but it will change, if I know anything about anything. Get yourself a good lawyer. If you are to be Henry's primary or only caregiver, then you must ask for child support."
"That's way in the future. Besides, I trust her."
"Don't! I will not allow you to be foolish! You are going to need help with Henry."
"Mom, there's something you don't understand. This is all my fault. I--"
Will stopped himself. He wanted to tell his mother that he had cheated, wanted to get it off of his chest, but he didn't have the courage. His mother had a very high opinion of him. His mother felt he could do no wrong. He couldn't quite bear to destroy her image of him, couldn't bear to see the shattered look that would come to her eyes.
"It's not your fault," Amy said, with finality.
She had been running hot water, filling up the sink with soapy water, and she gathered up every dirty dish and utensil, and deposited them there. Then she went into Henry's room and woke the child. It was time for Henry to face the world.
That evening, Amy was hesitant to leave. Henry seemed unaffected by Angela's departure-- indeed he seemed not to even notice-- but Will was obviously still down. She had cooked for them again, and he had eaten very little. His face still bore the pallor and strain of grief. But he would not hear of her staying overnight, when she mentioned it. Had she not had a husband to feed, had she not had preparations to make for Christmas, no power would have kept her from staying, but she was a practical woman, and so she finally left, though with some apprehension in her heart.
Will moped and played half-heartedly with Henry for the rest of the evening. He struggled not to show any emotion that might harm his son. But when the time came, Henry went down easily, and Will went to bed himself, still weighted with sadness. His bottom was still sore, a reminder of his sins, and it hurt particularly bad when he had to use the bathroom. A deep pain welled up inside, and didn't pass until he was able to relieve himself.
In bed, in his pajamas, Will prayed. For Henry, for Angela, for his own forgiveness. He was a religious young man, not a zealot, but he believed and he wanted to abide by God's rules. It hurt him to know that he had failed so miserably. He felt that he was reaping the due reward for his sins. He felt he had no one to blame but himself for all that had gone so very wrong in his life.
As he had many times before, he vowed to control himself. Santa would be in town for a couple of days longer, on double shifts at the mall, but Will vowed to resist him. He wanted that part of his life, that part of himself, to die, to be buried. About the only thing he would take as wisdom from Santa was his prohibition against masturbation. Santa was right about that, and Will knew it. It was wrong. It was sinful. And yet it was nearly impossible, in recent days, for Will to avoid.
He had an erection. He'd had one off and on all days, despite his grief, despite his mother's presence. It was strange to him that after all of the activity it had endured the day before that his penis should be making fresh demands. It was like the small, defiant organ was trying to take control of his life. But Will wouldn't let it. He resolved to fight like hell to defeat it, and he wasn't waiting until the new year to follow his resolution. It started then and there. Will and his penis were at odds with one another, and Will was determined to win.
Pillow freshly fluffed, Will laid his head down, and brought his sheets and blankets up over himself so that just his little face and golden curls showed above his bedding. He was exhausted from emotion, from grieving, and he hadn't slept the night before, so it was no wonder that he was soon asleep. Will's penis, however, did not go to sleep. It remained erect for a long time after the young man lost consciousness, and it plotted a release.
Hours passed in peaceful rest. Will did not stir. His breaths came deep and easy, his chest rising and falling in a slow, lazy manner. It seemed nothing could touch him, the innocent looking cherub, in his sweet repose. But a spark was ignited in his sleeping brain, at some point in the tumblings of the REM cycles going on in his unconscious mind. A dark dream came, a dream of darkness.
The spark was the fire, the light from a wooden torch. Billy was in a cave, carrying the torch. He was walking in darkness, the walls and ceiling around him made of rough rock, leaping in monstrous shadows under the flickering glow. The passage was narrow and dank, and so silent that he could hear himself breath. The air was oppressively heavy. Billy didn't know why he was there. The dream didn't show him walking into the cave. There was no point of reference, nothing to go on, just the mystery of the cave and a sense of deep foreboding. He was descending.
A fork in the path, many forks along the way, but Billy had nothing to go on, so he chose each path at random. He wanted to turn back, but the rock closed in behind him. There was no way but forward. The passage widened, and then he heard noises, flutterings and whisperings, a scratching chorus of them, growing louder as he proceeded. His heart pounded and sweat poured from his brow, and they were closing in, he knew it though he could not see them, and then he started running as fast as he could, and then the noises were those of tiny feet scampering and scrapping across the rock.
He stopped. There was no outrunning the sounds. Billy was powerless, and he was certain there were beings, creatures, all around him. Yet he saw nothing, no one in any direction. He sat down and began to cry, and it was then that the creatures showed themselves, slowly creeping in until he could see them. Small, bony, gray creatures, with large, slanted eyes that held a sickening yellow light. Green tights covered their spindly legs, and each wore a short green coat with a black belt and shiny buckle. Little floppy, pointed green hats, a cottony ball drooping from the ends of each one, covered their heads. Their jagged mouths drooled.
"Stay back!" Billy squeaked.
He jumped to his feet. He waved the torch, and they retreated just enough to avoid the fire. And then, from the ceiling, one dropped onto him and the torch was knocked away, and then more were on him, many more, and they were tearing his clothes away, and binding his ankles and wrists. The torch only flickered from where it had fallen, and its flames danced in their greedy eyes, and then he was lifted by many tiny hands and carried into the darkness.
A stench rose up, and grew stronger as the evil little elves proceeded. Billy struggled, but there was little give. Their tiny hands were strong. Down, down, ever downward they descended, and then there was faint light that slowly grew stronger. They came to a cavern, a vast chamber carved from the rock and flickering with the lights from a dozen lit torches held by sconces to the walls. The room was bare but for a raised platform in the center, covered in animal skins. It was there that the little gray creatures deposited Billy. It was there he waited, bound and struggling, for something to happen.
It wasn't long in coming. Dull rumblings, growing, rising, and then a slow, discernible beat, and the floor, the bed, the very walls shook each time it struck, and the beats came faster, and the shaking more violent, and then a tremendous reek, hot, foul, came into the room, and the rumbling ceased, for Billy was not alone. His bindings gave way, and he sat up and turned to face the presence he knew was there.
A giant creature, a beast, for it was no man, stood several feet away, regarding Billy with hard, cruel black eyes. Twelve feet tall it stood, broad and huge, covered with muscles that looked as hard as armor. Its skin was deep, tarnished red, as though it had been through fire, and the red skin covered everywhere except for the beast's black, cloven hooves and the black ram's horns that sprouted from its head, huge and curved into dangerous points, half as wide as the powerful shoulders.
In his bed at home, Will trembled. In his bed at home, Will softly moaned. His small penis, tucked so safely, so innocently away in his pajamas, began to stir.
The beast had the skull of a giant goat, yet its features were strangely human. The ink black eyes, the thick, snarling lips, the bulbous nose, the long goatee that sprouted from its chin. A scarlet hat, trimmed in white ermine, rested between its horns and a torn loin cloth of the same material was wrapped around its waist. The beast wielded a long whip, its thong made of flame, and it wheezed through the air as the beast twirled it, snapping and crackling again and again, at its master's pleasure.
"Kneel," the beast commanded, in a voice as deep as the earth itself.
Quaking, Billy obeyed and rose up onto his knees, waited for what he knew would come. The fiery whip twirled and twirled, then finally lashed forward, the whip's fall laying down a burning red stripe where it struck Billy's hip, the popper curling around his tiny, erect penis and causing excruciating pain before it unraveled and returned to its master.
"Turn!" came the voice.
Billy scrambled around, kneeled so that his back faced the beast. The whip's tail struck and slithered across his buttocks, cracking the skin with fire. He wanted to scream but he could not move, could not react to anything but the beast's commands. The whip struck again and again, sudden red lashes raising on the boy's back, on his creamy buttocks, everywhere, crisscrosses over crisscrosses, patterning the pale flesh with tiger stripes of sizzling red, and it went on for what seemed like an eternity. A severe retribution, the pain stifling and blotting all else, the whip flaying Billy's very soul open.
The lashes ceased, and the deep, dark voice commanded Billy to turn again, and then he saw how the beast had changed. Below the plaited muscles of the beast's belly a monstrous cock, a cannon, had lifted the scarlet and white loin cloth out of the way. The organ was black but with an orange glow evident beneath, as if it was made of molten lava, where only the areas areas of black had cooled. It protruded nearly two feet from the creature's body, lifted upward and throbbing with life. It was enormously thick, as wide around as a well built man's calf, and the huge head drooled a viscous liquid, crimson like blood.
Under the covers, under the satiny pajamas, Will's penis skittered upward, stiffening into a steely little erection.
Back in the dream, the beast leered at Billy, then pulled away the loin cloth, revealing the demon's full glory. It arched way up into the air and pumped to the demon's thunderous heartbeats. The beast gave a deep cry in a language Billy didn't know, and suddenly Billy felt himself moving against his will. He arranged his body at the edge of the bed, on hands and knees, his back arched into a curve, his small, rounded buttocks raised in impossible invitation, an invitation Billy's mind had not choice but to give.
Great rumblings as the beast moved toward him, placed its hands, hot and large, and replete with long, deadly sharp claws, onto Billy's slender hips. Billy craned his neck, met the demon's dark, unpitying eyes, saw the unfathomable cock stretched over length of his back, creating an ominous shadow, and it was much too huge to ever go inside, but it would, and it would tear him asunder, it would break him wide open, and he felt his buttocks being pulled apart, and a drooling heat as the monster cock fought its way between his small cheeks.
Will tossed and turned in his bed, twisting the covers this way and that, and small, pitiful noises filled his bedroom.
A moment suspended in time, the beast's monstrous organ at Billy's tiny portal, and then the claws were at his hips again, and the beast pulled him backward with immeasurable strength and it lunged forward with ruthless force, and then an inconceivable pain, an inconceivable lust as the burning leviathan tore through and plunged deep into the screaming boy's guts, and beneath the carnage his tiny penis, hard as ever, erupted and sent thin little torrents of his weakling seed onto the animal skins below.
In his bed at home, under the covers, Will's penis spit fiercely inside his pajamas, again and again, until there was a sticky little mess up front, coating and leaking through, and then the dream went black and evaporated, and Will settled into a more comforting and dreamless sleep. His penis slowly wilted, but in triump, for it had found a way, and it had achieved the release that Will had tried to deny it.
In the morning, Will awoke early and went to use the toilet, but had some difficulty. His nocturnal emission had dried in the night and his little flaccid organ was glued helplessly to the surrounding fabric at the front of his pajamas. It was very uncomfortable, especially when he tried to wiggle it free of its confinement, and it was humiliating. Will did not remember the dream, but he knew he must have had one to cause such a crusty mess. He felt pathetic, like some teenager. In the end, his need to urinate got the better of him, and he pulled the fabric away too fast, eliciting a yelp from the stinging pain.
He peed. He went back to bed. The wrenching grief of the days before was gone, and in its place a chill had settled into Will's heart and mind. Everything felt faded. Life seemed colorless, without hope. There was really no reason to even get up.
And then Henry cried out. Will was on his feet and moving faster than it takes to tell. The baby's tiny pink face was wet with tears, and he was wailing. Will took the child in his arms and rocked him until the boy calmed, then changed his diaper, made his bottle and fed him. When Henry was satisfied, Will laid him down again, and the child slept. His rumpled face was so delicate, so incredibly innocent of all that had happened. It broke Will's heart, and then it filled his heart with resolve. Henry was something to live for, something big. Even if his own life was over, and Will felt it was, there was always Henry.
He would live for his child, then. He would do his best by the boy and leave the rest to God's mercy.