14
ANDRÉ
Twenty-One Years Ago
“Come on, Dré. Go faster!”
I love how the tires rip up the dirt when I twist the throttle, but what gives me an even bigger rush is my daredevil best friend screaming for me to accelerate.
This evening, she’s pinned to my spine with her arms around my waist like a koala bear. That free, girly squeal of hers seeping into my bones so they feel supercharged with strength.
The motocross dirt bike was a gift from my grandfather, who figured out I thrived on adrenaline and needed an outlet. Two days after I was diagnosed with an attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, Mama’s brother, Sean, disappeared, only to return with a trailer full of dirt bikes. Of course, Tommy and Gio begged for one too, but they didn't spend hours raking around the grounds like I did.
When Mother rang Papá to tell him what the test results were, he just sighed and repeated the same phrase he always used. “I told you the kid wasn’t right in the fucking head.” I couldn't hate him for it, because that would mean hating myself. I’m his son, after all, the only Souza who mirrors his idiosyncrasies, whether he wants to admit it or not.
A blood-red sky cushions the sinking sun behind the imposing presence of my grandfather's mansion, set back on the horizon. Sinéad and I had spent the evening skirting wild fallow deer and whipping up the mossy undergrowth of a dense forest, and now the fuel tank is close to empty.
I pull the motorcycle over in front of colossal gothic-styled electric gates. The intricate ironmongery with lethal spikes stretching skyward has a collection of disfigured gargoyles slaughtering chubby-faced cherubs in a war of love and hate.
When I first arrived at Hennessy House, they appeared creepy and evil—now they’re simply the main entrance to my mother’s family home.
I flick up the visor. “You ready to go home, Sin? I’m nearly out of fuel.”
She flicks up her visor too, disorderly black strands falling every which way like crazy serpents over her shoulders. “Next time we’ll hide a jerry can in the woods so we can refuel.”
Her lashes lower and I can tell instantly she’s dreading the ride home to her cottage. “Do you want me to sneak you into my bedroom? I have a massive bed. You’ll be safe there. We could watch a scary movie.”
She blinks at me, debating my suggestion with an intensity that glistens over liquid-sheened eyes. I could stare at those pretty irises all day long. They seem to catch my attention and trap my focus unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.
“I can’t leave Mammy. She’d go out of her mind with worry if I didn’t go home.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “Hold on tight.” My wink makes the corner of her mouth twitch into a sweet smile.
“What’s that creepy noise?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.
I hear it too. The sound of bone-rattling pain or a creature unearthed from a tomb, ready to zombify every living being.
“Fuck if I know. Sounds like it's coming from over there, near the track to your place. You up for slaying some flesh-eating zombies?” I waggle my eyebrows at her. “I have a pocket knife with me, so we’ll be okay.”
Her wide grin tells me she’s ready for another adventure. “If you turn into a zombie first, make sure you bite me, so we can be zombies together.” She laughs.
Back in position, her arms wrapping me from behind. Tiny stones pelt the six-foot boundary wall when the back wheel spins. Together, we race along the gravel driveway leading to Hennessy House and swerve left where a sheltered dirt track runs parallel to the perimeter. The faster we go, the tighter she holds on.
In the distance, sprawled amid dense vegetation, lies a mass of gingery-brown fur with dappled white spots and a magnificent set of antlers poking out from leafy ferns.
Squeezing the brakes, the motorcycle skids to a slippery halt. I slam my boots into the soft mud to steady us. Pitiful moans reach right inside me, a deeply distressed melody, so emotive and disturbing that I can’t help the threads of empathy stitching my ribs together. Sinéad dismounts and unfastens her helmet. “Dré… is it dying? Can we save it?”
I jump off too and let the motorcycle lower to its side, then drag off my helmet. I’m kneeling by its teeth-torn guts in a matter of seconds, my veins pumping and my mind flooded with ways to save the distressed creature.
“It's in so much pain,” she whimpers, placing her hand on its rump. “There’s no way we can carry it to the stable yard.”
Even if we dragged the stag into the open, the patrolling rottweilers would rip it to pieces. The harder I try to think, the louder the sorrow-stricken groans affect me. Its helpless plea consumes me, the horrendous rattle of imminent death howling through the shadowy forest. I’m crawling in my skin, praying the noise will stop, and losing awareness of my surroundings as it takes over.
A gentle weight settles on my shoulder, the touch of my best friend sucking me back into the damp undergrowth. I angle around to meet Sinéad’s pale cheeks, her wide eyes the very things that ground me. They’re even more astounding when tears twinkle over the corneas. The dazzling brilliance morphs to mystical, so I’d swear she was a supernatural creature in her own right. And in that moment, oddly entranced by the misery in her eyes, I equally need to abolish it.
The thin switchblade feels featherlight against the adrenaline coursing through my muscles. I swallow hard and clamber over exposed roots to reach the stag's fleshy, proud neck, so soft and warm under my shaky palm. Sucking in a ragged breath, I choke on my fear and mentally count back from ten. The instant I mouth the number three, my rash impulses kick in. Unable to wait, I stab first, then hack my way along its gullet in a barbaric act of mercy.
Dark-red blood spills over my fingers, so gloriously rich and warm with the last wisp of life. A vast amount of it pours onto the earth, turning cold as it settles in a puddle at my knees. Salty tears burn my flushed cheeks in the shocked hush that follows.
