Page 102 of Intolerable Bishop

“Who is that? Who’s there?” I whipped around, trying to see behind me in the cramped space. “How did ya get in here?”

They’re going to kill ya, Myles, just like they killed me. They’ll hang you up and skin you alive. Give them what they want, do what they say.

“Ma?” It couldn’t be her. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and shook my head as images of my mother beckoning me to come to the house filled my mind. She smiled and waved, tapping her wrist to let me know dinner was ready. “Is that you?”

Myles, please listen ta me. They’ll kill ya if you don’t do it, ya need to do what they say. I’m trying to protect ya.

“This isn’t real,” I growled and shook as I tried to push the voice of my dead mother away. “You’re not real. Go away.”

I am real, and I’m trying to help ya. I dinnie want you to end up like me with a knife in yer back and a broken neck with worms eating at yer flesh.

“Stop it!” I punched the box over and over until I couldn’t feel my hand anymore.

“What do you want to do today,” Ma asked.

“Can we ride our bikes?”

Ma laughed and wiped her hands on her apron. “Do I really look like I’m able to sit me fat arse on a narrow bicycle seat bein’ eight months heavy with yer brotha?”

I stuffed my hands in my coveralls. “Yer always sayin’ that he should be fully cooked by now, and ya want him out. Maybe this will help.” Ma laughed again. I loved her laugh.

“Aye, it just might, but I was thinkin’ somethin’ a wee bit slower pace. How about we go ta town and get ya a new pair of shoes for school?”

“Like hell ya are,” Da’s voice boomed as he stomped into the kitchen. I jumped and ran behind Ma. “Look at em, he’s already a weak, scared wee boy. He needs to toughen up, not be pampered with new shoes that’ll make his feet soft.”

Da grabbed my arm, and I cried out as I tried to pull away from the firm fingers. “Da, no, please,” I begged, knowing that no matter what he planned, it would end up with me punished and in pain.

“Stop, yer hurtin’ him,” Ma said and then yelled as Da’s hand connected with her cheek. She almost fell but caught herself on the counter and held the side of her face with her other hand.

“Mind yer place woman.”

“Ma.” I pulled again, wanting to get to her.

“Shut up.” I saw stars as the pain exploded behind my eyes, but it didn’t stop me from screaming for Ma and praying that she and my brother were okay.

“Only you can save my life, Myles. Please help. All you have to do is hand yourself over. They will spare you and save my life. Be a good boy and do as I say.”

“No! My ma would tell me to kill them all. Now fuck off, I’m done listenin’ to ya,” I growled. The past and present, real and not real, were merging into one, and I smacked at my head, trying to stop the insanity.

“Bobby Shaftoe’s gone to sea silver buckles at his knee. He’ll come back and marry me, bonnie Bobby Shaftoe,” I sang softly. Ma sang that nursery rhyme to me every night as part of our bedtime routine. Even after Da killed her, I sang it to feel her close to me. The other voices were fake. I knew it, even if I couldn’t make them stop.

“Bobby Shaftoe’s tall and fair, combing down his yellow hair. He’ll be mine forever more, bonnie Bobby Shaftoe.” I rocked back and forth, my finger on the small breathing hole so that I didn’t lose it as the lyrics tumbled from my mouth on repeat.

“Bobby Shaftoe’s tall and slim, always dressed so neat and trim. The ladies, they all look at him, bonnie Bobby Shaftoe.”

Something hard hit the side of the metal box. The sound reverberating had me covering my ears as my eardrums shook.

Bang, bang, bang.

The hits came faster, and I pressed the palm of my hands as tightly over my ears as I could, but my teeth rattled, and I swear my eyes and nose were bleeding. Or was I imagining that, too? Everything hurt, and I just wanted it to end.

“Please make it stop. Please make it stop.”

“You know I love you, and I’ll be here when you get back. You will come home,” Ren said, her head on my chest and her fingers idly tracing my tattoos. One word should not hold so much weight, but the fact she equated me with home meant more than anything else she could ever say. I was her safe place. I wasn’t a house. I was a home.

“Aye, I know.” I shifted so I could see her face. “What’s wrong, Snowflake? I mean, other than the obvious issue at hand?”

Her lips curved up, but she didn’t look at me. I wanted to see her eyes. Rolling onto her stomach, she stared at me, and I would swear she was gripping my soul with both hands.