The Blackstone Chronicles - By John Saul Page 0,124

barred window that pierced the wall, allowing him to gaze upon the village at the bottom of the hill with malevolent eyes.

A lone bulb, unshaded but protected by a thick glass and metal casing, was mounted in the exact center of the ceiling. The glaring light never dimmed, depriving him nightly of a haven of darkness in which to sleep.

A peephole in the door allowed the staff to keep watch on him. Though he could never see the eyes that observed him, he always knew when they were there.

He had been allowed only a single object to distract him from the endless empty hours his life had become: a stereoscope, brought to him by his grandmother.

“He’s a good boy,” the old woman had told his doctor. “He didn’t do what they say. It’s not possible. I’ll never believe it.” She had pleaded long and hard, and finally the doctor, convinced more by the size of the check she left behind than by her entreaties, agreed: the boy could have the instrument, along with the dozen images his grandmother had provided.

Since that day, the boy had whiled away most of his waking hours staring through the lenses of the stereoscope at the three-dimensional images. They were all pictures of home—the home they said he would never see again.

All the rooms were there for him to behold:

The big formal living room in which his parents entertained their friends.

The dining room, where two dozen people had often gathered for holiday feasts.

The nursery in which he’d spent the first two years of his life, before his brother had been born.

There were exterior views of the house too, of the enormous yard filled with spreading trees. Beneath these branches, he had first begun dreaming his wonderful fantasies.

His favorite image, though, was the one he was gazing upon today.

It was of his room.

Not this room, but his room at home, the room he’d grown up in, the room that had provided him refuge when the fantasies began.

The room in which he’d brought his darkest dreams to life.

It had been easy at first. No one noticed when the squirrels that had always annoyed him so much began to disappear from the trees outside his window; even the disappearance of a few yowling cats hadn’t caused any trouble.

The next-door neighbors, though, and the people down the street had come looking for their dogs. Of course, he denied knowing anything. Why, after all, should he have told anyone that he’d skinned their pets alive, and hidden their bodies in the back of his closet?

When his best friend vanished, he had shed the proper tears—though he didn’t really feel any emotion except relief that one more annoyance was removed from his life—and afterward decided not to bother with friends anymore.

For a while things had been all right. Soon, though, the little girl—his sister—started to annoy him, and he began to fantasize about sending her to join the others.

It made him furious when they finally came and took him away from his room. He struggled, but there were too many of them. Despite his screams and his shouted denials, they brought him up here and chained him to the wall.

They watched him.

He’d screamed every time they came near him, pouring out vivid threats of exactly what he’d do when he got loose and had his knives back. Finally, it seemed they decided to leave him alone. Except for the orderly who slid his meals through the slot in the door, he hadn’t seen anyone for a long time.

Which was fine with him.

At least if they stayed away, he wouldn’t have to kill them.

Not that he’d mind killing them, since killing what annoyed him had turned out to be the perfect way not only of satisfying his anger but of realizing his dreams.

He was still gazing at the image of his room at home, constructing a wonderful fantasy of what he might do if he were there right now, when he heard a noise at the door. Startled, he turned to see three men entering his room. He dropped the stereoscope and stood up, his fury at their invasion of his space already blazing from his eyes.

“Take it easy,” one of the men said, glancing at the chains warily as if expecting the boy might free himself from his shackles. “We’re only here to help you.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and he crouched low, ready to strike the moment they came within range of his fists. If he could just