Dark Journeys #10: The Handy Man

Despite his older brother’s nasty remarks about Cleve’s disability, Cleve discovers he has a unique talent. He can take things apart and put them back together again. When he’s done, they work better than before. It drives his family crazy that he’s always disassembling things around the house, but it makes Cleve feel smart and important, something he’s never felt before in his life. When Cleve realizes there’s something wrong…something broken inside his older brother, he realizes it is his duty to try and fix it.

The tenth story in the Dark Journeys Short Story Collection is NOW available for download on Amazon and Smashwords for just $.99. This is one of the darkest stories I’ve written in awhile, and may not be suitable for sensitive readers. On that note, I hope you’ll check it out and help me spread the word!

Below is a short excerpt from The Handy Man, so check it out after the jump!

The Handy Man (Excerpt)

Cleveland liked to take things apart and put them back together. The fascination started with Bo’s $549 boombox when Cleve was thirteen-years-old. Bo left it on the kitchen table, where it called to him all morning while everyone else was at school. Bo came home that afternoon to find his younger brother at the kitchen table, wires and buttons sprawled across the table, Phillips-head screwdriver still in hand.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Bo ran at him from the backdoor, heavy backpack swinging like a morning star and about to connect with the back of Cleve’s head when their older brother Shane grabbed Bo by the shirt collar and yanked him backward. Bo was still gagging when he bellowed, “You stupid retard! What the fuck are you doing?”

Cleve was lost in his own world before that moment. Hadn’t even heard Bo come in from school, but the gravel-choked word retard tore Cleveland from the shining bliss of electronic heaven.

“Mom,” Cleve whined. “Bo called me the bad word.”

“You’re lucky I don’t bash in your skull and put us all out of our misery.”

“Bo,” Myra Malone barked from the dark confines of the den on the other side of the house.

“He’s a miserable shit-for-brains retard,” Bo called over his shoulder, still trying to wriggle out of Shane’s grasp. “You owe me 549 bucks you stupid shit.”

And that was when Shane started to laugh, a sound Cleve loved because it reminded him of Scooby Doo. “Where’s he gonna get $549, Dumbo.”

“I’ll take it out of his freakin’ hide if I have to.” Bo promised.

Shane tightened his grip on Bo’s collar, and the other boy gagged again.

“Cleveland, tell Bo you’re sorry.”

“Why?”

“You shouldn’t have broke his big, fancy radio. Now you’re gonna have to find a way to buy him a new one.”

“I can fix it,” Cleve said, returning his attention to the table.

“You better fucking fix it,” Bo warned, finally tearing himself from Shane’s claws. He surged forward and slapped Cleveland on the back of the head, an action that triggered Shane to slap Bo in the same fashion. Through tightly gritted teeth, Bo said, “Fix it, or I’ll break your neck tonight when you sleep, you little shit for brains.”

Bo stalked up the stairs, their fragile structure groaning under every step until the telltale floorboards above squeaked out every movement. He slammed the door to the bedroom he and their youngest brother Donny shared, and moments later AC/DC blasted from the speakers of his stereo.

Myra hobbled into the room, pausing to sweep the ragged locks of her waist-length black hair over her shoulder. “Damn it, Cleveland,” she said. “What the heck is wrong with you?”

“I can fix it,” Cleve mumbled the promise under his breath.

And he did. It took him four hours to put every piece back into place, not counting the seventeen minutes he spent eating dinner while Bo scowled at him from across the dining room table. After dinner, he went right back to work, and just before bedtime he twisted the last screw into the back panel and leaned back to admire his work.

He rose from the table and hoisted the heavy radio into his arms. Careful not to drop it, he hiked the stairs one at a time and carried it all the way to the door of Bo and Donny’s room. Inside, Bo was listening to Motley Crue’s Shout at the Devil and talking to his girlfriend, Rochelle, on the phone. Cleve didn’t knock, but set the boombox down outside the door and just lingered.

The sound of Bo’s voice was always different when he talked to Rochelle—calmer, gentler. It was like Rochelle made Bo a different person, and it was no wonder. Rochelle was good. Pretty and sweet, she was one of the few people who actually talked to Cleve like he was a regular person.