from a place named after a priest where kids were killed, yet I saw you sign the cross three times last night. I’m not sure I’d still worship the one who let that happen.”
“God didn’t kill anyone.”
“He also didn’t catch anyone.”
I don’t know how to respond because his point has been bothering me too. That vulnerable children were murdered is troubling enough, but that the murderer continues to roam free doesn’t seem fair. Changing the subject I ask, “Where are you taking me?”
“My sanctuary.” He gives me a wink and peddles faster. I keep pace, but allow him to take the lead when we reach a busy highway with a narrow sidewalk. Dennis leads me to an area where two lanes become four, the traffic lights multiply, and the speed limit increases. Sister Alice would forbid me to go anywhere near such a dangerous area, but I feel safe with Dennis. He seems to have made the trip many times before, and never does anything rash like cross a street without looking both ways, or ride through lanes that have green lights.
When we stop at an intersection and wait for traffic to pass, the windless heat catches up to me. We must have traveled well over a mile, and I can only hope our destination is near, as the sun is boiling me toward a stroke. After reaching a stretch that’s clogged with fast food restaurants, car dealerships, and private businesses, we coast into a parking lot that contains a small row of mom and pop stores. One of them is called 112 Video World. We climb off our bikes and lean them against the front window. Dennis chains them together, wipes sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, and opens the door for me.
I step into the cold wonder of air conditioning with a massive sigh of relief. Dennis has an equal reaction, but I don’t think it’s related to the temperature dip. His sanctuary consists of rental movies that are packed top to bottom on wide shelving units. Packaged toys, comic books, and movie memorabilia cover every wall and ledge. The place looks like his room, only bigger.
A flat screen television is airing a movie where one boy is helping another out from a pit of pint-sized creatures, but Dennis has no interest in it. He puts his hands on my shoulders and steers me toward the DVD horror section.
“I didn’t think this many movies existed,” I say. “Have you seen them all?”
“Don’t I wish,” he replies.
A young woman in a blue flannel shirt and yellow sweatpants walks out from a back room with a box of receipt paper. For some reason she’s barefoot. She playfully nudges Dennis when passing him and says, “Anything specific today?”
“Nah. Just showing Robin your holy establishment.”
“Don’t let him warp you too much,” the clerk says to me. When she walks behind the counter and starts fiddling with the receipt machine, I step closer to Dennis who’s squatting before the C titles.
“How do you figure out which ones to pick?” I ask.
“I start with something random and build a double feature,” he replies. “Two with ‘massacre’ in the title, two with meat cleavers on the cover, that kind of thing.”
“What’s today’s theme?”
“I don’t know. What mood are you in?”
“A sad one. Can any of these change that?”
“You know what always puts a smile on my face?”
“Hopefully not Chopping Mall or Christmas Evil.”
“Chopping Mall is awesome, but I meant this.” He hands me a box for a movie called C.H.U.D. The cover has a monster with bright eyes climbing out of a sewer. “The sequel’s called Bud the Chud, but it bites the big one so we’ll have to look for something else that’s city or sewer related.”
I point out a box that has a screaming face stretched over a city skyline. “How about City of Blood?” Dennis looks over the cover, and approves by placing it on top of C.H.U.D.
After close to a half-hour of watching Dennis scrutinize half the alphabet, we leave with a bag of four rentals. During the trip home, I feel confident that bonding with Dennis will lead to some outside activities along the lines of playing catch or going in the pool. I don’t bring up either, as I plan to ask him about each during whichever movie we watch first. When we arrive back at his house, however, Dennis’s joyful appearance vanishes when he sees a brown SUV parked crookedly in the driveway. Chunky rubber strips lead from the street to the back tires.
“Shit,” Dennis mutters, “Barry’s home.”
While we’re climbing off our bikes near the garage, Barry erupts from the front door and storms toward us. Despite his size, he moves awfully fast. Dennis, with no time to react defensively, is seized by his left ear and slapped in the gut. He crumples forward and coughs up a wad of phlegm that he spits on the lawn.
Barry points directly at me and says, “You go inside!” Stunned, I forget how to move. I try to think of a way to keep his temper from worsening, but am afraid I’m what set him off to begin with. I am, after all, supposed to remain hidden. “I’ll deal with you in a minute, Robin! Now please, get in the house!”
Jeremy opens the front door and says, “You heard the man! Get your bike stealing ass in here!” Barry attacks Dennis with an array of open handed punches. Dennis grunts as he takes the hits. I press my palms against my ears and start humming, but I can still hear Jeremy’s shrill laughter as he follows me into the living room. Not long after, Dennis fumes inside and heads straight for the basement. He rips open the door and slams it behind himself hard enough to make the chandelier swing back and forth.
Barry, sweaty and out of breath, enters with the video store bag. He peeks inside and says, “What the hell is a C.H.U.D.?”
“Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dweller,” Jeremy says while snatching the bag. “Let me see what else they rented.” He too goes downstairs, but closes the door gently.
Barry stands before me and puts his hands on his hips. I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. Even though Dennis did something wrong on my account, he didn’t have to go through a beating by someone twice his size. Sister Alice has nonviolent ways of reprimanding us, and makes it clear that no person should ever physically harm another, since every conflict in the world could be resolved with dialogue.
“I’m sorry,” Barry says, “but he knew bringing you out in public is a bad idea. I specifically said—”
“Sit down, son,” Nathan rasps from his chair. “The doc warned you about that heart.”
Barry drops down on the couch and sinks deep into the cushions. He maneuvers himself forward and props his elbows on his knees. “The point in taking you in is so the guy killing everyone doesn’t know where you are.”
“I made the decision to go,” I say.
“Honey, words could never describe the severity of your situation.” I nod in partial agreement, since my traveling through town in broad daylight, despite my need for distraction, was actually dangerous, but I can’t bear to hear any excuses for abuse. When I step toward the basement Barry adds, “Don’t even think about bothering him. He’s being punished.”
I skulk downstairs, wondering how to mind Barry
