Root of the Madness: Malachi's Story

Disclaimer: I do not own Stephen King’s CotC. Then it wouldn’t be Stephen King’s. I think you see the dilemma.

YAY Chapter two! HAIL ME!! For the record as well, I have not read Great Expectations. I’ve only read the comic book (only a little) and seen the South Park episode. I will only discuss what I know in this chapter. ^^; Sorry all you Dickens fanatics.

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Malachi easily got through “Great Expectations” in a matter of four days. On the fifth day, he happily walked into Mr. Marshal’s class and handed the book back to him before his classmates filed in. True to his word, the book had been kept in perfect condition. Malachi even went as far as to use his dad’s leather polish to clean up smudges on the book. It looked better than before, something Mr. Marshal noted with a bright smile.

“Since you finished it so fast, I’ll assume that you enjoyed the story, Malachi,” he said charmingly, setting the book on his desk.

“I couldn’t put it down,” the redhead replied, taking his seat at his desk.

“What did you like about it?”

“I felt sorry for Pip,” Malachi started excitedly. “He tried so hard to make himself worthy of that girl but…he was just being used.” Mr. Marshal nodded. “And the way the grandmother was controlling the girl was just inhuman.”

“I agree. Like she had no free will of her own.”

“Exactly.” They discussed the story well into the class. When everyone was in and the second bell rang, they were forced to cut the discussion short much to both displeasures. Mr. Marshal merely smiled over at the redhead with a wink and mouthed “later” before he took his place at the front of the classroom. Malachi nodded happily, willing to wait to be able to continue their conversation.

The rest of the class period was spent introducing the first book the class would be required to read.
“Moby Dick,” Mr. Marshal announced, beginning to pass out a copy to each student. When he got to Malachi, he paused, smiling. “Unless, of course, you have your own copy Malachi.” The redhead smiled. Of course he had his own copy.

“I do, sir,” he said happily. Mr. Marshal smiled and passed by his desk without dropping a copy, pleased at what he was hearing and learning about Malachi. He was sure that the boy would become his star pupil in no time. He lightly patted the boy on the back in encouragement, but found the boy shying away from the touch. He internally quirked an eye at the boy's reaction. He hadn’t touched that hard, what reason did he have to flinch?

The rest of the class went by without incident, mostly spent just explaining the basic overview of the book. Once the bell rang, however, the talk would take on a more somber tone.

“Malachi, please stay behind,” Mr. Marshal asked calmly. The redhead froze in the door, the instant response of “crap” running through his head.

“What is it, sir?”, he asked innocently. He knew it was about the flinch. He shouldn’t have flinched. He should have just grit his teeth through the pain and not shown any signs of the injury. Now there would be questions, questions to which he was supposed to provide answers. The true answers would lead to more questions that Malachi couldn’t answer, not for anything.

“Did you hurt yourself?”, Mr. Marshal asked, concern on his face.

“I just had a bad night, slept on my back wrong,” Malachi said surely. “It’s been aching all day.” The older man nodded, not quite sure he believed the red haired youth, but having no reason to ask further.

“Malachi,” he said softly. “If anything is…bothering you, feel free to come and talk to me. Okay?”

“Yes sir,” Malachi said with a nod. Mr. Marshal nodded as well.

“You should get to class,” he added, nodding toward the door. “And don’t forget chapter one tonight. I expect to hear a lot back from you.” Malachi smiled strongly.

“Of course. I’ll even take notes,” he said securely, heading out the door. He had already read Moby Dick a few times, though a refresher on his thoughts couldn’t hurt. He had had so many! What would Mr. Marshal think once he heard the practical speech the redhead had prepared. He would be so impressed!

A sharp pain in the upper section of his spine made Malachi stop dead in his tracks, leaning heavily against the peach-gray lockers of the 9-12 section of the school with a metallic clank. He hissed through gritted teeth, wrapping an arm around his ribs. Pain like this didn’t come from simply sleeping wrong on a few muscles. There was a dark side to Gatlin, a dark side that came out with the setting of the sun and the opening of the cabinet. It was almost a total eclipse over Malachi’s life, taking over him completely nearly every night. He could tell no one, however. If he spoke, it was a sign of weakness, saying that he couldn’t deal with the pain on his own as he had been doing. He could handle it. Maybe lesser boys couldn’t handle a little agony, but he wasn’t like other boys. He was above the pain and besides; he would be out of here in only four years, maybe less if he worked hard enough. There were better things out there for him, things far away from the nothingness of Gatlin and its cornfields.

Somehow, someway, Malachi managed to pick himself up and carry himself into his math class without too much difficulty. Thankfully, the meeting was tonight. He would find some solace in Isaac’s words of the Lord. Somehow, that boy made the word clear. He gave Malachi hope that someday that wretched adult would get what was coming to him in the form of fiery retribution. Maybe by then the pain would have subsided and Malachi could carry himself high as usual the next day.

Unless the cabinet came open again that night. Then he was in trouble.

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Mr. Marshal sat at his desk, grading the grammar assignments he had given the students the previous night. His mind, however, was on the redhead that had just moments ago passed through his door. There was something terribly wrong. He knew that the flinch from earlier hadn’t been from simply sleeping on something wrong. Pain like that didn’t flare up simply by being touched. It flared up from moving a certain way. If anything, the flinch caused more pain to rear up then would have from Mr. Marshal touching him.

“You should help the boy” said a voice deep in the back of Mr. Marshal’s mind. He held his head in his hand, half listening and half toning out the voice. “He’s starting to show those signs, Greg. Signs you know all too well. Remember? You flinched when you were his age. Poor boy, you were. So afraid of any kind of contact. Couldn’t he use someone he can confide in?” There seemed to be no way to silence this voice. He made himself determined that he would get to the root of what was happening with the redhead that he already felt so close to.

But he would have to be careful.

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Malachi listened to the boy-prophet’s words with little attention. Truth be told, his mind was either back at home or back in his English classroom. In one awaited a potential for more spinal injuries and in the other awaited understanding. His mind focused more on the new teacher. He seemed to already be making an impact on this new guy. He was already showing the favoritism. The redhead smiled quietly to himself. It was such a privilege to be favored by a man so smart and not to mention well read.

“Malachi, have you heard a word I’ve just said?”, Isaac said, slight annoyance showing in his voice. Malachi looked up, startled. He hadn’t been listening at all.

“Um…my apologies, Isaac,” he stammered. This was never good. “I’ve been distracted.” Isaac arched an eyebrow and lifted the older boy’s chin, making Malachi look him in the eye.

“Something is troubling you, my child?” Malachi visibly gulped, not wanting to answer but knowing that he would have to, nonetheless. Isaac demanded a response when he asked you something.

“Just growing pains,” he said simply, though finding himself unable to look the other boy in the eye. It was a strange stare that Isaac possessed, one that could coax the truth out of him, truth that Malachi did not want to reveal at all. At the same time, he felt that the boy priest could see right through him. “Really,” he reiterated, trying to ease any fears remaining in either Isaac or any kid in the meeting. Isaac did not seem convinced in the least, though did not press the matter further, content to go back to his sermon. Malachi tried his hardest to pay attention to what he was saying, but remained distracted, eyes cast onto the ground. Truth be told, he was terrified of going home. A deep darkness was possibly waiting for him within that door.

If God was as great as Isaac was preaching, that darkness would have already passed out on the couch and he could creep safely into his room.

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The door always seemed to creak way too loud any time he wanted to creep in, especially when Isaac’s meetings kept the kids out till dark. Thankfully, closing the door proved noiseless. It was always going in with that damn farmhouse. Malachi looked around the main hallway, into the two doors that opened up on either side of him.

Living room: clear.

Kitchen: clear.

So far so good. He slipped off his shoes, less potential for noise, and stealthily made his way down the hallway to his room, the door at the very back of the hallway. He could see the doorframe; even make out the vague outline of the doorknob. It was only a few yards away from the front door but to Malachi, with his heart pounding in his ears, it seemed like miles. He would have to pass his parents’ room first. Once he was over that hump, it was smooth sailing.

He crept silently through the darkness, in a matter of seconds finding him right outside the grown-ups’ door. He could hear his father’s heavy breathing and his mother’s soft sleep-babble. This was a positive sign that almost made the redhead sigh in relief. His dad was sound asleep and very unlikely to be stirred by anything short of an atomic boom. Once he got passed the doorway it was only a few small steps to his bedroom. Just three small steps and he would be home free.

Three steps.

Two steps.

CREEEEEAAAAK.

Malachi bolted for his door, still on tiptoes, but darting inside the room as fast as he could and closing the door behind him with a soft click. He pressed his back against the door, eyes closing shut with all of his strength. His ears were pricked for the slightest sound, any little creak or squeak of the old house that would suggest a stir from his parents.

He heard his dad roll over in bed with a grunt and relaxed against the door, sinking to the ground and leaning his head against the wooden door. He ran a hand down his face, shaking from pure fear of what could have been. He had clearly seen the outlines of beer bottles on the coffee table in the living room and the table in the kitchen. His heart was still racing, though now he tried to settle down. He had to be ready to answer questions from his parents in the morning unless they had gone to bed before realizing how late Malachi had been out.
Finally able to hold himself up, the redhead crossed the wooden floor to his bed, promptly sitting on top of the mattress to remove his socks. He smiled pleasantly to himself. He could easily get chapter one read before going to sleep. It wasn’t, in all honesty, too late at night to get some honest work done.

“BOY!”

Malachi snapped to attention. There it was, that dreadful call. The roar that surely made God himself shudder upon his cloud. With fear in his eyes, the teen crawled backwards on his mattress. Dear God, he begged silently, dear God lift me away from here.

God turned a blind eye.

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Fini del Chapter Deux.