Clayton - In the Shape of a Man

In the Shape of a Man

by

Paul Clayton

Copyright 2013 -- 2018 Paul Clayton

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual personsliving or deadis entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

The San Francisco Bay Area of California, June, 1999

1015 Skyview Drive. Reynaldo Collins eyes opened when he heard the radio alarm go off in his parents bedroom. The music went away suddenly. A few moments later came the running of water in the sink. He knew the sounds by heart. Next would come the click of the medicine cabinet, the buzz of the shaver. As Reynaldo lay in bed he realized that the fog was outside. When the fog came and surrounded the house, little sounds seemed louder. He looked around. Gray light seeped into the room from around the edges of the shades on his window. He could see the rectangular shape of his Power Rangers poster on the wall, but could not see the Rangers brightly colored outfits or read the words on the poster.

Reynaldo heard a door open. He slid out of bed and knelt, pressing his ear to his bedroom door as Daddy passed in the hall. He heard Daddy fill his water bottle at the kitchen sink. The refrigerator opened and shut. A few minutes elapsed and he heard the squeak of the handle on Daddys briefcase, then the rattle of the chain lock coming off. The door closed and locked and Reynaldo slipped out of his room. He crept into the living room and parted the curtains slightly, his face curling into a smile. Daddy walked down the drive, fog swirling about him. Daddy opened the van door, then shut it with a hollow metallic clang. The engine started and the van slowly drove off, disappearing like magic into the cloud of fog. As the sound faded, so did the smile on Reynaldos face. He heard a sound behind and turned. It was Mommy.

What are you doing out of bed?

Sorry, Mommy.

What are you doing out of bed?

I wanted to see Daddy go to work.

What did I tell you about getting out of bed before I get up?

You said that you would put me down in the garage.

Yes. Come on.

Reynaldo remained where he was. Sorry Mommy. I wont do it again.

Mommy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him across the rug. Sorry, Mommy, he said over and over as he held back.

Mommys voice grew louder and her face turned bright red. I told you, damn it! She yanked the door to the garage open. It was dark. She pushed him down the three steps. Now stay down there till I tell you to come up!

He ran to the door as it closed, the darkness engulfing him. Mommy! Mommy! He pounded on the metal door with his fists, the sounds small and dull. I wont do it again, Mommy. Please, Mommy, I promise!

There was no response. There was nothing but his cries. In a few moments his eyes adjusted to the dark and his cries subsided. He went over and sat on the little throw rug in front of the bookcase, pulling his knees up to his chest. To his left, faint light lit up the frame around the door leading to the yard. He looked at the other end of the garage at the dark shabby door. There was a lock on it and every time Mommy put him down in the garage he wondered what was locked up in there. Monsters, maybe. His eyes focused on the padlock on the latch. He watched the door for a few minutes, afraid he would see it moving. It didnt and he calmed some. He wished Daddy didnt have to go away to work every day. He wondered for a while what Daddy did all day at work, and then he fell asleep.

A noise woke Reynaldo. The light was on and he rubbed his eyes. Mommy stood at the top of the steps. He could see his sister Christine sitting at the kitchen table eating something.

Are you ready to be a good boy now? Mommy said.

Yes, Mommy.

Come up and brush your teeth. Hurry up.

Reynaldo went up the stairs. His favorite show, Power Rangers, was on the TV. Christine watched without seeing him as she chewed her food. Reynaldo went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He returned to the table. His sister said nothing to him, nor did she look at him. He knew she was afraid to talk to him or acknowledge him when Mommy was mad at him. She would talk to him later.

Reynaldo turned around in his chair to see the TV. It was behind him. His sister could see it head-on, but he had to turn around in his seat.

Mommy poured milk into his glass and he turned around to her.

I never wanted to adopt you, Reynaldo, she said. Do you know that?

Yes, Mommy.

Your Daddy did, but I didnt. I always thought there was something wrong with you and when your sister was born I knew it. She is a good girl. Not bad like you. Do you know that?

Yes, Mommy.

You are always naughty, always making work for me.

Sorry, Mommy.

Now eat, and when youre finished, go do your work in your room.

Allen Collins drove the smooth expanse of Northbound 280 automatically. It was late Saturday afternoon. He hoped Reynaldo had not misbehaved today. Tina had seemed stressed lately, what with all the changes at her job and taking care of two kids. Allen noticed a red sports car racing up behind. He knew the driver intended to swing around him and then back into his lane to take the upcoming exit. As he watched the car draw closer, he did not turn his head to see it in the side mirror. When the car disappeared from his rear view mirror he jammed the gas pedal down hard, down-shifting the van into second gear. The van leapt forward, the car appearing beside him, racing to overtake him. The driver, a teen, stared intently at the rapidly approaching exit and then, realizing hed never make it, turned his attention to Allen. Allen could tell from his peripheral vision that the driver was gesturing, probably flipping him the bird. At the last minute, the driver dropped back, beeped his horn, and took the exit, disappearing.

Allen smiled slightly, returning his gaze to the picture-postcard, tan colored summer hills of the San Andreas Wildlife Preserve on his left and the large expensive homes of Woodside on his right. Sometimes Allen entertained the fantasy that he had already died and that this life was a dream. I-280 became a viaduct over the abyss of Crystal Springs reservoir. To his left, Allen was aware of the blue of water. Just before the highway viaduct rejoined solid ground, Allen glanced to his right as he always did at the adobe monstrosity of a dwelling that someone had tagged as the Flintstones House. With its tan-colored mound shapes connected by tunnel-like corridors, it looked to Allen more like a futuristic lunar house than some sort of cartoon-themed attraction. The odd house marked the homeward stretch of his commute and he sighed inaudibly.

Allen had made this commute so many times over the years that it seemed almost as if he went into a trace the moment he got on the freeway. He would notice one, maybe two landmarks like the adobe house, and then he would come to in time to take his exit. More huge mansions passed in and out of view as Allen listened to the college jazz station. He had a sudden, bright thought about something important that he should do. He felt in his shirt pocket for his note pad while keeping his eyes on the road. By the time he got the pad out to write it down, the bright and shiny thing was gone, having sunk back down into the swamp of his mind. He attempted to pull it up, but it slipped below the surface and disappeared.

Allen was exhausted. He doubted it would kill him like it reputedly did the Japanese salarymen who suddenly and inexplicably collapsed, supposed victims of death from overwork. But his exhaustion wasnt trivial either, being somewhere in between, and severe enough that it was beginning to leach the color out of his life. He told himself that he really had a great lifeif not for the long hours on the job. Hed been married ten years to an attractive, loyal wife, a competent mother to his kids. After a barren stretch of about eight years, they had decided to adopt a beautiful son, Reynaldo, now seven. And then, almost miraculously, a beautiful daughter, Christine, now five, had come along in the regular way. FMC Aerospace, where he worked, paid well and they lived in a nice, three-bedroom house in a decent neighborhood. They owned a van and a car. All he needed was a little rest. He would make time for that Sunday, he decided.