In the Belly of the Beast

35

Lenny was giving his mother a fit. She tried to keep a rein on her temper, but it was hard. She knew that her son's present state reflected her own. He fed off her moods, she'd been told repeatedly by the counselors and doctors who'd tried to educate her about her son's condition.

This was her fault, she kept telling herself, but it was a tough sell. She had always had this irrational fear of the dark. Well, not always. She hadn't had it before she'd given birth to Lenny.

It was only after he'd been born that these overwhelming terrors had plagued her.

It was the doctors' fault. She would always believe that.

Something terrible had happened to her during the delivery, something she couldn't remember, but she was sure it had occurred, nonetheless.

That had to be it.

And the same unknown 'accident' that had befallen her had left her son impaired. It wasn't her fault. Uh-huh. No earthly way in heaven was she to blame for Lenny being like he was.

They could talk to her until they were blue in the face about the dangers of drinking during pregnancy, but they would never convince her that Lenny was her fault. She'd tried to explain to them that she was no 'alkie.' Hadn't she stopped completely after he was born?

Besides, she'd never drunk that much to begin with.

They didn't want to hear anything she had to say.

To hell with them. To hell with them all. They'd done something to her beloved Lenny. They broke him somehow and now, no one on God's earth could ever put him back together again.

Her poor little 'Dumpty.'

"Momma's here, baby. It's alright."

He would not be consoled. He took off for another room fleeing her touch like a hot iron.

It was this damned darkness.

Spooky enough to scare the living daylights out or anyone in their right mind, not to mention someone like Lenny who barely had a left, much less a right mind.

She looked around the room. Candles cluttered every available shelf and table. She'd hoarded them for years, snatching them up for a steal, haunting tag sales and discount stores. Her friends had thought her nuts, obsessed with buying every off-priced luminary she could find.

But who was laughing now?

She chuckled at the thought, finding solace in their warm, dancing light.

She paddled from the room to look for Lenny. He wouldn't be hard to find, she need only listen for his whimper.

"Lenny, where are you?"

She searched the upper floor. Nothing. Resuming her hunt on the ground floor, she wandered into the kitchen. Her heart sank as she saw the opened door that led to the basement.

"Lenny, you're not in that damned basement, are you?" she said, forcing her voice to keep a low, even timbre.

She heard her son's soft, whimpering hiccup. She looked down the stairway that led to the basement. The candle lit the first two or three steps. The looming darkness encroached about her.

"Len? It's dark as a deserted coal mine down there. Come on up here, honey," her voice sounded small and quivering.

She strained to hear a noise – Lenny bumping into something or knocking something over – anything that would give her an idea of where he was hiding.

"Come on, sweetheart. Momma'll make you some milk."

It was a ritual they performed each night. She would coax her son into the kitchen or take the warm glassful of sedatives and milk to his room.