Mother's Demons

Francis breathed the weary sigh of a man who had fallen into a tired routine. He pulled the key from the ignition of his chipped, gold and chrome 95' Chevy. Feeling the chill Autumn-air almost as soon as the heater cut, he fisted one hand in the palm of the other, massaging it as he stared across the mostly vacant lot of Jefferson Elementary. It seemed like a lifetime ago that it was him, rather than his brother, attending the school, and being only 21, he supposed ten years was a lifetime, it was most of Joey's anyway. Aware that freezing in his truck wasn't going to make the situation any better, Francis slid into his wool lined jacket and stepped into the cold, grey world.

Hands buried in his pockets, he lowered his head against the wind as he crossed the parking lot. Jefferson was an old building: its walls the cracked red-brick seen in children's books, the flagpole weathered wood, and the roof classic grey shingle. The doors were the only semi-modern thing in Jefferson— immaculate, gold-brown metal set around a half dozen glass panes, each covered with cheap window decorations: black cats, grinning jack-o-lanterns and soaring witches. Running across all of it, like the bow on a present no one wants, was a polished brass handle. Nothing had changed in the decade since he'd run the halls. It was even the same bulging man glowering down from the picture frame nailed beneath a thin copper plaque reading: Principal Jason C. Davis.

Stepping in out of the cold, Francis rubbed his hands together, blowing hot air between them, rubbing away the autumn-numbness. From behind a vase, patterned with faded, dancing bulls, appeared a shock of chocolate curls framing thick, black rimmed glasses and a smattering of dark freckles. Francis nodded as recognition lit his old friend's face.

"Hey Frankie," the man muttered, thumbing through an old, white binder as Francis approached the desk. The word VISITORS was printed in greying ink across the cover. Its edges were curled, long ago spilt coffee coloring spots here and there and the grooved, plastic corners were each torn a quarter of the way, the cover bound only by a hand-sized strip in the middle. "Here to see the Principal?" he asked, scribbling a few notes on one of the dozens of crinkled papers within.

"Nah Danny, I just came by to see you." Francis arched a brow at his friend for a few moments before continuing. "Davis in his office?"

"Yessir," Danny said, gesturing with his head to the familiar, lightwood door of the principal's office. "With Joey."

Francis drew a long breath, staring at the door, before pulling the faded John Deer cap from his head and running grease-stained fingers through his hair. Folding the bill along an old crease, forged through repeated bending, he tucked it into his back pocket. "What was it about this time?"

"The usual," Danny replied, glancing back toward the pockmarked door. "But it sounds like he messed the other kid up pretty bad this time."

Cursing under his breath, Francis walked past the desk, following the narrow path to the same door he'd become more familiar with than he should have in his own school days, and much more so recently than any legal guardian would want. Without knocking, he grabbed the brass knob and pushed to find Joey standing across from Davis, the older man leaning heavily on his thick elbows, greasy combover as ridiculous as it had been a decade earlier.

"Francis," Davis said, leaning back in his chair, hairy arms crossing over his chest so that his pearl button-down shirt stretched taut in all the wrong ways. "Late as usual."

"Hey, sorry for taking so long, Joey." Francis crossed to his brother's side, completely ignoring the principal's jab. Grabbing his brother by the shoulder, he turned Joey's tiny body, using one hand to angle his head for a better look at his face. It was a brutal sight, his nose and mouth were stained with smeared blood, his eye was already starting to purple, and his lower lip was badly split. Straightening, Francis turned to face Davis, his massive frame towering over the seated man. "Why hasn't his face been washed?"