Playground

Rock couldn’t help but cringe. The sound of Molly’s vocal cords shredding was like nails on a chalkboard. He could hear the pain, but even more than the pain, he registered the love. The animalistic wailing she’d set free sounded like something from the depths of the jungle. He’d never seen such a display of affection. Such internal destruction couldn’t be faked.

The raw reaction displayed an emotional investment far beyond the kind he’d regularly dreamt and fantasized about. It was a notch of intensity Rock couldn’t fathom.

Contrary to Molly, who looked as if her heartache might kill her on the spot, Greg’s mood was the polar opposite.

“That a boy, Bobby!” he yelled.

A dastardly cackle leaped from his lips as he basked in the joy of the twisted victory. The bloodshed meant nothing to him. The pile of human slop at the bottom of the saw slide didn’t disturb him, it devolved him.

The violence was eating away at his humanity.

To Rock, he was no longer looking at the same man he’d ushered into The Borden Estate. Either that, or he just hadn’t been around enough people to realize how to spot someone’s true colors.

Regardless, the person Greg had become was beginning to bother Rock. When he watched how he’d used his final connection with his boy for evil, it reminded him of something Geraldine would’ve done. But an even darker question now emerged in his mind: if he’d grown disturbed by what Greg had become, then what about his own collection of sins?

His eyes found little Donnie on the screen again. In spite of the death, violence, and current hostility he’d witnessed, Donnie remained numb.

Rock and Donnie were two peas in a very perverse pod.

An icy shiver ran down Rock’s back. He couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that he was on the verge of something.

Something big.

He felt the internal agony and self-loathing slither closer to each other. The unavoidable shame and flaring disgust poked their heads out too. The endless cycle of cynicism and decades of guilt were all coming to a long overdue climax. The results could only be volcanic in scale.

The massive amalgamation of uncertainty that stretched from his gullet to his gut felt like a fat serpent slithering inside his torso. But even pondering the distress inside his body and soul wasn’t enough of a distraction to make Rock forget about the current situation at hand.

Molly’s tear-jerking cries had almost overshadowed her husband. Tom squirmed wildly in his chair like a loon that had been strapped down for electro-shock.

While the metal collar still restricted him, his violent moments had somehow caused the sturdy seating to rattle. The bottom level of hell had manifested inside him and it was ready to burn its way out.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!” Tom screamed.

His red, runny eyes burned through Greg until Tom snapped his focus on Rock.

“Let me—let me out of this fucking chair! Let me out now! Is this what you wanted?! Is this what you wanted, you sick fucks!” Tom screamed.

As Rock looked at the destroyed man, the question hit hard. In his beefy heart, he believed he knew the answer. Maybe he didn’t before that day, but he certainly did when Tom asked him.

However, it wasn’t an answer that Rock was prepared to divulge. Moreover, knowing the answer to the question didn’t necessarily change the outcome. But, at the very least, it allowed Rock’s wheels to keep turning.

As Rock watched on, digesting Greg’s maniacal laughter, he found himself disgusted. On the other hand, the dread and audible anguish of Tom and Molly birthed a sickness and suffering in his chest. He suddenly found himself volleying a question of his own.

Where’s the line? he thought.

As Rock looked back to the monitor, he saw young Donnie still fighting and scrapping for every moment. Just as Rock had done for his entire life, Donnie somehow kept finding a way.

The clouds in Rock’s skull were fading away. Their dissipation shined a light on the uncomfortable truth that he continued to hide behind.

He could only use his fear as an excuse for so long.