Matthew Twelve: Chapter Four

Fragrant coffee slipped through the house like a welcome ghost; Matthew hoped again that his mother would come down, maybe sit with him this morning.  He left the letter from school between the sugar bowl and the butter at the table alongside another letter from the doctor.  This time there was a hospital appointment she was expected to attend.  The second one.
His dreams had plagued him in the night.  Standing at the edge of the creek that led out to the sea, he was aware he was looking for something there; his eyes surveyed the dark lines of waves as they were thrown up and the dog beside him occasionally whined.  The sense of the dream hung with him, at the back of his mind, like a familiar taste.
The journey through the wood was a careful one.  He had the dog with him this time and he intended to take him all the way to school.  But for all his worry, he didn't see the man again and keeping the dog at the heels of his feet he managed to shuffle aboard the bus without any bother.  School would be an entirely different matter.
Matthew was the last to step down from the bus.  The driver had seen the dog of course, but didn't seem to mind.  Stepping on to the grass, Matthew heaved a sigh and looked about for a hiding spot, but before he could move away the dog sprang away and quickly disappeared.
Lessons went by; Matthew's attention was held by the skies outside that seemed to be boiling with cloud moving in from the sea.  Huge tumbling formations bundled and twisted over each other in peals of greys and slate colours.  All day they hung there teasing along the coastline.
In the queue for food he heard his name used around him, but it flitted about like an idea at the edges of his mind.  The dinner lady ticked his name from the free school meal list and let him move away, his squeaking polystyrene box held tight in one hand.  Outside he stood and absently swallowed the food down, all the time scanning the brooding sky and occasionally looking out for the dog.
When his knees crunched into the ground his food slipped from his hand and spilled across the playground; a foot kicked his sides and he lurched away, but was shoved down again and again.  Hands gripped him under the arms and carried him towards the bramble hedgerow where he was hurled and left to unpick himself from the nipping bite of the thorns.  He saw the boys as they ran away and recognised each one of them from his form group.
The care assistant phoned home, but Matthew knew there would be no answer, not even from the mobile number he had given them at the start of term.
The afternoon was spent alone in isolation, work was sent but this time he failed even to lift a pen. 
The deputy head he had spoken to the day before came to see him, but Matthew wouldn't speak; he mumbled, but the man didn't understand and seemed to become annoyed with Matthew.  All he wanted was their names: Matthew mumbled and looked in his direction, but couldn't meet his eyes.

*

Ringing out a call to freedom, the school bell signalled the end of Matthew's silent vigil.  Swinging his bag over his shoulder, he slowly made his way to the bus.  From the isolation room he had seen no one standing in wait and as he hopped on to the bus, the dog appeared and joined him, tucking itself between his legs, its jaw resting on his shoe's toe point.  No one noticed the dog, or no one seemed to mind; he couldn't tell and he wasn't bothered.

The days carried on like this for the rest of the week.  He took the dog to school: it disappeared.  He was shoved or pushed or spat on.  He became quiet, but the mumbling continued.  At home the recorded messages from school were soon deleted and letters were used to help the fire brighten up into a blaze.

He poured unfinished or untouched coffee, cold, down the sink.  He disposed of uneaten remnants from his mother's meals in the bin, or fed the hungry dog that always looked on and, more and more, followed him every step around the house.

When Saturday morning came he walked down to the creek, the dog at his heels.  It neither walked ahead or disappeared into the bush at the path's edge.  It became a shadow.

At the creek's side Matthew skimmed stones. Some plopped and disappeared into the black water, others found their way to the other side, bouncing off dry trunks and clattering against other rocks.  Wiping gritty dirt away from a fresh collection Matthew heard the dog begin to growl.  A low rumble rattling from its craw.
Moving to the edge of the creek and climbing to the brow of a stand of rocks, Matthew stood on tip toe looking back at the house.  From here he could see the kitchen door, open.  He had closed it.
He raced back up to the house, slowing as the kitchen light winked into life. A smile pounced onto his face, his mother was up, she was in the kitchen!
Matthew stepped into the warm air, closed the door behind him.  His mother was sat at the kitchen table, ashen faced, her hands hidden in her lap, a cup of tea whipping steamy yelps into the air.  The man sat opposite her, grease stained his clothes along with mud, his hair hung in cold wet streaks and as he turned Matthew saw again the man who had chased him, the man who had waited for him.
The dog barked.  It was outside.  Locked out.
The man smiled up at Matthew and rose, the chair's feet screeching along the tiled floor.  Matthew stepped back against the wall.  A tingling terror fought against his cheeks, his eyes glazed at the sight of the man nearing him.
"No!"
It was his mother.  He hadn't heard her speak in months.
The man sat back down, his eyes fastened to Matthew's, until a voice bent itself up against his ear.  The man's mouth didn't move, his lips were held shut, but he heard the voice, his voice: Mine.  You are mine.  It scratched and clawed at him, repeating over and over until his mother interrupted.
"Matt, this man is your father."
He didn't remember opening the door, leaving the house behind, splashing into the creek or disappearing into the woods at the other side.  It was dark when his mind came back to him, the dog at his feet.