Forbidden Fruit

Chapter 3: See, Know

-And the door opened.

The madman was gone, as was the black, white, and deep red blood. There stood his father. Ronny was frozen, somewhere in his head that scene continued to play along with the hanging Sheet Ghosts.

"Ronny?" His father's voice vibrated in his ears, it was like hearing him with his head underwater.

Ronny went pale, went cold, and just plain went.

Floating off in some strange world, Ronny opened his eyes and saw. He was standing on nothing, yet about ten feet below the nothing was a kitchen table. Around him a bed and two counters. Ronny was bright, and he knew immediately where he was. In his own new home...

But the walls and floors are gone.

Ronny needed not to move, only look down and see the elderly couple sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. A younger couple sat across from them.

Mom and dad.

To cue that thought, the world became solid again, though that hollow feeling remained. There was a whoom sound behind him. The tree. It burned directly behind him, voices echoed all around, shouting and chanting. A wind blew, and the fire spread all around him. The tree, however, cleared. Not a bit of damage done to it except for three nails driven into it, those nails held up Ronny- crucified into the tree, bleeding eye sockets as if he himself had scratched them out after seeing something terrible, something evil, some of them...

He woke.

"Diner's ready, Ronny" shouted his mother from directly below.

A few minutes later, Ronny was picking at his dinner (Mashed tatters, steak) his mind completely on his dream, and everything that came before it. It wasn't until the third time that Ronny heard his mother speak.

"What happened to you? Are you sick? Ronny!"

"No, not enough sleep, sorry" Ronny's response was forced and labored, even then came out as no more than just a mumble. The rest of the night was very much the same. A question here, mumble there. Ronny laid in bed until midnight for one reason- to taste the fruit again. He stood by his bed and reconsidered, almost even laid back down and wanted to try to forget the whole deal. He couldn't forget. Ronny exited his room and as he went down the stairs wondered what would happen this time- perhaps he would kill someone, maybe those Sheet Ghosts would come back?

Once he left through the kitchen door to the yard, he was completely without thought. By the time he blinked, he was by the tree, it's branches swaying around his face. His hand already reached up to grab the orb. The fruit. There was no time to be delicate, none to be careful. Ronny had no idea why he had that feeling that time was running short, but that's how he felt. His fist clasped around the fruit tightly, his fingernails went in deep. With a splat, Ronny smashed it into the tree. Red (blood) juice dripped down his hand. He held the cracked and broken object to his mouth and let it flow into his mouth, dripping over his face and down his plain white shirt. The effect came immediately in blurred and broken images.

An old man, dead. Bleeding from multiple stab wounds. Next to him, a younger man with a knife in hand. A crying child in the next room. Ronny almost understood, almost, but he needed to know. Needed to be sure. Breathing heavily he took off his shirt and felt the cold breeze sweep by him. He rolled the shirt up and plucked another three of the pomegranates into it and rolled it up.

In the kitchen, he took took two things, the kitchen blender and a -

The young man had considered it for awhile. Take the poor old bastard out of his misery, now he knew he had to. The wife and the old woman were shopping, at least for another hour, and the kid? The kid couldn't do anything about it, he was too young, he wouldn't even remember. He was going to do it. He grasped the

-butcher knife.

The click of his bedroom door locking echoed back down the stairs. Surely someone heard it, surely someone smiled at the thought of that the young boy was taking up that heavy butcher knife to his room, smiled at the thought of perfect revenge.

The knife raised and fell, three times, red juice and plump seeds poured into the blender and were liquefied.

Ronny drank deeply and knew, saw.

The grandma and mom went shopping. Dad wasn't supposed to be there, he was home babysitting little Ronny. Dad had been taking to grandpa, and grandpa said some things that disturbed him greatly. Most of all he remembered what happened two years earlier. He sat in his chair, they were talking about the approaching holidays when his eyes grew large and his old, dry mouth opened wide...

"She's not faithful, son. Look in her purse. Bush'll beat Gore. The World Trade Centers..."

Grandpa had said some crazy things before, and it wasn't the first time he rambled about the World Trade Centers... but that was the first time he said anything personal...

Upon arriving home, while she was showering, he took a peek.

Just in case he thought, he can't be right, impossible!

The two had no use for condoms whatsoever, not since the vasectomy two years ago after Ronny's birth. It was all the proof he needed. He was even more sure two years later, when every news channel covered the same act of terrorism that grandpa had so many times talked about.

Now he was taking the extra house key from underneath the rock by the door. He walked up the stairs and into the old man's room, there he sat. Daddy drew out the butcher knife (bought just for the occasion) from inside his coat. The sunlight from the window struck the knife and bounced, the gleam of light struck the back of grandpa's head. Instantly, grandpa Ronald saw. In a similar way that Ronny was seeing now, but only that grandpa was seeing everything. Yesterday, tomorrow, God or no God? Grandpa knew that very second. Perhaps it comforted him right before the cold metal broke through his skull.

The one hit was more than enough to kill the old bastard, but not nearly enough to kill dad's rage.

There was enough time to clean the wood floor and replace the sheets with an identical set. Then he got rid of the body.

Ronny knew exactly where. And now he understood.

The only thing that broke the night's perfect silence was the sound of his panting while he shoveled. All the while he saw flashes of the earlier vision replaying in his head. They only made him shovel faster. He expected his father with knife in hand to be somewhere near behind him, each time he looked up to the second story window of his parent's room and was sure he still slept. Not for long however.

Ronny threw the shovel aside, and inside that mix of emotion, he could only smile. The skinless, cracked skull 5 feet below ground, freshly dug up, smiled back. His grandfather had been given a terrible gift in his last few years, and the bitter fruit passed it on to Ronny. Each second that passed by told Ronny a horrible new story. The lighter in Ronny's pocket, the one he found in the kitchen drawer, felt heavy. Begging to be let out, begging to burn.

And Ronny burned. The lighter flicked and the flame emerged. He held out the fire to the dried leaves. They took it immediately. The tree glowed orange-red, and so did his parent's bedroom window when they saw the fire and flicked on the light switch.

He only wanted it all to end, the lies that his parents made and the truth that was being raped into his own mind. Ronny bent down and picked up the knife that shone in the fire's light. He stood, looking into the burning tree for strangth as he heard the kitchen door slide open.