Remington

Prologue

Without a friend to confide in and a slew of professionals anxious to clinically categorize your existence, depression can’t be conquered. Once it’s shut down your capacity to enjoy, it spreads through your memories like a cancer, polluting each one as it rips through your temporal lobe, rendering you incapable of comprehending a time in which breathing alone didn’t feel like excruciating labor. Only once this cycle is complete can you embrace the numbness. With the help of junk food and brown liquor You might just find a way. A way dismiss purpose while embracing apathy and stagnantly putter through life. Once there is nothing left to live for, living for nothing becomes easier.

1. Atypical

The absence Alfred Bingham’s searing alarm was enough to elevate his spirits as he awoke the morning of June 17, 2007. It was relatively sunny morning in Sisulaw that lit up Alfred’s bedroom as he began his ascent from his light blue plastic bed. Alfred begin to groggily rifle through the pile various items of clothing scattered across his bedroom floor in search of last nights jeans which almost certainly contained his phone. This had become part of Alfred’s daily patten as the boy spent an abnormal amount of time searching through his belongings. His rampant disorganization often caused him to misplace his most important possessions. Today however, the search was a short one. Alfred located his jeans lying in a heap at the foot of his bed. He reached into the pocket and pulled out a cracked Nokia and pressed the green button at the left. “8:32” it read. “Shit,” he said to himself, he hadn’t even relished the opportunity to sleep in. Alfred pondered going back to sleep before ultimately admitting to himself it would be a fruitless exercise. While his body was physically exhausted, his mind was wide awake. Besides, for Alfred Bingham, two hours spent nursing a hangover was still infinitely better than two hours at Chemeketa High. 

It was atypical for Chemeketa to hold an assembly on the last Tuesday of the year, but everything felt atypical in Sisulaw that summer day. For students, Chemeketa's final school-week was typically a time of leisure. Finals had wrapped up the week prior and the remaining schooldays were mostly meant for class parties and signing yearbooks. On Friday there would be a pep rally to send off the seniors but never something so early in the week. But June 17th was unlike any other day in recent History at Chemeketa. It marked the first school-day since the town experienced it's first murder in 47 years. 

Much like the rest Sisulaws population, Chemeketa students and administrators didn’t quite know what to make of the weekends startling revelation. Fear, anger and animosity were prevalent around the town but it was confusion that was all time high. No one knew how to take it all in. So it was Don Mullins, Chemeketa's principle who made the first swift decision, canceling Monday's classes. If there was one ability Mullins felt he had, it was responding to confusion and trauma and it was the opinion of the boorish Veteran, that during a time of such peril, a swift voice of authority would act as the crux to ail the communities sputtering emotional state. To do this, he'd scheduled mayor Sean Mcdowell and Rick Reynolds, Sisulaw's chief of police to speak during the assembly which was set to be locally televised. For Alfred though, who’s apathy had all but consumed him entirely, the surrounding communal tension meant nothing more than two hours of extra sleep, an opportunity he’d blown in favor of last nights pulls from bottle a Smith’s cured rum that he’d pilfered from his mothers liquor cabinet. His head now throbbing, and carrying a stench similar to that of a dried apricot, Alfred poured the last ounce from the bottle into a coffee mug before  topping it off with store brand cola and parking himself on the living room sofa. After channel surfing for the a few moments, he settled on channel 22, the Local News station, in order to watch the assembly he had elected to skip.

2. Hawks

It was Cathy Edleman who first sensed something gone awry in Sisulaw when she arrived at Hair Dragon, a salon owned by Mona Lei, a Vietnamese immigrant who’d called the small American town home for the past eleven years. But upon arrival, Mrs. Edleman found the salons periwinkle door locked shut. Mrs. Edleman had been of a customer of Mona’s since Hair Dragon first open in 1999 and  the two had developed a friendship over the past eight years, during which Mona had never missed nor rescheduled an appointment. It was due to this that Cathy immediately grew suspicious by the stores closure. After checking back in the mid afternoon, only to find the Hair Dragon still unopened and the lights turned off, she knew for certain something had gone wrong. Having been to Mona’s house for a bridal shower years back, Mrs. Edleman knew where she lived and headed there accordingly to investigate. When she arrived, she found the front door unlocked, and entered the house. It was in the garage that she found Mona’s body sprawled out in the passenger seat of her car, lifeless and swollen, eyes wide open but rolled into the back of he skull as if the last thing she’d witnessed was the front of her own cranium.

Mona's killer had made an effort to play her death off as a suicide, placing mona in the passenger seat of her 2001 Ford Escort, but had ultimately done a shoddy job. The broken blood vessels littering the whites her eyes and the thick bruise wrapping around her neck made it easy for investigators classify Lei’s death as a homicide. Cause of death; strangulation. But while Mona’s killer may have been foolish enough to believe he could disguise the manner of his murder, he still posesed the foresight to wear gloves in order to prevent leaving any DNA evidence behind. Motive was even less detectable. Mona Lei generally kept to herself and outside of Mrs. Edleman, she didn’t have many friends around town. The Sisulaw Police Department had no leads.

Alfred leaned back on his mothers faded tan leather couch and tuned in to the assembly broadcast. After being introduced by Principal Mullins, Mayor Mcdowel was given the floor first. "While we mourn the loss of a community member, we cannot live in fear for that would be letting whoever this coward is win" he stammered. Soon, it was Chief Reynolds turn to talk. “Mark my words. We will find out who did this and bing them to justice" he chimed in. It was as if the two speakers were engaged in an outright battle to see who could be more unjustifiably sure of themselves, ego-s ablaze and on display. As Alfred watched the assembly from his living room couch, the monotony and predictability of it all mixed with the addition of thick rum a cheap cola was just enough lull him back to sleep. By the time he woke up, the assembly had wrapped up. Still yawning Alfred glanced over at his phone resulting in him nearly falling off the couch. 12:13 p.m. it read. Alfred was already late for Health class where he had a presentation due and while it was challenging for Alfred to find motivation for much, this was his final for the term and failure would result in retaking the course. If there was anything he wanted to avoid it was spending more time at Chemekata high. 

Standing in front of a large piece of poster board, Alfred could only get one word out of his mouth before being cut off. “Gonorrhea” he said softly. “I don’t think the students in the back can hear you” interjected Mrs. Swift “please speak up and more clearly.” “GONORRHEA” Alfred repeated. “Gonorrhea is an STD that may be transmitted during vaginal, oral or anal intercourse.” For Alfred’s final Health project he had been assigned a poster presentation regarding a sexually transmitted disease. “Commonly referred to as the clap, symptoms of gonorrhea include burning, itching and swelling occurring on or around the genital area.” Reading from a set of notecards, Alfred belted each word as to avoid being chastised by Mrs. Swift as, an action the other students found humorous. As he pointed towards the disturbing pictures on his poster, Alfred had to admit to himself that he didn’t mind this assignment. The subject matter at hand had the class giggling and heckling every students presentation. For once, this type of ridicule wasn’t specifically reserved for himself.  Alfred’s poor posture, lack of athletic prowess, and minimal standard for a personal hygiene had made him a frequent target of aggression from the alphas at Chemeketa high, particularly Grant Delaney, a hulking standout defensive lineman on the schools football team. In a town like Sisulaw where few made much, did much or had much hope, it was important for the proud to assert their dominance. And in this class, which included several senior football players in their last term of high school, Alfred was tender meat. However, there was one student that had it even worse, Wyatt Judd. Wyatt didn’t care for sports and he spoke softly and effeminately, with a slight lisp. He wasn’t like the other boys at Chemekta, at least not the ones who gave him hell and he never could be. It simply wasn’t a part of his chemistry. And for that, they preyed on him like hawks.

Alfred had all but made it through the day. He only had two classes remaining and one of them was math which he didn’t mind. He wasn’t bad at math so there was little room for him to embarrass himself. Also, Alfred like math class because he could zone out while doing busy work. He liked Putting equations together. In his life where nothing resembled structure math class was a way for him to focus on simple objectives. No moral dilemma involved, zero train of thought. Perfect solutions and problems that were solved for good. Alfred particularly looked forward to math tests. He’d get through them quickly, often without checking his work, and for the rest of the period he could put his head down and stare off into space. And that’s exactly what was on the schedule for the day, a blissful period of filling in bubbles on a scantron. 

“How do ya think you did” said a low voice from behind Alfred’s shoulder, it was Ross Christiansen. Ross was a prominent athlete at Chemeketa high and by all means friends with the same boys that often made Alfred’s life hell, but the muscular six foot four basketball star had always been nice to him. “Think you got and A?” he bothered. “Yeah” Alfred replied, “It was mostly pretty easy.” “Really? I thought it was pretty hard” interjected Christiansen, “What did you get for number 10?” “Uh, I think like six point something” Alfred answered. “Fuck” replied Christiansen, “Mine was in the negatives. I can never divide no fucking fractions.”

As the two walked down the hall together their Alfred quickly grew tense as he heard the voice he despised most growing closer and closer. It was Grant Delaney. “Nice poster you little bitch” he shouted. Delaney and his goons were blocking schools exit, disallowing Wyatt Judd from getting through. He was holding his poster from Health class which was hot pink that read “H.I.V” across the top. “Did you pick Aids because you fucking have it chimed Jarred Randal?” a humoungus offensive lineman. 

As Alfred approached the door he did his best to avoid eye contact with Wyatt. As much as it pained him to watch his closest resemblance of a friend get skewered, Alfred knew all too well there was nothing he’d be able to do to stop it. “Little faggot’s got aids” hollered Delaney. His tone by now was so shockingly cruel that Alfred couldn’t help but look up. In that moment, his eyes met Wyatt’s. He could see Wyatt’s face beginning to redden and his eyes start to well up. Alfred knew that if he cried, it would only get worse for him. He had to do something. “Chill out Delaney ” Alfred sputtered. He then felt an open hand  crash into his shoulder blade forcing him to stumble backwards. “Why do you care. Are you his little fucking boyfriend” shouted Randall. Alfred began to brace for the worst but before he could blurt out comeback he was interrupted by the deep voice of principle Don Mullins. “Is there a problem here?” he bellowed. “No sir, just talking about our he Health posters.” answered Delaney. “Good,” said Mullins. “ I know this is a stressful time for all of us, but it’s important to stay focused. Besides, you’re all late for class.” 

Though now dealing with a stiff shoulder, Alfred knew he’d just dodged a bullet. “Fuck those guys” stammered Wyatt, his voice beginning to stabilize. “Yeah,” replied Alfred, “quit being such a pussy” he joked in his best Grant Delaney voice. With that Alfred began to speedwalk toward the gymnasium. Sixth period had already begun and he was late for gym class. 

   

The old gymnasium at Chemeketa High creaked and echoed as Alfred lackadaisically meandered through Mr. Ricketts’ stretch routine. Today, the class was playing basketball. Mr. Ricketts had selected two team captains to pick the squads. Alfred had become accustomed to being selected last during these situations so it was a surprise when he heard his named called while there were still kids left waiting up against the wall. The captain who’d nabbed him was Ross Christiansen. While Alfred was happy to be saved from the embarrassment of being picked last, he was also anxious in that he now felt he had an expectation. Not that it mattered. Christiansen was one of the best ball players in the state and and by far outclassed the ammetuers residing in sixth period gym class. Alfred never needed to touch the ball. To his surprise, he even found himself enjoying the game. Even though it had nothing to do with him, winning was a feeling he’d never been accustomed to.

The final bell of the schoolday always felt sweet for Alfred. He’d made it through another round, battered but not down for the count. Sitting in the locker room, Alfred waited for the other boys to finish showering. Normally, he didn’t need to shower because he rarely participated seriously enough to break a sweat. Today however, Alfred actually tried and the the salty liquid that gushed from his pores had left his gym clothes drenched. He waited for the other students to leave in order to ensure he could shower alone. Not only did Alfred like the privacy but the delay would also kill time so that by the time he finished, Chemeketa’s courtyard would be empty and he could walk to his bike in peace without catching hell from Grant Delaney and the rest of the boys who’d made a sport out of making Alfred miserable.

Once he was clean, Alfred began his trek through the mostly empty halls of Chemeketa High. He passed room 203 where he’d given his presentation on Gonorrhea, past the entrance where he’d stood up for Wyatt and into the courtyard where he’d locked up his bike for the day. What he saw when he arrived however, was enough to drown out the brief satisfaction sixth period had provided. Sitting alone on the bike rack Alfred found dismembered remains of his bicycle. Both tires were missing and the chain had clearly been ripped off. Only the frame of the bike remained, laying uselessly on the concrete. Across the top bar, a message had been written in black permanent marker.  Faggot Lover,” it read in all capital letters.  Defeated and exhausted, Alfred began the nearly two mile journey home on foot.

The promising weather the morning had delivered had predictably developed into a damp, drizzly afternoon. After just twenty minutes of walking, Alfred’s cotton sweatshirt had become soaked through, weighing him down and chilling him to the bone. As he walked, he tucked his arms under his sweatshirt placing his hands inside in each of his armpits, hugging himself to stay warm. As he passed the trailers, the mostly empty duplexes which had only recently been developed, the factory farms and what seemed to be endless fields of grassy unkempt land, Alfred pondered the snippets of the assembly he’d watched on T.V. While in a town the size of Sisulaw a murder was most certainly shocking, Alfred couldn’t help but question the timing of the assembly and why it had been used to double as press conference for the town. Why do it at 9 am while everybody was at work? And why do it at the school while class is in session? As Alfred traversed the soggy ground carpeting gloomy Sisulaw the questions kept reiterating themselves in his mind. “Mona Lei wasn’t a student. Why was the towns response entrenched within the walls of Chemeketa high?” 

Alfred kept onwards toward Pine Avenue but just as he began to cross the street, he heard a low voice unlike any he’d heard in a long time emitting from directly behind his shoulders. It was low, scratchy and sinister; “Look both ways motherfucker” it said. Quickly Alfred jolted around 180 degrees only to find himself face to face with a large ferocious-looking pitbull, grey and mangy with muscles protruding from every centimeter of it’s body. Before he could conjure up a reply, the fearsome dog had bounded off through the tall grass.

3. The Whistle

“Alfred, I know this isn’t any fun, but I need you to pay attention, we only have an hour.” The voice was of Dr. Andrews, Alfred’s psychiatrist. “Sorry” Alfred replied, breaking concentration from the motivational posters he’d been staring at from the brown leather couch in Dr. Andrews’ office. “It’s O.K, lack of awareness is a common side effect of the medicine we have you on.” Anyway, how long has it been since you’ve heard any voices?” I don’t hear “voices,” Alfred replied, it’s just one.”  Right, I’m sorry retorted Dr. Andrews, how long has it been since you’ve heard Remmington speak to you.” Uh, about six months” Alfred replied, this being a blatant lie. “Excellent!” exclaimed Dr. Andrews, “it seems the meds are working. Maybe in a few months we can take you off them for good!” Meds were in fact the only part of the psychiatric hospital experience that Alfred didn’t hate. “Does it mean I can stop coming here?” he asked. “Heh we’ll see about that. replied Dr. Andrews.” But we’re done for the day!” “Already!? Alfred shot back excitedly. “Yes.” stated Dr. Andrews.  “One last thing, Can you tell me your name and todays date.” “Uh sure” Alfred responded “Alfred Thomas Bingham, July 9th, 2004.” “Perfect!” chortled Dr. Andrews.  Just wanted to see where your heads at. You’re mother is waiting for you out front.”

“Have they fixed you yet?” blurted Mrs. Bingham as Alfred stepped into her Ford Taurus. “Yeah, I think so Janet” replied Alfred. Now in the passenger set of his mothers car, he could smell the stench of vodka emulating from her pores. “Good because these visits cost a fortune.” I’m sorry Janet” Alfred said softly. “Don’t you want to to be normal?” she prodded, “Don’t you want to make friends?” “Yeah” Alfred responded. This was another lie but after 6 years in and out of psychiatric care, Alfred had learned that lying was the best way to get the doctors and his prodding mother off his ass. “Good!” answered Mr.s Bingham. “A few boys came to the house looking for you while you were with Dr. Andrew. They asked if you wanted to come out and play hockey.” “Cool,” Alfred returned.  Seemingly perturbed by Alfred’s lack of excitement Mrs. Bingham’s voice grew more intense. “You can’t just be a freak forever Alfred!” she screeched, the stench of vodka now overbearing on her breath. “Okay okay” Alfred exclaimed “I’m sorry Janet.”

By the time he’d reached age twelve, the grime nature of Alfred’s reality had truly set in. His mother, Janet Bingham had grown into an incessantly bitter women and it was Alfred, her only son, who was positioned as the prime target of her animosity. Alfred had grown into an awkward tween. Acne encompassed the majority of his face and back which demolished any shred of self confidence he might have held onto. It also didn’t help that everyone close to him thought he was insane. It wasn’t as if Alfred acted out however. For the most part, he was very logical. Those around him simply refused to understand him and his capability. When he spoke of the voice he heard at psychiatrists offices, he was told it came from his own head. In fairness, what reason would they have to believe him? What sane person, much less a medical professional would believe that a child could talk to his family pet?

Alfred was only seven years old when he first heard the whistle. His mother had just recently brought home the newest member of the Bingham family, a 2 moth old Rottweiler puppy she’d bought from a fruit salesman while on vacation in Oregon. A much more patient woman back then, right off the bat, Janet Bingham became hell-bent on training the new pup. To do this, she purchased a specialized dog whistle which promised to stop a disobediant dog dead in their tracks. The whistle emitted tones too shrill for human ears but served as a beacon for K-9’s. 

Well, there was at least one human that could hear it. A seven year old boy named Alfred Bingham. 

When he fist heard it blown, the sensation for Alfred was paralyzing. As the dog whistle reverberated off the walls of the Bingham’s home, he could feel it in his chest as if he’d swallowed an entire bottle of stimulants. The shrill noise rendered him incapable of moving, causing him to become fully alert on a moments notice. This was something Mr. and Mrs. Bingham were initially unaware of as they continued to use it to train Remington. As they did this, Alfred became more and more accustom to the sound. After a while, he begin to pick up on similar pules every day, but these ones didn’t come from the whistle, they were emitted by his friend Remington. Soon, Alfred could detect hidden tones and pulses within Remington’s barks whines normally undetectable to the human ear. An intelligent child with too much time on his hands, Alfred began to focus on the distinct meaning and sequence of each pitch and taught himself how to emulate them. He began to recognize patterns. Soon, his ability was fully intact. He could cogently communicate with dogs.

This didn’t sit well in the Bingham household. As Alfred spent more and more time communicating with the family dog, Mr. and Mrs. Bingham began to question his sanity. They refused to believe in theirs sons ability. After a year, they had Alfred checked into psychiatric care. As the professional evaluations of Alfred piled up, frequently pinning him as a young lunatic, the Binghams became more and more spiteful, particularly Mrs. Bingham. Why did she deserve to have the odd kid? Was it her fault her son was insane?  In order tolerate, she took to drinking. Heavily. Before long, there wasn’t a night where Janet Bingham wasn’t swigging cheap liquor from a plastic bottle. 

Mr. Bingham however, chose a different route. He simply gave up. Dealing with a son bouncing from mental wards to psychiatrist offices and a ruthlessly mean drunk of a wife, on the day before Alfred’s eleventh birthday, he decided he’d had enough. He simply left, leaving young Alfred Bingham to cope with his increasingly hateful mother all by himself.

Throughout this period, Alfred maintained an impossibly close friendship with the only one who truly understood him, his friend Remington. They puppy he’d adored as a child had developed into the dog he’d become best friends with as an adolescent and the two were inseparable. Alfred didn’t need anybody else. With Remington, he connected, he could relax. There was no “cool.” There was nothing to live up to. There was no one to fit in with and nobody to be. There was just a boy and his dog, a notion that Mrs. Bingham detested to her core.

It reached a boiling point on July 9th of 2004, when Alfred was twelve years old. By now, Alfred had grown weary of constantly dealing with psychologists who simply refused to entertain any explanation he could give them. Instead, he began to simply lie about his ability. At least this kept Janet Bingham at bay. At this point, her drinking had become such a force within her life that she was rarely even conscious past 8 pm. Her concern with Alfred was no longer for his well-being but rather, for her own reputation. She wasn’t going to be the woman who raised the freak. 

Sitting alone in his room, Alfred could hear the knock on his door, even through his blaring headphones. Before he could get up to open it, the door swung open. What lay on the other side caused his jaw to drop. Standing across from him, one mere foot of outside of his bedroom were Mrs. Bingham and two large extraordinarily large and developed 14 year old boys. It was Grant Delaney and his friend Jarred. “You didn’t hear me knock” slurred Mrs. Bingham. “Sorry Janet, I had my headphones on” responded Alfred.  “There are some boys here to see you. Said they like to play hockey”. Unsure of what do, with his most feared bullies standing just feet from where he slept the only sound Alfred could stammer was “ugh-um. ” Before before he could even properly begin his sentence Mrs. Bingham was already on her way out. “Ok boys I’m going to head to the store, you three have fun” exclaimed as she exited the front door towards the driveway.

Once the door had closed behind her, Grant and his goon wasted no time. Before Alfred could even muster up the words “hey guys” Delaney had speared him in the ribs with the long end of his hockey stick sending Alfred to his knees gasping for air. “Did that hurt you little bitch” Delaney chided, “You gonna fucking cry?” Choking back tears, Alfred lay on his bedroom floor as the two goliath fourteen year olds began rooting through all of his belongings, effectively ransacking his room. The first casualty was his cd collections as the boys began snapping discs in half and throwing them around the room. Next, was a binder of baseball cards which were shredded and then littered across the floor. The visit only lasted twenty minutes but by the time they were through, nearly all of Alfred’s visible possessions had been damaged. HIs room was completely trashed and what valuables were once in there, such as his nintendo and his fathers watch had been pilfered by the two bullies. Just before they left though, Grant Delaney decided he wasn’t quite done yet, there was one thing left to do. He then walked to the center of Alfred’s room and urinated directly onto the carpet.

Minutes later, Remington trotted into his best friend’s room only to find it in ruins and his pal Alfred bloodied and crying softly on the floor. “What on earth happened?” Remmington asked. “Some bullies jumped me” Alfred snapped back. “Here? In your own house? How’d they do that?” his dog replied. “Janet let them in” Alfred exclaimed, “where were you?” “Hey man, don’t blame this on me.” said the dog. “You could have at least done something!” snapped Alfred. “Yeah. I could have barked an idiot and got my ribs kicked in just like you. You know what happens if I hurt somebody?” “Yeah I guess” Alfred replied but Remington was quick to answer his own question anyway. “I get put to sleep. They’ll kill me with impunity and zero hesitation. You’re alright Alfred, but you human’s are wretched. Don’t ever forget it.” 

As he lay there, fuming over the meatheads who’d just beat him senseless over a nintendo and a few pockets full of baseball cards, and his drunk of a mom who let them in, Alfred couldn’t help but agree with his old friend. 

“You gotta clean this stuff up.” Remington chimed in “Janet has been at the store for a while now, she’ll be home any minute.” “She’s not at the store man” Alfred responded, “She’s off drinking somewhere.” This was almost certainly a correct assumption, but still, the mess in Alfred’s room was all-encompassing as the entire place was littered with the remnants of Alfred’s broken objects. Such a mess would certainly send Janet into a drunken fury.

Just as Alfred finished cleaning the last of the scraps from his room, he heard the garage door open below him. As he listened to Janet trudge up the steps and across the hall towards his room he prepared himself to pretend nothing had happened. Normally, this would have been impossible given Alfred’s black eye, swollen lip and bruises, but as Alfred had predicted by the time Mrs. Bingham arrived at bedroom door she was far too wasted to notice. Without knocking, she stumbled into the room and sat down on Alfred’s bed. “How was the thing with boys” she slurred. “Did you scare em away by being a freak” she added now cackling at her own cruelty. But before she could pass out in a drunken heap, Janet Bingham noticed something out of the corner of her eye, a wet yellow spot in the center of the room.

‘What the fuck is that!” screeched the drunk woman from atop her twelve year old sons bed. Alfred had no idea how to respond. If he told her the truth, the spiteful commentary would be excruciating. She would ask him why he was always such a pussy before remarking on his inability to make friends. She’d repeatedly call him a freak and berate him him voraciously. He wasn’t up for that. Unsure of what do, Alfred blurted out the first logical excuse he could conjure up; “Remington did it”. Mrs. Bingham leaned back into Alfred’s bed as she processed the news she’d just received. After several tense seconds she stood up slowly and walked from Alfred’s room to the laundry room across the hall. From there, Alfred heard the jingle of Remington’s collar, loud at first but then quieter she walked him out of the room. Minutes later, he heard the garage door open followed by the sound of Mrs. Bingham’s car pull out of the driveway.  

Alfred waited anxiously, staring at the glowing stars his father had once helped him paste onto his bedroom ceiling. Each minute minute felt like a century. Finally, after nearly two hours, Alfred heard the distinctive noise of rubber rolling across gravel. The sound of Mrs. Bingham’s car rolling into the driveway soon turned into the sound of the garage opening causing Alfred to rush into the kitchen. Seconds later, Mrs. Bingham trudged in. 

“Where is Remington?” Alfred shot out immediately. Mrs. Bingham returned his question with nothing more than a blank drunken stare. “Janet, where is Remington” Alfred repeated, his voice now trembling . “He was getting old honey. He wasn’t house broken any more” Mrs. Bingham replied. “What do you mean? Alfred retorted. Now, Janet Bingham was ready to get right into it.  “I had him put down” she said in a demeanor so calm that it seemed to mock Alfred’s frantic state. “You did what?” shouted Alfred, tears now streaming down his face. His reaction was too much for Mrs. Bingham’s cruel soul. As the corner of her lips began to turn upward, her drunken glaze quickly morphed into a wicked smile as she began to cackle incessantly. “It’s not my fault your only friend was a fucking dog” she blurted. ”Maybe you should make some real friends and quit being such a freak.” This was finally too much for Alfred to handle. In one swift motion he brought his forearm to his mother’s chest shoving her off balance. As she fell, the back of her head made direct contact with the countertop causing her to crash to the ground to the ground in an unconscious heap.

   

Having known what he’d done immediately, Alfred picked up the phone from the countertop and began to push the keys. 9-1-1, he dialed. And as he sat there with his head in his hands, Alfred then made a decision that would change the course of his life forever. There, sitting on the counter that had just knocked his mother unconscious, layer an open plastic bottle of vodka. Quickly, he put it to his lips and took a sip. The taste was unbearable but he instantly knew he needed another. This time he swigged, gulping rapidly from the bottle. He then leaned back and closed his eyes and listened as 3 EMTS burst through the kitchen door.

Alfred spent the following year, the last of junior high, in a juvenile detention center. Upon release it was time to enroll as a freshman at Chemeketa High.

4. Above the Law

It had only been a day since Don Mullins’ grand assembly and police had already named their first suspect. Right off the bat, it seemed clear that this news had been circulating amongst Chemekta’s most influential folks since before the assembly. Also, it began to make sense of what had transpired the day before, answering questions about structure and bizare timing of the assembly.

The prime suspect was Nyung Gao, an illegal vietnamese immigrant that Mona Lei had been trying to help gain citizenship. Mona’s plan had been simple, she would support Gao while he obtained a degree. Once she gained her own citizenship, which was due within a year, she would marry him in order for him to get his. However, the degree was crucial as Hair Dragon was not nearly profitable to support both adults long term. But in order for Gao to get obtain degree, he needed a G.E.D, and to get a G.E.D he needed to understand the American high school curriculum. That’s why Gao, who looked young for twenty-six, used the fake name Michael Tran to enroll at Chemeketa High. In Health class, he sat next to a boy named Alfred Bingham. 

These recently illuminated transgressions were bizarre to say the least and no one was more infuriated by them than Principle Mullins. Not only had he and his administrators fallen for a false identity hoax, a massive embarrassment in a town as small as Sisulaw, but now he had to explain to the press that the grown man who’d duped him was an alleged murderer.

“You hear about Michael Tran” remarked Wyatt Judd’s effeminate voice from behind Alfred’s left shoulder. “Yeah dude, thats crazy. I hear Mrs. Swift didn’t show up because she was so freaked out” Alfred remarked while pointing out the substitute sitting in on Wednesdays Health class. “Also, thanks for standing up for me yesterday” said Wyatt, “I think those boys were going to really hurt me.” “No problem dude.”

Yeah son.” bellowed a much deeper voice. “I was gonna do somethin’ but I saw Mullins comin’ and I didn’t want to get in trouble.” It was Ross Christiansen. “You know how fucking biased he is.” 

“What do you mean?” prodded Alfred. 

“After Grant’s mama up’n died bout four years back, his daddy started saucin’ harder than ever and ain’t stopped since. Him and Mullins were friends back in the day and i think he’s Grant’s godfather now. He basically raises Grant himself these days. Think that’s where he gets that attitude.” 

“I know he’s your friend” Alfred muttered “but he’s always been an asshole.” 

“Maybe” retorted Christiansen “but now he’s actin’ above the law’n shit like he aint scared of nothing. He ain’t always been like that.” 

“Whatever” Alfred grumbled, he wasn’t about to dish out sympathy. 

“I gotta piss” Ross replied. "See you later." 

Once Ross had left the room Wyatt chimed in “He’s actually nice to you?” 

“Yeah why? You want to suck his dick?” jolted Alfred. 

“Fuck you” Wyatt replied. Wyatt generally spent entire schooldays fending off jokes about his sexuality but he didn’t mind when Alfred did it. The two had become best friends by virtue of being each others only friends. Bound by lonerism, there was an understanding and a release they found when picking on one another. “Maybe he’s just fascinated by that constellation on your forehead” Wyatt shot back.

The preceding  school day went went surprisingly calmly for Alfred that day. The ominous tone that had been set by the morning police announcement had everyone at bay. Bullying seemingly required to much effort, even Grant Delaney laid off. Due to the avoidance of this stress, Alfred found himself with an unaccustomed amount of energy by the time the bell rang. He didn’t have his bike anyway and Wyatt lived close by so for once, he accepted his invitation to hang out after school. Although the two talked every day at school, it was the first time Alfred and Wyatt had ever hung out outside of Chemeketa High. Quickly the two realized that outside of being losers, they really didn’t have much in common. However, there was one activity they both enjoyed fanatically; getting fucked up. 

“You got any liquor here?” asked Alfred. 

“Yeah, in the cabinet but we can’t touch it. My dad will kill me.” Wyatt replied. “Damn” Alfred muttered disappointedly. 

“I got something else though” Wyatt retorted as he began walking towards a master bedroom while motioning Alfred to follow suit. Once inside, Wyatt approached his fathers dresser and opened the bottom drawer. “My dad has a bunch of this shit”  he exclaimed as he revealed the contents of the drawer. Included inside was a grey pistol and two large bags stuffed with white pills “I think my Dad sells this shit” Wyatt remarked.“Take two” he advised dropping a pair of the white ovals into Alfred’s open palm.” Swallow em’ whole if you want a good buzz. Chew them if you really wanna get fucked up.”  Without hesitation Alfred crushed the chalky pills between his teeth.   

“I am so fucking high” Alfred thought to himself as he arose from the floor in Wyatt’s family room. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. 9:01 it read, he’d been out for several hours. “Yo Wyatt, I’ve got to get home or Janet’s going to fucking kill me.” After no reply, he looked over to see Wyatt passed out on the couch snoring like a bulldog. 

Using the main roads Wyatt lived roughly 2 miles from Alfred’s home, but Alfred knew a trail that could cut that time in half. He headed straight for it, cutting through the brush as began his journey back home where he surely would be confronted by his drunken mother, mad as a hornet about god knows what. The walk itself however was appealing to Alfred who was still high as hell off the oxycontin Wyatt had supplied him just hours earlier. He loved the it made the leaves move. But, only a few moments passed the ecstasy of the cool summer evening was interrupted by a buzzing from inside Alfred’s pocket. “New message from Janet” read the screen on his Nokia. 

“Shit,” Alfred thought to himself as he clicked the phone to open the text. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been worried sick?” 

Alfred knew this was a lie but still, he felt obligated to reply. He began to type out his excuse when he heard a voice, a familiar one, low, raspy and sinster from roughly 3 feet behind him. “I told you to look both ways motherfucker.”

Just as he could turn around Alfred was struck in the side by a fleshy white blur, seemingly moving at light speed, knocking him to the ground. Before he even had time to react, a powerful set of teeth lodged into his calf muscle and began too pull, dragging his slender frame rapidly through the woods. Alfred desperately tried kicking the massive jaw with his other leg but as soon as he did, he felt another set of canines sink into his shoulder. The pain of the sharp teeth digging underneath his shoulder blade was immense and paralyzing. “Struggle any further and we’ll kill you right here and now.” This time the voice came from so close to his ear that he could feel it’s possessors breath tickle his eardrum. The smell was unbearable. Knowing the ferocious animals could back up his claim, Alfred went limp, allowing the jaw clamped on his leg to drag him through the tall grass over a series of hard roots and rocks for what felt like centuries. Finally, the dragging stopped behind and large oak tree. “You’re surrounded so don’t even try to run” said the voice. Alfred nodded in response and the dogs let go. “Sit up” instructed another voice, this one however was unmistakeable. One he’d heard thousands of times over a period of several years. Still Alfred had to blink twice just confirm what he’d just realized. That he was sitting face-to-face with his old pal Remington.   

5. Dog Years

“Do you feel older?” asked Alfred, a stubborn nine old in the prime of his curiosity. “What do you mean?” replied his dog, a two year old Rottweiler named Remington. “I don’t know I guess. Do you feel different than when we first got you?” “Got me” Remington replied chortling as the syllables escaped his jowels. “You say it like I’m yours. Like you own me.” “Well we at least feed you” Alfred replied. “I could feed myself. If you would let me” countered Remington. “Hey!” Alfred rifled back “I Don’t care what you eat! I opened that dumpster behind Burgerland for you, and let you go to town. I also saw you picking at that dead deer and didn’t say a word. You even licked me after!” “Yeah I guess” responded Remington through a laugh, his tail now gently wagging. He couldn’t help himself, he loved his friend’s young enthusiasm. “But I didn’t mean you specifically Alfred. I mean “you” as in mankind. If I left your parents house to fend myself, the minute anyone saw me searching for food, walking around on my own, a human would capture me. I would be put in a cage and if no one wanted me, if I wasn’t deemed valuable enough to live captive in a humans home, they would have me killed.” Alfred shuddered as he absorbed this information. He wasn’t used to such dark commentary from his closest friend. “ Would you leave if you could? If no humans would stop you? he asked.” Remington paused momentarily as he pondered his friends question.”Yes Alfred” he finally replied, but only because of you. “Thanks” Alfred exclaimed, scratching his friend behind his ear.

 “And yes I do” mentioned Remington. “Huh” Alfred replied confused by Remington’s statement. “Of course I feel older. Back then I was just a puppy. I thought that thing was that stupid thing over there was the ruler of my universe” Remmington responded gesturing toward a squeaky stuffed hedgehog toy laying in the corner of the Bingham’s family room.” “I mean in dog years” Alfred replied. 

“What on earth are dog years?” asked remmington. “I guess I’m not really sure. Mom was saying something about it. Like, you get older faster than me somehow. She said that like even though you’ve only been alive for two years, you’re really fourteen years old. Like you’re older than me now.” “Huh” Remington shrugged as he pondered the notion. He thought about the years he’d watched Alfred grow, observing changes in his behavior compared to his own. While Alfred’s independence had taken serious strides, it was nothing compared to his own transgressions, physically and emotionally. Two years ago, he’d been just a pup with no control over his urges. Hell, he couldn’t even control his own bladder and the most minute daily occurrences like a run-in with the neighbors cat or a rogue potato chip would send him into a frenzy. Now, he was nearly an adult, entering his physical prime while rapidly gaining understanding of the world’s core principles. “I don’t know about that stuff Alfred” he replied, “I suppose time for us is just different.”

“Am I in shock? Is this the drugs?” wondered Alfred as he stroked the wound on his shoulder. But the warm blood on on his finger tips confirmed that it was in fact reality. “28 years” bellowed the voice in front of him, jolting him back to reality.” Frantically, Alfred racked his brains for the right words 'I, I thought you  were….” “SHUT THE FUCK UP” Remington interrupted. “I’ll tell you when you can talk.” 

“28 fucking years. The prime of my life, robbed by your cowardice” spat Remington. Alfred opened his mouth to reply but before he could make a sound he was shot down again. ”SHUT THE FUCK UP!” This time, it was a new voice, nasally and neurotically quivering causing Alfred to look away from Remington towards it’s direction. To Remington’s right stood a tall, slinking Dalmatian, rail thin, but with vainy muscles that seemed like they were about to burst through his flesh. Alfred could make out his own blood dripping down the fur of the creatures chin. This was the white flash that knocked him over. Those were the teeth that had torn into his shoulder just moments earlier. His tail was now wagging incessantly as he panted heavily, his breath whistling in excitement as it darted out of his throat.   

“Silence Jerry” Remington bellowed toward the frantic Dalmatian, “you’ll get your fix soon enough. Let him talk.” Alfred straightened his posture, inhaled deeply and steadied himself. If these were going to be his last words he was going to make them count. “I thought you were dead” he sputtered as calmly as he could muster “I thought Janet had you put to sleep.” 

“I should have been so lucky” Remington roared back causing Jerry, the Dalmatian to squeal with excitement. “Euthinasia costs money Alfred, something we never had. No, no, that old bitch had other plans for me.” 

For the first time since he’d let go of Alfred’s calf muscle, the grey pit bull raised his head from the tall grass. He’d been listening intently but unlike Jerry who could barely contain his excitement, he remained stoic. Since Remington had begun speaking he hadn’t uttered a word. In fact, he’d been so quiet Alfred had all but forgot he was there. 

“She put me in the back of her car” Remington continued,  “we drove for almost an hour. Past the trailers, past the new development on Gareth street, past the overgrown Apple farm on the outskirts of Sisulaw. I just stared out the window and watched the landscape change. I watched the only place I ever knew vanish behind and the stars above me fade as they morphed into the lights in front of me. By the time we stopped, the land we were on was unlike any I’d ever seen.” 

“Let’s just kill him already!” shrieked Jerry frantically, using a pitch like that of a tea kettle.” “Silence!” snarled the grey pit bull, his first words since the ambush begin. “Let him finish.” 

Remington continued. “By the time we approached what would be my final destination, my surroundings were unlike any I’d ever encountered. There were no trees anywhere. In there place were blinding lights and large rectangular objects, as tall as the sky, made of concrete, glass, and sleek metal. The ground beneath my feet had become rock hard without a protruding patch of grass anywhere to be seen.  Cars were everywhere and the only animals in sight lay in cages or trotted along as they were pulled by humans.” “

You were in Kentland” Alfred muttered. He could relate to the overwhelming stature of Kentland, the states largest city. He’d been there on a couple of occasions for psychiatric evaluations. 

“Yes,” Remington replied “indeed I was.” “Your mother turned away from the center of town, avoiding every light until she a found somewhere dark enough to abandon me undetected.” 

“Why didn’t you come back?” Alfred uttered in response “I taught you to read, you could have followed the signs back home.” 

“Home!?” Remington snarled, “to live in secret with a cowardly traitor and horrid bitch who left me for dead? Even if i’d wanted to, the world had other plans.” 

As he listened to Remington continue Alfred noticed physical changes on the body of his old friend. Across his chest were long streaks where his fur was missing. Beneath, lay rigid scars, some of which were still pink and inflamed. Even more alarming, Remington was missing his left ear. 

“Ever spend a week in a space so small you can’t turn around, forced to survive off scraps fed through the bars securing your entrapment?” Remington snarled. “What’s the longest you’ve ever spent laying in your own shit Alfred?” 

 “I, I..” Alfred tried to respond. “DON’T ANSWER THAT!” interrupted Remington, cutting him off. “After your mother left me, I was picked up by a man. He didn’t take me far, but it was light years away from freedom. From peace of mind. For 28 years I lay, usually unable to move, as any hope of ever tasting freedom slowly vanished. And when I fought back, He did this to me” Remington then turned revealing where his ear had been severed.

“So what happens now?” Alfred replied” “You’re going to kill me right?.” At this Jerry yipped with excitement.

”Shut Up” growled the gray pit bull.  “Thank you Devon” Remington gruffly replied. 

“No, Alfred, not yet at least.”  “Hell, I’ll even offer you a way out.” 

“How?” retorted Alfred.

 “Kill the bitch. I’ll give you 24 hours. After that, I’ll do it myself and kill you as well.”  “WHAT!?” shrieked Jerry his voice cracking with excitement” “SILENCE!” hollered Remington in reply taking one aggressive step toward in Jerry’s direction.” With that, the three dogs, bounded off into the black Sisulaw sky, leaving Alfred alone to contemplate what had just happened.”

6. A Favor

Alfred opened the door as quietly as he could, creeping into the family room of his mothers home. Just as he’d predicted Janet was sitting upright with her head back against the chair passed out and snoring violently. An open bottle of Smiths Cured Rum sat before her on the coffee table in front of her. Initially, he snuck past her easily but as he slunk into his bedroom he bumped his dresser sending picture frame crashing to the floor. The sound was enough to wake the sleeping giant in the room next door. “Alfred” she shrieked. Get your little ass in here.” Defeated, Alfred slowly walked himself towards the family room. 

“You ungrateful little shit! Think you can just run off whenever you want? I don’t know what weird shit you were getting yourself into you little freak but you had me worried sick.” 

Alfred couldn’t take it anymore. “Fuck you Janet” he shouted “you weren’t worried about shit. You just like being angry, you drunk old bitch.” 

Still sitting upright Janet lurched from her chair towards Alfred landing on the floor near his feet. Now laying on her stomach, Janet Bingham clenched her sons digging her ruby red nails into his adolescent flesh. “Fuck you, you brat, you ruined me, I wish you’d never been born” she belted. 

Alfred yanked his leg back, breaking away from her grip. Now, standing a safe distance away, he watched as Janet Bingham squirmed violently on the family room floor. Her upper her body jerked incessantly, but her paralysis had rendered her incapable of moving her legs. “Lift me up you little bitch” she screamed. “Fuck you!” Alfred shouted back before before turning around and pacing towards his bedroom. Even once he’d closed his door he could here her vividly. “You did this to me Alfred!” YOU DID THIS TO ME.”

Using every ounce of will power within him to block out Janet’s screams Alfred pulled out his phone and began to craft a text message to Wyatt Judd. “I need a favor” he wrote. Wyatt responded almost immediately “sure what’s up?” “I need you to sign me into Health class, we’re going to have another sub.” 

“Will do” Wyatt replied again almost instantaneously. 

Alfred wasn’t done yet. “Also, I need you to leave your door unlocked. I have to borrow something” 

I can’t give you any more pills Alfred, if my dad finds out he’ll beat my ass” “I don’t need pills” Alfred replied. 

“I’m not doing it unless you tell what you’re taking” Wyatt shot back 

“YOU RUINED ME YOU FUCKING FREAK. COME PICK ME UP” Janet screamed from the other room as Alfred crafted his response to Wyatt. 

“I need to borrow your dads gun.”