Where the Sun Shines Out by Catalano Kevin

Author:Catalano, Kevin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781510722002
Publisher: Skyhorse
Published: 2017-09-27T00:00:00+00:00

The day after the shooting, Rene woke to find Dean sleeping on her couch. He had found her. He’d dug around in the poison muck that was his heart and found the unbreakable thread that binds mother and son. Either that or her ex-husband had told him where she lived so he could get Dean out of his hair.

As soon as she discovered him passed out in her apartment, Rene got the .45 down from the shoe box in the closet. She’d purchased the gun when she first moved here, never having lived in a city or by herself, for that matter. Now, she made sure it was loaded. She then leveled the gun on Dean.

She had long abandoned the useless exercise of thinking about why he turned out the way he did. What was even more liberating was when she stopped thinking of him as her son. That way, she could see him for who he was: a twenty-five-year-old shit of a man who was capable of the kind of evil that had taken place in Virginia.

Early on, she’d done what she could to save him. She gave him attention and affection, took him to church every day for a year. He saw as many therapists as she and Karl could afford, and many they couldn’t. And all the while, she had endured being groped and masturbated on by him, by her son. She could still feel that scalding hot prick poking her thigh. Some nights she’d climb into her bed to find a pool of his semen on her pillow. She had put up with this for years, because, she’d thought, that’s what a mother should do. He needed positive attention; he needed not to be judged or scolded, but talked to, openly and frankly. She’d bought him a stack of Hustlers, plopped them on his bed, and told him any jerking off he planned on doing in the future would be to these magazines, on these magazines if he wanted, and in this bedroom. If he got bored of these then she’d get him something else. Redheads, black ladies, bondage, or men—she’d get him whatever he wanted as long as he left her the hell out of his sick fantasies.

She didn’t kill the Shit. She thought about it, squeezed the .45 until the crosshatch grip dug into her palm. Watching as he slept on the couch.

Then she stuck the gun in the waistband of her pajamas and shouted at him to wake up.

His green eyes popped open directly. Those creepy eyes, the ones that saw in the conventional way, but not what most saw.

He sat up like a homeless man might from a park bench, slow and painfully. His face was busted, yellowed with bruises and crusted with scabs. His long, thin arms were crowded with tattoos: skulls and fire, crows and crosses, a rebel flag and “Mom” inside a bleeding heart. He was about to say something polite, Rene could see it. He got a soft look sometimes, sifting through the ashy wasteland that was his heart for goodness.

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