Now I did. What stared back at me from behind those eyes was something so purely evil, so flawlessly degenerate, so perfectly perverse and mad that it seemed almost benevolent.
I managed to look away just before he spoke in a voice that sounded like rusty nails being wrenched from rotten wood.
"You have a new friend, Christopher." So sing-songy in that voice from nightmare.
"Yes, I do."
"Does your new friend have a name?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?"
Grendel's head snapped around in Christopher's direction. "Never use contractions like that in my presence! Do you understand?"
Christopher paused and smiled down at him. "Oooooh, I'm shakin' in my shoes." And then kicked Grendel squarely in the chest. Grendel jerked backward, banging the back of his head against the metal wall, then groaned, shook it off, and glared up, his breathing heavy and fast.
"I suppose you feel that I had that coming to me," he said. "Very well, my little boy. I will give that to you."
"You're too kind. There are no words to express my gratitude."
"Do not mock me, Christopher."
"Seems to me you're not in much of a position to do anything about it."
"Situations change."
They glared at one another. Then Grendel gave a short, phlegmy laugh and look toward me. "I do not believe I have had the pleasure, sir. Who might you be?"
"One of the listening North Danes."
His eyes widened and his smile widened. "Then you know of me already?"
"'Rage-inflamed, wreckage-bent, he ripped open the jaws of the hall.' Yeah, I've heard some things."
"How marvelous—though the passage you quoted leads me to believe that you have been exposed to one of the more bumbling translations of the story."
"My education is what you might call incomplete."
"I see. And do you not find me attractive? Even in this unfortunate state?"
"Not particularly."
"Then you must allow me the chance to redeem myself in your eyes."
"Not possible."
His smile slithered wider. "Everything is possible, good sir."
Christopher unlocked his right arm, letting it drop free, then stepped over beside me. For a few moments Grendel neither said anything nor looked at us; he was too busy shaking some feeling back into his arm.
"You should pick up the rubber ball and squeeze it," said Christopher. "It'll help get your hand back in working order."
"How ingenious," said Grendel, picking up the ball.
It was only after he'd grabbed the ball and was squeezing away that something else caught his attention; he leaned forward—insomuch as he could—and looked at the floor.
At the maps that had fallen from my pocket.
"My, my, may," he said, looking up at us and smiling. "Do my eyes deceive, or are those maps of the lovely Kentucky hills?"
Christopher looked down at them, then at Grendel. "Yeah, so what?"
"'Yeah, so what?'" Grendel repeated in a mocking, childish voice. "My God, how ugly your voice has become, how sloppy and ungracious your speech. I am ashamed."
"I'll learn to live with your disappointment."
Grendel made an amused noise, then twisted his head slightly to get a better view of the maps. "Kentucky, indeed." His eyes looked up but his head remained still. "So we have come home, have we, Christopher?"
"That's right."
"Of course. How wonderful for you. How delightful. I assume that the others are now back home, all safe and warm and snuggly."
"Yes."
"That moves me, Christopher. Sincerely. Can you not see how deeply, deeply moved I am? To think of all the effort and planning that you must have done to bring all of this about… why, it almost makes me not ashamed of you."
"Fuck you."
"Unchain me, then. Oh, I see—it was an insult, not a request. A pity. I do feel rather amorous, despite everything. But then, you always did have that effect on me, Christopher-my-favorite-child. How beautiful you are. Has your new friend seen your actual face?"
"Yes."
Grendel looked at me. "Did you appreciate the skill of my handiwork?"
"Not really."
"Not really? Ah, well—the ability to truly appreciate a work of art is something acquired and refined over time, after all. Worry not—my feelings are not in the least hurt, nor are my sensibilities in any way offended."
"I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that," I said.
"Well, naturally, it would not do to have you worrying yourself over it, would it? I find that, while guilt is such a useful thing, unearned and unnecessary guilt is far too messy and distasteful to bother with. It has rarely served my purposes well."
"You are one smarmy motherfucker, you know that?"
"I choose to take that as a compliment. Now, do please pardon me." He looked down at the maps again, then at Christopher. "Tell me, my lovely boy—how is the family?"
Christopher started. "Uh… I haven't seen them yet, but we've got the address."
"Oh, it is we who have the address, is it?" He looked at me. "I do believe I detect the lingering aroma of onion rings." His eyes sparkled. "You know, don't you?"
"Shut up."
"What's he talking about?" asked Christopher.
I took hold of his arm. "We need to step outside for a minute, buddy."
"What for?" His voice rose on the second word.
"Because we do."
"Oh, please," said Grendel. "Do tell him in front of me."
I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.
"Tell me what?" shouted Christopher.
Grendel shook his head. "My dear, lovely child, come here to me."
"…no…"
"I SAID COME HERE TO ME! DO IT NOW!"
On auto-pilot, Christopher began moving away from me. I grabbed him and pulled him back toward the door.
"My dear, dear lovely boy. You have forgotten again, have you not?"
Christopher began shaking his head, his arms and legs trembling.
"Oh, dear me," said Grendel. "I thought we discussed this, Christopher. I thought we had settled this once and for all. It does not do for one to keep fibbing to one's self."
"Shut up!" I screamed.
Grendel sighed. "Dear, beautiful, perfect Christopher, whose kisses breathe life into my weary soul—do you not remember the conversation we had some time ago?"
Christopher shook his head harder, making muffled, whimpering noises.
Grendel looked at me. "One of us must remind him. I would be more than happy to do it."
"One more word out of your mouth and I'll tear out your tongue with a pair of pliers."
"This is getting wearisome. Christopher?"
"…ungh… um… uh…"
"Look at me, Christopher."
Christopher held up his hand as if trying to ward off blows from invisible fists.
"Look at—I SAID LOOK AT ME!"
Christopher was pulling away toward the other side of the trailer, hands swatting the air.
I knelt down and grabbed the toolbox, realizing just before I did that it was locked and the key somewhere outside.
"Do not move away from me, lovely child. Come closer."
I banged the lid of the tool box with my fist, then turned around and grabbed the duffel bag; it was heavy and there had to be something in here I could use to knock him out with.
"You are not coming closer, Christopher. How can I hold you if you will not come closer? How can I stroke your cheek and whisper to you of my love and caring? Only I love you, Christopher. Only I can love you…"