Happy

Chapter 3.

"Help!"

"Oh my god!"

With a near-unconscious Victor still pinned between his legs, Randy glared down at him. His eyes were vacant of anger, even fear, through his blank and expressionless stare. He proceeded to use the bloodied rock to repeatedly bash the kid in the head over and over again to the point where he had eventually lost count and, as he panted and grunted heavily behind the clown mask, the clamor of his terrified classmates began to drown out until he heard nothing but pure silence.

And caught in this untimely moment of tranquility, oddly enough Randy had never felt so calm. So... safe.

He carried on with the attack. Each hit was stronger than the one before and, still, not one student had the courage to step forward and stop—or attempt to stop—him. The minors instead continued to scream for help, which ironically enough was on the way but struggling to get through the thickening crowd. One demented soul even cheered, finding amusement or perhaps a sick form of pleasure in the mayhem.

Randy got in a few good hits before one of the teachers grabbed his wrist mid-swing and pried the rock from his hand. The man pulled him off of Victor, who wiped at the blood dripping from his broken nose. Both eyes were black and blue and his upper lip had been busted. Nothing appeared serious, at least not at first sight. As Randy struggled to break free from the teacher's grasp he caught of a glimpse of the damage he had inflicted to the boy and, immediately knowing what he did was wrong, he began sobbing as he fell down to his knees.

His father had always told him to defend himself. Clench your fist. Untuck your thumb. Start swinging. A pretty simple strategy, easy enough for Randy to remember. But his mother on the other hand, she always encouraged him to stay out of trouble and never to engage in any fights. Even if someone provoked him, whether it be physically or with harsh words, she had told him to keep his lips shut and walk away. Why didn't he listen to her? Why didn't he just walk away?

As he continued to cry, the teacher had pulled Randy to the principal's office while one of his co-workers assisted in taking Victor to the nurse's station. It didn't take long after his mother left work that he saw the Volkswagen pulling through the curved drive at the school's entrance. For a moment, the incident had completely swept his mind. It wasn't until he saw her distraught eyes peer into his as she hurriedly walked down the corridor that he had remembered what he did. And he wouldn't soon forget.

After talking with the counselor and given a three day suspension, she had taken Randy home. Even come Halloween he wasn't allowed to leave the house.

Then the real backlash came when the boy's parents threatened to sue the school. According to their lawyers, "A child in this condition never should have been allowed past those doors."

Quick to save their own asses, a conference was immediately scheduled with Randy's parents. His father couldn't bear to hear another word after 'medication' and stormed out of the building, leaving his mother to hear the rest.

"Is there anything we can do?" she asked, nervously clutching onto her velvet purse. "Please. With work, I just—we can't turn to homeschooling. There has to be another way."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Baker," Principal Ethridge spat out without a shred of sympathy, "we just can't risk it. Like I said, when you get a chance I highly suggest taking a look at the alternative programs available. Surely you'll find something more suited toward your son's... special needs."

And she did. For weeks, she read each pamphlet. Called each number. But word had already spread about the unstable boy in the small town of Ashwick. Everyone already knew of him being mentally challenged, but pairing that with anger issues made their hair stand on end. Parents were scared to have their children anywhere near him and, after a local news article featured a controversial picture of his battered tormentor leaving the hospital, it continued to spiral downwards. The only person that remotely offered to help was the incredibly nice and also incredibly overpaid Dr. Radcliffe but, even if she had wanted to put Randy on the recommended medication, there was no way that their family could afford it.

"Great. Now I got a fucking retard for a son."

"Don't say that." Although she was on the other side of the wall, Randy could tell by her tone that his mother was nearly in tears. "Don't you ever say that! That's our child!"

His father's response was the usual. Randy stumbled away from his bedroom door and covered his ears, attempting to drown out the echoing thud against the hardwood floor and the incessant swings that shortly followed.