Kloktoberfest challenge 2: Reasons

Rated: R

***warnings for language, violence, drugs, sex, child abuse, neglect, and more.

Note: I hate using the italic button whenever someone talks, so just assume that Skwisgaar and Toki are speaking their native tongue unless mentioned otherwise.

No Rest For The Wicked

1988

They didn't have Halloween in Norway. Least Toki Wartooth wasn't aware that they did.

Over the past few years American influences had seeped their way into the frozen, northern country. Everything from television shows, music, food, and especially holidays. Toki wasn't allowed to partake in any of these outlandish ideas and culture, lest he be corrupted by the sins of the world.

Or so he was told.

Living in a remote village in the middle-of-nowhere Norway acted as a fairly decent shield, and his father making him work during all his free time kept him occupied. 'Idle hands are the devils tools.' The Reverend- His father would say whenever he caught Toki daydreaming or taking a break from his chores.

One memorable, autumn day Toki had been 'volunteered' to help unload a truck load of vegetables for a local shop. As he was hauling a rather large bag of turnips he overheard a melody that made him stop and listen. Turning his head he scanned the street until he found the source.

A young woman across the square was picking out a pumpkin with her daughter. He had seen the woman before in the village along with the girl, but this was the first time Toki noticed how close and happy the two seemed to be. The little girl smiled when she looked up at her mother, and the woman returned the same affection. As she crouched down to her level and pointed to each orange vegetable on the shelf she sang.

'Oh out in the garden

some pumpkins I found.

They were biiiiiiig yellow pumpkins

that lay on the ground.

I gave away three

and now as you see

the pumpkin that's left I am saving for me.

I'll giiiive him a nose

and a mouth

and two eyes.

If you'll oooooonly come over

you'll have a surprise.

For high on the wall

I hope he wont fall

you'll see my big pumpkin

the best one of all.'

As the song came to an end, Toki found himself drawn to the pair. It was the little girl who noticed him first. "Hello." She said, smiling brightly. "What's your name?"

Toki smiled back. She was probably half his age, and already so social. In the little girls arms was a worn, brown teddy bear with a small forked tail. He felt a pang of regret that he never owned such a comforting toy.

"My name is Toki." He said to the girl before looking up to her mother. The young woman was holding a large pumpkin in her arms. Toki wondered how the two of them could possibly eat it all. "What are you going to bake out of that?"

The little girl giggled. "We're carving a jack-o-lantern out of it!" She said, throwing her arms up in excitement.

Toki frowned. "A what?"

"For All Hallows Eve." The woman said, bending down to their level and resting the orange mass in her lap. "You hollow it out, carve a face here, and put a candle in it to make it glow." She smiled at Toki's attentiveness. "Its suppose to ward away evil spirits, but we just do it for fun. You've never made one before?"

He shook his head. "No, I-" A faint breeze brushed the back of his neck and Toki froze. There was no mistaking the malevolent aura that had crept up on him. It was his father.

"You wretched whore!" The Reverend seethed, closing the distance between he and the young woman before backhanding her. Hard.

As she fell to the ground her daughter screamed, the pumpkin splitting open as it hit the frozen ground. "How dare you and your bastard child fill my sons head with such heathenish ideals!" He yelled as he stood over her and smacked her again.

Several of the villagers saw the scene, but none intervened. Reverend Aslaug Wartooth was the voice of God and ethics in Lillehammer. What did they care if he smacked an unmarried mother around? It was his God given right.

With the third slap something broke inside Toki. What he saw was not his father beating a demon, but a woman who was clearly a good and loving mother to her daughter, be damned the lack of paternity.

Before he was aware of his actions he charged. His eight-year-old frame not strong enough to knock the Reverend down, but the impact was enough to diverge his fathers wrath.

Next thing Toki knew he was being dragged away from the scene by the hair away Reaching up he latched onto his fathers wrist to lessen the tension as he thrashed against the frozen ground. Through the blur of forming tears he watched the little girl drop her bear and run to her mothers aid as she sat up, the side of her face already bruised.

Toki knew from experience that it could have been much worse for them.

He never saw either of them again.

Two hours later Toki watched through his swelling eye as his father slammed the shack door. The warmth in his body was leaving him quickly through the lash marks in his back and the metal shackles around his wrists. As usual, his mother did nothing to stop the onslaught as his father beat him to within an inch of his life and locked him away. In the small, dark shed the wood did little to shield the painfully cold wind that bit at the exposed, bruising skin of his face and arms.

Tears froze to the sides of his face as he let his head sag. His father claimed to be shielding him from a corrupted soul and damnation, but Hell was probably a vacation compared to this.

If he survived the night... If he managed to get out from under his parents hawkish watch... He would run away from this frigid, heartless mountain, and he would never look back.

The thought filled him with warm hope as he slipped into a welcomed unconsciousness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His room -if you could call it that- was more like an off-shot, large, closet on the lower level of a brothel. It was big enough for a cot, a small trunk, a worn 1972 Gibson Explorer guitar, and Skwisgaar.

Once upon a time, the young Swede shared a room with his mother, Serveta Skwigelf, who was the beautiful and renowned Miss Sweden, 1956. After her fame and money began to wear thin she took advantage of her notoriety and beauty to become a top priced whore.

The same year as his guitar, the unexpected pregnancy of her now bastard son was discovered too late for an abortion... and he never stopped hearing from her how his birth had ruined her life. That it 'gave her stretch marks and veins in her tits that looked like a map of Stockholm.' As she so eloquently put it.

The instant someone decided to clean out the old storage closet in the basement (which was when he was 4), Skwisgaar dragged his blanket and pillow into it and slept alone, and in peace. Well...as 'in peace' you could in a 24 hour whore house.

These days, Skwisgaar spent most daylight hours sleeping, mostly to avoid his mother. Each day he would wait for her to finish her rounds before he ever exited his room. Her disappointed glare alone would ruin his whole night and put a foul taste in his mouth.

He knew it was twilight when he heard the familiar voices and footsteps of the day shift make their way back to their sleeping quarters overhead. When the feminine chatter died down he put his boots on along with his black jacket, and slung his guitar over his shoulder before exiting his cubbyhole. It was time for his work to start as well.

Making his way through the changing room the night shift girls greeted him warmly. One in particular always stood out. "Morning, Skwis-baby." Merit greeted him. She was his favorite out of anyone in the house, and if it wern't for the fact that she had jet black hair and burgundy eyes he would think she was his actual mother...or the closest thing he could get. "Sleep well?" She asked as she applied her eyeshadow.

"Shitty, as always." He responded as Merit lowered her brow at him. She couldn't stop him from doing his night job -since there were much worse things he could be doing- but she frowned upon him using poor language. "Sorry." He said apologetically.

Handing him a few small bills she lifted a hand to rub his cheek. "Eat something semi-healthy tonight, alright?" She said returning to her makeup. "Or you'll never grow up big and strong."

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. At sixteen years old he was already almost six feet tall. Growing up wasn't a problem both physically or mentally. He may not know how to brew a cup of coffee, but he could take care of himself. "See you later, Merit."

"See you Skwisgaar." She turned to him, serious for a moment. "And be careful out there. There ain't no rest for the wicked, you know."

Skwisgaar shrugged his thin shoulders. "And money don't grown on trees." He said before exiting the dressing room and heading up the stairs.

At the main doors to the building the Matron, as he called her, was standing to greet and check in the Johns of the evening. She was an imposing woman, the kind that could knock the average guy on his ass if he got a little rough with one of her girls. That and she hid a shotgun under the counter just in case.

She looked down at him with a similar indifferent stare to his mother, but at least she acknowledged him when she needed something. "Going to work?" She asked him. When he nodded she reached into her ample cleavage and pulled out a large bill before handing it to Skwisgaar. "Pick me up some Vicodin tonight would you?"

"Yes, Matron." Skwisgaar said in the most respective voice he could conjure. He didn't much care for the woman, but considering she let him live under her roof rent free, so long as she got her drugs when she ordered them. He couldn't complain too much.

An hour after swinging by his boss's den for a pickup, Skwisgaar found himself on stage along side three men twice his age. The band Gangagar Eldeleel-Alele played thrash metal at various clubs and bars around the Stockholm area. Skwisgaar was permitted to play with them for three reasons. One, he could score them some serious drugs on the cheap because he was a runner for a local kingpin. Two, because people flocked to their band for the novelty of watching a teenager play with the pro's. And three, because that sixteen year old was keeping up with the rest of them!

Skwisgaar couldn't read music so the band never even attempted to tell him specific notes to play. They would just start the song as they had planned it and Skwisgaar would close his eyes, fingers on the strings. Something inside him spoke when it was time and his fingers would begin to move. He rarely saw the entire crowd turn their eyes to him, but when the song ended the crowd would scream, whistle, and bestow thunderous applause...with the occasional undergarment.

Skwisgaar was a prodigy.

After the show the groupies would gather while the roadies cleaned up the stage. Meanwhile Skwisgaar distributed the drugs, gathered the money and bid his band mates farewell. "See you fuckers tomorrow night."

Alrik, the vocalist, pulled away from a groupie and dashed after him before he got to the door. "Hey Skwis, hold up."

"Yeah?" He asked.

The older man became rather serious suddenly. "Listen man, I know you're young and all, but the rest of the band and I are going on tour soon. Not that you need to ask your-" Skwisgaar shot him an icy glare at the potential mentioning of his mother. "...I mean not that you need to ask anyone permission to leave or anything, but we know you've got a decent second job, and friends here in Stockholm. We would be on the road for a long time, but we want you to come with us."

Skwisgaar didn't really have any friends, and the only person he would actually miss would be Merit. His job as a drug runner was quite profitable, but it didn't make him as happy as he was on stage. Either way he would consult Merit on it, she would be the only voice he would trust. "When would you be leaving?" He asked, his blue eyes at level with the other mans.

"A week."

"I'll think about it and get back to you tomorrow night. Alright?"

"Cool man. Sounds good." He said before turning and returning to his awaiting groupies.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been two days since he was brought back in from the shed and tossed into his room. He had access to water, but was given no food as per his punishment. Luckily Toki had a jar of pickled herring and a few old, stale rolls under his floor boards, along with a small amount of money he had earned in tips during his various jobs in the village.

Throwing on some thermals, jeans and an old sweatshirt, he packed up his food and money before putting an ear to his bedroom door. His parents didn't talk amongst themselves very much, but he could hear them moving on the other side of the house. It would be more timely to wait until they had both fallen asleep, but his father locked his bedroom door at night and the window was too far from the ground to jump. So he would have to risk it while they were distracted with dinner.

Very slowly he opened his door and inched his way out into the hallway. Holding his boots in one hand he crept down the old, creaky stairs. Making sure not to step on the boards that made noise. Glancing into the kitchen he saw his mother at the stove and his father reading at the table. Thankfully neither had noticed him.

His parka hung on a hook in the doorway to the dining room, but there was no way he could get it without giving himself away. He cringed, remembering how cold it was outside. His gloves were with the parka too he realized with a grimace. He would just have to keep moving to keep himself warm.

Touching the cold doorknob he turned it slowly, opening it just enough to duck out before closing it just as silently behind him. Safely on the porch he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he slipped on his boots before turning to the yard.

There was over a foot of snow on the ground.

A storm must have hit while Toki was unconscious. He was good at moving in snow, but when it came up to his knees it would slow him down considerably. Not to mention his father could follow his tracks when he was discovered missing not too long from now.

Thinking quickly he scanned the porch for something that could help. There wasn't much aside from a few chairs, a table, empty flower pots, a snow shovel, and a decorative shield and sword set hanging near the door.

An idea struck Toki as he stood on one of the chairs and pulled the smooth shield down from its nail. As he did so the sword slipped loose as well and began to fall to the ground. With adrenaline fueled speed he reached down and grabbed the hilt an inch before the sword struck the icy wood.

Letting out a relieved breath he made to step down from the chair and promptly slipped on a patch of ice. The back of his head hit the frozen wood, making him see stars as the shield and sword clattered loudly to the ground.

Ignoring the pain and the spinning in his vision Toki scrambled to his feet, grabbed the shield and launched himself off the porch as the light from the front door poured onto the white.

The top of the snow was harder than he thought it was, allowing his makeshift toboggan to gain speed quickly as it barreled uncontrollably down the mountain. In the background he heard his fathers angry yells, but was too preoccupied to care. His fingers, already numb, clutched the edge of the round shield as the icy wind made his eyes water.

It would probably be safer if he were to dig in his feet and slow his descent, but a voice in his head screamed 'I can't slow down., I can't hold back,' and ya know he wished he could. But if he were caught he would not survive another beating like the one he was still healing from. It was an absolute miracle that he didn't hit a rock or tree during his swift decline.

In a surprisingly short amount of time the snow began to thin and turn into frozen, icy ground before ending near the village he was in two days ago. His sled ground slowly against the hard dirt and Toki was on his feet and running before it came to a complete stop.

The main square was busy with its last minute patrons and restaurant goers, none of which paid him any heed as he sprinted through the streets. He had planned his escape from his house, but what to do now was the question.

Ducking down an alleyway and emerging on the other side he nearly got clothes-lined by a shelf of produce. Crouching underneath it out of the crowds eye, he caught his breath. What now?

Leaning his hands back to brace himself his fingers grazed something soft and fuzzy. Pulling away instinctively he thought it was a dead animal at first, but upon further inspection in the dim light he saw that it was a small stuffed bear with a forked tail. Picking it up he looked at its blank face and his eyes began to water for reasons that he couldn't exactly place. Holding the stuffed toy to his chest tightly he began to sob.

What was he thinking? There was no way he would be able to get out of this village alive, and if he did there was a good chance he would freeze to death before the night was over. Slowly he sank further into hopelessness for several long moments until the door to the nearby shop opened.

Before Toki was aware of his surroundings a strong pair of arms picked him up an carried him into the warm shop. When his eyes adjusted to the light he recognized the person before him. It was the shop owner, Boris. Toki had done some work for him earlier in the season. "What in the Gods names are you doing out there at this hour? Where is your coat?"

Toki turned his head to hide his black eye, but said nothing. He would be sent back to his father for sure now, and the thought brought new tears to his eyes, stinging his swollen cheek as they flowed. "The Reverend did this to you, didn't he Toki?" The old mans voice sounded quiet and concerned. Not a tone the boy was accustomed to hearing. Slowly, he nodded. "And you ran away?" He nodded again. "What were you thinking? I mean I can imagine the reason you're running away but do you have a plan to get further than the village?"

Toki sniffled. "No." He held the bear tighter to his chest.

Boris paused for a long moment, thinking to himself before he spoke again. "Toki, look at me." He turned his good eye to the shop owner. "I saw how you tried to defend that woman the other day. That was very brave of you." Toki's eye widened. Nobody had complemented him on his actions before. "Go in the back room and grab a first aid kit and whatever food you can fit in your bag. There's a truck headed to Oslo in an hour and I'll be damned if you're not on it."

Toki's jaw dropped. This man he barely knew was going to risk the Reverend's wrath to help him? "But...I..." He stammered.

"Well don't just gawk at me, go!"

Toki nodded and dashed into the storage closet. Grabbing a small first aid kit first before turning his attention to some jerky, a few apples, crackers, granola bars, a bottle of goats milk, a block of cheese, and a handful of hard candy. When he returned to the main room he found Boris going through his closet. "Here." He said handing Toki a parka two sizes too big and a pair of gloves that were equally as awkward. "Sorry, but its better than nothing. C'mon, lets get you out of here." He said as they hurried out the door.

A few moments later Toki was being helped up into the back of a large box truck. Nestling himself into a corner he wrapped his oversized parka around himself tightly. "Thank you." He whispered to Boris as the doors were sealed shut.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Skwisgaar finished his delivery rounds early and turned to head back to the brothel. Perhaps he could catch Merit in between Johns and ask her opinion on the matter of leaving Stockholm. It would be good to travel a bit and see the rest of Scandinavia, if not Europe. Not to mention the extra money would be a plus.

And then there were the groupies.

The guitarist was young but he was no stranger to sex. Normally he would have to make his delivery rounds after a gig, but on the few nights he had a break he was able to enjoy the perks of being in music. It was really something he could get use to. The best perk of all would be that he would be far away from his mother. That was the driving force in his decision.

Still he would ask Merits opinion when he saw her.

Rounding the corner he bumped into a thin, stoned looking man who seemed to be in too much of a hurry to acknowledge him. "Watch where you're going, Dildo!" Skwisgaar yelled, flipping him off as he disappeared behind a corner.

Dusting off his jacket he felt something wet against his hand, holding it up into the street light he saw his fingers glistening with blood. Checking himself quickly he found it only on the outside of his black jacket. It wasn't his.

A scream from the direction of the brothel brought him out of his thoughts. Before he realized it he was sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him. When he got to the house he took the front steps three at a time and barreled through the door. Gasping he yelled, "What happened?!"

The Matron came up to him, shot gun in her hands, her face white with horror. "Don't go in there, Skwisgaar." She whispered.

"Why?" He ordered. "Tell me what happened!"

"Don't worry its not Serveta." The Matron said in what he assumed was supposed to be reassurance.

"I don't give a fuck if its her!" He got right in her face. "What!? Happened!?"

The Matrons eyes were wide with fear as the gun in her hands trembled. "Merit..." She whispered. "Skwisgaar don't go in there!" She yelled as he tore off down the hall to Merits room. In the hallway there were several horrified woman, crying into each others shoulders. Throwing open her door he choked on his breath at the sight.

Merit lay naked in her blood stained bed, her throat slashed ear to ear. Her wine colored eyes stared silently back at him as the drying blood plastered her hair to the side of her pale face.

Skwisgaar was suddenly and violently ill.

When he finished emptying his stomach into the trash bin he stormed back out of the room to the Matron. "Who was her John?" He seethed with almost unnatural calm.

Swallowing hard, she checked her books. "Vendel Birkl." She said. "I knew there was something wrong with him." She began to sob. "He looked high as a kite when he walked in the door, but he paid double up front and...oh Skwisgaar I'm so sorry."

Vendel, Skwisgaar thought. He had seen that name before.

Placing his guitar down behind the counter he turned and vanished once again out the front door before Matron could say another word.

Moments later he was at the doorstep of his dealer, panting from the run. When he caught his breath and gathered himself he knocked three times. The door cracked open and he whispered the password "Oberon sent me" before it swung open the rest of the way. Nodding to the door guard he made a b-line to the meth lab where he found Gustav, the house leader overlooking production. He was wearing an air filter over his face.

Casually he walked up to the dealer, trying his best not to inhale the vapors. "Hey Gustav, got any new product lately? I've got a customer asking for something stronger." He asked before pulling his shirt up over his nose and mouth.

Gustav said nothing as he reached behind him and picked up a pinch of crystals up with a tongue depressor and placed them in a pouch before handing them to Skwisgaar. "Thanks boss. Oh, and do you remember the address of Vendel Birkl? He owes me for last nights delivery at the bar and a friend of his says he's hiding at his old house." Again without speaking, the large drug lord pulled out a small black book and flipped the pages before pointing to an address. "Great. See you tomorrow night." He said casually before exiting the room.

A short while later, Skwisgaar was knocking on the door of a small building that should have been long condemned. When nobody answered he knocked again before he heard some movement inside. When the door opened, Skwisgaar tried not to look like death incarnate as the man he bumped into earlier stood in the doorway. This was the man who had killed Merit.

The guitarist tried to ignore the blood under the mans finger nails as he tapped them against the door frame. "What do you want kid?" He asked angrily. His expression changed however when Skwisgaar held up a small bag of crystals.

"Boss has a new flavor on the market and I've been told to give out samples to our best customers, but if you're having a bad night I can come back some other ti-"

"No no no, that's fine." Vendel interrupted, suddenly very friendly. "Come in, come in."

Like he usually did during a deal, Skwisgaar handed the man the small pouch and stood aside as he dumped the contents on a mirror and began to crush it up with the back of a spoon. "Have a rough night?" Skwisgaar asked, as his gloved fingers slid around a warped pool stick that leaned against the scratched-to-shit billiard table. He held it in his hands, finding the balance and heft appropriate.

Rolling up a bill, Vendel snorted a line and leaned his head back to feel the rush. "Yeah." Sniff. "Had some bad luck with this whore."

"Do tell." He said as he inched forward behind the man, stick gripped tightly in both hands. His eyes burned with blue, icy, fire. "How's the ice?"

"It's some good shit man." He bent over the mirror to take another sniff. "How much does this stuff co-"

The thick end of the stick splintered at it made contact with the back of Vendels head, mashing his face into the mirror which shattered into a thousand pieces.

Bringing it down a few final times before tossing what was left of the stick to the side, Skwisgaar turned heel and left the building. Somehow he imagined taking a life would feel more brutal, more cold, more...intense.

It didn't.

Knowing the habits of a meth-head, nobody would think twice of not seeing Vendel for several days. By the time anyone found his body and collapsed scull, Skwisgaar would be long gone. On tour with the rest of his band.

*

*

Oh no there ain't no rest for the wicked. Until we close our eyes for good.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

DONE!

Sadly no slash in this one, but perhaps if I get enough reviews I'll turn this into a series that leads up to some.

I must give credit to my own mother, Nancy for singing that pumpkin song to me as a child, and credit to Cage The Elephant for Aint No Rest For The Wicked lyrics that are scattered about the story.

Reviews = Brutal Love