HeatMarie

Brushing dirt off the book’s cover, a pulsating pain radiated from my knuckles. It was an accident, an automatic reaction, nothing more. You are not like him. The words were easy enough to think, but nearly impossible to believe. Trying to convince myself of their truth was nothing more than a worthless effort that created images of bone clashing with bone and the many times behind closed doors when Frank did the same to me. Only this time, it was my fist, my sister’s face. I promised myself I would never be like him, and I wanted to take back what I did. But I couldn’t even bring myself to apologize. It’s not like she gave me the opportunity. 

Watching daddy’s little Angel run down the hill, there was no doubt in my mind that she was going straight home to tell Frank everything. Well, her version of it, at least. She would profess her innocence and making it known that everything was my fault. I wish I could say there was no telling what kind of trouble I was in. But that’s a lie. I knew all too well how bad it was going to get. 

Frustration escaped my lips and, with a groan, I shoved the book into the bag then threw it against the pole. Millions of thoughts were racing through my mind. I was angry, terrified, and pissed at myself for not controlling my emotions.

Flopping onto the swing, I glided my feet across the dirt, watching my shoes leave trails in the sand and doing my best to do what I should have done ten minutes before, control my emotions. There was always one thing that worked—Grams and all her stories. My favorite one was that of the same book I was reading: an interesting dark love story written about a woman locked away from the world. She told it to me so often that I remember her voice, her expressions, everything that made her a great storyteller. The way she told it was different from the book, and in my opinion a much better version.

The story of Lector Lucious and Eleanor was more than just a story, it was one of the many legends. Small towns have nothing better to do than gossip over the past, and yet, everyone had a different way of telling it. 

Every night I spent with Grams, she would tuck me into bed and tell me the story of Lector Lucious and the mansion that he built for his true love. Lucious was a jealous man, and when he heard that his love was falling for someone else, he became full of rage. Some people argue that he wasn’t a man. They said he was a demon, or the devil himself. Grams never said which she believed. Instead, when I asked if Lector was a demon, she said, “It doesn’t matter what he was, evil is evil.” 

Legends have a funny effect on people. The stories of the mansion always made me curious. I wanted to know if it really was the size of a castle with magical carvings on wooden banisters. When I asked Grams to take me up to see it, fear glazed her eyes. “Don’t you ever go up there, Haley Lynn. Don’t you ever even THINK about going up there! Not even in your dreams. Nothing good waits for you up there. Hear me?”

I shrank back in the bed, pulling the covers up to my neck, and just nodded. She let out a soft sigh, apologized for her anger, and said, “I didn’t mean to scare you. But please promise me you will stay away. Promise me you will never go up there.”

“I promise,” I said to her.

“Good girl, love you to the moon. Now dream sweet, my darlin’.” She kissed me on the forehead and turned off the lights. Sitting in the dark, I questioned why she got so angry, and a part of me really believed that an evil monster lived up there. After that night, I never asked to go see the mansion.

 It was my sophomore year of high school that I learned Gram’s was right. Nothing good comes from trying to get in there. Angel and her friends tried to break into the mansion. The caretaker, who does his job extremely well, had them escorted off the property before they even got the big black gate opened. 

Shaking the memories, my attention was drawn to the dark clouds that were creeping in. For a moment, I thought about running away, taking the little bit of money I had saved, and never going back. I wanted to. In fact, I’ve always wanted to leave that stupid town and never look back. I even tried once when I was seven. When I ran, I ran to Grams’ farm and begged her to let me stay. She just held me tight as both of us cried.

The next morning, Frank picked me up. He was cordial, using his manners and even hugging me and kissing me on the head. He told me he missed me. All in front of Grams, of course.

His mood changed as soon as the car doors were closed. Hate seeped from his pores with the smell of good ol’ Jack and hot oil. He never turned around and never looked into the rearview mirror. I used it to watch his dead eyes that never strayed from the road. He put his car in drive and said, “If you ever, and I mean ever, even think about doing something like this again, you will pay for it! The entire family will pay. You think what I have done to you is horrible? Just you wait, Haley Lynn, you don’t have the first idea what horrible is. But you will. You love your Grams? Your sister? Brother? Yeah? All of them will pay for what you do. Remember that.” 

From then on, every time he saw that look in my eyes; that look that said, “I’m done, I’m leaving, I’m telling the world.” all he would have to say is, “Remember what I told you.” And that would be the end.

That is why I loved the story of Eleanor, not only because I can hear Grams’ voice when I think of it, but more so because I resonated with the feeling of being locked away from the rest of the world. She wanted to be free of her abusive husband, and I wanted to be free from my abusive father. Yet, neither of us made it very far.

Angel and her friends finally made it down the hill and passed Billy’s Bakery, whose door was constantly opening and closing. Parents and high school seniors were walking in and coming out with their big white boxes that I’m sure inside held a cake that said, “Congratulations Grad!” They all would say the same thing, with the same green and white ribbons of icing around the edges.

There is no way I can go home, I thought as I continued to watch her. My stomach filled with acid and dread. It was a while longer that I sat nauseously on the swing, knowing there was nowhere else for me to go. 

The ambiance that had once been peaceful and full of solitude before Angel showed up made its final change as thunder softly rumbled in the sky. Raindrops began to fall as I stood from the swing and began the longest walk home. The smell of acid pavement filled the air, and it was without a doubt that I knew a storm was brewing and there was going to be hell to pay. 

Reaching the edge of the park’s forest, a loud clash of thunder interrupted my thoughts. The rain poured, soaking me to the bone, and a loud sound of branches breaking came from behind me. I stopped, frozen, and contemplated turning around to take a look. Growling echoed with the thunder. Whatever it was, it sounded big. Slowly I turned, frightened that whatever was hiding in the bushes would jump out and attack me if I moved too quickly. I stared, watching it, and nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. It’s just the wind, I told myself, before turning back around.

A head filled with monsters and the darkness of a storm makes it easy to feel like something is watching you, stalking you from shadows, lurking behind every bush and hiding itself within the line of trees. The dark and evil just watch, waiting for the right moment to attack. It’s just your imagination, Haley. Stop it!

Turning off the thoughts of monsters, I switched my focus to the squishing of my shoes, finding a rhythm with each step. Counting: one; one, two; one, two, three; one, two, three, four… It didn’t matter how high of a number I got, I always went back to one.

The counting stopped as I reached the bottom of the stone stairs that led up to Frank’s door. My body felt drained, weak, and incapable of climbing the few tiny steps. Water dripped from the handrail as I clenched my hand around it. Each step felt like a climb up to a gallow. The door was the noose to hold my neck.

“See, I told you, you could do it.” I said as I stepped onto the porch and let out a small uncertain laugh, which turned into a silent scream as a large black shadow flew in front of me. The wind from its wings felt like the cold, grasping hands of death. 

“CAW!” it screamed as it perched itself on the lamp next to the door.

“You scared me!” I said. Talking to birds or any animal really is just my nature, a natural habit that some find extremely strange.

The black crow answered back with another screeching caw. Its beady black eyes watched me intently as I shifted uncomfortably from its dark gaze. I tossed my hands up to shoo the pesky bird away from the door. He didn’t move.

I tried again with a feverish attempt. Still, he didn’t move. “You’re going to get us both in trouble!” I whispered. He tilted his head from side to side, taking in the words that I was speaking, yet clearly deciding he was better off where he stood. “You need to leave! Frank doesn’t like birds on his porch. He will kill you if he finds you.” The stupid thing took his beak and pecked at the side of the door frame. “Seriously?” I said. It did again. “Fine suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Slowly, my wet hand turned the doorknob, the other pressed against the center of the door to steady it. I hoped that if I could get in without being noticed, I could walk right up to my room and avoid all confrontations until the morning. At least then Frank would be too hung-over from his Friday night drinking to give a damn.

The hushed creaking of the door sounded like a piercing cry and that damn bird flew right past me and right into the house.

 “Shit!”

 “Who let this fucker in?” Frank bellowed from the kitchen before I even closed the door.

Quietly, I tiptoed my way to the stairs, putting a foot on the first step. I felt Frank’s dead stare piercing into the back of my head. I didn’t look up, but I could hear his heavy footsteps making their way across the wooden floor. Gulping in fear, I felt myself shrinking, curling my shoulders forward, making myself small, so small that he wouldn’t be able to see me. I stepped up to the second stair. The thought crossed my mind that if I was far enough up the stairs by the time he got there, he would be too lazy to come after me. 

“I should have known it was you,” he snarled. His warm breath lingered on the back of my neck and before it was gone, his hand grabbed onto my hair and forced me back down the stairs. 

Booze was all I could smell while being dragged through the archway that opened up to the dining room. White dinner plates still sat on the table, their food half eaten. Lisa and Angel were screaming as the bird flew around their heads.

“Look what you’ve done!” He grabbed my face, pinching my cheeks as hard as he could. I didn’t know if he was talking about the bird or Angel’s broken nose and black eye. Perhaps it was about the entire scene in front of me. Regardless, the pressure of his fingers had the skin of my cheeks pressing into my teeth, and the pain was all I could focus on.

“You’re hurting me, Frank,” I said.

“What did you call me?”

I said nothing. My body was trembling. I could smell the flavor of the whiskey on his breath. It was another Jack and Coke night, and Jack and Frank do not get along. Something about the combination of the two turned Frank into an even more terrifying monster. I closed my eyes tight as his fingers lifted from my face and I felt the force of his hand before he slapped me.

“It’s father to you, bastard child!”

I opened my eyes and forced back the tears to keep them from falling. The black crow flew down from the ceiling with its talons out and clawed Frank across the face. It was as though the thing was on my side. I smiled.

“You think that shit is funny?” he said. 

“N-no.” 

The room fell silent for a moment before the bird swooped back into the dining room. Angel and Lisa got up screaming and ran upstairs. In the distance, I heard the slamming of a door.

 Johnny jumped from the chair and tried to catch it, but his little three-year-old hands were no match for the bird. It dropped to the floor before coming back up at Frank, who caught it with one hand. For a drunk, he had amazing coordination. The bird began struggling and cried out as Frank slowly squeezed it.

“Thought you could bring home a friend, huh?” He held the bird up to my face. It screamed one last time before I heard the cracking of its neck. 

“NO!” I screamed. “You’re a monster!”

He dropped the dead bird to the floor and stepped closer to me. Without another word, he threw his fist straight back and right into my nose. Again, for the millionth time in my life, blood came spilling out and into my hands.

With slurred speech, Frank said, “Maybe that’ll teach ya ta keep your mouth shut!” His eyes filled with disgust. To him, I was nothing but an annoyance, a pest, like a parasite that lived to eat away his money and soul.

I wanted to cry. 

I wanted to cry for the loss of a soul that I felt I caused, for the pain of a broken nose, and for the look in the man’s eyes who claimed to be my father. However, I had learned over the years he would only look at me and say, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get up and stop crying like a little pussy.” That’s just how it was. I wished he cared for me like he did Angel, Dustin, and even little Johnny. But he didn’t, he never would.

Instead of bowing my head and covering my cheeks with tears, I stood up tall and looked him straight in the eyes. The taste of copper filled my mouth as blood rushed over my lips. “Highly doubt it. I haven’t learned yet. You might be my father, after all.”

He threw his big, fat, boulder hands onto my shoulders and pushed hard.

Colliding with the wall behind me, my head smashed against the edge of a large picture frame. It held a portrait of Frank’s family. Lisa, Dustin, Angel, Johnny, and himself. Everyone was included, everyone but me. At least now my blood can stain the portrait. It’ll be like I have been there all along.

The world spun, my knees gave out, and I slid to the floor. Reaching my hand to the back of my head, I felt the ooze of blood that was dripping down my neck, staining my pale, white, delicate skin.

“How abou’ now, Haley Lynn, have ya learned your lesson? No? Then tell me when.” His metal-toed boots stung as they kicked me first at my side, then in my stomach. Rolling onto my side, I curled into a tiny ball, wrapping my arms around my legs, and then around my head when his boot changed its position. I felt pathetic, weak. An 18-year-old girl curled up in a ball like a baby.

Each kick had more power behind it. It was like he never grew tired and just couldn’t get enough. It was like he actually enjoyed every moment of it. 

I did my best to turn my back on him. I went from laying on my side to forcing myself onto my knees and placing my hands behind my neck like I was in the middle of a tornado drill. His boot crushed down in the middle of my back, pushing down harder and harder, squashing me like the little bug he thought I was. I wondered if ants felt that way when a giant shoe came crushing down on them. Were they filled with fear and hopelessness, knowing all they could do was wait for their death?

Even if he gave me time to answer his pathetic question, I wouldn’t have. I would not have given him the pleasure or satisfaction in thinking he had won; that again, he was right because he was always right. This time, even if it meant my death, he was going to learn that he was the one who was wrong.

My vision blurred. I didn’t need to see, to know that Lisa, my mother, the woman who gave me life, came back down the stairs after running from a goddamn bird and watched from the archway as my Frank beat the life out of me. Just watching with her mouth open, unable to care enough to stop Frank. Johnny was jumping around, imitating the old fat man as though he were a wrestler. Angel never left her room, even though she could hear everything that was happening.

My brain lost focus on what was going on around me. Everything was going black and for a moment, only a split moment, I felt a rush of panic as death creeped in around me. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to plead and apologize, but my voice was broken, my body was too weak to lift even a finger off the ground, and my motor skills were useless. For years, it seemed like I lay on the cold wooden floor with his boots jabbing into me. The pain lessened as the blurriness changed to utter darkness.

Somehow, my body became weaker. The sounds of Frank and my brother grew muffled, like I was swimming at the bottom of an ocean. My mind became quiet. Then there was silence.

The sound of the front door opening pulled me back to consciousness. I couldn’t see, but again, I was aware of what was going on.

“What’s so funny, little guy?” Dustin asked.

Hearing his voice, I thought, Dustin, please don’t! Please go. I am almost gone. Just let him kill me, let me be free of this dreadful, disgusting thing I have had to call life.

Frank stopped kicking me, and so did all the sounds. Even little Johnny ceased to make noise, which never happened.

Dustin flopped his arms around me and turned me onto my back, then pulled me in close. “Call for help!” He screamed. “Haley, Haley, open your eyes. Haley! Open your eyes!” 

On his command, I did. They were heavy and impossible to keep open. Forcing my eyes on his, I hoped that if he saw the soullessness that Frank, my own father, created that maybe he would understand, he would just let me be.

Tears streamed down his face and fell onto my cheek. “Good, now stay with me, Hal. Help is coming, okay? No, no. Haley, you have to keep your eyes open! Haley, don’t leave me, HALEY!” His pleading voice echoed inside my head as the world began to spin and spin, round and round in circles as I went. I could still feel him pulling me in tighter. Peace finally came as Dustin’s echoed voice stopped and my last thought emerged, “God, please let me be dead.”