Deathbed Confessions of the Criminally Insane

by Jack Steen

  You don’t mind, do you?

  I can gloss over some of the details, right?

  Baby doesn’t need to hear about all the bad things those men did when I was only a child.

  Children need to be protected, Jack.

  It’s our duty, as parents to do everything we can to protect our children.

  My father…he tried. He really did.

  He tried by building me that well.

  He tried by locking me in my room.

  He tried by doing everything he could to keep me alive.

  My Daddy loved me.

  I know he did, Jack. I know he did.

  Not every parent is perfect. It wasn’t his fault that he had to hurt me too. It was that or be killed. Both of us.

  If you had to choose…what choice would you make? Or would it be a choice?

  Hurt your daughter or kill her?

  There is no choice, is there?

  You do everything you can to keep her alive.

  That’s all my Daddy did.

  Jack, make me a promise, please.

  These memories…they’re bad. Bad memories that hurt me.

  Once I’m done, once I’ve told you everything…make the memories stop.

  Please?

  The moment I close my eyes, then it’s your job to protect me.

  Take the memories away. Let me go be with my babies. That was our deal and I know you’ll keep our deal.

  I love you, Jack. I love you.

  8

  BUCKET:

  * * *

  I was pregnant by the time I was sixteen.

  We still lived in that country house in the middle of nowhere.

  The field was still full of wildflowers but we’d managed a small vegetable garden to live off as well. The woods no longer scared me, instead, it was my place of comfort, my safety net, my security blanket.

  I spent a lot of time in those woods. I knew the best hiding spots, the best trees to read in, where the mushrooms grew and where the animal dens were kept.

  Those woods were more home to me than the house I grew up in.

  I grew up faster than most kids my age, I think while at the same time remaining more naive and innocent than I should have been.

  I never went to school.

  Never had friends my own age.

  Never spoke much to people when I headed into town with Daddy.

  I remained quiet. Hidden in the shadows. I did as I was told and nothing more.

  The only place I could be me, the real me, was in the woods.

  I still visited the well.

  I no longer slept in it but I would go there and pretend that my life was different.

  I would pretend my life was like a fairytale. Where I lived in the woods and was cared for by the animals. I knew how to read, so I could climb down into the well and read all day, coming out only when it was getting dark and I had to make dinner for Daddy.

  That was my life now.

  I cooked and cleaned as best I could.

  I helped him repair our home.

  I made sure our visitors remained…happy.

  My life wasn’t threatened anymore. I became complacent, accepting that this was my life.

  This was normal, right? It’s how everyone else lived too.

  I would see families in town during our errand runs and I’d wonder if the daddies I saw loved their little girls as much as mine did.

  Daddy said no one loved his daughter more than him. That no one else could understand the love we had for each other.

  I believed him. Why wouldn’t I?

  When we first realized I was pregnant, I wasn’t allowed to leave the house. Daddy said it was important that no one know, that we keep it a secret.

  I didn’t understand but I also didn’t argue.

  Daddy’s visitors came when I was still in my first trimester. We pretended I was ill with the flu and they stayed away from me.

  The second time they came, Daddy was in town and ran out to the well where I hid. It was a surprise they didn’t stay but when Daddy came home, he told me the police were searching for someone and he assumed it was his friends. They knew to stay away. I didn’t understand how they knew but Daddy said it wasn’t for me to worry about.

  The third time they came…that was the day my baby knew it wasn’t safe.

  9

  Bucket to Jack:

  * * *

  I believe babies know, even before birth, whether they are safe.

  Do you believe that, Jack?

  I think they know and understand more than we assume.

  My babies always talk to me.

  I’m sure if you were to ask any mother, they’d say the same thing.

  There’s an instant bond, a connection between the baby you carry in your womb and yourself.

  It’s as if they can feel your emotions and you feel theirs.

  They talk to me.

  They listen to my stories.

  They tell me their own.

  Oh yes, it’s true, Jack. Even in the womb, they have stories to tell. You just need to listen. Sadly, many don’t listen.

  When the first pain of birth started, I heard my baby ask if it was safe to come out.

  Daddy was on the front porch with one of the men who liked to show up in the middle of the night. He told me it wasn’t safe to come down, to make a sound and so I told my baby that too.

  I think that’s why when she came out of my body, she was so quiet.

  She knew it wasn’t safe.

  My first baby.

  She’s the one I miss the most.

  10

  BUCKET:

  * * *

  No one warned me what childbirth was like.

  Daddy tried to tell me, how my mother labored for hours with me, how the pain ripped through her body and the amount of pain she’d been in.

  It wasn’t like that for me.

  Yes, it was painful.

  Waves of pain tore through my body over and over again.

  Tears streaked down my face as I screamed into a wadded cloth I bit down on.

  I thought I was going to die until the moment she slid out of me and I heard her tiny cry.

  I gathered her in my arms, cradled tight to my chest and wrapped her in a blanket I’d made myself.

  The smile on her face was beautiful. Life changing. The wonder in her eyes as she stared up at me confirmed everything within my soul.

  I was born to be a mother.

  As I sat there, with her in my arms, I could hear my father fighting with the man on the porch. Bottles smashed against the steps. I listened to them fight and remembered the words my Daddy used to say.

  It was a parents responsibility to protect their children.

  I was now a parent. I now had responsibilities.

  It took a long time, but I managed to make it to the well, where I knew both my baby and I would be safe.

  I heard shouting behind me. I rushed as fast as I could to the well, careful to not trip while holding my new baby.

  My legs collapsed when we reached my safety spot. I tried to stand, to reach the ladder so we could climb down, but I was so weak, my legs wouldn’t listen.

  My baby whimpered against me.

  “I’m going to keep you safe.” I whispered as I gently kissed her brow.

  The shouting became louder and I knew they’d find me soon.

  My bucket was still there and I knew right away what I could do.

  My father used to lower me into the well to protect me.

  I would do the same.

  By the time Daddy ran into the opening and saw me, I’d lowered my baby into the well and managed to close the lid on the opening.

  I don’t remember much after that.

  I remember Daddy running towards me.

  I remember the man running after him.

  I remember watching them through a fog. Everything slowed down until all I heard was my baby, her whimpers, crying out to me.

  I knew my Daddy was ye
lling at me, to me, but his words, they were garbled, didn’t make sense. It was like I was hearing him beneath the water in my tub, trying to down out all the noise.

  Daddy reached me moments before the man did.

  The man stopped and pulled out a gun.

  He pointed it at me.

  Daddy pulled me to my feet. I remember the way he looked at me, concern in his eyes, worry on his face…and then he said he was sorry.

  I tried to tell him my baby was in the well but he wouldn’t listen to me.

  No one listened to me.

  Not when they dragged me back to the house.

  Not when I as forced to sit on the couch for hours while Daddy had to run into town for a quick errand.

  Not when I was curled up on that couch in so much pain…

  No one listened to me.

  I tried to leave, so many times, to go get my baby, but he wouldn’t let me. He kept waving his gun at me, sticking it in my face, hitting my body with it over and over.

  He called me a filthy whore, a slut…and a lot of other things.

  I don’t know how long I was stuck there, in that room with that man forcing me to stay on the couch. I couldn’t even go to the washroom. One minute I was curled up in a ball, clutching my belly, crying for my Daddy to come back and save us and then next I knew I was in my bed, covered by a warm blanket, a strange woman at my side.

  Daddy gave me a look. The one that said not to make a sound, so I stuffed all my words deep inside of me.

  I knew he was worried. I could see the fear and concern in his eyes.

  The woman scolded him for the bruises on my face and for leaving me in such a mess.

  She was old, with grey hair and wrinkles all over her face but her hands were gentle. They massages my muscles, my stomach, touched the areas where I was so sore with a lot of care.

  She cleaned me up. She told me I would be okay, that she’d had a lot of babies and knew the pain of losing one.

  I wanted to say I didn’t lose my baby but Daddy’s lips tightened and he shook his head.

  I didn’t understand what was going on but I trusted Daddy.

  When the woman left, Daddy carried me to the well.

  While he carried me, he told me things. Things like I was brave and smart, that he knew I was trying to protect our baby, that I was the best mother because of what I’d done. He told me that my baby knew how much I’d loved her and that he loved me and would always love me.

  He held me while telling me that the well must always remain our safe place from now on. That it was the only place we would ever truly be safe.

  He held me as I found a large rock, larger than my fist and with his knife, I etched a crude heart on its surface.

  He held me as we said a prayer for the baby that had died in the well.

  My first baby and I killed her when all I’d wanted to do was protect her.

  Daddy said it wasn’t my fault, that it was his. He was sorry for not being strong enough to fight back against the man who was here, for not being smart enough to take us away from the men in his life. He was sorry for all the horrible things that happened to me because of his weakness.

  We cried together that night. We stayed by the well until dawn, until I couldn’t cry anymore, until I was able to promise I’d never breathe a word to anyone about my baby and what happened.

  11

  BUCKET TO JACK:

  * * *

  You’re the first person I’ve told that story to, Jack.

  The first one to hear about my baby. My first baby.

  I kept my promise to Daddy all these years.

  I never breathed a word.

  Not to anyone.

  I had to confess about my last baby, because a police officer had been the one to find me at the well, with the rope in my hands.

  The same police officer had climbed down that well and found all my other babies and even though I never told them, I never confessed…it was like they knew all my secrets anyways.

  Do you know how many babies were in that well, Jack?

  How many babies I’d saved from being hurt? From going through the pain I was forced to endure?

  I’d protected them all.

  I was the best mother I knew to be.

  My Daddy was proud of me. So very very proud. He tells me all the time. Even now…he’s waiting for me, Jack. Waiting for me to die so we can be together again.

  He forgave me, you know? Forgave me for what I’d done to him.

  He said it wasn’t my fault that he died.

  It wasn’t my fault I killed him.

  I was only trying to protect my baby.

  Like any mother would.

  12

  BUCKET:

  * * *

  I used to wonder what it would be like to have friends.

  Would they be like the men that came to the house to visit Daddy? The ones he said were his friends from back in the day? If so, maybe it was good that I didn’t have any friends of my own.

  I didn’t like his friends.

  They tried to love me, like Daddy did, but their love hurt.

  It hurt a lot.

  Daddy was the only one who’s love was gentle and kind. He was the only one who made me feel safe.

  I know now that Daddy’s love was wrong. I learned that by being here, in this place. But then, at the time, it’s the only thing I knew.

  You have to understand…I was sheltered. I didn’t talk to anyone. Didn’t read the papers, listen to the news, didn’t watch television.

  I didn’t know better. I didn’t know that what he was doing to me was wrong.

  I’m still not sure it was.

  How can a love between two people be so evil?

  If I ever had someone who might have been a friend, it was the lady who lived down the road, the one Daddy brought to the house to take care of me after my first baby was born.

  She would come by a few times a year, just to check up on me, see how I was doing. A few times she came to help me bring my babies into the world. She never asked what happened to them afterwards, never wondered why there were no little ones running around when she came for a visit.

  I used to tell her they were sleeping.

  I’m not sure if she believed me or not, but she would only nod and hand me whatever it was she’d made for me to eat.

  She gave me a few recipes once. Even a recipe book that she’d had for years. She even bookmarked a few that would make great recipes for baby food.

  She was kind.

  The last time I saw her was in the courtroom before I was placed in here. She was asked to testify against me but the words she’d used, the things she’d said…they were all about me, for me, not against me.

  She talked about how I loved my children. How I did all I could to be the best mother possible and that it wasn’t my fault I knew no better.

  If I had a friend, it would be her.

  My second baby was ill. I knew it the moment I realized I was pregnant again.

  He didn’t talk to me much, which was the first sign.

  When he did, he told me of the pain he felt, how things weren’t right and how scared he was.

  He was born in the middle of the night.

  He woke me up with a sharp kick and told me it was time. He also told me he loved me.

  Some births take forever. My fifth baby didn’t want to come out and took over three days, but this one…he was so small, that within the hour of waking me up, he slid from me with only two pushes.

  Daddy caught him in his hands as I squatted on the floor.

  He was so tiny. Daddy held him with one hand.

  He also wasn’t well. Daddy’s eyes were sad as he held my baby. He wrapped him up in one of his shirts and placed him in my arms.

  Daddy told me that we couldn’t keep him, that he was too sick.

  One look and I understood.

  I still loved him. I will always love him. I wasn’t shocked at what I saw, he did warn me after all while he w
as in my belly.

  His head was so tiny and he didn’t have any eyes. He had one regular arm and one arm that was half the size and only three fingers.

  Daddy said he wasn’t meant to be born.

  I think it was because of the medicine I’d been on when he was in my belly.

  Daddy had come home one day with this medicine that he said would help me. I wasn’t sure what the help was for, but I took it. It made me so sick for the longest time, with sharp pains in my belly that wouldn’t go away and I think that’s what hurt my baby.

  I held him in my arms, sung him a lullaby as he stopped breathing.

  I don’t think he wanted to be born. I remember him telling me how sad he was.

  Babies shouldn’t be that sad.

  I didn’t want him to be alone so I held him for the longest time, even when he went stiff and cold.

  When I was ready, Daddy carried me to the well where we created another marker, placing it beside the first one.

  This time, Daddy carved the heart on the stone.

  Daddy wanted to bury my baby in the dirt, but I knew the animals would dig him up if they knew he was there. So we lowered him into the well so he could be with his sister.

  I always hated how my first baby was alone in that well. She was so cold and had to be so scared. But not anymore.

  Now she had her brother and they would keep each other company.

  We stayed there for a little while. I read my babies stories, told them how they needed to take care of each other now, and promised I’d come back to visit.

  I keep my promise too.

  Every day I would go back there.

  Every day I would take a lunch and share it with my babies. I’d read them stories, sing them songs and be the best mommy that I could.

  Eventually four of my babies lived in that well.

  Sometimes I would climb down and hold them. I made sure they stayed warm, kept them wrapped in warm blankets.

  Daddy wouldn’t let me keep any of my babies.

  He said that it wasn’t safe for them. That it wasn’t safe for us.