Martin smiled, while his hands massaged the backs of his daughters. Valerie kept from cringing. The way her husband was staring at her gave her the creeps. He looked the way Jack Nicholson did in the The Shining.
“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here’? I live here. I’m home,” Martin said. He was smiling, and talking to his girls while he spoke. The looks on their faces changed, brightening. Then Martin stared challengingly at his wife.
“You’re home, Daddy? For real? You’re staying home?” Victoria said, wrapping her arms around her father’s neck. Her long hair covered most of Martin’s face.
Veronica parted her kid sister’s hair away from her father’s face. “You’re not kidding, Dad? You’re not teasing us? You’re coming back home to live?”
Someone had Valerie’s heart and was running it through a meat grinder. Still frozen in her stance on the stairs, she felt helpless and terrified. What kind of crap was Martin trying to pull? They were divorced. She did not want him in her house and she did not want him doing what he was doing to her children. It had been difficult enough for them the first time she threw the bum out on his ass. Now he was playing them, playing into the needs of all children. What child from a broken home would not jump at the chance at having their mom and dad back together?
“Mom?” Veronica, the oldest, asked. She gave Valerie such a hopeful look, there almost seemed no way out. Veronica was old enough to know that her father could not be telling the truth, but young enough to want to try and believe it. The girls wanted their father back. They wanted normality restored. They thought having their father back in the house would make things better, would make things right. Having Martin back would make things the way they once were, that was for sure. It would not make things better or right. Martin moving back in would make things worse. She could not allow that. She would not allow that.
“No, dear. No, honey. Your father is just teasing. He is not moving back in here.” She said this with conviction, and yet remained stuck like a statute on the stairs. She knew why she had not moved. She felt scared. He terrified her. This man was all muscle and if he wanted, he could inflict real damage on her body. If she thought he might harm her girls, Valerie would charge like a rabid bull. Thankfully, this was not the case. He genuinely appeared to love his daughters.
Victoria began to cry. She looked like she might be hugging Martin too tightly. Her arms, securely wrapped around his neck, had to be cutting off oxygen. The thought almost brought a smile to Valerie’s lips. However, the situation was too serious and Valerie recognized the potential danger. He was in the house. Getting Martin to leave would not be easy. Getting him to leave without becoming enraged might be utterly impossible.
Chapter 44
“Do you think I’m some kind of dumb asshole?” Felicia was standing. She had jumped to her feet so quickly and defiantly that she had knocked over her chair. Now she stood there with her hands rolled into fists and those fists planted firmly on her hips. She resembled a warrior, despite the gray sweatpants and white T-shirt attire. In one swift motion, she used her arm like a broom sweeping the stack of books off the table and onto the floor. “Do you really think you’re that much better than me? Get out of my house.”
“Felicia, you’re taking this wrong. You’re not letting me explain,” Michael protested calmly in his defense. “This has nothing to do with me thinking I’m better than you. I think I can help you, though. I want to help you study and earn your high school diploma.” He smiled certain Felicia would now see and understand where he was coming from.
“Get out of my house now, Michael!” Felicia looked angrier now than she had a moment ago.
Michael was not sure, but somehow he was going about this in the wrong way. He never envisioned this kind of response. Michael thought his proposition would have been the opportunity she had been waiting for. He refused to even stand up. “Don’t you see that I love you? I don’t care if you have a high school diploma or not.”
Felicia stood like a soldier, fists on her hips. “Oh no? Well you could have fooled me.” She kicked the books, scattering them. “First of all, you even thinking you’re in love with me is a joke. You think because I slept with you, I love you in return?” She forced out a grim laugh.
“It’s more than that,” Michael said calmly. He would not lose his patience, knowing she needed to attempt to prove him wrong and would use everything she had before even beginning to let him into her life.
She held onto the back of her chair in a white-knuckle grip. Then all at once, and seemingly out of no where, she slammed it back down. “You know what? I asked you to leave and I want you out of my house right now.”
Michael leaned back. “I want us to talk about this.”
“There is nothing to talk about and if you don’t move your ass, I’m going to whack you over the head with a frying pan.”
Michael could not help himself. A laugh escaped him and he lost his collective composure. Immediately he knew the damage caused by his lack of control and was not surprised as Felicia strode purposely past him. He heard a cupboard door open. Without turning around he knew she was fetching a frying pan. He told himself to keep cool and when she warned him again, not to laugh.
But there was no warning. A memory flashed like thunder through his mind. He had been five and riding a two-wheel bicycle for the first time. He lost his balance and was heading for the road. His mother, who had been running along side him, grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked. She kept him from rolling into the street, but did not have a strong hold and let him fall onto the driveway. His head banged the ground with such force, he had blacked out.
As he opened his eyes, expecting to see his mother, Michael was more than pleasantly surprised to see Felicia hovering over him. She looked terrified and concerned. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Michael. I didn’t want to hit you with the frying pan, really I didn’t.”
Closing his eyes, because it hurt too badly to keep them open, Michael managed to mumble. “I suppose I deserved it.” When Michael tried to sit up, he felt dizzy. He ran his hand along the back of his head. There was a bump, but he did not think he had bled any.
Felicia helped him to his feet. She had him in her arms. They stood like that for a minute, each taking the time to study the face of the other. Michael leaned forward and kissed her. “I’ll tell you what. Let me ask you three questions without you interrupting me. Let me get the questions out and then I’ll leave. All right?” When Felicia remained silent and continued to stare into his eyes, he asked, “Is it wrong of me to want to help you get your diploma? How about, if I love you, is it wrong that I don’t want you to be a prostitute anymore?” She continued to stare. She wanted to argue. He could see it in her eyes. He saw something else there, too, aside from the building need to bicker and banter. He saw a spark, as though he had made some kind of connection. “My last question: Even if you think you might like me a little, or even if you can’t stand the sight of me, isn’t it worth it for you to get out of your line of work?”
Michael pulled out of her arms, despite feeling suddenly cold, and knelt by the table. He gathered the books and set them in a neat stack on the table. “Just think about it,” he said and left.
Chapter 45
There was no alcohol in the house. Once Martin was out, Valerie had gotten rid of it all. At the time, nothing could have pleased her more than pouring the contents of his bottles down the kitchen sink drain. Never in her life did she imagine she might regret doing so. She tasted blood and knew her bottom lip was swelling, could feel it puffing up. “I’m okay kids. Why don’t you both go up to your rooms, all right?”
Veronica stood behind her kid sister, but held onto the child’s shoulders with a maternal-like grip. Veronica’s eyes were wide with fear. Valerie knew the children were frightened. They had never before witnessed this kind of behavior. Thankfully, Martin had only done this kind of thing when they were alone. Valerie always feared telling her girls the abusive truth. It would
have been so easy for her to explain to them how mean and rotten their father was. She could have turned the girls away from him in a heartbeat. Of course, it could have the reverse effect. Valerie’s girls might wind up resenting her for talking bad about their father. No longer would she need to worry. Veronica and Victoria, unfortunately, were seeing first hand the kind of freak their father truly was.
Before Martin struck again, Valerie pleaded with Veronica. “Please, take your sister with you upstairs.”
Victoria, crying, shook her head. “What about bowling?”
“Come on,” Veronica said. Valerie knew it was not easy for them to go upstairs. She knew Veronica wanted to help, but was too young and afraid to do anything. In a way, Valerie was thankful. She did not want Martin to focus any of his attention on the girls. He was off the wall, and whereas she had thought the children were safe from his delusional wrath, she no longer knew what to believe.
With the children safe upstairs, Valerie knew she had to act in order to gain some kind of control over the situation. “I’ll tell you what, Martin. Let me drop the girls off at bowling while you make yourself comfortable. On my way back, I’ll stop at the liquor store and pick up a new bottle for you?”
He nodded in agreement. “That sounds great. Wonderful.” When he slapped her again, she fell to her knees. Both nostrils were bleeding. “You take me for some kind of retarded jerk-off?” When he kicked her, the toe of his boot caught her in the Solar Plexus. The air rushed out of her lungs, and she gasped struggling to breathe. “You run out with the girls and I’ll relax on the sofa and wait for you to return.” He squatted down next to her, resembling a baseball catcher. “You’d return all right. You’d bring me a bottle of here’s-the-police!” He slapped her on the head, almost playfully, before grabbing a fistful of hair and bringing her back up to a standing position. “Guess what?”
Pain was coursing through her body. Her chest hurt from the kick and her heart beat so fast she feared it might explode. Her swollen lip throbbed. It felt as if blood was gushing from her nose. She could not think straight. She needed to get the girls out of the house, but had no idea how she might accomplish that. Right now she worried about his question, guess what, did he want an answer, or was it rhetorical?
Still holding that clump of hair near her forehead, Martin forcibly tipped her head back. Valerie felt tremendous pressure on her throat and swallowing became suddenly difficult. Through clenched teeth, with rancid breath and through a mist of spittle, Martin asked his wife one more time. “I said, ‘guess what’?”
“What?” Valerie managed. “What, Martin?”
“I have whiskey hidden in places you’re too dumb to have checked.” He discarded her, pushing her head away from him. He moved past her to the door leading to the basement. He opened the door, but did not descend down the steps. “Go fetch it for me, dear,” Martin said with a sneer.
Valerie caught sight of the girls from where she stood in the kitchen. She saw them through a crack in a partially closed bedroom door. They were frightened and watching. Valerie found the strength to smile. “Sure, Martin,” she said. Valerie knew the girls could see her and this would mean they could see all the blood. Their father had no idea what kinds of traumatic scarring he was causing in his daughters. And if he did have a clue, he did not give a damn about it.
Thankful to be out of her children’s line of sight, Valerie’s smile vanished. Martin said, “In the clothes locker, under the summer shorts and stuff, there’s a bottle. Bring it up.”
Valerie stood tentatively across from Martin and close to the basement door. She did not want to go into the basement. Bringing him a bottle of whiskey would be synonymous to asking him to stay and torment the family. Knowing this, however, was futile. What other options did she have? She moved sideways by him and started down the stairs. At the bottom of the staircase a naked bulb sat in a ceiling mounted fixture. The pull-string dangled. She tugged on it, and light lit the dank washroom.
She looked back up the stairs. Martin looked like a psycho, like a crazy man. He had his arms down straight, hands at his sides. He stood slouched forward, shoulders sagging. She noted his fingers. They worked like spider legs climbing his thighs without moving anywhere. It was the menacing smile, the twisted and contorted expression on his face that frightened her the most. His lips were stretched into a flat smile making them too thin looking to be lips. His left eye kept twitching, almost as if he were winking at her. Martin, clearly, had lost his mind.
“Go on, dear. Believe it or not, I haven’t got all day. Wait a minute. Yes, I do.” He let out a roaring laugh. “Because I’m not going anywhere!”
Swallowing hard, trying to fight off crying, Valerie moved deeper into the basement, past the washing machine and dryer. She walked between two laundry baskets and closer to the steel gray clothing cabinet. She opened the doors and ignored the musty, pungent smell. In a few months she would be washing the clothing in here and stuffing the winter clothing away. Right now, sunny and blue-sky days were furthest from her mind.
Piled on the bottom of the cabinet were Jean shorts and tank tops. She ruffled through the stacks and found the bottle Martin had hidden some time ago. A sudden explosion of ideas rocketed through her mind. She saw the opened box of rat poison on top of the cabinet. She could add a few pellets to the liquor. It might kill him, though. Hating him the way she did, she did not want to kill him. Killing him would bring in the police, only the police would be against her. The state might take away her daughters. If she ended up in jail, who would look after Veronica and Victoria? She could water down the whiskey—but how? He would hear the water running.
“Find it?” Martin called out impatiently. She could see his bulking shadow cast down the basement stairs. She could not tell if he was drunk now. He was not acting drunk, despite his irrational behavior. How much worse would he become after a guzzling down alcohol?
“Yeah. Got it,” she said. She knew how he got when drunk. He wanted sex. It had been one thing to accommodate him when they were married. She started to pray. Would Martin want her? He had to know they were no longer married and she would not have sex with him simply because he wanted to have sex, right?
As she walked slowly back toward the stairs, she stopped to pick up a wet towel. She wanted to wipe away some of the blood from her face, but stopped. She decided to leave the blood. It would make her look less attractive, perhaps repulsive. It might be the only defense to keep his sexual desires at bay. Reflexively, bile came up her throat, the acid burned in her mouth. She thought she might vomit from just the thought of him touching her. When she dropped the towel back into the laundry basket, she saw something on the shelf over the dryer.
“Did you find it, or not?” Martin called. He sounded angry.
Looking to the stairs, to make sure he was not coming down, she reached over the dryer for the screwdriver. Her fingers felt along the shelf’s surface, touched the handle and closed around it. She moved fast, going to the stairs and grabbing the screwdriver and stepping around the second laundry basket, when the screwdriver slipped out of her hands. It banged against the dryer and fell to the floor. She did not dare pick it up now.
She went to the stairs. Martin looked like he had not moved. She tugged on the cord to turn the light off and climbed up the stairs toward him. Each step she took, she thought she might die of a heart attack. She did not think the organ could take much more. In a pathetic, fleeting thought, she wondered if her death might be the best, quickest and safest escapes.
She looked up at the cobweb-covered ceiling and pictured her girls. She could not let herself die or get killed. Veronica and Victoria needed her to be strong and to find a way to get this asshole out of their house.
At the top of the stairs, she held the bottle out to him like a peace offering. He crossed his arms over his chest. He nodded his head up and down, as if catching on to some inside joke. His tongue, thin and pink, darted out of his mouth and licked his lips in a slow deliberat
e way.
“Whatcha got hidden, darling?” Martin asked. He snatched the bottle out of her hand with lightening speed. His fumbled briefly with the cap, but then easily loosened and twisted it off. He took a quick swallow. When he was done, he smacked his lips and let out a satisfying, “Ah!”
She tried to ignore the question. He had his whiskey. Though he looked crazy, he suddenly looked happy. “Hungry?” She asked. It might be the perfect opportunity. Feed him a big meal while he’s drinking and he’ll get sleepy. He would be drunk and tired and much easier to get away from.
“I said, whatcha got with you? A hammer? A razor? What?”
She put up her hands. “Nothing. I don’t have anything.”
“You must really think I’m freaking stupid, don’t you?” He pivoted his body to the left and carefully set the bottle down on the kitchen table, the way a mother might lay an infant down in a bassinet. When he turned back, he did so with purpose. He stood like a boxer, his stance suggesting his eagerness to fight. The punch came and connected with her gut. For the second time, the air rushed out of her lungs. Valerie doubled over. She felt his hands on her. He was feeling her up. He grabbed at her ass, and thighs, ran his hands up and down her legs. “My fault. Thought you had a screwdriver or something.”
Slowly, she stood up as straight as she could with her hands protectively placed on her belly. Her hair stuck to the sweat and blood on her face. Her eyes were open wide, filled with terror. This man in front of her was out of control. She did not know him at all.
“Did you say something about fixing me something to eat?” Martin asked, picking the bottle of whiskey off the table and bringing it to his lips. After a long swig, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Because, my dear, I’m starving.”
Johnny Blade Page 20
