She waited and listened for Bill’s return, hoping that he wouldn’t come back at all. She prayed a simple, childlike prayer, as she often did; she prayed that their lives would change—that he’d simply go away and leave them alone. If he left, her mother would come back. Her mother would be the way she was when he wasn’t around all the time. While she stood there waiting, Jenny heard the roar of thunder and, inside that sound, a melody so beautiful and sweet it didn’t seem real. It caused an ache in her heart while tears stung her eyes.
Still, Bill didn’t return.
Chapter 3
In the meantime, oblivious to the events taking place in Jackson Square, Katie headed directly to Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo. The mission felt urgent and she was determined to carry it through. She didn’t even know why it had to end; only that it did. She would find a way to make it end that day—even if she must resort to a spell or potion.
That sort of thing was a foreign idea to her religious upbringing, never having dabbled in any magic, but she had to do something. She couldn’t leave, but perhaps there was a way to make him leave. She’d heard rumors about such things. She desperately clung to that hope as she rushed to the voodoo shop.
Although she was unaware of it, the mere decision to act was the first step in her recovery. It opened her mind. As she hurried toward the errand, her thoughts began to spin and twirl with the choices she’d made over the last six years. It was the first time she’d allowed herself to think about any of it in a long time. In reality, it was really the first time she’d been free of her husband’s control and influence. Even though he went to work each day, the home she shared with him felt bound by his authority and persuasion. In his absence, she followed the routine he’d established during the early months of their marriage and there was no room for variation. There wasn’t any time to think either. It was one of the oldest techniques of brainwashing and mind-control, but she didn’t know that. Now, memories and scenes flashed before her eyes as if she was seeing them for the first time. It was dizzying and she staggered slightly as she began to awaken. Self-examination was the second step to recovery.
She’d gone into the marriage with hopefulness, but time changes things. ‘Familiarity breeds contempt’ as noted in one of Aesop’s Fables. Did she feel contempt, fear, or both?
Katie, having been reared in the Baptist faith, was married and divorced before she was twenty-two. She was left a single mother with a young infant and worked diligently as a bookkeeper for a real estate company just to keep a roof over their heads. There was very little money left after paying rent and childcare expenses. She’d received child support for only a year before her ex-husband was killed in a car crash. She often rued the day they’d divorced—if she’d just waited a year, she would have gotten his life insurance benefits. It would have gone a long way to help support Jenny. She was filled with regrets such as that. The ‘what-ifs’ seemed to torment her and the remorse nearly ate her alive. She felt like a failure and, due to that religious background, she also felt the desperate need to find a father for her child.
When Bill came along with a good job and a home, promising to provide for them, she was exhausted from parenting alone, struggling alone. At the time, his proposals felt like an answer to a prayer. He insisted she quit her job and let him take care of her and Jenny. He wanted a traditional home—a home where he worked and his wife created a comfortable environment with bed linens crisp and fresh each week and regular meals on the table at five-thirty each evening. It was what she wanted too…at first. She soon discovered there were tradeoffs, that what she wanted no longer mattered.
Only a year later, she was isolated from former friends and any family relationships. He’d found fault with everyone in her life and they’d been replaced by him alone. He was the only one who called, the only one around, and the only one left. She depended on him, and yet, she was filled with dread each moment of the day and especially during the evenings. She stood at the windows that overlooked their street watching for his return, while hoping and praying that something would happen to prevent the homecoming—a car crash, a mugging, a heart attack, anything to keep him away. She was a coward and looked for some external event to end the relationship. She believed that she didn’t have the strength to do it on her own.
She couldn’t explain why she hoped and prayed so desperately or why she dreaded the hour. She only knew she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown that continued even now. When he was there with her and Jenny, the oppression was thick and foreboding. She felt pressed down by a big-fat-thumb…a thumb that controlled everything, even the food she prepared. Their routines and emotions were governed by Bill—and he ‘ruled the roost,’ as he quoted often.
If he didn’t like something, no one was allowed to like it. If he didn’t want Jenny to have a certain friend, she simply wasn’t allowed to see that friend. If they didn’t jump when he said ‘hop’ there was hell-to-pay. Not in physical abuse, but in emotional turmoil as he withdrew his love and support.
Their home was starkly bare of entertainment and fun. There was only one television and he controlled it. There weren’t any board games and, if not for Katie’s library of books collected over many years, she wouldn’t have anything enjoyable to offer her daughter. It was a dull, boring, oppressive life. Every tiny thing revolved around him. Her choices had been stripped away, along with any contact to the outside world. She was miserable, but she didn’t know why or what to do about it. Nothing was as it seemed. Nothing made sense to her any more. She felt lousy each day and evening that she couldn’t figure out what bothered her. Deep sleep was the only reprieve found from what tormented her.
Laughter is said to be the best medicine, but there was no laughter in their lives. Her health began to suffer. First, it was migraines. She simply had to go to bed and cover her eyes, blacking out everything, while the nausea rolled through her body. Then, it was stomach ailments. Her bowels locked. The doctor feared she had cancer, but after further tests, he explained that her intestines had twisted, asking about stressors in her life. She remained silent when she should have told someone. He prescribed a rich fibrous drink each evening that helped, but her stomach was still as raw as her nerves. And, the latest ailment was urinary troubles. She constantly had a bladder infection, preventing her from having intercourse and being the ‘good wife’ Bill wanted.
If she’d only allowed her child-eyes to see what was directly in front of her, Katie would have known that her body screamed in protest. Her soul used these ailments in an attempt to awaken her to the troubles in her home, but she refused to see—too fearful of what she’d discover—too fearful that she’d have to do something about it.
Katie stayed with Bill because she couldn’t bear to think that she’d failed again…that another marriage could end in divorce. Her own parents, dead now, had managed to stay together for over forty years. And, although theirs wasn’t an easy or loving relationship, it was the only example she had.
Deep-down inside, she believed that divorce was forbidden by God. She didn’t want to displease Him. She rationalized that she didn’t have any real grounds for divorce. It was, after all, a legal and official decision to end marriage. She couldn’t imagine how she would word her complaint before a judge. It didn’t occur to her that she spent a lot of time thinking about the marriage ending and those constant thoughts were a warning sign.
She often argued with herself and reasoned that her husband was a good provider, he didn’t drink or run around, he allotted a monthly allowance for groceries, household expenses, and clothing—they didn’t lack for anything anymore. He was always there for both of them. In fact, he doted on Jenny a little too much and was overly protective, never allowing her to spend a night away from home with relatives or friends from school. He was affectionate at times, something lacking in her childhood home, but he was also very strict and emotional. His moods were, more often than not, overbearing—like a pendulum out of control. Neither Katie nor J
enny knew what set him off or how to avoid the emotional turmoil that plagued him. It was as if they walked on a minefield. She rationalized that, if her parents could manage to keep their marriage together for such a lengthy time, she could also survive and tough it out. But, the thoughts of spending the rest of her life with Bill Worth caused her stomach to clench in fear and trepidation. It seemed impossible.
He was overprotective and hard to please, but was that any reason to divorce someone? She didn’t know anymore. In fact, she often found herself repeating those words…I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…like a song in her head. The repetition of those thoughts and words became reality. The life she lived was one of uncertainty. Her eyes covered in mucus and became blind, refusing to see the answers that begged to be seen.
Chapter 4
Katie entered the voodoo shop hesitantly and a little fearful; her heart was very nearly in her throat. Having never done such a thing before, she was nervous and didn’t know what to expect. She browsed the scented candles, drawn to them inexplicably, and finally selected a Rosemary fragrance because it promised to ‘enhance clarity.’ Her self-talk on the walk had brought her that far—she now recognized that she needed to see the situation clearly.
She was greeted warmly and the worry fell away. Three practitioners ran the shop with a young cashier at the register. After paying for the candle and a session fee, she went behind a curtained wall with Santeria, the practitioner who moved forward as if drawn to her.
Santeria was a pleasantly-round, African American psychic who offered spiritual readings and healing, along with spells and potions. She was a practical priestess who helped clients to help themselves. They sat down at a small table with two chairs. Santeria lit a scented candle and instructed her to breathe deeply. The pleasant aroma reminded Katie of walks in the forest when she was a young child.
“What do you seek child?” the priestess asked softly.
The fiftyish year old woman, a fine people-reader herself, listened attentively. As Katie inhaled the pleasant scent, she described the relationship easily and without censor. Santeria could clearly see what this evil man had done to the young woman who sat before her. She was grateful that Katie was on the verge of awakening and had come to seek help for the problem. She definitely needed assistance to rid herself of such depravity and it was certainly an appropriate time to do so. The man in her life was squatting like a big fat toad, determined to have his way. It would end badly for the entire family unless he was prevented from attaining his demented goals. He would not give up his position easily, but he would leave. Santeria knew exactly how to handle a warty-skinned fiend like him. She asked for a picture of the man to be ‘sent away.’
Katie dug in her wallet and pulled out a photo of Bill, taken when they first met. Then, there was still a bloom in their relationship as he wooed her first and taught her what he wanted and expected, always reminding her that he was older and wiser. Although she hadn’t been in love with him, she’d been eager to comply, a willing student grateful for his help. She’d relied on his judgment about religion, politics, and life in general. It didn’t occur to her that he had never had children and didn’t have the right to claim more wisdom in that area. She was too beaten down to protest when he insisted that he would use his own methods and principles while rearing Jenny. He professed that he loved her like a father and knew what was best.
Katie had given over her power and, like the predator he was, he drained it from her. He drank every last drop. She was left feeling helpless, weak, and lost. Even now, lucidity begged to return.
Santeria studied the photo for some time before she pointed to two bottles sitting at the edge of the table, vodka or acetic acid, indicating for Katie to choose one. Never a drinker, Katie avoided the alcohol and chose the acid while Santeria lit a black candle. Next, the practitioner filled a small, flat bowl with the acid, and then placed the picture in it.
Her voice became otherworldly and her almond-shaped eyes rolled heavenward, revealing only the white sclera, as she fiercely chanted:
“Leave this woman now, I say!
Leave this woman on this day.
Never harm her ever again.
We know who you are;
We know your horrid sin!
Now, be gone! It’s time to depart.
She’ll no longer suffer from your evil heart!
Be gone, like the wind!
And her heart will mend!
Be gone this very day!
You’ll leave right now;
Be gone, be gone I say!”
Santeria repeated the chanting rhyme for a long while and, when she was finished, she dropped a match into the bowl. The picture, crinkled by the acid, burned away. Katie glanced at the practitioner several times as the flames devoured the likeness of her husband. His face withered and distorted from the corrosive chemical, taking on an incredibly evil persona, before turning to ash.
She silently wondered if it was really that simple—would this work. Would he leave? Would she finally be free of the oppression? Could this woman’s faith send her husband away when her own had failed?
“It works,” Santeria replied as if reading her thoughts.
“It stinks,” Katie quietly acknowledged with the tiniest of smiles as she indicated the burning dish before her.
“He stinks. He is one rotten character. You were wise to come here today, Katie. Listen, boo, a man like that—the first thing he does is isolate you from the world. He takes over control of everything and makes a woman feel helpless and dependent. He wants you to think he has the power so that you turn over more power and control to him. That breed is a sorry-excuse, I tell you,” Santeria replied boisterously even though she refrained from telling Katie that her husband was a pedophile. She knew that the young mother’s eyes must open to that knowledge only when she was ready. Telling her in advance of that perfect time would only cause her to deny it for an even longer period.
“How long will it take?” Katie asked nervously before biting her lower lip. She hated to seem so anxious, but it was how she felt and couldn’t hide it.
“It can be immediate, but the general rule is one to three days.”
“Do I need to do anything else?” Katie asked.
“It’s done, boo. It is done! The only thing you need to do now is keep your eyes open and never refuse to see again,” Santeria warned.
“Did I?” Katie asked with surprise.
“Ooh-wee! You didn’t see what was right under your nose, child. But, you can start over. We all get second chances, sometimes many chances. Take advantage of yours this time. Keep those pretty green eyes wide-open!”
“I will,” Katie promised.
She left the shop and hurried to the Cathedral to meet Bill and Jenny. Her steps were light and she felt a tremendous burden lifted. She was anxious to see the results. Even though she couldn’t explain it, she now felt a deep confidence in the ritual Santeria had performed.
Chapter 5
Bill Worth was dead and no one would miss him—not his wife, his step-daughter, co-workers, or even the few remaining members of his family. He lay on the lavatory floor like a big wad of used toilet paper. It was a fitting end to his dirty life. His efforts to appear normal were useless now. He’d finally married to keep down the talk and suspicions circulating at work, in his neighborhood, and family. He’d thought that marriage would give him the respectability needed to cover his truly perverse nature. But, it hadn’t actually helped. Even though most people can’t ‘see’ the evil standing before them, they still know or suspect it’s there. They ‘feel’ it. It’d been easy to sense that Bill was dark. In the end, the truth of the man would come out. It always did.
Bill had been working toward his goal of ultimate control over his step-daughter for several years now, almost six, to be exact. Jenny had been three when he married Katie. He’d spent all that time priming and pruning her for the moment when he’d have her all to himself. He’d been forced
to wait until she was bigger, more mature, and the waiting had tortured him. Now, that she was old enough, he’d planned to get her away from her mother for an entire day soon. He’d had little doubts that she’d do what he said. He’d made sure she was obedient. It had taken patience and perseverance, but he’d thought the payoff was close and he only had a little more time to wait.
He’d gotten his bluff in early, leaving blood-red handprints and welts on her buttocks many times to ensure she was compliant to his every desire. He’d also conditioned her to his inappropriate touches…the gentle strokes against the outline of her arms as he lightly felt her breasts…the imperceptible caresses at the top of her thigh as his little finger grazed the elastic of her panties, lifting the edge gently to touch the smooth, baby-skin beneath.
Bill had always blamed Jenny for his desires, but in reality, he’d had them for as long as he could remember. There were countless others. Countless little boys and girls, that he’d stroked and touched. Countless little penises and pusses that he’d yanked and pulled in his demented obsession. Among the children of his neighborhood, his nickname was ‘Mr. Meany’ with good reason. This child was different though—she was the cherry on top, the icing on the cake. Something about her had brought out a fierceness that had been bottled up since his own youth…since his own penis had been yanked and pulled when he was helpless to stop it.
On that day in Jackson Square he’d been on the very verge of rape. He was no longer satisfied with touching and stroking, pulling and yanking. Standing outside the deserted restroom with a painfully hard erection, he’d realized that he wanted to fuck her and fuck her hard. He’d had to forcefully remind himself that it was only a short wait now. Otherwise, he’d have taken her right then. He’d have pulled her into the stall and spread her on the floor. He’d been at the point where he didn’t care if he split her in half, he had to have her.
Crescent City (An Alec Winters Series Book 1) Page 2
