by Rue Volley
“I—please don’t, don’t talk to me like that.” My voice cracked as Jack held my hand even tighter. He offered nothing by the way of protection from Peter, minus his presence, as he sat very still next to me.
“Please?” his laugh mocked me. “Now there’s a word I haven’t heard in quite some time. Tell me, Abigail, do you beg my son to stop when he is shoving his cock down your throat while cutting himself? Oh—no, you would never ask for it to stop, now would you? The pain, mixed with pleasure, the blood on your lips, the taste of it in your mouth, you know we feed on the weak like you, our kind will always survive on your stinking, rotting, corpses piled high around us, whores! all of you dirty little whores!…”
“Father, stop!” Jack yelled at him, and Peter blinked. It was almost as if a switch had been flipped. He pushed his hair back and relaxed, leaning back on the couch as he took a sip of his imaginary drink. I was stunned, my lips still parted, the words hanging in the air in front of me like daggers pointed at my heart. He was so broken, his mind splintered in fragments all around this shell of what he once knew. He looked at me, his eyes soft as if nothing had happened at all.
“And who do we have here, Jack?”
I stood up, fidgeting with my hands as Jack rose up next to me.
“I—it was so nice to meet you Mr. Landon. I’m sorry, I have to go now.”
My fear set him off again. It was like a catalyst to his condition.
He looked up at me, his diabolical grin so sinister it could rival any villain. His last jab at my heart came out in a whisper. “Is your pussy wet now?”
I sucked in my breath as Jack placed his arm around me. Peter yelled obscenities behind us as Jack walked me out and we were back on the elevator before I understood what just happened.
I stood there holding my chest and leaning against the wall as Jack stood on the other side across from me. His back resting as he waited me out and let me absorb the entire situation.
My voice shook. “I thought he was dead.”
Jack paused and looked down, then back up at me. “By all accounts, he is, Abigail.”
“I just—he said the most horrible things to me, Jack.”
Jack stood up and held his hands out toward me for a second as he spoke. They kept moving and it only reminded me of his father. “He is a brilliant man, he always has been. A master at business, he commands respect.” He paused and then went on, allowing me to finally see a part of himself that I had never witnessed before. “It started when I was twelve. I mean, the change in him. Up until then, I never spoke to him that often. He was always working, day and night. He would take long business trips and handle takeovers of large companies on his own. He was hands on with everything, always was.” He stopped as if he was remembering more, then his eyes lifted, and he went on. “My father insisted that Jerod and I learn fencing. So we picked it up and practiced daily, as he told us we should. We had a coach, but three weeks into our training, my father came home and decided that he would teach us himself. He said that no one could show a son more than his father could, I believed him.” He paused again, and I bit my lip. He sighed and continued on with the story. “Well, each practice became more intense until one day, he pushed Jerod aside, knocking him to the wood floor as he grabbed his fencing sword and came at me. I was scared, Abigail, I won’t lie.” He looked upward, so did I, then he went on.“You saw my father; he is a large man and when he’s on the attack, well—it appears as if a mountain is about to swallow you up whole. I tried my best to fight him, but he was stronger than I was. He knocked me down and leaned over me. He could block out the sun.” The words hit me as I remembered Jack standing over me in front of the coffee shop. He continued on as I pushed the comparison from my mind. “He placed the sword to my throat, explaining to me how I would have to survive this world, or it would kill me. He lowered it, pressing the tip of the blade against my chest and started to push it in. I grabbed it, and he laughed at me with such hatred in his eyes. He pushed it, harder and harder, breaking my skin; I cried out. The tip of the blade slicing into me and sending waves of pain through me. He said ‘Embrace it Jack! Accept the pain and own it, it doesn’t own you, it never has!’”
He looked up at me, his eyes soft and scared. He was reliving that moment as a child, and I felt terrible for him. I could feel the fear in the air all around us but then Jack stood up straight, slowed his breathing and spoke in a calmer tone. “I gripped the sword, it sliced through the palm of my hand, but it wasn’t the pain that I remember the most, Abigail, it was his eyes, they changed. It wasn’t him anymore; it was someone else that I would get to know very well, the monster you just witnessed in there.”
“Jack, that is horrible.”
He interrupted me. “Was it? Was it unfair of him to show me the reality of this world? To prepare me for the truth of it? He did me a favor, Abigail. I had to listen and accept it as truth. I only wanted his approval…” he trailed off as I walked toward him. I took his hand and felt the scar left behind in the palm of it. I placed my lips on it and kissed it very slowly, closing my eyes as he watched me. I stopped and held it to the side of my face as I looked up at him.
“You are not going to end up like him, Jack.”
He looked down and then took a deep breath, pulling out a small bottle of pills. I stared at it, seeing his name clearly typed on the label.
“Abigail—I already am.”
His words sank into me like a boat sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF
Jack told the driver to take me home. He remained at the asylum as the car rolled down the long lane away from him. I looked back as the grandeur of the building started to swallow him up. I took a slow breath as I turned around in the seat and closed my eyes. Clicking my heels together three times would do nothing for me now. The truth laid out between us like a barrier wall. Funny thing was it only made me want to be with him more. His broken nature was what attracted me the most about him. It made me want to help him, even if help was something he would fight me on.
We traveledtoward the city and suddenly the thought of going back to the apartment didn’t appeal to me. I spoke to the driver, hoping that I could get him to take me elsewhere, even though Jack gave him instructions to take me home.
“I need to go to the bus station, please.”
The driver looked up into the small rear-view mirror, his eyes telling me nothing. I hoped he would comply and take me there. “Yes, Miss Watson.”
I relaxed in the seat behind me. The leather soft, but the ride a heavy one. I needed to get out of the city, I needed a breath of fresh air and a clear perspective. There was only one place for that and I knew it.
The bus stopped and I blinked a few times. The five-hour ride had gone by much quicker than I expected it to. I had started to read a book on my phone and got lost in it. I was so grateful to have the distraction. I really needed it as much as I needed to do what I was about to do.
I stood up and walked to the front of the bus. I got off and looked around at the town that I had known so well as I was growing up. It was small, the grocery store doubled as the post office. It also had two gas pumps out in front of it, so I guess it was the greatest multitasking station in the history of the world.
I smiled as I saw the two pop machines sitting along the front of the building that still offered glass bottles. I had stopped drinking pop a couple of years ago, but the temptation was great as I thought about how delicious it was in chilled glass. Small things make up the history of who you are. Things that may seem mundane, but they shape you and the sight of them gives you security.
I heard laughter and looked to the left as I saw children playing at the park, the same small park that I had received my first kiss on the merry-go-round that took my breath away. The boy not as important as the act itself. That first kiss still drove me on my hunt for romance as I believed it did exist somewhere in this world. I wanted it to be wi
th Jack, but with everything that happened, I couldn’t be sure of the future with him. I only knew that I wanted one.
I looked up and saw the silos that housed grain, quiet now as the company had closed, but left the remains of the business behind. Small town, my small town. Comforting and familiar. I had so many memories here, some good, some bad, but they all belonged to me.
The bus pulled out from behind me and the view of Main Street was clear. House after house, neatly maintained with flags in the yards and the smell of fresh-cut grass permeating the air around me. It was home to me. It always would be no matter where I traveled in this world. If I felt upset or alone, I would just draw upon the memory of this place and it would calm me down.
I started to walk, deciding to visit a place that I hadn’t for sometime. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; it was just painful for me. Avoiding it seemed much easier, but that is never the truth.
In fact, I had not returned to the same spot since we laid him to rest. I just couldn’t, but now, I needed to. I had so many things to say and, quite honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I needed anything said back to me at all. I just needed to say the words and have them out there, in the universe, so maybe the weight of them could be shared.
I stopped at the large iron gates and stepped through into the neatly kept cemetery. There was a time when I was a teenager that this place served as a spooky hang out with candles lit and ghost stories being told. But now it held something dear to me and I could understand what this place actually was. It was a sanctuary.
I paused in front of the large stone and allowed myself to read it. “Stanley Eugene Watson, loving father and husband…” I stopped after that. I didn’t need to be reminded of the dates.
“Hi, Dad,” I whispered to the stone as I stepped up and brushed a couple of random leaves from the top of it with the side of my hand. I sighed as I peered around the cemetery and then back to his stone. “I’m so sorry it took me too long to come back to visit you. I don’t have any excuses, but you have to know that I love you. I miss you too, dad. There’s just so much I need to say and I…” I paused as I felt my eyes start to become glossy. I sucked it up and sat down in front of the stone and leaned back. I let my fingers lay on the soft green grass as I stared at his name. It wasn’t fair that this was all that remained here of him. He was such an amazing man, so loving and protective. His humor was something that I missed, too, his laugh, to be specific. I hoped that I had his traits in me.
“Dad, I met a man.” I paused, waiting for the thunder to roll off in the distance, but it didn’t. I smiled, knowing he would find that funny. “Well, his name is Jack Landon and he isn’t like anyone we ever knew. His family is wealthy, he is rich and he…well, I think that I love him,dad. In fact, I know that I do, but I don’t know if he…”
“Abi.”
I turned very quickly to see my mom standing there, her facial expression tender as always. She is one of the kindest people you could ever meet. Fully open, would give her last bit of food to a stranger in need if they asked for it. In fact, I could still remember waking up and randomly running into a traveler here and there who slept on the couch on our enclosed porch. That is just how she was. She was built that way. Always wanting to help those in need just as I do.
I stood up and walked to her, allowing her hug to console me. I missed it so much. I missed the honesty of it and how she could make me feel as if nothing could ever harm me. I wished it was true. I really did.
I stepped back as she held onto my arms. She reached up and moved my hair from my face as the breeze tried to catch it and block my eyes from her. She tucked it behind my ear and cupped my cheek in her gentle hand.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
I sighed as I looked down and then back up to her. “I met someone. Someone special, mom. I just…”
She glanced at the stone behind me. “If you would like to finish your conversation with dad, then go ahead, Abi. I can go home and make us some green tea.”
“How did you know that I was here, mom?”
She laughed. “Abi—how big is this town?”
I laughed under my breath. I knew that as soon as I stepped off of the bus that someone probably called her. That’s just how it is here and I had forgotten. Living in a city allows you the comforts of being alone if you want to, but it’s a stark contrast to small town living. Here, the little things all matter. Even me stepping off of a bus becomes news.
“No—I want to walk home with you.”
She smiled at me as we walked along. She placed her arm around me as the sun beat down on us and warmed my skin. There were no tall buildings here to block it out; in fact, at night, you could see a million stars in the sky. It was magical, at least to me.
We stopped as a man stepped out of his house and eyed us. His stare turned into a grin as he walked up to the two of us. I shook my head as I looked him over. The boy who had given me my first kiss had grown into a handsome man.
“Abi.” He reached in and hugged me. It was awkward at first, but it shouldn’t be. I had changed, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it. I wrapped my arms around him and returned his affection.
“Bobby.”
He stepped back and looked me over. “You look great! How’s the city treating you?”
I paused and then gave him the edited version. “Well, it’s big, noisy. I graduated, and I just got a job.”
“Awesome!” he said as he genuinely cared about what I was saying. I appreciated it; I really did. It’s so easy to forget that people do care about what happens to you sometimes, especially when you close yourself off to them.
“Well, were going to have some tea, would you like some, Bobby?”
I looked down, of course, mom would offer it to him, but I kind of hoped that he would decline. I really needed to talk about Jack and I didn’t need an audience. He looked at me and then decided to leave the unexpected visit to the two of us.
“Oh, well thank you, Mel, but I have to go to the grocery. Low on beer.”
She grinned at him and I was relieved. Bobby was always cool anyway. Even after he kissed me at the park, nothing got weird. I think that he was just as excited to get it over with as I was.
“It was great to see you, Abi.”
I nodded to him. “Yeah—you too, Bobby.”
I looked behind him as a woman stepped out with a small child on her hip. Of course, he was with someone and had a baby. I grinned at her as she waved and then called out to Bobby. He smiled at me and then nodded to my mom as he returned to them. He leaned over and kissed the child’s head and then he kissed his wife. I felt strange for a moment like I was watching what I could have had play out in front of me. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t the one, but you know what I mean. The marriage, the house, the baby. All stuff that I dreamed about up until I made the decision to focus on a career first and all of that later.
My mom hugged me from the side; it must be a mom thing. She always knew the right time for everything with me and I missed it, and her, so much.
To be honest, I had avoided coming home that often because I didn’t want to have to say goodbye over and over. I am not one of those people who has horror stories about growing up. My mom is amazing and my dad was, too. They had given me support, shelter, advice, and strength. All things that made me who I am today.
I am an only child, the only real tragedy that struck my family was the loss of my brother before I was born. He was only a baby and died of crib death. My parents waited five years before trying again and then they had me. I don’t know why they never tried to have any more children, but I never felt as if I was spoiled or that I was missing companionship. My parents were enough for me.
No—my home was about as normal as it could be. I wasn’t a huge pain anyway, minus the few times I stayed out too late at the cemetery telling ghost stories. I was a good kid, little-to-no trouble and pretty self-sufficient.
My dad worked in a garage for years; he ended up owning it for the l
ast decade of his life. My mom worked in a factory, making seat covers for various cars until carpel tunnel forced her to stay home. She started to cook and that grew into a small catering service for weddings and graduations. Hard workers, middle class, my roots. I wasn’t ashamed of it.
We stepped up to the house and I smiled. My home, just as it always had been. I scanned the yard and saw the tree that I ran the riding mower into when I was thirteen. I hit it so hard the mower rolled up the poor tree at an angle and I had to jump off of it. My dad was silent when he saw it, but soon laughed as I did. I didn’t kill the tree, but it still had the gash in the side of it. I rubbed my fingertip and felt my own scar.
The front of the house was long with an enclosed porch that ran the length of it. My mom had always decorated it with plants and various statues of frogs. That was her thing, we all have one. She also loves wind chimes, so the sound of them are a part of who I am. My phone is actually set to chimes to alert me to messages. Funny how things stay with you no matter where you roam.
The house had changed colors two times. When I was born, it was white, then it had a short run with yellow and ended up light blue. The blue was what I remembered as home; the other two colors were only in pictures for me. My mom claimed that yellow was dad’s idea, but he always said that he swore she loved it, so he surprised her and painted it one night as we slept. When my mom woke the next day, she was stunned to see a bright yellow house standing where a white one once stood. She was nice about it, but quietly told my dad that she hated it, so he let her pick the next color and blue is what it remains to this day.
I stepped back as two kids rode by on their bikes in front of us. It was nice to see them out playing in an age of video games and internet surfing, but again, this town, and any small town, provides that mentality. We actually step outside and enjoy the day. I was glad that it still happened here. It was refreshing.
