by A. R. Braun
Yet the cockroach stayed embedded in her nostril.
Shrieking, she ran to the counter for her pair of tweezers. With a shaky hand, she plucked the bug out and threw it in the toilet, then flushed it down. But the thought of that insect within her physical system along with the sight and the smell of the puke swishing around the bowl made her upchuck voraciously into the toilet again and, this time, all around it. She discharged all of the contents of her stomach as it roiled.
Stacey choked on the bile.
She stood up with stealth, wheezing and endeavoring to suck air into her mouth, but she couldn’t. Though death would’ve been a blessing compared to her so-called life, she feared it, especially after discarding the religious training her monstrous parents had given her.
Finally, air came into her lungs, but she’d had more terror than she could take.
She passed out.
<^^>
Stacey woke on the floor. She worried about the baby and hoped it was all right. She had dried puke all over her mouth and chin. Running to the mirror, she brushed her teeth and rinsed with mouthwash, also scrubbing her face.
Oh my god, a bug or a spider can get into my body any time it wants!
That sent her pacing once she was done cleaning up. She had the insane thought that she’d have to clean the toilet in the morning. She chain-smoked her cigarettes, too young to realize that they were stimulants and wouldn’t calm her down, but only make it worse; she power walked across the room.
Another nervous breakdown set her mind afire.
She sucked in deep breaths. She had to calm herself down or she thought she’d die.
“C-C-calm down, S-Stacey.”
More deep breaths. She was practically running from one end of the room to the other now.
“I can’t! Oh my FUCKING GOD!”
She moved toward her bed and fainted.
<^^>
To say Stacey was worried would’ve been an understatement. After he’d left the last time, the contractions had started. Three days later, Stacey lay on her bed about to deliver the baby when Dick unlocked the door to the dungeon. She sucked breaths in and out like she’d seen them do on TV, as a choo-choo train.
Dick glared at her, wild-eyed.
“The baby’s coming,” Stacey cried. “Oh god, it hurts. Please, please get me some aspirin.”
Dick walked into the kitchen. “I’ll boil some water.”
Stacey had never endured so much pain, as if sharp tree branches had crawled into her sex and up into her uterus. She shrieked and cried out.
Dick walked in, looking pathetic as he held a big pan of steaming H2O. When he saw all the blood and the baby’s head coming out of her, he dropped the water on the floor and fell backward, fainting.
“Oh god,” Stacey cried. “Oh, fucking shit, ow, ow, OW!”
Stacey shrieked and moaned. All she could do was push, though she thought the pain would cripple her and wished like hell for an epidural.
A few minutes later, Dick woke, looking up to see Stacey’s baby still in the same position.
“Dick,” Stacey cried. “You’ve got to help me. Get a knife to cut the umbilical cord. But first, you’ve got to pull the baby out. Don’t just stand there, PULL IT OUT!”
Dick tried to stay on his feet. With a look of panic on his face, he ran into the kitchen to get a butcher knife. When he came back in, he tripped on the pan, which clanked as his feet wrestled with it. He stuck his arms out in front of him and caught the edge of the bed, barely missing smothering the baby with his head. Slicked with sweat, he finally forced himself to grab hold of the baby and pull it out. At one point, he even puked on the floor.
Stacey stopped screaming when he had it out. With shaking hands, he cut the umbilical cord. Blood sprayed all over him. Then he slapped the baby on the ass too roughly. It started crying.
“Hey,” Stacey cried. “Don’t hit it so hard.”
He ignored that and handed the baby to Stacey, then stumbled toward the door.
If he faints again, I can steal his keys and get out of here.
But he didn’t. He found his footing and grabbed the handle of the door.
“Dick,” Stacey cried as he opened the door. “It’s a girl.”
<^^>
“Oh, you’re beautiful,” Stacey said.
It had been a messy, painful job cutting the rest of the umbilical cord out.
“I’m not alone anymore.”
She wanted to hate this baby, this abomination by incest—albeit not real incest, but close enough—but she couldn’t. She didn’t have the heart. Once she’d washed it off, the infant was adorable. It lay in her arms, crying up a storm.
Then the desperation of the pitiful situation endeavored to swallow her. The child of incest lay in her arms while the rest of the world had fulfilled and normal lives.
The baby fell asleep, apparently comfortable. Now, who can hate a baby? Stacey realized that this would see her through her dungeon torment. She would bear the bastard’s children and would do everything in her power to give them the best lives possible.
Stacey held the babe’s tiny hand in hers, which now seemed huge. She fell in love with the child. The infant was Satan’s spawn, but she was hers.
Oh my god, I have to name her. Dick didn’t even bother, the conscienceless bastard.
Stacey thought long and hard while watching the child’s tiny chest rise and fall. She’d begged Dick for a computer, but he’d said no way, knowing she’d contact someone on the outside. He did this much, he gave her a book of baby names, but she didn’t like any of them.
The child would have to have the perfect name.
Matilda. That’s it.
Stacey had loved reading Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley while on the outside. Her novel, Matilda, had been about a girl suffering from incest. It seemed as appropriate as a toothbrush and comb being a convict’s only possessions.
Then Stacey thought twice. It was a slim chance, but if she ever got out of here, she didn’t want her number-one child to remind her of Dick every time she gazed upon her.
I’ll name her Therese, the name of my sister that was stillborn, scioned by my real parents. It’s short for Theresa, which means “late summer,” a comforting thought, just like this little darling.
“Sleep on, baby Therese,” Stacey whispered. “My pretty little girl.”
An eighteen-year-old mother. That’s pitiful. But she’s so cute!
Stacey fell asleep with the baby.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Seven years later
“This is my favorite show, Mommy,” Therese said, Stacey’s seven-year-old blond princess number one, as she watched a cartoon. Her eyes were bright with fascination as the TV characters bonked each other with weapons. They should’ve been deadly blows.
Stacey was glad she’d changed her mind about naming her Matilda. It was too old-world, and she didn’t want other kids making fun of her, if she ever got out of here.
Stacey ruffled her baby-fine hair. “I like it, too.”
“Why can’t we ever go outside like the TV people, Mommy?” Devon, her red-haired five-year-old princess number two asked. At times she could be moody.
All Stacey could do was hold her hands out like what, me worry?
Devon tugged at her sleeves. “Mommy! When?”
“Someday,” Stacey answered as she wiped away a tear.
The name Devon meant “poet savant.” Stacey wanted someone in the family to be talented.
Samantha, her four-year-old black-haired beauty, charged away from the kitchen. Her baby fat jiggled. “I just sawrr a roach!”
“Oh god.” Stacey rose and walked into the kitchen. “I sprayed Raid two weeks ago.” It darted out from underneath the table. She squished it and grabbed a paper towel, then flushed it.
The name Samantha meant “good listener.”
Bobbi, Kyra, and Louisa, Stacey’s infants, cried in their cribs. She went to check on them.
Bobbi, a d
ifferent spelling of “Bobby,” short for “Robert,” meant “bright fame.” Kyra, spelled with a “y,” meant “lady.” Louisa meant “fights with honor.”
The door opened and the idiot savant entered.
“Daddy!” their three older ones cried and ran to Dick, clutching his legs.
Yeah, as if he’s human.
“Hi darlings!” Dick tried to walk with the groceries. “All right, my beauties, let go of Daddy’s legs so he can get the food into the kitchen.”
Stacey looked him over and saw him wheezing. “Hard to breathe in here, huh Dick?”
He wrinkled his nose. “God, it stinks in here.”
“He smell poo-poo!” Samantha said.
Dick took her into his arms, having set the groceries on the table.
Stacey rose to put the groceries away. “When the bathroom’s in the same room as the rest of the apartment, it’s hard to keep the place smelling like a palace.”
Dick frowned as he set Samantha down. “Geez, I bought you some Glade.”
Hate raged in Stacey’s brain. I could grab a knife and stab him, then take the girls and run. “I used up that can already.”
“You use up the air freshener too fast.”
“I’m four yeawz owd,” Samantha told Dick. She held up four fingers.
He ruffled her hair. “I know, sweetheart.”
“Are you going to get me some textbooks to teach the children how to read?” Stacey asked.
He nodded. “I can get ‘em cheap on Amazon.”
“How about some home-schooling materials?”
He waved her away. “Don’t push it.”
Stacey walked toward the kitchen drawer to grab a knife, but he put a hand onto her back and moved her into the living room area. Her oldest daughters followed him, clutching at his pants legs.
Dick said, “I have an announcement to make.”
Oh god, another bomb from Attila the Realtor.
Stacey checked on the babies, then sat on the couch with her oldest daughters, who kicked their legs as they looked up at Dick with loving eyes that didn’t know enough about him.
He grinned like horns would sprout out of his crown.
“Stacey,” Dick continued, “I’m going to relieve you of some of your motherly duties. I know it’s a pain in the butt to raise six kids down here. Plus, there isn’t room for a Brady Bunch.”
“Tell me about it,” Stacey answered.
Her daughters looked her over as if she was wiser than the Dalai Lama.
Dick put his hands on his hips. “I’m taking the three youngest ones into the house with me. They’ll go to the best school in town, just like you did, Stacey, and have the best nannies and live great lives.”
Words couldn’t express the horror that went through Stacey’s brain. She shook with rage. They get a nanny? I didn’t even get that. Yet she wanted her daughters to have a better life than she’d had. Therefore, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. “Girls, go into the bedroom.”
“Can we go, too, Daddy?” Therese asked. “Can Mommy go?”
Stacey opened her eyes. Dick had a somber look in his eyes.
“Girls,” Stacey said. “Go in the other room so Daddy and I can talk. Now!”
The threesome scampered into the other room, peeking in the cribs.
Stacey bounded off the couch and got in Dick’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He scowled. “Sit down!”
Stacey got so close their noses touched. “Fuck I will! You’re not taking my daughters from me, you piece of shit!”
Dick wrestled her to the couch.
God, I wish my kids didn’t have to see this, but where are they going to hide?
“Shut your fucking cocksucker!” His cold spittle sprayed Stacey’s face. He bent even closer and glowered at her with those beady spheres. “I’m taking them and that’s it! I’m trying to fucking help you. So get over it.”
Stacey shook her head, thinking the expression on her face must have been priceless. Hot tears caressed her cheeks like unwelcomed lovers. Stacey trembled and choked on her spit.
Dick walked over and picked up two cribs, then carried them over and set them before the steel door. Inside, the babes lifted up their voices and wept. He walked back over and grabbed the third crib. Dick carried it over and set it down.
“Take us too, Daddy,” the oldest three cried. “Can we go, too?”
“No, Mommy needs company.”
Devon’s eyes looked confused. “Why can’t you and Mommy live together like the families on TV?”
He just shook his head and took a piece of paper out of his coat pocket, along with a pen. He handed them to Stacey. “I want you to write another note. This time, say you had children by the cult leader. Moonbeam, was it?”
Stacey nodded, boiling with anger inside.
“And say you can’t afford to take care of three of them. Make it good, like the last one. I’ll mail it to myself this time.”
Stacey tried to send him a look that would torch him alive. She wished for pyrokinesis in the worst way, but didn’t get it. “No.”
He picked up Samantha, smoothing her hair. “I could break Sam’s little neck right now.”
Stacey jumped to her feet. “Don’t you say that!”
Samantha got bug-eyed and wept, as did Therese and Devon.
“I’ll do it if you don’t write the letter,” he added.
What else could she do? She wrote the letter.
Dick set Samantha down, and Stacey brainstormed while getting it done. She took her time and made it convincing, then handed it to him.
Dick smiled as he looked it over. “Good.” He bent down to the girls. “All right, sweeties, Daddy’s taking your sisters to a better place. Be good to Mommy, okay?”
“We will, Daddy,” they tearfully answered.
Stacey sighed a shaky breath. “So that’s how it is, huh? You just play eenie-meenie-minie-moe and pick three of them to live the privileged life? And the rest rot in here with me?”
He just shook his head and headed for the threshold.
Stacey could take no more. She bolted for the door to recover her babies.
Apparently, Dick saw it coming, for he set two cribs down and actually pulled a handgun out of his leather jacket. “Cut it out.”
She stopped cold.
He kept the gun trained on her as he picked up one crib and headed out. He did the same with the other two.
“BASTARD,” Stacey cried as he locked them inside.
Devon tugged at her pant leg. “Mommy, why can’t we go?”
Therese crossed her arms and looked angry and devastated. “No fair!”
That broke Stacey’s heart.
Samantha wept again. That killed Stacey inside even more. “Mommy… no… mo… sissers.”
That did it. Stacey bawled and held the three girls. They wept up a storm.
<^^>
We must be the palest foursome alive, and the saddest… even more than usual.
Stacey sat on the couch, staring into nowhere in particular. She looked and noticed the same blank expression on her daughters’ faces. Stacey wanted to say something comforting, but she had nothing. Dick had robbed them of half the family.
Stacey got up and traipsed over to the toilet, grimacing as she pulled her pants down in front of the girls. That devil. He’s going to hell for this. Fucking cocksucker wouldn’t even put up a partition. She winced as a beetle scrambled by.
She got up, wiped, flushed, pulled her pants up, and returned to the girls.
Devon blinked. “Mommy? Why did Dada take my sissies?”
Stacey could stand no more. She reached under the couch for her reserve pack of Marlboros, lighter, and ashtray she knew she’d need eventually. She lit one and blew out the smoke, setting the ash tray on the rotting coffee table. She kicked her feet up.
“Mommy!” Devon persisted. “Smoking’s bad for you.”
Stacey stubbed it out.
Tears r
an down Therese’s face. “Why is Daddy being so mean, Mommy?”
Because you’re bastard children of incest living in a dungeon. Stacey rubbed her eyes. Oh, my god, don’t say that. She sighed. “Daddy wants the babies to have a better life, that’s all.” They’d never understand. “You three and your infant sisters are too much for Mommy to take care of in here.”
Samantha hit the armrest. Dust rose off the couch in the dank space. “I waan my sissies back!” Then she boo-hoo-hooed.
Stacey reached out for a group hug. “We’ll be all right, my darlings. I promise.”
Devon tugged at her. “But why don’t you live with Dada? The TV families do. Don’t you and Dada get along?”
Because he’s my father and a monster. No, don’t say that! Only I must suffer this insanity. Stacey trembled. “Not really, girls.”
“I heawd you awguing,” Samantha said. “You and Daddy mad.”
Stacey nodded. “Mommy and Daddy are very mad at each other right now.”
“Are you and Daddy gonna make up?” Therese asked.
Stacey just looked at her. She lit another cigarette, blowing out the smoke. “No, honey. Daddy and I fight a lot, but… we… love each other very much.”
The children coughed, so Stacey stubbed out that cigarette, too.
Devon stood up, looking Stacey over. “Why can’t we go outside like the people on TV? I wanna play! I want a bike like the kids on TV have!”
Therese looked as if her sister had had an epiphany. “Me too!”
“Yawr!” Samantha agreed. “Me twoo!”
These kids are gonna drive me nuts. No, don’t say that! They saved my sanity, actually.
Stacey got up and gathered the children around her as a hen would a brood. “Someday, okay?” Stacey wept. “Someday, you can go outside all you want.”
“When?!” Devon cried. “I wanna go outside now! Why does Dada lock us in?”
Stacey released them and stood. “Anyone want to watch TV?”
“I wanna go outside, Mommy, just once,” Therese replied. Her brow was furrowed and her face was red.
Stacey shook her head and walked into the dingy kitchen, trying to ignore the brown stains all over the wall and the hard water stains in the sink. A dead cricket lay in the latter. “Ew.” She ripped off a paper towel and snatched it up, depositing it in the trash. “Who wants supper?”
