He stared at the cowering girls in the corner, enjoying the sight.
“All right, then. Iffin’ I give you gals something to eat, you better not take advantage of my kindness and try anything stupid. You understand me?”
The girls met him with silence.
“I said, ‘you understand me?’”
The girls nodded, heads shaking faster than a hummingbird’s wings.
“Okay, that’s more like it. Here’s your slop.” He dropped the bucket to the dirt. Part of a fried egg bounced over the rim, sickly yellow and greasy. “You’d best eat. You’re going to need your liveliness.”
The blonde girl reached in, pulling out a half piece of toast. Edwin grinned as she tore it in half, and then handed part of it to her friend.
“What…what do you want from us?” she asked. “We don’t have any money.” She nibbled on the toast while eyeing Edwin.
“Money? No, I don’t want your money.” Even though Edwin knew Joshua didn’t understand why he laughed, the boy joined him in his merriment, clapping his hands. Every moment was “play-time” for the boy.
“What do you want then?”
“You’ll find out in good time. Now, as I told you, if you feel like screaming and carrying on, be my guest, but it ain’t gonna’ do you no good, ’cept for wearing out your strength. And don’t even think of escaping, ’cause there’s no way you’ll get through the door. It’s padlocked.”
“Please let us go,” said Miss Lindsay Bellowes.
“Why, sure, little lady. I’m plannin’ on lettin’ you go. That’s the whole idea.” Edwin saw hope rise in Lindsay’s eyes. He couldn’t wait to dash it.
The blonde girl remained skeptical. “When?”
“When I say so, missy, when I say so. Now get some rest.” When Miss Lindsay Bellowes leaned forward to look into the bucket, the light fell upon her womanly curves. A fully grown woman’s breasts wasted upon a teenage tramp. A voluptuous body. The blonde one, on the other hand, looked a little too scrawny for his tastes.
He locked the door, leading Joshua back to the farmhouse. Stretching out at the kitchen table, he drew a hand down his sunken cheeks. He hadn’t experienced the warmth of a woman’s body in years. Maybe before he put the girls out for the hunt, he might find time for a little bit of companionship.
When he smiled, his idiot son mimicked his grin.
As soon as the door closed, Shannon whispered, “Lindsay, try your phone.”
Lindsay cracked her fingers back and forth, attempting to rejuvenate them. She fished into her pocket for the phone. Her hands trembled so badly, she barely targeted the keypad.
“No! There’s no signal.” Lindsay sagged back against the dirt wall, the phone falling beside her. Shannon snatched the phone, hoping Lindsay had made a mistake. No bars. Lindsay buried her head between her knees, all hope having flown the coop again.
“Lindsay!” Shannon draped her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Keep it together. We will get out of this. When they let us out of this cellar, maybe we can get a phone signal. Just don’t let them see the phone, okay? Maybe we can ask to use the bathroom or something.”
“He did say they’d let us go, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what he said.” Shannon didn’t believe the old man, not for a second. But she needed Lindsay to keep hope alive. For her benefit as much as Lindsay’s. “But I think we need to find a way to get out on our own. Just in case.” Shannon stood. With a small leap, she kicked a leg into the dirt wall. Tunneling out seemed like a ludicrous idea, but she wasn’t going to roll over and die down here. No matter what.
Lindsay watched her friend’s efforts with calm resignation. “Shannon? What is he? The big one, I mean?”
Short of breath, Shannon said, “I’m…not really sure. Obviously, he’s challenged in some way, but I’ve never seen anything like him before.”
“He’s disgusting. Oh my God, what if they want us to mate with him?” Lindsay shot to her feet.
“That’s not going to happen. He seems to be the nicer of the two. He actually caressed me at one point.”
“Gross! I can’t…I won’t touch him.”
“After all the guys you let grope you?” Shannon dredged up a smile. “Some of them were pretty gross.”
The girls shared a quick, unexpected laugh, before falling into a hug. Shannon broke the embrace before the sobbing ratcheted up again. “Okay, crying’s not going to help us.”
Shannon looked around the cellar. She pulled two jars off a shelf. Mold ate at the contents behind the dirt-covered glass.
“Lindsay, listen at the door and tell me if you hear them coming.”
Lindsay crossed the room, positioning herself next to the door. Shannon took off her shirt and wrapped it around one jar. With her foot, she wedged the other jar into the cellar’s corner. Gave it a swift kick, securing it against the wall. She brought the bundle down on top of the jar, repeated the motion. It made little sound, this she knew, but she still shot Lindsay a panicked look in case they’d been overheard. Lindsay nodded, giving her the okay to continue. She raised the wrapped jar high above her head and brought it down again with a grunt. She felt the jar give, a barely audible crack. Unfolding the shirt, she carefully plucked out several of the larger shards. She waved Lindsay over and handed one to her.
“Be careful. Put it in your pocket and use it if you have to.”
Lindsay grabbed the makeshift weapon and carefully slid it into her jeans pocket. Lindsay wore her typical “painted on” jeans, always her preferred wardrobe choice. The phone and glass piece bulged obviously. A dead giveaway.
“Lindsay, try and keep your hands in front of your jeans when they come back, okay?”
“Okay.”
“All right. So we have a little something to fight back with. It’s not much, but it might help.” Shannon scooped up the rest of the broken glass and hid it behind the other jars on the shelf. She put her shirt back on, a few new tears in the garment where the glass cut through.
“Now, as I said earlier,” continued Shannon, “the large guy—Joshua, I heard the old man call him—is the nicer of the two. I think he sees this as some kind of game. When he chased me earlier today, I think he was having fun.”
Lindsay’s mouth twisted down into a grimace.
“Yeah, I know, he’s gross and scary. But we may be able to use him somehow.”
Lindsay groaned, shaking her head in disgust.
“Lindsay, all I’m saying is be nice to him. Maybe we can talk him into letting us go. But, remember, he’s really strong and he’s really fast. He’s dangerous. Don’t forget that. Okay?” Shannon placed her hand on Lindsay’s cheek. “Okay?”
“All right.” Her voice sounded tiny in the hollows of the cellar, nothing more than a child’s squeak.
“We’re going to fight. And we’re going to live.”
Jesus, look at this shithole.
Peter drove onto the winding stretch of gravel road leading to the farm.
It was even worse than he remembered it. Farming buildings were falling apart, fields dying from the drought. And the overwhelming country stench as prevalent as ever. Peter grew up with the smell; at the time, he’d thought it the natural odor of the earth. Nothing but cow shit—and now it seemed so foreign. Hard to believe he’d forgotten it. It’s funny what memories one can bury sometimes.
Peter slowed down, not wanting to incur any gravel damage to his Town Car.
His thoughts wandered to his brother, Matt. Even though he hadn’t spoken to Matt in years, at one time he was probably the closest thing to a friend he had. He didn’t despise Matt as he did the rest of his family. He simply outgrew him. It became obvious his brother would never change his ways. Always the victim, never taking charge of his life. Just another link to the miserable past he was better off putting behind him.
Years ago—once Peter set up roots in New York—he dropped Matt a post card with his business number. More out of pity—maybe a tiny bit of mis
placed responsibility—than anything. He told Matt to give him a call if he ever needed anything. In typical Matt behavior, it didn’t take him long to ask for a loan. Needing some start-up capital, he said, for the preposterous idea of opening his own video store. Peter scoffed at first, but really, it shouldn’t have surprised him. Matt meant well, but never set his goals high enough. He dreamed small and lived smaller. Matt was that way on the farm as well. He only did enough work to subsist. Peter didn’t deem Matt lazy, but he lacked ambition and vision. Sadly, contentment to Matt meant just getting by.
Still, Peter’s very few fond memories from his childhood involved his brother. At one time, he loved him. Or the closest to love Peter ever experienced.
Matt had been honorable enough to insist the money be a loan, not a gift. Pleasantly surprised by Matt’s willingness to pay his own way, Peter gave him the money. At first, Peter kept up with Matt via phone calls, checking to see how his investment was coming along. Peter knew his brother would inevitably fail, but he let him fail. Valuable lessons are hard earned. So Peter kept his mouth shut.
Eventually, Peter dropped contact. He assumed Matt wanted to sever all ties with his past, too. More power to him.
Twelve years later, Peter found himself in Kansas City on a business trip. He had some time to kill, so, on a whim, he called Matt.
An hour and a half later, Peter knocked on the door of his brother’s house in a suburban Kansas neighborhood. He smiled derisively at the identical houses. Still stuck in a rut, thought Peter. An improvement over the hellish farm where they’d dwelled, but not by much.
A young girl with blonde hair and glasses too large for her face answered the door. She couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve years old. She said nothing, staring expressionlessly at Peter. He thought he had the wrong house.
“Ah, hello, I’m looking for Matt Strothers.”
The girl continued to gawk. Finally, she stepped back and yelled, “Dad!” Peter couldn’t believe it. He had no idea Matt had a child, let alone was married.
Matt came to the door bearing a warm smile. Unexpected nostalgia warmed Peter’s chest. Just a pinch, though, before it skittered away.
“Peter! Come in, come in.” The years hadn’t been kind to Matt. Thinning hair, a bald spot threatening to overtake his scalp. A developing paunch suggested a lazy lifestyle, throwing in the towel. Contentment, Mattie style. “How are you?” Matt opened his arms, awaiting a hug. Peter stood still, arms anchored firmly at his side. Outside of handshakes, Peter liked to keep touching relegated to the bedroom.
“I’m quite well, Mattie. And you?” Peter extended his hand formally, dropping an axe on any forthcoming hugs. Matt accepted it and returned a limp shake. Same old, weak Matt. Peter fought to bottle a percolating sneer.
“Well, I’m okay. Oh, this is my daughter, Shannon.”
Shannon watched the exchange with complete indifference, the way kids do once they reach a certain age. “You must be my Uncle Peter.” She offered her hand, much more confidently than her father. Her entire persona transformed. A breathtaking smile flowered through her previously dour expression.
“I am indeed.” Peter took her hand and playfully kissed it. “And you must be the prettiest princess ever to reside in Kansas.”
The girl blushed, gazing at her shuffling feet. Oddly enough, Peter found himself charmed. “Your father never told me he had such a beautiful daughter.” The sudden warmth he felt toward the girl floored him. Finally, Matt accomplished something he could show off with pride.
“I’m not so…beautiful.” Although her demeanor leaned toward shy, her smile spoke differently. “I have homework to do. Gotta bounce. Please say goodbye before you leave.” She swiveled in her high-tops and ran up the stairs.
“Very lovely daughter, Mattie.” Peter meant it, too. True compliments came hard by him, doling out shallow, hollow greetings his usual comfort zone.
“Thanks. Let’s go in here.” Peter followed his brother through the hallway.
A woman wearing sweat pants sat on the sofa watching television. Peter thought at one time, she might have been attractive in a sort of bland Midwestern way. But those years were long past. Her black hair looked straggly, somewhat wiry like a scouring pad. Wrinkles stretched down along her mouth, a permanent scowl setting in. She glanced at the two men before returning her attention toward the television.
“Cheryl? Honey? This is my brother, Peter.” Cheryl lifted an eyebrow, obviously bored—put out?—by Peter’s arrival. A deep rush of shame for his brother’s humiliation coursed through Peter.
“Hello,” she muttered. She stood up and hurried out of the room.
Matt sighed and sat down. He motioned for his brother to follow suit. “Sorry about that, Peter.”
“No need for apologies.”
“It’s just…well, we’ve been having some problems lately.” Matt rubbed his eyes wearily. “Anyway. What about you? Are you married? Kids?”
“I’m married. No children yet.” Peter feigned a smile. He wished to be anywhere but here. Marital drama made him uncomfortable.
“That’s good, that’s good. Look, Peter, I’m sorry I’m behind on my payments to you. Times have been rough.”
“I don’t really care about that, Matt. Money’s no problem for me. Take your time paying me back. There’s no rush.”
“Well, I appreciate that.” Matt cleared his throat, an uncomfortable foreshadowing of more trauma. “But I will pay you back. Definitely.”
“It’s fine, Mattie.”
“Um, do you know about Mary?” Peter had no interest in exhuming the past. He’d talk to Matt about Matt’s family—even his woes, if necessary—but the past was definitely off-limits.
“No, I don’t,” said Peter. Nor did he want to, either.
“She showed up here a few years back. A total wreck.” His hands fidgeted nervously in his lap. “She was pretty messed up.” Matt paused as if expecting an acknowledgement. Peter remained silent.
“I had to put her in a home—a mental institution. She was raped and had a baby…” Matt trailed off.
As soon as Peter suspected the truth, he stood up to leave. “Matt, it’s been nice seeing you, but I’ve got to go.” He swept by his brother, making it to the hallway door before Matt called after him.
“Peter, she’s your sister. Don’t you care?”
He turned around to address his brother. “No, Matt, I don’t care. Mary didn’t care about me, nor did our mother, and especially not our evil son-of-a-bitch father. So if now, you’re asking me if I care? No. I do not care.”
“I think Dad did it.” Matt sobbed on the sofa, hanging his face in his hands. “He raped her. He did that to Mary!”
“Goodbye, Matt. I’ll see myself out.” The thought of Edwin raping Mary filled Peter’s mind with leaden numbness. Yet it didn’t come as a surprise. He knew the old man had it in him. Always did. Too bad about Mary. But, honestly, she never showed any kindness or affection toward him. Ever. Only disdain. And that was when she acknowledged him. Just like his mother and so-called father.
He had made a huge mistake visiting his brother. The worst possible result occurred. He felt vulnerably human again. He loathed that feeling.
He yanked open the front door. The sounds of his crying brother filled the house with a pathetic morbidity.
Shannon, sitting on the stairwell, startled him with a sigh. She rested her chin on her knees, looking world-weary for her age. Her arms held her legs together tight, a compact ball of sadness.
“Goodbye, Uncle Peter,” she said, her voice barely perceptible. If she had eavesdropped on their ugly encounter, it didn’t seem to faze her too much. Probably she had grown used to her father’s blubbering. “It was very nice to meet you.”
Through it all, she still insisted on good manners. Amazing. Peter thought she could teach her father a few things about humility.
“Goodbye, Shannon. The pleasure was all mine.” He offered her a charming smile. But
with the grotesque sounds of his brother’s sniveling growing louder, it seemed moot.
“Will we ever see you again, Uncle Peter?”
Obviously, emotional turmoil ran rampant through this household. Accepted as the norm. The girl sought comfort in the company of a stranger. Someone not dysfunctional. Peter remembered desperately hoping for visitors on the farm, anyone offering possible relief. He empathized deeply with her.
“I certainly hope so, Shannon,” replied Peter. “I hope so.” He pulled the door shut behind him, closing the door on his family forever. A pity, too. He wouldn’t mind visiting his niece again over his weak-willed brother. But, due to her unfortunate heritage, he’d never see Shannon again.
That had been the last time Peter saw—or talked to—any of his family.
Until tonight. Until now.
He pulled onto the familiar driveway of the house where he had been beaten, tortured, starved, and humiliated.
His family home.
The hours crawled by.
Matt stared into the darkness, his headlights flitting across the highway. He felt alone, unprepared. But his father was an old man now. If it came to it, Matt wondered if he could take the old man in a fight. Matt cringed at the thought. His father still haunted his nightmares.
Trying to temper his dread and mounting fear, Matt reached into the past for comfort…
Matt left home a few months after Peter. Peter’s last words—about how Matt should leave before things grew worse—had proved prophetic. Hard to believe, but their father had turned even meaner. And crazier. The beatings increased. And Matt’s chores doubled. At times, Matt thought Peter’s leaving hurt his father. In an odd way, Matt suspected Peter was his father’s favorite child. Not that Edwin would ever admit it. He thought expressing feelings was “unmanly”. Yet he took Peter hunting and spent more time with him than his other two children.
When Matt made up his mind to leave, he had no idea where the road would lead him. But Peter had inspired him. Matt packed his bag when his father was gone. The easiest way.
Godland Page 10
