Ashley's Tale: Making Jake

by Mike Duke

  Copyright ©2016 by Mike Duke

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Artwork is by Alex Ledante. Visit him at his Facebook page, The Darker Side of Passion.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank all the fans who read Ashley’s Tale and requested more! Because of you I became inspired to serialize Ashley’s Tale into multiple self-contained stories that will all tie together. Making Jake will provide the backstory necessary to move forward with further stories.

  Thanks to all my beta readers who read Making Jake and provided feedback but particular thanks goes out to my wife, Kristi Duke, for her support and editorial assistance as well as Morgan Pearson for her in depth feedback and questions that helped me dial some things in.

  A special thank you to Alex Ledante for patiently working with me on bringing my vision to life for the cover art in a timely and economical manner. Much appreciated.

  And once again, a big thanks to all my author friends on Facebook who have so kindly and freely offered advice.

  Thank you, everyone, sincerely.

  “This is what is hardest. To close the open hand because one loves.”

  - Frederick Nietzsche

  Jack charged into the room, the screams suddenly cut off seconds before he arrived. The first thing he saw was his mom’s red face, eyes bugged wide open. Those eyes had a fearful resignation that turned immediately to distress and pleaded with Jack to just leave and leave it be, for his own safety, not hers. But Jack looked away from those eyes in disobedience, and what his peripheral vision had detected, but not informed his mind of, he now saw clearly. The man’s fingers were squeezing his mother’s trachea closed as he took her from behind, hips driving with punishing intent. Lori Jackson had opened her mouth in disrespect to her piece of shit boyfriend, Ricky, once too many, and, by god, he was going to make sure it didn’t happen again for a long fucking time.

  Jack’s whole body trembled with adrenaline and rage, forcing the end of the aluminum baseball bat at his side to jerk and twitch uncontrolled. The world slowed down for Jack. The man’s hips continued to cycle like a blacksmith’s hammer against an anvil, his eyes failing to perceive Jack. They were completely fixated on the back of Lori’s head and his viselike grip.

  Jack lifted the bat over his right shoulder. Lori’s eyes grew big and begged him not to do it, not to become a killer. But Jack never looked at his mom’s eyes again. He only had eyes for Ricky’s head. His legs moved on their own, left foot stepping deep, right one sliding slightly as hips torqued and shoulders snapped, the metal bat travelling a perfect arc to intersect with the left occipital region of Ricky’s skull then continuing through till it dissipated the momentum over Jack’s left shoulder. The resounding crack filled the room, filled his ears.

  Jack had never felt so damn good in all his 13 years of life.

  His mother gasped for breath over and over as she held her throat and came to a kneeling position, quickly pulling the covers over her naked body.

  They both stared down at Ricky’s limp body, his skull askew from his cervical column, a large concave area clearly visible, blood beginning to fill it and overflow, dark crimson rivulets slowly picking their way across the battered and scarred hardwood floor.

  *****

  Jack awoke from the dream, the memory forceful and vivid, still, 10 years later. It was fuel, inspiration, the driving impetus behind his plan – Operation: Black Knight. A plan he would execute at last tonight. He showered, dressed then set about inventorying his go bag. Flashlight, EMT kit, bungee cords, duct tape, Zip ties, black sack.

  Now he just needed to collect himself and affirm his will to proceed, the righteousness of what he was going to do even though the method was unconscionable. Once the trap was sprung there was no going back. It would change his path forever.

  “No,” he thought. “It will simply be a fulfillment of the path I chose when I swung that bat. This has been roaring in my ears for years, a train of inevitable consequences bearing down on me at last.”

  He thought of April, his best friend for years now. Her spiral locks of red hair framing green eyes. Sad eyes. Always sad, except when she was around him. Ivory skin, so soft and fair. Her head resting on his upper arm in high school at the lunch table, sleeping peacefully, safely. Later, they would meet at the library during college and she would do the same. He was her sanctuary. Strong. Silent. Listening. A sentry never flagging in duty, yet funny when she needed it. Jack burned inside with unspoken love for her, a love never reciprocated in the way he wished, which led to a visceral frustration and rage at the abusive men she chose to be with. A rage he restrained and contained whenever she was near.

  Until two months ago...when it all overflowed.

  *****

  It was Sunday morning, Easter Break weekend. Dorm and sorority parties were still littered with comatose, half naked bodies. Jack maintained his own apartment just off campus, away from the debauchery he had not partaken of.

  It was 9 am when he heard a knock on the door. He looked through the peephole. It was April. Her face was bruised. A black eye full of regret. Her countenance and body language screamed shame and yet she was here to see Jack, her friendly neighborhood white knight.

  He unlocked the door and opened it.

  “Come on in, April,” he said, his voice gentle and welcoming.

  April shuffled in, arms folded, hugging herself, movements small, everything small. She went straight over and sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the floor without a word.

  Jack’s stomach knotted and churned, an unknown knife twisting deep within. He hated to see her like this and feared what may have happened. He sat next to her, softly placing his hand on her upper back.

  “What happened April?” He spoke calmly, without judgment, letting the words hang in the air till she was ready to talk.

  April’s words came slow and measured, in both volume and emotion.

  “I…I was at one of the parties last night…with Brad. He got really drunk. Started acting the ass…big time. I told him I was gonna leave. But he didn’t like that…not one bit. He dragged me to a bedroom and locked the door…”

  April shifted slightly, continuing to stare at the floor, obviously trying to build up the courage to verbalize what she dreaded to say.

  “The music was blaring. He turned towards me…his face red…indignant. He looked like some enraged beast.”

  She took a deep breath. Blew out and breathed deeply again, closing her eyes as she began to speak once more.

  “He walked right up to me and punched me.” April’s hands reflexively moved to cover her stomach. “I dropped…couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand, couldn’t do anything…He picked me up…effortlessly…then threw me on the bed. I was wheezing for air while he stripped off my pants, cussing me the whole time for embarrassing him in front of his friends, for shaming him, for being a bitch and a sorry cunt.”

  There was a long pause, three deep breaths, before she could speak again.

  “And then he raped me Jack. Brad raped me."

  April' tears dropped to the floor, her last words crushing Jack beneath an avalanche of regret that he was not there to save her from this tragic horror. Anger burned inside him as he watched her frame tremble
beneath the strain of her own regrets.

  "I wanted to struggle," she choked out at last, "but I knew he would hurt me more…I just laid there…and took it. He told me this was what happened to mouthy bitches and I better not ever do it again…When he was done I grabbed my pants and curled up, fetal, staring at him…like a dog that just got beat, I bet. He buckled his pants and scowled at me. ‘You better not tell anyone about this. You understand?’ I must not have nodded ‘yes’ because he stormed over and punched me in the face twice then dragged me off the bed and threw me in the closet. ‘Stay there bitch!" he said, "And if you come out before I get back, I’ll beat your ass black and blue.’ And then he shut the closet door and left the room. I waited for hours in there, Jack, till, finally, I creeped out and peeked into the living room. Everyone was passed out...so I left.”

  She sat quietly for a long moment then turned and looked Jack in the eyes.

  “He’s gonna kill me, Jack. I just know it.”

  Jack’s heart melted and burned with a fury simultaneously. Eyes tearing up with empathy and rage. He pulled her tight and held her.

  “That motherfucker won’t ever hurt you again April. I’ll make sure of it. It’s gonna be ok. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

  She nuzzled in tight and wrapped her arms around his midsection, hugging him tightly, tears and snot drenching his shirt as her chest finally began to heave and she wept uncontrollably for some time. Jack just held her tight, stroked her head and hair lightly and whispered to her affirmations of a future hope.

  At last the wracking sobs subsided and she raised her head to wipe her nose with her sleeve.

  “Oh god! Jack, I snotted all over your shirt,” she exclaimed in embarrassment.

  “It’s ok April. I can change. Let me get you some tissues.”

  Jack stood and pulled off his shirt, broad back muscles rippling into April’s view. He walked into the bathroom, grabbed the box of tissues and returned. She took one and blew her nose, then another to wipe her eyes and face while Jack went to the fridge. He turned around and pulled up just short of running April over, nearly spilling the tea he had poured for her. He felt her tiny palm resting on his bare chest before he saw it, saw the look of desire in her eyes as she stood on tip toes to kiss his lips.

  Jack back peddled in surprise without thinking. April’s eyes looked hurt and confused suddenly.

  “April. Your emotions are running high and confused right now…and rightly so. As much as I have dreamed of this happening for years now, I don’t want it like this.”

  “But…” she didn’t know what to say.

  “I love you April. And because you’re my best friend and I love you deeply, I’m not going to take advantage of your state of mind and heart right now. If you still feel like this tomorrow, great, but not now. I respect you too much.”

  April’s eyes filled with tears and embarrassment, a confused look of rejection. Without another word she turned and fled.

  Jack wanted to follow, to explain further and comfort her, but he knew it shouldn’t be so. Instead he raged throughout the apartment, throwing things everywhere and screaming till he realized he was late for work. Before campus police could respond to calls of a disturbance he had put on work clothes and left for the slaughterhouse.

  The rest of the day his mind was ablaze with distress, regret, a thousand alternate historical possibilities that moment with April might have led to. And every time he held the bolt gun to a hogs head and pulled the trigger he thought of Brad’s face. Every time he drew the large blade at his waist and slid it into the pig’s aortic arch and laid it wide open he envisioned doing it to Brad’s cowardly heart. Jack wanted him dead.

  By 10 pm when he got off work, the fury was unquenchable, undeniable.

  *****

  Jack found Brad at one of the local bars, the Crazy Horse, and waited outside in a parking spot that gave a full view of the pool hall from outside. He watched Brad’s every move, observing the arrogance, the false bravado his alpha male wannabe posturing revealed, and, at last, his drunken stupor.

  It was 1 am before Brad finally stumbled through the front door and Jack was Johnny on the spot as Brad tried repeatedly to put the keys in the car door of his dark blue early 70’s Grand Marquis.

  “Hey, hey, hey good buddy,” Jack called out as he approached Brad in plain view. “You look like you could use a hand.”

  Brad looked up, head cocked sideways, one eye nearly closed as he stared at Jack, trying to remember who this nobody was, his whole body swaying erratically as his brain failed to process an accurate identity.

  “Who are you?” Brad slurred.

  “Jack, man. Was just heading up here for a drink but let me help you with that.”

  Jack eased up to him smooth as butter and peeled the keys out of Brad’s fingers as he looked him in the eye, smiling. Jack slid the key in the door lock and turned it, feeling the click. He slowly opened the door, giving Brad time to shuffle his feet back enough so it didn’t knock him down.

  “You want me to drive you home, Brad?” Kindness oozed from Jack’s every movement and sound.

  “Me?!?” questioned Brad. “I’ve been drinking…but I ain’t drunk.” He mumbled dryly.

  “Alright buddy, well here you go.”

  Jack held the keys out till Brad reached for them then dropped them on the front seat. Brad braced himself with one arm and bent down to reach in and retrieve the keys.

  Jack looked around for any witnesses and seeing none let his right forearm fall on the base of Brad’s skull, dropping him like a rock, body collapsing face first into the front seat. Jack quickly pushed him over into the passenger seat and sat him upright, started the car and took off.

  A couple miles down the road he killed the lights and turned into a park on the north side of the lake where guys liked to meet guys at night. He drove to the furthest corner and backed the vehicle into the brush at the woods edge then immediately got to work by the light of the glowing radio display.

  First he laid Brad’s seat all the way back, zip tying his wrists together and seat belting them at his waist. Then Jack pulled an ammonia tab from his pocket, broke it and waved it beneath Brad’s nose to rouse him from La La Land.

  Jack knew how to wake up unconscious people. He had completed EMT training during his junior and senior year in high school and done some volunteer work with the local station till he left for college on a wrestling scholarship. Off season he still ran some calls with the college EMS crews.

  He tossed the tab and straddled Brad in the seat, gripping a hand full of hair with one hand to pin his head and began violently knuckle raking the sternum.

  Brad jerked awake, crying out in pain and trying to squirm, not realizing yet just how bad his current situation might be.

  Jack slid his thumb into the sternal notch between the clavicle and larynx, compressing the trachea lightly, and ending Brad’s cries.

  “Don’t you dare make another fucking sound!” Jack hissed. “You copy motherfucker?”

  Brad was wide eyed. Jack could feel him start to jerk and twist his hands, finally realizing they were bound but unable to see exactly how.

  “Nod in the affirmative if you understand Brad.”

  Jack added emphasis to the seriousness of that statement by pushing his thumb in further and up, causing Brad to gag and cough reflexively, but only once, his airway now sealed.

  Brad’s eye’s bulged and his head nodded vigorously.

  Jack released the grip on Brad’s throat and secured another handful of hair, an irresistible wrath overtaking him. His hands clinched with a madman’s might, arms quivering from exertion, pressing Brad’s skull into the headrest, hatred fighting to release a fury.

  Restraint suddenly failed. He lifted Brad’s head and slammed it into the passenger window.

  The glass shuddered but did not break. Again and again Brad's skull battered the passenger window, Jack's arms two locomotive coupling rods, rising and falling in unison. It fe
lt too good to stop.

  But suddenly Jack ceased, realizing Brad’s body had gone limp.

  Jack wanted to kill Brad, badly, but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t change anything. He could protect April to a degree, but eventually she had to stand up for herself, she had to abandon the piece of shit that had abused her for months and finally raped her.

  Jack released Brad’s head and let it fall, broke out another ammonia tab and woke him back up with a couple of light slaps on the cheek.

  “Look at me Brad. Look at me. C’mon. Open those darling blues and look at me.”

  Brad came around slowly, moaning from the pounding in his skull.

  Jack snapped his fingers, then motioned with two fingers from Brad’s eyes to his own, back and forth, till he had Brad’s full attention.

  “Alright, Brad. I want you to know that I could have killed you, buddy. Comprende? You could have gone to sleep and never woken up, helpless, unable to do a damn thing to stop me. You get that?”

  Brad nodded.

  “Do you understand the full gravity of what’s happening here?”

  Brad nodded once again.

  “Good. Now here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to cut you loose and leave you here. You’re going to stay here till morning when you’re sober and can find your keys I’m going to throw right over there.”

  Jack motioned as he spoke.

  “You’re not going to say a fucking word about this to anyone. Not the police, not your friends and definitely not to April. You tracking so far?”

  Another nod.

  “Good. Annnnnd, you’re not going to even go near April…ever-a-fuckin-gain.” Each of the last six syllables were hammered home with Jack’s index finger thumping on Brad’s forehead.

  There was no response. Jack thought he saw a hint of rebellion, perhaps a bit of ego bristling at its mistreatment.

  “Ever!” he spat in Brad’s face. “If you do, I will fucking kill you and feed you to the pigs at the god damn farm! Nobody will find you. Do you fucking got it?”