Jayden's Revenge: The Tale of an American Family

by Dirk Knight

  9.

  Jayden’s heart is pounding as she runs towards the bushes separating the Bingham’s property from their neighbors; adrenaline courses through her little body as she flees the scene of her crime. The rapidity with which the fire took hold of the home has taken her aback. It isn’t until she reaches the neighbor’s yard and takes cover to get a second look that she realizes she has nothing but a pair of socks separating her from the cold, wet ground. Her shoes are inside, where it’s nice and warm (although warm is about to go to hot really quickly).

  —It’s a little too late to go back and say ‘don’t mind me, just getting my shoes so I can run away from your combusting home.’

  “This is going to suck,” she mumbles to herself as she takes to the street in an all-out run to beat whatever crazy her mom is bringing to dinner. The Weller house is not terribly far away, no big deal on a bike, but barefoot on a rainy winter’s day is going to be a little more trying. I really didn’t think this through–, she thinks as the balls of her feet begin to get sore. Jayden blocks it all out and continues to move forward. Dad has always prepared her for the inevitability of pain and struggle. He is a pragmatist.

  She remembers when she sprained her ankle in school PE class and the coach had wrapped a Ziploc full of ice to her ankle in an ACE bandage. The ice hurt so much more than the sprain itself had. She had Phys-Ed as seventh period, strategically at the end of the day in order to prevent having to shower with other girls; she told Coach that she has yard work after school anyway and that she would be fine to shower after. Pragmatism. On that day, she couldn’t even make it to the bus before the ice was so excruciating that she had stopped near the curb and torn the icepack free from the wrapping and continued home without it. Now, as her feet were beaten into the cement like blocks of hamburger on a hockey rink she only wishes she had a sprained ankle and an overstuffed icepack.

  The small bones of her feet are throbbing with every step. Each wet slap on the blacktop drives a spike through her shins. She realizes that she is holding her breath and biting her lips so hard that she begins to taste that copper flavor of blood. Just think about the fireplace and marshmallows, she tells herself, trying to conjure up any thought that will keep her focus away from her surely ruined toes. They are completely numb and lifeless.

  The road back to her home is mostly two-lane blacktop, with very few houses along the way. There is a low shoulder and a ditch filled with rocks and discarded, broken beer bottles and a stream of near-freezing runoff. She prays to see Potter’s Field. Shouldn’t it be close? Where is the damned field? She and Sam, in Jayden’s more innocent days, would race to this field when they were younger. Potter’s, they determined, was the midway point between their houses, so they would hang up the phone with one another and hurriedly make their way to the field. As many times as she had raced to this location, this is the only time the race has held consequences for her and forced her to dig deep. She is praying for softer ground, and Potter’s Field is her only hope.

  10.

  Derrick was sloshed drunk when he came home the night of his son’s death. He had left work early to celebrate bringing on a new client. He could have gone straight to the house, picked up a movie and some pizza; he could have prevented his son’s murder.

  Brenda had sent him a text that the kids were booted from school that day. That’s what it took to finally get him off the barstool. Jayden and Philip were going through some rebellious phase and he was at his wits’ end with the both of them.

  As he was getting out of his car and walking to the trunk to get his computer bag, which held his laptop and some quotes he was working on, a scream pierced through the summer rain, echoing like a grenade in a library. He turned and ran up the three steps to the front door as the screaming continued, grew louder, and suddenly stopped. Fumbling for the key, he yelled to Brenda, “Bren’! What’s going on?”

  Nothing.

  It felt like an eternity before the key was secured between his meaty thumb and forefinger, and slid home into the deadbolt. He swung the door wide and crossed into the den–, not bothering to remove his muddy shoes. There was a socked foot hanging into the hallway from the first door on the left: Philips room. There was blood on the sock. His heart dropped, and he took long strides toward the sock. It belonged to his son.

  The hardwood floors were pooled with blood. There were smears on the doorjamb and the sheets of the bed. Philip was face down in a puddle of blood, lifeless. Derrick knelt down and reached for his son, turning the boy onto his back. There was a jagged gash across his throat, and Derrick jumped back in terror, only then seeing Brenda slumped over the foot of the bed. One of his fishing knives was in her grip.

  He suddenly realized that he had been shouting “NO!—NO!—NO!” over and over since he first saw the sock. He now screamed to Brenda, “What did you do? You psycho, what did you do now!?!”

  Hot tears were burning down his face as he rushed over and grabbed her by the throat. She was limp in his fists. There was a large cut above her left eye and a lump growing under the skin.

  What the hell is going on here?

  “Jayden?” He could barely get the words from his mouth. His throat is hoarse from yelling.

  NO!—NO!—NO!

  Is his whole family dead? What happened here tonight?

  “JAAAYDENN!?” he managed a much louder shout in spite of his weakened voice.

  He hears a whimpering “Dad” emerge from under the boxed springs.

  She was clutching the poker from the fireplace. Derrick reached under the bed and slid his daughter free, picked her up into his arms and covered her eyes by burying her face into the crook of his neck. He was careful not to step on his son’s body as he walked into the kitchen to dial 911.

  The fire trucks arrived first. The police took a statement, and then the coroner took his son away in the back of a van. The ambulance that held his comatose wife pulled away from the curb next, heading to the same hospital. He and Jayden spent the next week at the Radisson.

  Brenda claimed she was innocent, claimed that she had been arguing with her son and sent him to his room for punishment. She then stated that she went to her medicine cabinet to fetch a Xanax. She testified that when she returned to the bedroom her son and daughter attacked her and she was knocked unconscious.

  Jayden testified that her mother had killed Philip and that she had struck her mother in the head with the fireplace poker. The blood on Jayden’s clothing had come from the carpet when she had clambered under the bed.

  There were scratches on Philips face and the skin was under Brenda’s fingernails. There was some of his hair in between the fingers of her opposite hand. Given Brenda’s history and mental state, coupled with the DNA evidence, police supported Jayden’s account and her mother was sentenced to Miller Jones’ Women’s Facility, where she remained … until tonight.

  11.

  After clubbing Derrick to subdue him, Brenda makes her way back to the kitchen, bat resting on her shoulder, and retrieves a small key ring from the hook near the back door. There is a small shed with tools that her husband keeps: the lawnmower, some hedge clippers, and (most importantly) rope to tie Derrick up. Even though he is badly beaten, she remembers a man who was unstoppable and strong when they were younger. Brenda would rather not risk him regaining consciousness unsecured. She flicks the switch for the motion lights, knowing Jayden won’t be far behind and not wanting to spoil her surprise. Walking on to the patio and through the yard, Brenda reminds herself to move quickly.

  Seeing the rope she came for, which she quickly tucks beneath her arm, brings back a flood of memories. The rope is made of blue nylon; Brenda recalls buying the rope for a camping trip the four of them had taken two summers ago.

  She wishes they could go back to that time, before Jayden started to turn. She had been such a sweet girl before the smoking and fighting, before Bren had caught her and Philip touching one another. Philip had never been all there; she knew that and knew
what it was from. Bren was a stupid kid when he was born and she regrets the meth now. Jayden, on the other hand, is just too smart for her own good. She knew her brother was weaker and manipulated and used him.

  Derrick would never see her faults. She is his favorite. He has always resented Philip, though he would never admit it. He was still a good father to the boy and loved them both dearly; but Jayden was his star pupil. Jayden used this to curry favor, saying that Philip coerced her.

  He was a perfect fall guy, a patsy. Philip was in love with his sister. He would do anything to protect her, and she rewarded him for his loyalty with kissing and over-the-clothes petting. This is what Brenda had seen the night her son had been killed. She walked in on the two of them face to face, mouths entwined, his hand reaching up her green plaid skirt.

  Brenda closed the distance to the bed while screaming; she grabbed him by the hair and snapped his head back. She slapped him hard enough across the face to make her fingertips hot and sore–much as the left side of her swollen face is now–and leaving deep scratches along his jaw with her perfectly manicured nails. Jayden kicked her in the ribs and ran into the hallway. Brenda tried to go after her but Philip dove for her legs, tripping her, and she fell into the hallway.

  The last thing she saw was her daughter swinging down that iron rod. She awoke a day later in the county hospital. She doesn’t know what happened to Philip exactly, but she knows that she was not the one who held the blade to his throat. She was railroaded by her husband and daughter and tonight she is going to get the answers she deserves.

  She is seeking to exact revenge upon her daughter for that night, not so much caring what happened to Derrick, and a part of her is sorry she needed to bludgeon him so many times, but he would be in her way if not dealt with; it is what needed to be done.

  Brenda turns to exit the shed, but pauses when she hears the rattle of a chain link fence.

  12.

  Jayden arrives at her home just as the sun is finishing its descent. Her hands and feet are packed meat, her knuckles locked around the graphite shaft of Bob Bingham’s fairway wood like a rusted bolt. There is almost no feeling whatsoever, just pulsing sensation–the throbbing phantom pain in her toes and the balls of her feet is so intense it feels like fire. The shortcut through Potter’s Field has brought her to the rear fence of the home.

  Philip had cleared away the bush just behind the tool shed to make it easier to hop the chain link fence. She and Phil would go twenty yards or so into the woods surrounding Potter’s Field to smoke pot and make-out; shot-gunning hits off of a joint into her lungs for her first high. She didn’t much enjoy the make-out sessions, but it was a small price to pay for his unfaltering loyalty. She would often use promises of affection as bribery for getting Philip to steal from Mom, or intimidate other children. She knew he was stupid and that comforted her. He was her stooge. Life has become less spectacular without him.

  Her father is a bit of a stooge as well. He would often cave to her demands, but she can’t confide in him with the same degree of trust as she had her hapless older brother. Her one real achievement there was managing to trick him into putting that wretched mother of hers away.

  I guess that’s something, right?–, she thinks as she places the worthless fingers of her left hand around the top bar of the fence.

  She tosses the three-wood she has taken from Bob’s golf bag over the fence. It lands in the mud with a wet sucking noise. Her fingers are frozen into a claw from the grip she has maintained on the club. She places her right hand on the fence and poises her legs to jump, but just then, she sees a shadow nearing the shed; the silhouette of her mother leaving the backlit kitchen and descending the stairs to the yard. Her heart, already pounding from the run, feels as if it will break through her sternum then fall into the mud next to the golf club so loudly that her mother would hear the wet plop and come yell “fore” before driving her heart into the neighbor’s yard… no more Jayden….

  Jayden came this way for two reasons: the shorter distance and the cover of nightfall and trees. Now the element of surprise is gone. Meddling bitch to the end–, she thought. She has to proceed; her body is beginning to shudder like a car with a blown tire. She has to wait; it seems to take hours for Brenda to go inside the shed. So close to the warmth of her house, and yet so far. Deciding that jumping up to vault the fence would be too noisy, she slips her tiny, deadened, throbbing feet into the square openings and slowly pushes her weight up the fence. The cold of the chain links feel as if they are tearing off her toes. She is fighting every instinct to scream out in agony. Her feet are destroyed, she is sure she will need medical attention.

  She locks her arms and balances her weight on the top beam of the fence, the little barbs digging into her heel as she applies more weight. She pushes from her perch but the barb holds fast to her sock. The momentum of her body sends her face first into the mud. Her shoulder responds with a crunch and her breath is knocked out. The sock tears free from her limp foot (still clinging to the barb atop the fence) as she rolls over in agony.

  She struggles to her feet and grasps for the weapon. Sensing that Brenda has certainly heard the clatter of the fence, she squeezes in between the back corner of the shed–where they keep the firewood–and begins to climb the cord of wood, still struggling for breath.

  13.

  Brenda, still clutching the slugger in one hand and rope in the other, jumps at the sound. She darts her head out to examine, sees nothing, and exits the shed. Looking toward the fence, she sees a sock dangling from the fence line. Brenda turns to run into the house and loses her footing, falling face first into the mud. Brenda’s hands are full and cannot adequately break her momentum; instead, they slide outward into the mud, positioning her into the shape of the crucified. Her, already banged up, knee screams in pain as she connects with the earth. As she falls, she also hears the sound of wood falling, sees a piece of timber roll from behind the shed, and knows that her daughter has almost gotten the drop on her again.

  Little Bitch!!!–, she almost screams.

  Using the bat as a cane to steady herself, she finds her footing and turns back toward the front of the shed, doubling back. She knows Jayden wants her to follow. The roof of the shed creaks above her. Before she can register the sound, a Callaway club splits her lips and shatters her jaw.

  Teeth land next to her, scattered in the mud. Blood runs from her mouth, but she manages to swallow a great deal first; she is disoriented. Brenda tries to push herself upright again. What she sees looks like chocolate ice cream with strawberries and nuts. She utters a warbled cry as she looks down, seeing her teeth and bits of her gums lying in the mud, but no words came out. Her jaw is useless. What comes out is more of a haggard mooing, sound–like a dairy cow giving birth–than a cry for help. She can hear the blood gurgling in her throat as she struggles to breath.

  “Fore!” she hears Jayden shout from the roof of the shed.

  14.

  Derrick awakens in this living room floor, next to a shattered table, a bottle of Jack, and a coffee mug. His skull is pounding with every heartbeat. He is writhing in pain. The pressure behind his eyes is so intense that he can’t focus. “Help me!” he shouts. His words make the intense pain in his cranium more acute. What just happened?–, he wonders.

  He rolls to his side, glass from the table sticking into his shoulders as he rises. Using his left hand to steady himself causes a bolt of pain to surge through his body, starting in his chest; he can feel his collarbone grinding against its other half and the sensation is nauseating and quite unnerving. He looks down to identify the excruciating scraping and sees the bone protruding from his upper chest, not quite breaking the skin and becoming a compound fracture, but visibly trying to do so.

  He fights the urge to vomit and gets a flash of what happened. Brenda is here, she attacked him. Using his right arm this time to push his chest upright, he holds his left arm into his abdomen. By putting his right shoulder into the mantle of the fire
place he is able to use his legs to right himself and take his first staggering step into the hallway.

  There is a guttural moaning sound coming from the open back door. He cautiously peeks his face into the kitchen for a second before heading to the knife block to the right of the range. Grabbing the small fillet knife, he steps towards the window over the sink, and he is mortified by the view. Jayden is standing over her mother, who is tied to the riding lawnmower in the shed. Brenda is attempting to plead with her, but her mouth is ruined. She is audible, but not understandable. Jayden is holding a baseball bat. She brings it down in three quick hacks–each sounding a little bit wetter and thicker than the previous. Brenda is silent. Still.

  He makes his way to the patio door as Jayden pours out a can of gasoline over the seat of the rider and Brenda’s hair. He doesn’t recognize his wife. Her face is split, bloody and hanging half way off of her skull. There are pieces of wood stacked up in her lap.

  He has never imagined that Brenda’s story could be true. How can his little girl be responsible for this? His doubts fade quickly when he sees the joyful gleam in her eyes. She is enjoying this. This is too deliberate; she is a certifiable monster. He had been blinded by her charm and youth.

  His daughter sees his approach. She looks at him and her demeanor changes. She drops the gas can and runs to him.

  “Daddy, I’m so glad you’re ok…. I thought you were dead.” This is true; indeed, it’s the only reason why she didn’t finish the job when she had seen him lying on the floor, mangled and helpless.