At Daddy’s Hands

by Jacob Paul Patchen

  Nikki put her hand on Ally’s arm. Ally could feel it trembling, or maybe it was her arm that was shaking, she wasn’t sure, but she looked down at it, and then up at her.

  “Ally, I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I’ve tried to be strong, but I’m not like you, I can’t just bury it and move on.”

  “Bury it!? You think that’s what I did? Seriously?! There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t see him on top of me! His eyes so dark and hollow, his breath heavy, his… There’s–” Ally started to break down. Her eyes filled with tears. She wiped at them with her sleeve before they made it to her chin. “I just want him to love me!”

  Nikki started to cry, too. “I just want him gone, like before. Ally, he’s not our dad anymore. He’s not! He’s a monster!”

  Tyler, still on his knee, reached out toward the bed, toward his sisters, placing his hand beside them, not too close, but just close enough to let them know that he felt their pain. He bent his head into his other hand. Although it had been years since his father had molested him, the pain was still sharp. There wasn’t anything that bonded these children together like the torment that they all tolerated and shared from their father.

  He looked up at his sisters with “I’ve had enough” burning in his eyes.

  “What else are we going to do? You want to run away, again? You want to see how far you can run from a homicide detective?” He gave a short, winded laugh. “They’ll just find you, again… bring you back here, again… all smiles, all happy… thinking that they have done something good… claiming victory, not knowing that they just condemned us all to Hell.”

  “But he’s our father!” She was sturdy, solid, and certain. She looked at Nikki for help and then at Tyler. “He’s our… dad,” She trailed off, defeated, fighting with the fantasy of what she always wished he would be: the father that she would tell her secrets to, the father that she would come to for advice, a father that she would look up to. That type of dad. The type of man that she would hope to marry someday, raise a family with, love, honor, and cherish. But, deep down inside, despite all of her daddy issues, her craving for his love and attention… she knew that he wasn’t that kind of man. She knew that he could never be that type of man.

  She bit her lower lip, realized that she was holding her breath and let it go.

  “Alright, what’s the plan?”

  . . . . .

  Nikki understood that she was the bait. She understood that she had to be strong. Unlike her sister, she refused to bury the pain. She wasn’t that type. Even when she was younger, she would face her fears head-on. Much like the situation a few years ago, when a pit bull came trotting out of the tree line and into the yard while she was playing fetch with Shooter. Shooter growled as it got close. Then the pit bull attacked. Nikki watched in horror as the two dogs snapped at each other, each one biting the other. Then, Shooter’s back leg gave out, the bad one, the one that Jim had broken when Shooter showed his teeth trying to defend Ashley from Jim’s heavy hand. Nikki knew that she had to do something. Shooter was on his back, and the pit bull was on top of him. She looked around and grabbed a heavy stick. Then she ran at them, screaming as loud as she could, swinging the stick wildly. It was just enough distraction for Shooter to regain control and send the pit bull, bloodied, back to wherever he came from.

  A couple of weeks had passed since they discussed the plan. There were several second thoughts, evenings of talking it out, of planning and coordinating together. It had turned into a couple of weeks of bonding and understanding that this was the only way. They had to do what so many others had failed to do. They had to stop this evil from walking the earth. They had to exterminate this filth, this vile existence of a man claiming to be their “father.” But a father, a dad, a man, does not destroy a family as Jim had. Instead, they considered him less than blood, less than flesh, less than heart and soul. No, they no longer saw Jim as their father, but as a pest, a tick sucking the life from them, a flea spreading Black Death among them. He was hate, and they were love. And their intentions were to destroy him.

  Jim was sipping on his third Jim Beam and Coke, which Ally had poured for him. It was a little on the heavy side, but he didn’t seem to mind. (On good days, he would joke that his family invented Jim Beam, naming it after his great grandfather, so he was entitled to drink as much and as often as he wanted.) He was watching NCIS in his chair while Ashley cleaned up the dishes in the kitchen. It had been a pretty decent couple of days. There had been no fighting, no arguing, no apparent evil lurking around in the shadows. For now, the Devil was at bay and Ally wanted to call it off, suggesting that maybe he had changed. On those particularly optimistic days, she clung tightly to hope. But Nikki and Tyler convinced her that it was time to face their demons. It was time to take back their lives.

  “Dad,” Nikki said, stepping through the walkway into the living room, “I’m… I’m ready for our talk.”

  “What? Oh, yeah.” Jim looked at his shiny silver watch. It was just after 8 p.m., “I guess it is getting a little late.” He ran his hand along his thigh and back up again to his crotch, adjusting himself. “Yeah, we should probably do it before it gets much later.” He downed the last of his Jim Beam and groaned out of his love seat recliner. “Let’s go,” was all he said as he passed her and headed up the steps.

  Ashley watched from over her shoulder as he led Nikki up to their bedroom. She hadn’t taken any pills today and had simply enjoyed one glass of wine for dinner. She was aware of Nikki’s fate but didn’t know how to stop it. Jim had beat her bloody the last time she had confronted him about what was happening to her children. So, she just watched with disgust, with sadness, and with weakness as that son of a bitch led her daughter by the hand, up the steps, and into the bed that they still shared.

  Nikki gave Tyler and Ally a quick look as she passed by their opened and waiting bedroom doors. They were pretending to watch TV, anxiously waiting for them to walk by. As soon as they did, Tyler looked at Ally, held up two fingers and mouthed “two minutes” across the hall. She let out a heavy sigh and closed her eyes. She was still holding onto something, still battling right and wrong. Deep down inside of her, she still wanted her father back. But, she could see the death inside of Nikki’s eyes, and despite their differences, she had an aching to protect her younger sister.

  Jim shut the door and turned on the nightstand light.

  “So, how’s school going?” He asked nonchalantly as he took off his shirt. This cycle of abuse had become so normal to him, now, that he was comfortable enough to engage in small talk. Of course, it wasn’t always that way. The first several times Nikki kicked and punched. But she surrendered after he squeezed her throat and threatened to pull the life right out of her.

  Nikki stood there watching her father undress down to his boxer briefs, stalling, hoping that her brother and sister would rescue her soon.

  “It was okay, how was your day?” She hoped conversation would stall his intentions.

  Jim chuckled, almost as evil, almost as empty as the act that he was so eager to commit.

  “Fine, I guess. Now, come over here. Sit down.” He lowered himself to the bed and pat the comforter beside him.

  Nikki walked slowly, still stalling, still burning the seconds away.

  “Come on, I don’t have all night. Take off your shirt.” His words were slightly slurred.

  Nikki slid off her shirt, leaving on her bra, and sat down beside her father.

  He ran his hand across her shoulder and then up her neck.

  “You’re starting to grow up, you know,” he said casually. “Soon, you’ll be a woman. Soon, I won’t have much use for you.” His words seemed more like thoughts spoken out loud than conversation.

  She ignored him, sitting o
n the bed shirtless as her father ran his hand over her body. She closed her eyes and tried to take herself away from his rough hands and whiskey breath. Her breathing became deep and controlled. She focused on her chest moving in and out, on her shoulders rising and falling. In her mind, she counted after each gasp, watched as the numbers faded into existence in her head. She felt them. She created them. She became them.

  It was one of the few precious things that she had learned from her father before he set out to ravish her. It was a generous gift he gave her, the day that she had walked in on Ally cutting her forearms. She had nightmares for days after seeing her sister’s blood. One night, after waking up the entire house while screaming herself awake, Jim told her that he had a secret to share about how he would calm himself down after nightmares when he was a kid.

  He leaned down close to her ear to whisper. “Just close your eyes. Think of somewhere happy and safe. Breathe in slow and deep. Count slowly to ten and then back down again, if you have to.” It was a technique that she had mastered by now.

  “I wonder what I’ll do once you’re a little older.” He was definitely thinking out loud now. “I suppose I’ll just have to find someone else to love as much as you.”

  His words pierced her concentration, and she cringed at the thought of someone else facing this torture. She sucked in air loudly through her nose, tried to find her strength, and started counting again.

  He stood up and slid off his underwear.

  “Go ahead.” He motioned, standing in front of her.

  Ally was on her way back up the stairs with another strong drink for her father. Tyler was searching through his sock drawer for the bottle of Percocet he swiped from his mother’s purse last night.

  Ally rounded the corner into Tyler’s room.

  “Hurry,” he said, “she can’t stall forever.”

  He ripped open the pills and poured them all into the Jim Beam. Ally swirled the drink with her finger, letting them dissolve.

  “C’mon… c’mon.” Tyler encouraged until they fizzled out and blended with the amber drink. Tyler looked at Ally and nodded.

  “Ready? Let’s do this.” Tyler handed her the glass. “Remember, act normal.”

  She started down the hallway, careful not to spill any of the poison. Tyler was right behind her holding onto her shoulder for comfort.

  She knocked on her father’s door.

  Jim was pulling his daughter’s pants to the ground.

  “Not now!” he shouted from the other side.

  “I brought you another drink.” Ally offered innocently.

  Jim yanked off Nikki’s pants and tossed them into the corner.

  “Just leave it!” He yelled back, his words obviously slurring.

  “Okay.” Ally set the glass in front of the door, splashing some over the rim and onto the hardwood floor. Crap. She thought, wiping at it with her bare hand.

  Then, they both hurried carefully back to Tyler’s room. Wide-eyed, they stared at each other for a moment and then peered around the door frame, waiting for their father to consume his fate.

  Jim opened the door bare naked.

  Ally and Tyler jumped back into the room, tripping over each other and bumping into the dresser, knocking over some of Tyler’s football trophies.

  Jim didn’t notice. He was too focused on his drink, on his pleasure.

  “Shh.” Ally held her finger up to her lips.

  Tyler set the trophies back onto the dresser, quietly. Ally crawled up to the door, barely poking her compact mirror out just far enough to see what was happening.

  Jim stood in the black mass pouring out from behind him into the hallway light. He glanced around, grunted, and bent down to grab his drink. He stumbled, caught himself, rebalanced and reached down, again. This time he steadied himself on the wall. He wrapped his fingers around it firmly, felt its cold dampness, smelled the sweetness of alcohol and a splash of coke as he pulled it up to his lips, the ice clinked against the glass. He stood there in the doorway – darkness behind him, light in front. He took a lingering sweet swallow and turned and headed back into the shadows.

  “Jim! Jim you bastard! You God damned bastard!”

  Ally and Tyler snapped their heads toward each other and froze, eyes wide with shock, with fear.

  Jim’s shoulder slouched. He turned around annoyed, letting his drink dangle to his side.

  His wife stood firm at the top of the stairs, like that old oak in the yard that outlasted last year’s windstorm. Her arms were extended, Jim’s duty pistol squeezed into her hands, her finger shaking on the trigger.

  “I won’t let you hurt us anymore! You hear me? You’re done! You’re through!” Her eyes narrowed as she pointed the pistol at Jim’s thumping heart. “Now go to Hell!”

  Shocked and startled to be staring down the barrel of his own Glock, he let the Jim Beam slip from his hand. It fell, wet and loud, splashing and shattering across the hardwood floor.

  Two.

  Nikki

  One year earlier

  2017, October

  Music. That’s what makes me happy. All kinds, really, and… don’t tell mom… or Ally, but sometimes I listen to music that I’m not supposed to, like, Rihanna, Kesha, and Alessia Cara. Oh, my God, her song, Scars To Your Beautiful, is the best! It really gets me right in the feels. I like songs like that. You know, the ones that you can relate to and stuff. Or rap, cause, well… it makes me want to get up and shake my booty! You knooow… yes, you do. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t lie.

  Ally says that I don’t have a booty. But, neither does she… so whatever. Anyway, I like to sneak into her room and listen to her music when she’s out with Brian, or whatever. I just log onto her computer. I know the password. It wasn’t that hard to figure out… Daddyslittlegirl. Yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out. She’s been telling me forever that she was “Daddy’s little girl” first! She says that Dad gives me more attention just because I’m the baby of the family. She says not to feel special, because “every baby of the family” gets spoiled like I do. She says that I’m not that special. Whatever. Tyler says that Ally is just being a… a B-word and not to worry about anything she says, because I am special. He says that I’m the most special eleven-year-old (my birthday was last week) that he’s ever met. You know what I think? I think Tyler is just trying to be a big brother. Big brothers have to say stuff like that. Right?

  School’s great! I actually really like it! Everyone said that sixth grade would be scary, but after the first week, it was just like every other grade. We go to class, we raise our hand, we do homework, we take tests, and then we get graded. I’m getting all A’s and B’s, by the way…aaand I have like, a ninety-eight percent in Language Arts. Mostly because I love to write. But, also, because I totally like Mrs. V. She’s so nice, funny, and easy to talk to. She makes us write in our journal for five minutes at the beginning of every class. I love it. I get to write about whatever I want. Or, if I’m stuck, Mrs. V. puts a prompt up on the board and we can write about that if we want. Sometimes, when I write something really awesome, I just haaave to bring it home and read it to mom. She’ll let me sit on the floor in front of her, and she brushes my hair while she watches one of those silly dating shows. Mom says that I get it from her and that she’s so proud of me. She used to be a writer… or, well… she is a writer. I’m not sure if you ever stop being one once you start. She even had a book published! It’s called, A Tale of Love and War. It’s about two lovers who struggle to stay together. First, they love each other then, they hate each other… but by the end, they’re head over heels in love, again. That’s why I’ll never fall in love. It just sounds crazy to me. But, Mom won’t
let me read it. She says that it’s not appropriate for my age. Whatever. She doesn’t know that I listen to Drake (He’s a hottie!). So, what? They’re just curse words. Seriously, it’s like Tyler says, it’s not that big of a deal.

  My friends? Well, I can’t think of anyone that I’m not friends with. Well, except for Trisha. She’s just unfriendable. She’s too big to a sixth grader, with her shaggy brown hair and freckles. She calls me Goldie Locks, but not in a friendly way. I think she also steals my pens… but, I can’t prove it. She picks on eeeveryone. Mrs. V. told me that’s just what bullies do. She thinks I should give her a chance, though, for like… the hundredth time. She explained that a lot of times, bullies are just hurting inside and that Trisha probably just needs a friend. I said, “like that stray cat that digs in the dumpster in the parking lot and hisses at you whenever you try to pet it?” I’m always able to make Mrs. V. laugh. Sheee, thinks I’m special.

  But, I decided to take her advice a few weeks ago at lunch. It was pizza day, which of course is my favorite. I did a victory lap around the couch when Dad gave me extra money to buy an extra slice of pizza, because, “I’m extra amazing.” Ally didn’t appreciate my pizza dance. She’s such a lame-o.

  When I finally made it to the cafeteria, the lunch line was long, like, all-the-way-down-the-hall-by-the-gym-door, long. There were already kids getting in line for “seconds.” I stayed after class to run my plan by Mrs. V. because I was second guessing myself. But, she approved, and her smile was encouraging. She even wished me luck as I ran out the door.

  The lunchroom was loud. A bunch of excited pizza-face kids. My stomach wasn’t happy that I took forever. It smelled so good, and the noise was so big that I had a hard time listening to my thoughts as I practiced what I would say to Trisha. Hey, Trisha. I’m Nikki. How’s your day going? No. Hey, Trish. I really like your shirt. C’mooon. Trish, (wink and point) heeey, remember me? You going to the dance this Friday? You’re lookin’ pretty snazzy, today. What’s the special occasion? Hey Trish, Trish… buddy… friend… pal… bully. I wasn’t really sure what to say to a mean girl. Does a bully like to be called bully? I don’t know. Whatever.