Usually meek, Tracie is overcome with rage. Until this point Steve has only hit Tracie--at least to her knowledge. Austin sobs uncontrollably on the ground. He clinches his nose to try and stop the blood. Tracie has a rush of strength and courage. She can tolerate the physical abuse, but she will not stand around to see her children suffer the same fate. This is where she draws the line. She grabs Austin’s baseball bat from near the door. Without thinking twice, she swings the bat at Steve. The bat hits him in the upper back.
Tracie is caught off guard when Steve stumbles but remains standing. She was hoping the hit would knock him out.
Steve turns around and charges at Tracie. She drops the bat and flees the room. Steve catches up with her and tackles her in the hallway. He stands over her, straddling her as she tries to stand. She manages to make it to all fours, but Steve kicks her directly in the stomach. The kick steals all the fight from Tracie. She begins to sob loudly. She uses the small amount of strength she has left to curl into a fetal position, anticipating more kicks to her body. The fetal position has been her primary defense for years now.
“You really think a cop is going to scare me?” Steve balls up his fists. “Why in the hell did a cop come to my fuckin’ front door?” He kicks her again, this time with more force. “You bring cops to my door and think you’re going to scare me?” He kicks her in the side. Tracie begins to cough uncontrollably. Blood begins to expel from her mouth, but Steve is not done with her. He grabs her by the hair and drags her down the hallway, back towards the living room.
Austin stands outside his bedroom door, watching his father drag his mother by the hair. He is emotionless as he watches this violent attack. He is also accustomed to this level of violence in the household. Then he hears his mother scream.
Austin has never heard his mother scream. As he thinks about it, he has never heard his mother make any noise during Steve’s beatings. She has always taken the beatings in silence, never wanting her children to know she was afraid or in pain. Austin begins to scream for his mother. She does not respond. Steve drags Tracie to the living room and yanks her up to her feet.
Tracie looks over at her son, who is watching with tears in his eyes. “Go back in the room,” she directs him.
Austin follows his mother’s instructions and goes back into his room. Tracie’s continuous struggling causes Steve to lose his grip of her.
Her will to fight enrages Steve. A message must be sent. He smacks her across the face. She stumbles into the dining room table.
In his bedroom, Austin slides down the door and rests his back against it. The sounds of his mother being thrown against the wall ricochet throughout the entire house. Her hopeless screams break Austin’s heart. He covers his ears with his hands, as his tears flow for the mother he loves.
The next morning, Austin is still asleep on the floor. He had sat by his bedroom door, waiting for an end to the violent episode between his parents, until his eyes could no longer stay open. The bruises on his right cheek have now turned purple. The right side of his face is slightly swollen. The rips in his shirt reflect the struggle from the night before. Along with his new scars, he has old ones on his body, legs, and shoulders. They are all battle wounds from previous encounters with his dad. These bruises are also secrets he has kept from his mother. He has kept these secrets for fear of his father’s retaliation.
Though Austin is twelve years old, he could easily pass for eight. His legs and arms are lanky, and his face is sunken in from a lack of nourishment. His bones are conspicuous to the eye. Money is always tight, which means food can be scarce. A bed and a few toys are his only possessions in his irreparable world. Poverty is his way of life--the only way of life he knows.
Steve sits on the couch: his favorite spot in the house. He spills some liquor onto the coffee table as he pours a glass. He drinks what is in the glass in one sip. He wastes no time pouring another glass. The glass is empty in seconds. The speed with which he drinks causes him to miss his mouth. Alcohol runs down his face and neck. The strong liquor burns as it runs down his throat. He coughs from the stinging sensation. Steve continues to chug, though the sun has only been in the sky for a few hours.
Tracie walks into their only bathroom, located in the hallway. She looks into the mirror and examines her battered face. The sight of the bruises and cuts breaks her already fragile heart. Tears run from her right eye; they cannot run from her left eye, because it is swollen shut. Her tears sting the open wounds on her face, making her cringe. Her modest frame has taken all the abuse it can handle. The beating she endured the night before would have been fatal to most women her size, but Tracie has gotten tough over the years. Her heart has hardened as well, due to the damage Steve has continued to do to her body.
Tracie opens the medicine cabinet and grabs the rubbing alcohol. It seems like every day; she is cleansing a new cut. The beatings are becoming more frequent. A bandage is wrapped around her left wrist. She gently swabs her face with a washcloth, in an attempt to cleanse her latest bloody cuts. She squirms as the alcohol touches each wound. She bravely fights through the pain, because she has to get her face back to normal before she can return to work. She cannot afford for anyone else to question her unstable home life. The next time might be her last.
“Tracie. Where you at, girl?” Steve shouts from the living room.
Steve’s shouts startle Tracie. She drops the bottle of rubbing alcohol and bloody washcloth in a panic. The rubbing alcohol splashes on the sink and the floor, as Tracie rushes out to Austin’s bedroom. Frantic, she finds Austin still asleep on the floor. She yanks him up out of his sleep. She wants him to hide.
“Get in the closet, baby. Mommy needs you stay in here.” Tracie kisses Austin and forces him in the closet.
“Mommy what’s going on? I’m scared.”
Tracie strokes Austin’s hair in an attempt to reassure him. Even though the environment is tense and potentially explosive, Tracie is still a mother first. It is difficult, but she tries to shield them from as much of the violence as she can. “No---No baby, everything is going to be fine. Just stay here and don’t move.” Tracie looks in the closet and then back at Austin. “You guys have to stay here. Okay?”
Austin nods his head and begins to cry. Steve’s shouts grow louder.
“I love you so much. Don’t either of you move.” Tracie closes the closet door and rises to her feet. She makes her way to the bedroom door. She does not want Steve to attack her in front of the children. She would rather the violence happen in the living room, away and out of their sight.
“Tracie. Where the fuck are you?” Steve shouts at the top of his lungs.
Tracie knows what is coming next. Steve is not finished. Another confrontation is inevitable, so she decides to confront him first. She wanted it to happen away from the children, but it is too late.
Steve opens the door with a single, powerful kick. The top hinge flies off, but the bottom hinge still clings loosely to the mount of the door. Tracie is startled by this and jumps back. Another step closer and the door would have hit her. Her back faces the closet. She is the only thing standing between her children and imminent danger.
“Didn’t you hear me calling you, bitch? I knew you were dumb, but I guess we can add deaf to the list also.” Steve sips from a bottle of alcohol as he walks towards her.
Tracie backs away in disgust. She makes sure not to back up near the closet. With nowhere else to go, she bumps into a wall. Steve takes a long, hearty sip from his bottle and places it on an end table near Austin’s bed. Tracie cannot read Steve’s personality; he appears blank to her, neither angry nor happy. Tracie takes a gamble.
“I was just trying to clean up,” Tracie stammers. She hopes this will please him. Steve loves to see Tracie clean. He calmly looks at Tracie. His moods can switch on and off like a light. Tracie breathes a deep sigh of relief, but the relief only lasts momentarily. In a flash, his hands are around her throat and she is pinned against the wall.
“You know; I could crush you with my bare hands. I own you, the kids, everything.” Steve tightens his grip around her neck.
Tracie tries to squirm away. Austin peers out of the closet. He watches his father choke his mother. He sits in the closet, filled with terror and hopelessness. He cannot help his mother. His parents’ constant battling brings depression and sadness to his heart.
“You’re hurting me. Let me go.”
“I’m not hurting you yet,” Steve yells directly into Tracie’s face. Tracie’s continued wriggling enrages him even more. Resisting his attacks is completely out of the ordinary for her. He slaps her face with every ounce of his strength, knocking her to the floor. The slap reopened some of the cuts on her face. Before Tracie can get back up, Steve sits on her chest. Then, he proceeds to deliver punch after punch to her body. She tries to swing back, but her efforts are useless.
In shock, Austin watches from the closet. He turns away, wanting it to disappear as if it were a dream he could wake up from. He looks back to confirm that this is not a dream. This is his reality. He looks out the closet and scans the room. He sees a bottle of alcohol sitting on the end table. “He’s going to kill us if we don’t do something,” he whispers to himself. He can no longer stand back and watch this happen in front of him. Even at his young age, he understands that his decision is dangerous and could make things much worse...so it is all or nothing. He decides he has to go for it.
Austin slowly reaches for the door handle, and pushes it open as quietly as he can. His only chance is to catch his father off guard. He crawls out of the closet, focused despite his pounding heart. He slowly makes his way to the liquor bottle sitting on the end table, when doubt begins to creep into his mind.
Steve begins to choke Tracie more severely. She gags loudly, gasping and struggling for every breath. Austin watches his mother kick and struggle. Then, he looks back at the bottle of liquor. His mind jumps back and forth. And then suddenly, he remembers an incident with his father. It replays in his mind, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
About a month ago, Austin was playing innocently in his room. He felt a swift backhand across his face. He immediately fell motionless to the ground. About an hour later, Steve walked over to Austin’s unconscious body and dumped a bucket of water on his head. Austin jumped up, confused and startled. “Get up. You’re not gonna sleep on my floor all day.” Steve dropped the bucket next to Austin and walked away.
While remembering this unprovoked attack, a sense of power rushes through Austin. The memory enrages him. He stands up straight. With newfound assertion, he grabs the liquor bottle from the end table. He rushes at his father with hate in his heart. He shatters the bottle over Steve’s head. He cautiously steps back awaiting the reaction from his belligerent father.
Steve gets up off Tracie. He stumbles around in pain and shock, looking for the person who hit him. He turns around to see Austin. He touches his head, then examines the blood on his hand in disbelief. He stares at Austin.
“Leave my mother alone. Enough is enough.” Austin stands firmly.
“You just signed your death certificate, boy.” Steve charges at Austin.
Tracie reaches out and grabs Steve’s ankle, catching just enough to make him tumble to the floor.
“Run. Get Out.” Tracie motions for her son to leave.
Austin runs to the bedroom door. He looks back at his mother with tears in his eyes. Steve gets up and refocuses his rage on Tracie.
“Go!” She motions more aggressively for Austin to leave. Steve grabs her by the hair, jerking her head back. Tracie screams in agony as Austin runs out of the room.
Within minutes, police cars swarm the neighborhood. Calls had been placed by various neighbors who heard the screams. Police officers rush to Austin’s aid and try their best to calm him down. He is far too hysterical, so they lead him to awaiting paramedics. The police officer that visited Steve a couple of days ago leads a team of officers into the house.
Neighbors rush out of their homes to see what the commotion is about. The middle-aged couple across the street are outside their home, holding each other.
Inside, the lead officer finds Steve standing in the hallway. He wants to make sure he is the one who places this monster under arrest. Surprisingly, Steve does not fight or resist in any capacity. Instead, he smiles as he waits to be handcuffed. “You’re under arrest.” He yanks Steve by the arm.
Steve laughs out loud. “You didn’t believe me, did you?” Steve tries to make eye contact, but the officer keeps his focus on applying the cuffs.
“Let’s go.” He shoves Steve toward the door.
Steve turns around. His expression radiates evil. He looks the officer directly in the eyes. “I told you I was going to put on a show.” Steve is covered in Tracie’s blood. The neighbors gasp as a team of officers escorts him out the door and to a squad car. The mood in the neighborhood goes from panic to heartbreak as they watch intently.
Austin now is calm in the back of the ambulance. Reality has sunken in. He sifts through the stares in the crowd, and manages to catch the eye of a little girl across the street. She looks at him through a downstairs window. Their shared gaze is long and somber, but comforting for Austin. It is a stare she will remember for the rest of her life.
A team of investigators roll two body bags, one large and one small, to a coroner’s van at the curb. Austin does not notice the bags. His attention is on the man who took his mother from him. That man was not his father. He never was and never will be. He vows to never utter his name again. As Steve is driven away in the police car, Austin follows with a cold stare. Despite his loss, he feels freedom and relief deep inside. A weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He had escaped a near-fatal episode, all because of a mother’s sacrifice.
Chapter Six:
Behind the Mask
A ustin sits across from his psychologist, Dr. Gary Morgan, during his weekly visit. Dr. Morgan is a successful, well known therapist. His office exudes prestige. Following the death of his mother Austin started receiving treatment from Dr. Harry Morgan. Throughout the years Austin has been prescribed a slew of medications to help temper his violent mood swings. These mood swings are a result of witnessing the savage acts deriving out of his childhood. Austin continues his recommended therapy appointments with great reluctance.
Austin has a polished appearance: his chocolate brown hair is styled perfectly, and his clothes are in immaculate condition. The most intriguing thing about him is his chiseled, meticulous bone structure. Over the past eight years, he has become an exact replica of his father. Yet despite his impressive appearance, Austin is numb and morose. He has no concept of true happiness.
“I see it over and over again. I can’t get it out of my head.” Austin rubs his forehead and eyes as he feels himself tensing up.
“What exactly is it that you can’t get out of your head?” Dr. Morgan jots down some notes. Austin has been his patient for three months, and their relationship has grown steadily.
Austin hangs his head low. Looking in mirrors has always been an issue for him. Every line and feature in his face reminds him of the man who once was his father, and this frightens him. Austin has not spoken to or seen Steve since that tragic day. He refuses to. The image of his father’s smiling face, moments after he killed his mother, haunts him daily.
“His face terrorizes me in my sleep.”
“Terrorizes? What do you see in your sleep?”
“At first all I saw was just flashes, but recently…” Austin sighs. “It’s everything. I see everything happen all over again, as if I’m there. I always wake up seeing that fucking grin on his face.” Austin can no longer hold back his emotions.
Dr. Morgan allows Austin some time to regain his composure. “And once you wake up, how do you feel?” Dr. Morgan remains calm, and sets down his pen and paper. “Whatever you want to say, or want to share, completely depends on you. So you can take as much time as you need to compose yourself.
” He leans in closer. “It’s okay to say whatever you feel like sharing. No one will judge you.” Dr. Morgan leans back.
“When I see my mother being attacked, I feel so helpless.” Austin balls his fists in anger. The same way his father used to. “I want to do something, but I can’t...I want to do something, but I can’t. Then I get so angry sometimes, I can hardly control myself.” His chest heaves in and out.
Dr. Morgan senses the coming breakthrough, and wisely chooses not to interrupt. Austin sits forward in his chair. He has not made eye contact with Dr. Morgan yet in this conversation.
“I’m watching my father attack my mother and I’m terrified, ya know. I’m in the closet watching this happen, and I can’t do anything to help my mom.” Austin pauses. Dr. Morgan takes the opportunity to jot down some quick notes.
“As I’m watching, I get the urge to do something.” Austin’s voice becomes more firm.
Dr. Morgan looks up from his notes and pulls down his glasses. “Uh Huh.”
“I get this uncontrollable urge to help my mother. And before I know it I hit him.” Austin blurts out his confession.
“You hit your father?”
Austin nods. Dr. Morgan looks down and thumbs through Austin’s file. He looks up at Austin, confused by the discrepancies. But the questions will have to wait; their session has come to an end.
Austin leaves Dr. Morgan’s office. He walks out of the building. He steps aside by the front door to have a smoke and calm down. He breathes deeply in and out as he smokes. The feeling of stress slowly begins to evaporate. Austin takes one last puff of his cigarette. Just as he flicks the butt on the ground, he notices a very attractive woman walking in his direction. She is walking towards the office building. Beautiful is an understatement. She struts past Austin with a confidence that demands his attention. She smirks as he turns his head and watches her walk by.
Kasey Laine Page 3
