Driven To Tears (The Darby Trilogy Book 1)

by Jason Jauron

Her old man’s here.

  He recognized James McGuire’s silver Lincoln Town Car.

  I wonder where he is? Cause I don’t feel like I want to run into him today.

  Probably not a good thing to beat the piss out of an old fuck right outside the church.

  Not that Jed is a devout man.

  At least not anymore.

  Jed grew up in a typical Iowa, Catholic family environment. He had even served as an altar boy during his youth. But it was the events that took place during his freshmen year at college - typical state college - and his relationship with Patty - that changed his entire outlook on religion and life.

  It wasn’t the infallibility of the Pope, the role of priests, the sale of indulgences, the worship of icons, the watering down of doctrine to appease the masses, or the cases of abuse by its priests that caused his faith to wither and die.

  It was good old-fashioned human suffering that caused his blind faith to erode.

  The Jed Darby currently standing near his car in 25-degree weather does not list “the love of God” or “the fear of God” as the dominant reason for why he lives his life the way he does.

  He knows that if there is a judgment day - if - that judgment day is a culmination - cumulative sins weighed against cumulative good. And Jed knows he has a lot of good he needs to start doing. Even if stealing, lying, lack of consistent worship, coveting, etc. were not counted; he is still way behind on his personal total board. I mean, seriously, Patty and Jed had participated - not just thought about it, which is another category - in some form of crazy, erotic premarital sex 412 times.

  That’s right. When it’s that damn good you keep count.

  Jed figures he’s done about 25 good deeds in his life. So do the math.

  But when it comes to James McGuire and his fancy fucking car, Jed would not mind being wrong about the existence of Hell.

  He stared at the metallic status symbol.

  You and your fucking ride deserve to burn in Hell you son of a bitch.

  “It is good to see that you could make the trip,” came a voice from directly over Jed’s left shoulder.

  He recognized the voice.

  He felt the goose pimples popping out along his shoulder and neck.

  He drew in a breath and the wafts – cigar smell, sweet body odor – made his stomach churn.

  James McGuire.

  The origin of Patty’s pain.

  “My father said he loved me…

  “That I was his favorite one…

  “My father liked to touch me…

  “Why can’t bad things be undone?”

  Haley, 11-years old.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. McGuire,” replied Jed meekly, as he turned. “I drove up as soon as I…”

  “I know you cared a great deal for my daughter,” interrupted McGuire, flashing Jed a wan smile.

  Cared a great deal?

  THAT’S THE FUCKING UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE CENTURY!

  “And I’d like you to speak at her funeral tomorrow,” he said simply. “No more than five minutes.”

  The old man glared at him.

  Jed could feel his hatred being reciprocated.

  Then her father turned, walked to his pimpmobile.

  Jed just stood there.

  All the things he rehearsed he would say to McGuire if given the opportunity – all the time, energy spent - all for not.

  Son of a bitch! Why the fuck didn’t you say anything to him? Here was your fucking chance to confront him motherfucker. The piece of shit was standing right in front of you. Damnit!

  He moved around to the back of his car, kicked the bumper a few times.

  That cocksucker hurt her, he fumed. That little fucking bastard. He hurt her. What he did was wrong!

  He was shaking now.

  But the confrontation evoked an epiphany.

  It was at that exact moment, as he stood there trembling, that Jed knew he was going to hurt McGuire.

  He just did not know how he was going to get away with it.

  4.

  November 6th, 5:52pm

  Jed was freezing.

  He got in his car, started it, and turned on the heat.

  Then he reached down, felt it.

  Euphoria.

  Sweet Jesus. Am I glad I brought you.

  A Red Bull.

  Jed shook that fucker back and forth like a 9th grade boy works his dick when he imagines Phoebe Cates in that red bikini.

  Then he smiled, opened it, and slammed it.

  The controversial contents in the liquid – it is banned in parts of Europe – did not make Jed wait long, or disappoint.

  The rush was quick.

  The rush was welcomed.

  He tipped the can, sucked out the rest and muttered, “Good things come to those who wait.”

  He chuckled, coughed at the same time. Good things for me means bad shit for you old man. I remember the first time I met you, you fuck. He shook his head.

  If I only knew then what I know now.

  ***

  Jed had been dating Patty for a little more than a year. And today he was meeting her father for the first time. Patty made Jed drive. This upset him a little. He was not Richard Petty. Plus, he wanted time to gather his thoughts. Meeting her father was a big fucking deal. He was nervous. He wanted time to chill and relax. But driving only stressed him out.

  It took nearly three hours to reach her childhood home. Patty, usually full of energy, appeared deflated. She seemed to be preoccupied with her thoughts - kind of aloof - during the entire trip. He could not get any real conversation out of her. She said she was tired. She dozed off every now and then. Her sudden silence made the trip agonizing. That was not like her at all. Her giddiness, friskiness, craziness, was nowhere to be found. And he was counting on her energy because he was nervous enough as it was. As he parked the car, popped open the trunk, thoughts swirled in his mind like a funnel cloud.

  Why the hell did she pick today to be quiet? Of all the damn days to not talk...doesn’t she get it? I’m fucking nervous...I’m the guy whose dick you’re sucking every night...I’m the guy who spends his nights trying to break your pelvis as you lie on your back or I’m the guy trying hard to smash your face through the headboard when we’re fucking doggie. And you don’t think your father doesn’t know this Patty? Jesus. Fucking guys know. And he’s gonna fucking look at me and I’m going to shit my pants because he is going to know. Just by reading my face he is gonna know. Know things like just how many times we’ve 69’ed, just how many times you told me to stick my fingers here or it’s okay if I lick you there, or how you insist on swallowing me every time. He’s gonna know all that shit. By the look on my face. He’s gonna know that I enjoy it when you tell me to pull out and stick it in your mouth before I cum.

  It was when he was reaching into the trunk to grab Patty’s surprise gift for her father that he heard it.

  It.

  HACK-WHEEZE-HACK-HACK.

  Her father smokes?

  That cough sounded like it hurt.

  Jed pushed the trunk shut and his eyes found Patty’s father - stained overalls and all - with his right hand extended.

  “Hello, Mr. McGuire, my name is Jed Darby,” he said, moving forward quickly. He handed Patty the Tupperware full of chocolate chip cookies, shook her father’s hand.

  As Jed shook his hand he was immediately aware of a few things: Mr. McGuire had an odor about him, he was short - shaped like a weeble-wobble - and he had sweaty palms.

  “Good to finally get to see my only daughter,” he murmured, exposing a mouthful of stained teeth.

  Patty’s father spit some chew on the ground and hacked loudly several more times as he shuffled about. As he turned to lead them into the house, the old man hacked, spat on the ground a final time.

  Jed glanced down.

  That color combination can’t be a good sign.

  Patty took hold of Jed’s left hand.

  Wait a minute here folks, mused Jed. My girl is
letting me hold her hand.

  This was not a good sign. Patty hated, rather detested, public displays of affection. Of any kind. And here she is now, my little thousand points of light for the feminist movement, squeezing my hand so damn hard she’s probably cutting off my circulation.

  They went inside.

  Jed asked the old man if he needed any help in the kitchen.

  Her father just shook his head. Told them dinner would be ready in about 15 minutes.

  Jed instantly relaxed.

  The offering of help had been a bluff. He had no clue what went on in the kitchen. Pizza and fast food are the only two food groups on campus.

  Jed suggested Patty show him around.

  She glared at him.

  He threw up his arms, mouthed, “Why not?”

  Patty snorted.

  She gave him a hurried, ho-hum tour of the house. The highlights, or rather lowlights, were the bathrooms. Jed was shocked at the massive rust stains in the sinks, and he could not figure out why the sheer numbers of dust bunnies – aka pubic hair – had not been captured and properly disposed of. Jed found these tumbleweed pubes creepy.

  It was at dinner when Jed felt tension between Patty and her father. Jed thought maybe Patty was upset with her father over his nasty, embarrassing, and seemingly permanent body odor, which was even starting to make Jed a little uncomfortable.

  But there was also an uneasy silence. Absolutely no conversation was coming from Patty. Hell, she never really looked directly at her father the entire meal. She just picked at her food, and her eyes never left her plate. Never looked up. Not even to glance at Jed. And her replies to her father’s queries sounded like jumbled telegraphic speech.

  She hasn’t seen her father in years, yet she isn’t really talking to him? She’s not asking him about work, she’s not asking her father about the house or the neighbors, and she’s not talking about college.

  All conversations – of any kind – ceased at the meal’s five-minute mark.

  The uneasy silence only made more obvious the epic struggle Jed was in the midst of – literally choking down the roast beef piled high on his plate. Fucking roast beef. I never liked the smell this shit gives off. But time to be polite. Time to take one for the team. I’ll chew and swallow this shit. Along with the lumpy gravy. Fucking lumpy gravy.

  Jed put on a happy face.

  How can the old man eat with all that fucking chew in his mouth?

  Jed controlled his anxiety by remaining fixated on Patty’s bizarre behavior.

  Patty hadn’t ever really said more than two words about her father or her family. I mean, she told me she had a shitty childhood, but that’s it. Her father divorced a few years ago. Didn’t want to talk about it. Her mom? Nadda. Her brother? Not a fucking word. Was she a tomboy as a child? Nothing. What was life like in a small town with a small school? No discussion. No desire whatsoever to talk about any of it. Nothing. Which meant shit to me until this moment when I have to carry the conversation with her father and his body odor, stained overalls, and labored fucking breathing. Fuck! I just want to tell him that ZZ Top called and they want their fucking beard back!

  Jed pretended to clear his throat.

  And what’s even weirder is that she never gave her dad a hug. Never tapped him on the shoulder. Hell, she never even really said hi.

  After forcing himself – and nearly gagging - to finish the roast beef on his plate, Jed made a mental note to join PETA when he and Patty got home.

  Jed did make himself useful. He helped her father stack the dishes and silverware in the filthy kitchen sink.

  A few minutes later he and Patty were out the door, saying their goodbyes.

  “You make sure my daughter behaves like a good little girl,” he hollered from behind the screen door.

  LIKE A GOOD LITTLE GIRL.

  Patty threw up a tiny amount of gravy in her mouth.

  She swallowed it down.

  LIKE A GOOD LITTLE GIRL.

  As a wave of anxiety washed over his girlfriend, Jed was trying to be brief with his future father-in-law.

  “Uh, okay, sure Mr. McGuire,” Jed shot back. “It was nice meeting you.”

  From behind the screen door, McGuire’s left hand, hidden underneath his overalls, gently massaged his penis.

  LIKE A GOOD LITTLE GIRL.

  He watched in disgust as his only daughter - with the nice tits and firm ass - was driven away by some college prick. He snorted like a pig, pondered for a moment.

  Her father then went upstairs, masturbated.

  It took only a few minutes to drive through the small Iowa town. Jed merged onto the highway, sighed.

  Now is as good a time as any to start the interrogation. Cause I want to know why Patty has been acting so strange all day.

  The sun would be setting soon. He hoped a spirited discussion would keep him alert. That and the Mountain Dew he had purchased from the lone gas station in town.

  “So Patty, be a good little girl and explain your behavior at your father’s house.”

  BE A GOOD LITTLE GIRL.

  BE A GOOD LITTLE GIRL.

  BE A GOOD LITTLE GIRL.

  Seconds later Patty went down on Jed, tried to suck the chrome off his trailer hitch.

  BE A GOOD LITTLE GIRL.

  Jed could not believe what was happening. But he did not stop her. Nothing that had happened that day made any sense. Why should this be any different? And after several minutes, all his questions seemed to evaporate before his eyes.

  Jed never noticed the moisture on Patty’s right cheek.

  How could he?

  His John Thomas was being washed.

  5.

  November 6th, 6:00pm

  Jed was pumped.

  The Red Bull had worked its magic.

  He got out of the car, straightened himself, and drew in a cold breath.

  He stared at the church.

  Go back in there and see her again.

  As he opened the door to the church he was greeted by a parade of people who were leaving. People were shuffling slowly by him, but even though he got a long look at everyone who went by, he hardly recognized anyone.

  Who are these people and what role did they play in Patty’s life? They must be relatives of some sort.

  He squirmed as politely as he could through the crowd. He felt like a salmon swimming upstream against the current.

  He stopped about a foot from the casket.

  He looked around.

  They were alone.

  Tears trickled down.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you Patty,” he whispered. “You saved me, I failed you. But you know what happened Patty.”

  He sniffled, wiped his nose.

  Think of the good times.

  As he looked her over, he smiled through the tears.

  Our first night together.

  ***

  They had dated for two months before they were intimate - a near record level of abstinence for couples - at most state universities across America.

  Her room.

  The couch.

  A kiss on the mouth.

  Several kisses on the neck.

  Right hand gently cupping her left breast.

  Her hands unbuttoning her shirt.

  A whisper.

  A nod.

  A smile.

  A long, real kiss.

  Her right hand massaging his groin.

  An article of clothing tossed over the shoulder.

  Too many uncomfortable moments trying to unhook her bra. Breast in mouth.

  His pants down and off.

  Nine seconds to open the condom (Patty’s teeth).

  Her comment about the size of his penis (Wowzers!) Another 30 frenzied seconds to put on the condom (little bit of space at the tip).

  Then a little...

  ***

  “Excuse me young man,” interrupted the pastor. “The visitation is over. Remember, the funeral is tomorrow, so get plenty of rest,” said
the man in black.

  Thanks for the tip preacher man. Like I’ll make sure I drink plenty of water also. Gotta stay hydrated for the funeral. .

  As the pastor walked away, Jed flipped him off.

  Tomorrow I have to bury the only love I have ever known. The only intimacy I have ever known. So you’re right, pastor man, all I need is a power nap to recover from losing the love of my life.

  As he pushed open the door and walked towards his car, Jed knew he was in for a long night.

  Too many memories.

  As he drove away, he chuckled.

  Flipping that priest off is going to cost me another 30 minutes in purgatory.

  6.

  November 6th, 6:20pm

  Jed parked his car in the east lot of the hotel. He lowered his expectations as he strolled inside.

  He sighed.

  I didn’t lower the bar enough.

  The girl behind the counter was about 200 pounds overweight, reeked of cheap perfume, and obviously thought there was no such thing as too much blush. But he took his card key from her anyway, headed for the elevator. When he got inside his room he set his suitcase by the television, plopped on the bed.

  Cheap, but comfortable.

  But before he got too comfortable, he jumped up, turned the heat up, and quickly unpacked his suitcase. He knew he was going to have to iron out some wrinkles.

  He then yawned, sprawled out on the bed, and set his watch near the lamp.

  Thirteen minutes later, despite the taurine in his system, he fell fast asleep.

  Then his nightmare began.

  ***

  “Jed, you’re just a jealous little college prick-fuck,” boomed a voice from the bathroom.

  Jed opened his eyes. He was sitting up, legs crossed, on the bed.

  Who the fuck could be in my room?

  He glanced around.

  I’m sure I heard something.

  “Now pay attention pizza-face,” barked James McGuire as he strolled out of the bathroom, stood at the foot of the bed.