Two years and several beatings later, Pete graduated with a computer science degree from the community college. Sarah invited all the family to his graduation, but only Sarah and Olivia attended. A little reception was planned at their home. Pete’s brother and Mother Sears drove over for the gathering. Sarah’s parents sat beside Mother for the first time since the traumatic wedding years earlier. Sarah’s sister brought only her teenage daughter because rumors swirled that her husband didn’t want anything to do with the uppity side of the family. In Sarah’s world, that meant anyone with any college training. A college degree was almost unbearable for the small-minded hometown neighbors.
Even Reverend Thomas came by for a glass of mint ice cream punch and white cake. Sarah sat in uncomfortable awe of the pastor and could hardly take her gaze away from his deep-set eyes that never looked up. Sarah felt uneasy around him but wouldn’t allow herself to ponder her feelings. The reverend patted Pete’s back and hugged Sarah a little too tightly in an overly familiar manner. Only Sarah noticed. In small country towns, the man of the cloth was sacred.
***
Handy with tools and guns, Pete fixed up an old camper and planned a driving vacation to Colorado. It would be the first Sears vacation since killing the helpless antelope in Amarillo years before. After they returned home, Sarah would be thankful that no similar incidences had occurred.
Olivia was precocious and demanding. At four, she already seemed to have the upper hand against Sarah and knew that Pete would invariably support her. Sarah had much the same demeanor with her child that she chose with Pete: go along to get along.
After Sarah served his breakfast, she cleared the table quickly and it transformed into Pete’s office where he made calls for the telemarketing job he landed after graduation. The small house offered no respite for Sarah. She had to stay totally quiet because Pete was on the phone all day. The situation was claustrophobic. If Pete got a difficult client, he often diffused his temper by banging Sarah’s head a few times.
After a while in these unbearable quarters, Pete said they could move to a bigger place if they could find something affordable. Sarah was ecstatic.
She perused the newspapers and kept an eye out for sale signs whenever she drove to the grocery store. There was a tiny, new subdivision outside of town. The houses looked similar in style but might be perfect for a small family.
Pete was somber about having only one daughter. Sarah had hesitatingly mentioned one day that her doctor had said Pete’s venereal disease might have spoiled their chances. Pete wasn’t totally convinced, but he didn’t want to face anything that might lessen his manhood. So the Sears stayed a family of three.
Pete and Sarah drove out to see the little 1500-square-foot boxes. The inside was quite pretty with cheery kitchen wallpaper and a big fireplace in the family room. The master was on the west side and the other two bedrooms on the east upstairs. Pete could use one of the rooms for an office. The yard was red clay dirt, begging for seeds and water.
It was decided that Pete would take care of buying the house. Sarah was to pack everything and oversee the move. They could borrow a pick-up and take most of their dilapidated furniture over to the new house themselves. When moving day came, Sarah was so excited and believed God was responsible for this new start. Pete, on the other hand, was stressed.
While trying to organize the essentials in the refrigerator, Olivia demanded milk at that moment. Sarah, bone-tired, found the child a clean glass and poured what was remaining from the carton. But Olivia wanted chocolate milk and Sarah couldn’t find the Nestles. In defiance, Olivia spilled the white milk on the tiled kitchen floor before breaking the Libbey glass. Pete overheard the commotion.
“What’s going in here?” he demanded.
“Olivia spilled her milk,” Sarah replied.
“I did not,” Olivia lied.
“Olivia, God will punish you for lying,” Sarah said forcefully.
“And I’m the one who will punish you,” Pete yelled at Sarah. Grabbing her hair, he pulled her shoulders to the floor, grinding her face in the milk and shards of glass. “We will see who gets punished!”
“Please stop,” Sarah begged. This seemed to irritate him more. He grabbed her face and punched her right eye. “Never tell my child God will do anything to her. You keep your damned mouth shut!”
Sarah’s expectations of a softer life in the new house diminished with this encounter, followed by more years and more beatings. “Dear God, why me?” she often questioned. With no warning, thoughts of seeing Pete’s face being torn off the bone with sharp pieces of glass, him crying out for mercy, delighted Sarah. She shut it out instantly and pleaded, “What’s wrong with me, God? Please purify me!”
The Sears household portrayed a simple, but sweet life to outsiders. Sarah carefully masked any tension that resided inside for the benefit of others, except Mrs. Knox. During the times Sarah couldn’t camouflage her wounds, she drove over and hurriedly gathered Mrs. Knox’s laundry to avoid an encounter with the old woman. But this plan usually failed, and Mrs. Knox saw Sarah’s arm or face where the marks were evident. Mrs. Knox would shake her head and say how lucky she’d been as a wife to avoid being abused.
Within a few days after these encounters, Sarah could usually expect to find a few extra dollars in cash hidden in the laundry. The note would invariably read, “Dear Sarah, save this for you. You may need it someday. With love.”
At the bottom of the note was a scribbled capital letter L, which was Mrs. Knox’s signature for her first name, Lorene. Sarah would smile through tears and squirrel away the cash between the bedframe and the mattress, never considering what she might use it for.
***
Pete collected guns, far too many to fit the Sears’ limited budget. He kept the weapons in the garage, most under lock and key. The car stayed outside, as it was less important than the arsenal Pete acquired throughout their years of marriage.
Rather than resenting the guns, the weapons fascinated Sarah. Working at home, Pete had many reasons to visit the office supply store. In his absence, Sarah would sneak into the garage and run her hands over the sleek wooden shafts of the shotguns and the rifles, never leaving a fingerprint. The handguns were even more interesting. The thought that a woman of Sarah’s stature could carry a gun and so easily take someone’s life would slip into Sarah’s psyche. She wanted one of the pistols, not because she needed it but because she liked it.
She wondered what she could do to get Pete to offer her a handgun. Since he was at home most hours, she had no excuse to be afraid of burglars. Pete was an expert marksman, and a burglar would likely be easily foiled. The trees around their little subdivision were so young, even squirrels didn’t climb the skimpy bark. So there was no need to shoot the squirrels in the trees. Maybe she should offer to go hunting with Pete, not knowing how this idea would settle with him. This way she could learn to handle guns of any size.
November first was coming, the opening day to hunt deer in Texas legally. Pete never missed opening day. He planned to go with two buddies he grew up with. They would spend a couple of nights in an old rotted out camper on ranch land about 120 miles west of their hometown. A butane stove kept them warm and allowed them to cook simple meals.
The hunting trip was Pete’s pure joy. Packing for this adventure was one of the few times Pete smiled. Sarah made herself useful and packed a fully-cooked turkey and ham. These meats would keep a few days without refrigeration.
“Take care of Olivia and don’t spend any money,” Pete told Sarah as he climbed in the twelve-year-old pick-up he bought a few years before.
He rumbled off with two big rifles placed in an overhead gun rack near his head. The rifles showed through the back glass and enhanced Pete’s tough guy image.
Sarah had saved about three hundred dollars from Mrs. Knox. This fund was dear to Sarah and totaled her entire savings. Pete often reminded Sarah she had no income, which equaled having no worth. Because he was quick to poi
nt out what a drag she was on his earnings, she tried to be very careful at the grocery store and never ordered much in the way of personal items for herself.
Sarah had these three days in November to ponder what to do with all her money. Why these greenbacks suddenly imparted to her a certain power and pleasure was a curious phenomenon to her. On the second day of her husband’s absence, she hatched a plan. Olivia, now a pre-adolescent, went to stay with a neighbor’s daughter several blocks away beyond eyesight of the Sears house. Sarah decided to go shopping.
She had little interest in buying anything for her appearance. Luxuries like new dresses, perfume, or shoes were rarely considered. Sarah was going gun shopping. Wal-Mart had a big, impersonal gun department.
She felt relatively safe buying from that retailer as Pete would never befriend Wal-Mart employees. She rolled the money into a tight ball, slipping it in the side pocket of her purse. Sarah breathed shallow breaths as she parked, went in, and walked toward the sports department. She could see scores of guns hanging on the walls, but she took special joy in seeing the handguns laying side by side in the glass cabinets.
A tall, lanky twenty-something man with two sizeable winged eagle tattoos, one on each arm, approached Sarah, who was staring at the gun cases.
“Do you want to see something, ma’am?” he questioned.
“Um, I’m not sure,” she said. “I don’t know anything about guns, especially handguns.” Sarah continued her fascinated relationship with the guns beneath the glass counters. She was perplexed about which one she wanted to touch but was not hesitant about wanting to own a firearm. The thought of having her own gun seemed to quell the fiery stomach knot that had lived inside her belly since her wedding. But Sarah would not allow herself to think of using the gun, not even for her own safety.
“Well, ma’am, let’s try this .38 special and maybe this 9mm,” the skinny sales associate suggested as he took them out of the case. “These are great for a woman.”
Looking at the man, Sarah reached for one of the weapons. Putting the cold steel in her hand, Sarah smiled. She imagined talking to Pete and proclaiming how now she’d be worth something.
“Do you have any more that a woman might like?” Sarah asked excitedly. The employee pulled out a .45 caliber handgun. “This one’s awful big and powerful,” the man warned Sarah.
With three weapons laying in front of her, Sarah debated her choices silently.
“Pick ‘em up and see which one you like and how they feel,” he told her.
Sarah fingered each one, cradling them and aiming them toward the wall. She liked them all but felt particularly comfortable with the .38.
“Do you have any bullets?” she asked.
“Of course,” said the man. “A gun is no good without the bullets.”
“Good,” she said. “I’ll take a box of bullets.”
Sarah was unhappily surprised to learn that she had to register the gun. This was state law, the man explained. Should she lie or just hope this purchase never came to light? Sarah decided she’d be honest and take a horrible beating if Pete ever found out.
When the transaction was completed, Sarah practically skipped as she left the store, silently hoping none of Pete’s acquaintances had seen her at the gun counter. Again, she had to take her chances.
In the car, Sarah ran her hand over the gun, hardly believing she owned it. She was in a hurry to get home with her prize, and she drove very tentatively, desperately hoping to avoid a car accident. A policeman would be a disaster for Sarah.
The gun would reside between the mattress and the bed frame beneath Sarah’s head during the night, along with her birth control pills. She had a warm feeling knowing the weapon was there, loaded and ready to help in a second’s notice.
Pete suddenly came into Sarah’s thoughts that evening. She briefly imagined his forehead with a precise hole above his right eye, blood spilling into his eye socket. Shaking her head as if to scare away the demons, today was the first time she didn’t ask God to forgive her. The .38 special would be her savior. The line was now crossed. Sarah could take care of herself.
***
Olivia returned the next morning, excited from being at her girlfriend’s house, but she was as hateful as ever with her mother.
“Can I help you unpack?” Sarah asked lovingly.
“No, just leave me alone,” Olivia snarled. Sarah’s concern kept growing as Olivia showed more signs of the internal anger Sarah believed emanated from the Sears family gene pool. That night she prayed, “God, please purge my child from Satan’s grip. Give her kindness and godliness.”
The old pick-up’s muffler announced Pete’s arrival on the third day of the hunting trip. He propped up a deer rack in the bed of his truck, and the bloody carcass lay motionless while blackish liquid drained through the tailgate crack onto the ground. “Got one this morning,” Pete said matter-of-factly. “Wasn’t sure if I’d have any luck out there. Not many deer around.” Pete seemed pleased he’d had success with such poor odds. Sarah wasn’t surprised. Pete had been designated an expert marksman in Vietnam.
Thoughts of the Amarillo honeymoon and a dead antelope raced through Sarah’s mind when Pete yelled out, “Help me get him out of the truck.” Sarah helped Pete tug the animal out of the truck and into the garage. Laying it on plastic, Pete told Sarah to get the sharpest butcher knives out of the drawer in the kitchen.
Sarah promptly delivered two knives. “Let’s carve up the meaty part of this,” Pete explained. He didn’t ask; he expected Sarah to participate. Sarah touched the cool steel of the knife’s blade and then stabbed it in the deer’s hide just above the leg bone. The ripping noise was distinctive, and the bloody flesh was faintly warm to Sarah’s touch. She was not repulsed and wondered what it would be like to quarter fresh meat off a creature that had been alive at dawn that same day. Her mind thought of Pete and what it would look like for him to have a butcher knife sticking from his side, his warm blood puddling next to his feet.
“Hurry up,” Pete demanded. “The meat will rot.”
Sarah worked efficiently, slicing off big pieces that would become deer roasts and sausage. This job was one of the few times Pete and Sarah worked as a successful unit. The deer was scalped and its meat stripped within an hour. Pete left to take the remnants to the city dump and wash out the pick-up bed.
Sarah ran hot water over the knife blades. Just touching the heated steel caused heart palpitations. She went back into the garage to clean up the mess. Olivia walked into what looked like a crime scene and screeched, “What is all this meat?”
Sarah told her about the deer.
“Ewwww! I’m not touching this stuff,” Olivia declared. Sarah knew that if Olivia didn’t want to eat the deer, she wouldn’t.
The little revolver under her bed crept back into Sarah’s mind as she finished cleaning up. A sharp knife or a small gun, either one made Sarah feel strangely empowered. That night she slipped quietly to her bed, placing a sharp butcher knife next to the gun. Sarah had an arsenal.
***
Months and years went by and little changed for the Sears. Pete occasionally had fiery and abusive fits of anger and Sarah was the recipient. When Olivia became a teenager, Sarah could see that Pete’s angry temperament festered in her body and surfaced toward Sarah whenever Olivia experienced any stress. Sarah was saddened that her baby and her husband shared the same bi-polar mental illness. It seemed unfair that poisonous semen tainted the Sears children and passed from one generation to the next.
Pete’s employer, meanwhile, was now a regional service company experiencing overwhelming competition and considering a friendly buy out. This change of circumstances caused Pete distress and exacerbated the danger of spousal abuse for Sarah. He grew more withdrawn and suspicious. Sarah felt medication might help him but knew better than to make any suggestions.
Sarah’s angst worked overtime in her daydreams and head games. With Pete withdrawing more into his office upstairs, Sarah w
as left with books and television. She read mostly either self-help or psychological thrillers. Television offered her a steady diet of murder mysteries. She particularly focused on shows that highlighted the sorrowful plights of women being abused. The anger inside her grew when women with no means of escape were interviewed on talk shows. Naturally drawn to psychology, Sarah felt a strong need to help those women, often divorcing her mind from her own state of misery and abuse. But Sarah’s devotion to God remained unwavering. A woman who takes the wedding vows is married for life.
However, in drowsy half-awake moments during long nights, Sarah’s thoughts grew hazy, yet purposeful. Women could be saviors for other women. After all, God sanctified motherhood, and Jesus revered his Mother Mary. Sarah’s mind began edging to mania after each encounter with an abused woman she read about or saw on TV. She desperately wanted retribution for the woman and could vividly imagine the woman thanking her. Sarah knew she’d feel proud if she could help another woman in a similar situation. But at this point in Sarah’s life, it was all a dream. Sarah was a homemaker and an abused woman. That spelled her whole existence.
2
Pete grew increasingly hostile and focused on money after his boss cut his hours at work, leaving him more time to sulk and blame Sarah for most everything. The Saturday morning when Pete chatted with his neighbor and Sarah at the fence line would change the Sears household in profound ways.
Sarah could not erase that Johnny had mentioned an opening at the county sheriff’s department. She was intrigued. Seeing abuse firsthand would offer her opportunities to help so many women. How could she convince Pete to allow her to pursue this opportunity? He was easily agitated and intimidated if Sarah asked for any type of freedom.
Sarah became convinced that she must have this job, although she had no idea what the duties would be. She needed to act fast, as jobs dried up quickly in small towns. That evening she made an especially nice but small pot roast. She ate none of it, leaving all the meat for Pete and Olivia.
Twisted Retribution Page 4