by A. R. Braun
Marie put her hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle.
Dick ruffled her hair. “Why, the birdies outside, Kyra. I have to make sure they’ve got enough birdseed.”
Bobbi clutched at his arm. “But Dada, how can they make food from scratch?”
Marie struggled to get up. Dick could tell she was about to burst out laughing. She left the room.
The butler rolled a steel cart in with multifaceted kinds of cookies on good china and two kinds of Kool Aid in pitchers, lemon-lime and orange. He poured the liquid for the girls and gave them the drinks in tiny cups. Dick was glad for the distraction so he wouldn’t have to answer Bobbi’s question.
The butler left the room.
“All right, who wants to hear ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas?”
“Me,” they cried. The girls hushed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
On Christmas, Stacey sat on the old couch with her girls. The davenport had springs sticking out in places, but Dick wouldn’t replace it. God, we look like our best friends just died. Like he’d promised, Dick had given them no presents this time. Now that I see how miserable these kids are, I wish we hadn’t tried to escape. I guess he showed us. Dick wins again.
Therese jumped up. “Goddamn it, this sucks. No presents for Christmas.”
Stacey wanted to tell her to watch her language, but she agreed with her.
Devon stomped into the bathroom, not even looking embarrassed that they could see her pee. So she’d gotten over that, too. Devon pulled her pants down and tinkled into the toilet. “No good deed goes unpunished. Isn’t that what you said, Mom?”
All she could do was nod. Nothing she could say or do would make up for this.
Sam hugged Stacey. “Oh Momma, why doesn’t Santa like us?”
Therese jumped off the couch, put her hands on her hips, and glared at her. “You still believe in Santa? You goof.”
Sam glowered at her. “Yeah, I still believe. So? I have to believe in something.”
Therese crossed her arms. “Well, obviously, he didn’t make the rounds, then, huh? What kind of nerd believes in Santa? You’re eleven freaking years old.”
Sam turned away, her eyes wounded.
Stacey said, “All right, cut it out and leave her alone.”
Therese frowned and walked away. “What-ever.”
Devon wiped and flushed, pulling her corduroys back on. “I’m sorry we spoiled Christmas, Mom. If we hadn’t talked you into trying to escape, we’d have presents.”
“Yeah, talk about being goofs,” Sam said to Therese’s back.
Therese wheeled on her, her baby-fine hair following her body’s movement. “Well, it was worth a try. Do you wanna be stuck here forever?”
“All right, kids, that’s enough blaming,” Stacey said. “C’mere.”
Sam scooted closer to her. Devon reluctantly plopped down on the couch next to her. Therese crossed her arms defiantly.
“All of you,” Stacey recapitulated.
Therese stomped over, dropping onto the couch, which sent the springs that weren’t sticking out into whining protest. She glared at Sam. “Mommy’s girl.” She stuck her tongue out at her.
Stacey got in her face. “I said stop it!”
Therese’s eyes grew wide and she turned away.
Stacey looked them all over, pulling them tight to her. “All right, so we tried to get out of here and failed. It may not have been the brightest idea, but at the same time, at least we did something about being cooped up. We can’t fight the past and go back and be complacent. It’s done. But if we sit in here feeling sorry for ourselves, then Dad wins. We have to make the most of it. Let’s try to do something fun.”
Therese squeezed in between Devon and Stacey, putting an arm around the latter and locking eyes with her. “Are we your homeys, Mom?”
Stacey smiled and smoothed her hair. “Yes.” She chuckled. “You’re my home skillets.”
Therese smiled and laughed, too.
Devon came over and sat on her lap. “I love you, Momma.” She kissed her.
“I love you guys, too.”
Sam seemed to look through her mother. “Daddy’s not a very nice man, is he?”
Stacey sighed and looked at the carpet. “I’m afraid not, honey.” She looked over her children. “From now on, let’s show him a little respect, though. You don’t want to get Daddy mad. You know that now.” She paused. “Who’s up for steak and mashed potatoes?”
Devon bounced on her lap. “Can we play Monopoly, Mom?”
“Sure.” Stacey smiled, feigning contentment. “Let’s make this game day.”
Therese leaned in on them. “No, let’s play video games.”
Sam forked her the evil eye. “I wanna play Sorry and Uno!”
Stacey nodded. “We can play them all. We’ve got all day.”
Therese got up and turned on the rap station. “Let’s have a dance off.”
Devon stood up, hands on hips. “Uh! No fair! You always win. You dance like a slut and we just bounce.”
Therese got in her face. “It’s not slutty dancing. I’m just movin. You’re so jealous.”
Stacey motioned for Sam to hang onto her back, which was a chore, and rose. “Enough fighting.” She took a few deep breaths, craning her head. “You’re getting too big for this, kiddo.”
Her sisters laughed.
“Let’s have as much fun as we can today and outwit the monster,” Stacey continued.
Therese sexy danced and Devon bounced, while Stacey gingerly shuffled.
Thank goodness for these kids. If it weren’t for them, I’d go completely crazy.
<^^>
Dick kicked a chair against the wall in his hotel room in the Bahamas, then yanked the door open and stomped down the stairs. “Goddamn lousy vacation! Can’t even get a good fucking hooker around here!”
Wearing only his bathing suit, he worked his way to the beach. The bright sun made his eyes squint as he eyeballed the bikini-clad beauties frolicking in the sand.
This is shit! Goddamn it, I want to rape my foster daughter, but I can’t because of all those little cunts I’ve fathered.
He stopped and put his hand over his eyes to fight off the glare. Then a beach ball hit him on the head. “Fuck!” He looked over the crowd, wondering who’d done it. “Who threw this goddamn beach ball?”
A couple of college-age, American cuties—a blonde and a brunette—came jogging over, giggling. Dick enjoyed watching their pert breasts bounce, but his anger diverted the pleasure.
The blonde tried to take the ball. “Sorry, Mister, it got away from us.”
They’re college age, just like my daughter when I kidnapped her. Wouldn’t fuck me unless I locked them in a dungeon.
Dick shook his head. “Uh-uh. You hit me with the ball, you pay the price.” He squeezed as hard as he could, his huge muscles making the ball burst.
The brunette scowled. “You fuckin psycho! You ruined our beach ball!”
The blonde’s eyes went wide. She trembled.
Dick got in the brunette’s face. “Then you shouldn’t hit people with your motherfucking ball! Get the hell out of my face, cunt!”
The brunette’s eyes grew wide and she gasped. “Jesus! Calm down, will ya? God, don’t give yourself a heart attack.”
The blonde grabbed her skinny arm. “Come on, let’s just go, okay?”
Yes, you’d better move on, honey. These muscles will knock you into the next decade.
The brunette shook her head, trembling. She broke free of the blonde. “Fucking piece of shit. I ought to punch you in the face.”
“Bring it on, sweetheart,” Dick said.
The blonde grabbed her arm again. “Come on, will ya? Let’s just go. He’s not worth it.”
The brunette pointed at him. “You’re fucking lucky, old man.” She spit on the sand. “Go beat off. I saw you watchin our tits bounce.”
With that, the girls jogged away.
Dick kicked up some s
and, the grains itchy between his toes. “Motherfucker! Shit, shit, shit! Yeah, you’d better run, bitches! I got mine at home. I don’t need your skanky cunts, ha!”
He shook his head. As he made his way toward the bar covered with a straw hut, he noticed a shadow falling on him from behind. Dick wheeled around and saw the Haitian hooker clad in a towel. “What the fuck do you want?”
Eyebrows raised, she said, “Mr. Alley, you forgot to pay me.” Luckily, the prostitute spoke English instead of Creole.
Dick sighed. “I shouldn’t pay you at all, you fuckin dead lay. Didn’t even moan.” He took the money out of the pocket of his swim trunks and threw it in the sand at her feet.
Trembling, she stooped to pick it up, then stood and raised an eyebrow.
Dick pointed at her. “I’d better not have caught the goddamn clap from you.” He left her there and bellied up to the bar. “Get me a scotch and make it a double.”
Ron, one of Dick’s associates, walked up. “How you makin out, you old coot?”
Dick sighed. “Goddamn whores on this island are a joke, that’s how I’m makin out.” He looked at the bartender. “Another double.”
Ron sat next to him. “Something wrong, Dick? The hookers here are doin me fine.”
Dick attempted a smile. He guessed he failed. “Oh yeah? Well you should see what I’ve got waiting at home.”
<^^>
On Sunday morning, Stacey woke to find her daughters huddled around the TV. Bleary-eyed, she made her way to the kitchen for her morning cup of coffee, only hearing the words coming from the television.
“He has come to preach deliverance to the captives,” the televangelist said.
Oh great, some TV preacher wanting us to send him money. I’m afraid he won’t get any from us.
Stacey stumbled in and plopped down on the couch, spilling a little java on her white nightgown and not really caring.
Wait… deliverance to the captives?
As if in answer to her thought, Therese whipped her head around, her eyebrows raised. “Mom? Why don’t we believe in god? All the rappers do.”
Devon turned toward Stacey, her freckles a staple in her bittersweet face. “Yeah, Mom, I wanna go to church like the kids on TV.”
Sam struggled to get up, walked over, and sat next to her mother, holding on like a suckling babe. She almost spilled Stacey’s coffee. Sam’s unwashed black hair was matted to her head. She looked up at Stacey with her bright eyes and her sweet, chubby face. “Maybe god could get us out of here, Momma.”
Stacey sat awestruck, not believing she hadn’t thought of this before. Well, that wasn’t quite right. She’d thought of god, but hated Him for allowing Dick to put them in this predicament.
But what if I didn’t hate him? Could he get us out of here?
Therese and Devon rose from the floor where they’d sat, their nightgowns flowing like ghosts, and they got on the couch with her. They looked at her with hope in their eyes.
And who was she to deny them their only hope?
She remembered looking at the book of baby names right before Therese had been born and realized why her parents had given her that name. Stacey meant “resurrection.” She nodded and found herself crying so hard she couldn’t stop. She felt drained.
Devon handed her a poem. It read:
Lift your hands up to the sky
Beg of god, and don’t ask why
Believe deep in your heart you’re free
And His manifestation will make it be!
Stacey wept. “That’s beautiful, honey.”
Devon hugged her legs. “Oh Momma.”
Therese hugged her neck. “Don’t cry, Mom. She is a good poet, though.”
“The best… in here, at least,” Sam handed her a box of tissues, which Stacey emptied.
Stacy snuffled. “You’re right. Let’s…” It was hard to say. She didn’t feel worthy, just a bag of bones to ravage. “… pray.”
Therese nodded her head. “Okay, Momma.”
The other girls agreed.
The weak light from the amber lamp attempted to shut out the darkness, which it did only wanly. Stacey longed for the sunlight she hadn’t basked in for almost fifteen years. The place was beginning to stink more and more, the stains spreading like some Lovecraftian alien intelligence symbiotically forcing its way into their world.
Stacey dropped to her knees and the girls made room. They kneeled at the couch, quasi-Muslims in front of a great wall.
Stacey looked at the ceiling. “Oh god…”
Sam clutched her mother’s arms, looking at her with a frown and wide eyes. “The preacher said Jesus, Momma.”
Stacey nodded, wiping away a couple more tears. “Oh Jesus, I don’t really know how to pray to you because I haven’t done it lately, so I’ll just spit it out. My daughters and I have lived in this dungeon—me, for almost fifteen years, the rest of them, all their lives—and we need you to deliver us, we captives. Please break us out of here and let us see the sun again.”
The girls sobbed.
“My children have never seen the daylight and have never been allowed to run and play like normal kids. I beg you, get us out of here, and I’ll live for you forever. My daughters and I will never miss church. And please overthrow that evil man, our personal demon, Dick. He’s not even my real—well, never mind—but he’s no father to these girls. Bring justice where no one else can. Amen.”
“Amen,” her daughters repeated, then clung to Stacey.
They wept grievously. The box of tissues not sufficient, they soiled each other’s gowns.
What have we got to lose?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Christina Flowerpot hated Mondays. She trudged into her office at the police station, carrying a cardboard carton of coffee for everyone. It was a morning ritual, and she knew they’d reimburse her. The alluring smell of java made her impatient. Her co-workers looked up at her, rubbing their eyes and trying to look busy.
Damn these heels. I wish I could wear my Nikes.
She put the coffee down and waited for the remnant of her co-workers to come traipsing in. Edging her bulky butt into her chair, Christina sighed in relief.
Goddamn Starbucks. Practically have to dip into my savings for the same fucking cup of coffee I could get at the gas station for a buck and some change. I wish my co-workers would get a clue.
Ted Rivson knocked and entered, looking immaculate in his suit, though his glasses duct-taped together made him seem like a bad new wave singer. “There’s a lady here to see you, Chris.” His eyes darted to the coffee. “I’ll take the java to the restless breed.”
“Send her in. Jesus, I didn’t even get my cup of joe first.”
He looked Christina’s way after taking the carrier, his black bangs trying to reach his eyes but losing the battle. “Have your cup of joe while you talk to her. This ain’t prison, you know.”
“I know, right?” Christina smiled.
He shot her a grin and walked carefully out of the office.
Christina opened her cappuccino, the sweet fluid no longer scalding. It tasted delectable. After fifteen seconds, a middle-aged woman with grey hairs that fought for domination with the blond strands walked in, shutting the door softly behind her.
Christina held out her hand. “I’m Inspector Flowerpot.”
The lady came forward and shook with her. “Lori Major. It’s a pleasure.”
“Likewise.” She gestured at one of the two brown seats in front of her ramshackle grey desk. “Have a seat.”
Lori’s heels clacked over and she sat in the chair. She trembled a little bit; her eyes darted around the office too much.
“So, you wanted to see me?”
Lori nodded. The woman seemed reluctant to talk, but impatient to spit it out.
Christina took another sip of the delicious fluid. “Could I get you some coffee?”
Generic sludge is what it is. That coffeepot is a piece of shit.
“I’m fine, thanks,
” Lori answered.
Christina finished her coffee, client or not. “How can I help you?”
“I don’t know if you’ll understand this. You’ll probably think I’m crazy, but it’s been on my heart to come in here for some time now—years, actually. I’ve never had the guts… until now.”
Christina nodded, shuffling a few papers—old reports called cold cases. “Go on.”
“I’m a high school educator, but I used to work at one of the grade schools. There’s a student—her name’s Stacey Alley—that just… well…”
“The girl that ran away with that cult leader, I remember.”
“She… never acted right.”
“How so?” Christina’s curiosity was piqued as she ran a finger through her short blond hair.
“She’s a shy girl, or was, when she started. Very withdrawn. A kid named Jenna befriended her. But, every day, when school came to a close, Stacey got real quiet. A local couple had become her foster parents, and I know they’re not right. Stacey, well, the poor thing wouldn’t open up.
“This behavior continued into her first year of high school, where I’d been transferred to, myself. Eventually, she found a boyfriend and looked happy, always clinging to him. She picked a nice boy, too, named Kevin Browning. Probably the sweetest young man I’ve ever had the pleasure to teach. They were high school sweethearts to the T, and I hardly ever saw them without each other.”
Christina shook her head. “Miss Major, I’m a very busy woman, and I’m sure your plate is full as well. Would you mind cutting to the chase?”
Lori forced a smile, her wrinkles coming out from hiding, especially the crow’s feet that assaulted the area around her eyes. “Actually, I took the day off.” She dropped the smile, eyeballed the floor, then looked up at her. “The point is, this very shy, nice girl, so in love with her boyfriend, would never run away with a cult leader. She wouldn’t even go near the troubled girls at high school, let alone the guys.”
Christina closed her eyes and mentally said the serenity prayer, then opened them. “I know the boy you’re talking about. He was in here not too long after she disappeared. He said the same thing, but the officers checked the letter Stacey left her foster parents with her handwriting, and it matched.”