Clean Slate

by Andrea Bramhall

  Morgan didn’t realize she had moved until her fist connected with his jaw, and the sickening crunch of bone against bone couldn’t be drowned out by Erin’s scream.

  Morgan stared at her trembling hands, the skin of her knuckles scraped and bleeding, one crutch fallen to the ground, and she couldn’t believe what she had done. In a single instant, she had become everything she feared and despised. A single action and she had become the monster.

  “See, boy. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree does it?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then spat blood onto the floor. Morgan shuddered as the pink-flecked spittle hit her shoe. “Is that the best you got, Moggie?” He stepped forward, his face mere inches from hers. “Why don’t you do a proper job, girlie? Use one of them sticks; show me how you really feel. Huh?”

  He grabbed for her remaining crutch and tugged sharply, until their bodies collided, over balancing them both and toppling them to the floor. He landed on top of her and wrapped his hands about her throat.

  “I should’ve put us both out of your misery a long time ago.”

  The room swam out of focus as he squeezed and she gasped for air, tears blurred her eyes. Time seemed to slow down as she tried to pull oxygen into her lungs. Panic rose inside her like a tidal wave, she could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and the rest of the room receded as she lifted her hands. She didn’t think about anything but the need for air as she brought the metal crutch down against his head.

  His grip gave way as he slumped against her.

  Morgan struggled to pull her first breath into her lungs. Her throat burned, and her chest ached as his body was rolled off her.

  The hazy blue of Erin’s eyes replaced the view of cloudy magnolia woodchip. She wanted to reach up and wipe away the tears on Erin’s cheeks, but her arms felt like lead. She wanted to smile, and tell her not to cry, but the muscles in her face refused to respond.

  “You’re okay, Morgan. It’s okay.” Erin cradled her head in her lap and stroked her hair off her face. “It’s gonna be okay.” She leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  Chapter Forty

  “Tristan, call an ambulance, now,” Erin said.

  Tristan did as he was told.

  “Morgan, keep your eyes open.” She cradled Morgan’s head.

  “Tell them we need the police too.” John’s voice sounded strained as he shifted George to secure him better. George had come around and was struggling, crying out that she deserved it, that it was all her fault, and that she’d get what was coming to her one way or the other.

  Erin stopped listening. She brushed Morgan’s hair off her face, the red marks on her throat already darkening to purple. Morgan’s breathing was steady, her pulse regular, but her skin was covered in a cold sweat. Her eyes were wide open but unfocused, her pupils dilated, and her hand gripped Erin’s like a vice.

  Tristan dropped to his knees next to them again. “They’re coming. Will she be okay?”

  “Yeah,” Erin said without taking her eyes off Morgan. Tristan’s hand rested on her shoulder and gripped Morgan’s hand with the other.

  “She’s really cold.” Tristan spoke quietly, like he wanted to avoid waking someone asleep.

  “There’s a blanket on the chair over there.” John had pulled George’s arms behind his back, clamped his wrists together, and held him in place with a knee in the small of his back.

  “It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry, Mum.” Tristan took his hand from Morgan’s shoulder and pushed his fingers into the corners of his eyes, obviously trying to stem his tears.

  “No.” Morgan’s voice was little more than a whisper as she tried to shout.

  Erin put her fingers to Morgan’s lips, knowing her throat would be sore and need time to recover, and hoped that Morgan would take the hint. “Tristan, no. This isn’t your fault. Why would you even think that?”

  “None of you would have come here if it wasn’t for me.” The wracking sobs broke free of his tentative control. His body shook, and the tears flowed.

  Erin stopped stroking Morgan’s cheek and wrapped her arm around his shoulders to pull him into her. “This isn’t your fault, Tristan. He manipulated you. This is his fault.”

  “But I shouldn’t have listened to him.”

  “Not your fault.” Morgan held his hand and tugged until he looked at her. “Tristan, I promise you, I don’t blame you.” Morgan’s voice gave way to a series of wheezing coughs.

  Erin helped her sit up a little until the spasm eased. “Morgan, please don’t talk. You need to rest your throat.” Morgan’s eyes darted to Tristan as he continued to cry. Erin leaned down and kissed her head. “I know.” She stroked Morgan’s cheek. “Tristan, you didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and you didn’t cause this. Neither of us blame you, okay?” Erin struggled to find the right words. She needed to help him see that he wasn’t to blame, and that she still loved him, the child in him cried out for it.

  “It is my fault. You’re all here because of me.”

  “No, this isn’t your fault. He wanted to see your mum, and one way or another, he was going to do this. Look at him.” She tilted her head in the direction of the snarling, prostrate man, grumbling under John’s considerable weight. “This is all his doing.”

  “Why?” His body still shook, but he was listening to her now. His tears had subsided, and he was more in control of himself.

  “Because he’s a miserable excuse for a father and wanted nothing more than to make her pay for doing something he thinks was wrong.”

  “What did she do wrong?”

  “She told the truth.” Erin wiped his cheeks before she went back to touching Morgan.

  “About her mum?” Tristan leaned back, looking down at Morgan, stroking her hand in his.

  “Yes. She told the truth, and he paid the price. I don’t think he’s very happy about it.”

  Morgan squeezed Tristan’s hand until she had his attention again. “I love you.” Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks, and he dropped his head to her shoulder. She wrapped her arm about him and held him as close to her as she could.

  “You make me fucking sick. And I thought you might have had a bit of mettle about you, boy. You’re nothing but a fucking pansy arsed piece of shit. Just like your mother!”

  “Shut up, George, or I’ll knock you out.” John shoved his knee further into the small of his back, eliciting a low groan.

  Tristan lifted his head from Morgan’s shoulder and looked her in the eye. “I’m proud to be like my mum.” He spoke loud enough to be heard across the room. “She has more guts in her little finger than you’ll ever have. She did everything she could to keep us safe from you—”

  “Wasn’t enough though was it, boy? I still got her. I still got you all.” He laughed, then groaned as John thrust his knee again.

  Morgan stroked Tristan’s cheek. “But you didn’t win.” She smiled. “We’re all still together, and stronger than before.” She turned and looked at her snarling father. “You’re just a pathetic old man who has nothing. I can’t believe I was afraid of you.” Morgan coughed again. “You know what? I actually feel sorry for you.”

  George roared and tried to buck John from his back.

  “I feel sorry for you because I know things you will never know. I know what it is to be loved by my family. I know what it is to love them in return. All you ever knew was hatred and fear.”

  “I don’t want your fucking pity.”

  “I know.” Morgan smiled forlornly. “And that brings me even more sorrow.” She turned to look at Tristan and Erin.

  Erin saw the shift in her eyes. There was no more fear, no more sadness, and no regret. Instead, there was a certainty in them that Erin had never seen before.

  Morgan turned her head and looked at her father. “I forgive you.”

  The air felt charged, crackling with the emotional energy between father and daughter. The rage in George was almost a physical force, pouring from him in hot waves of fury, and crashing against the p
eaceful calm that Morgan had become.

  The door opened and the paramedics and police came in, breaking the spell that had Erin hypnotized.

  Questions came from every direction. Morgan’s pulse, heart rate, and pupil reaction were tested; she was strapped to a gurney, and Erin helped Tristan into the back of the ambulance.

  “Ms. Masters, we need to go, but I need to have space to work in here.”

  “I’m not leaving her, and I’m not leaving my son.”

  The man held his hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t going to suggest either. But would it be okay for the lad to sit in the front?”

  Erin looked over at Tristan, pleased when he quickly climbed out of the vehicle. She heard the door slam behind him and the soft click as he fastened his seat belt.

  The paramedic climbed back in and closed the doors behind him. “Good to go.” The engine revved and the acceleration forced her back into her seat.

  She looked at Morgan. The bruises on her neck were stark against her chalky white skin. Every piece of the jigsaw fell into place. Morgan’s desire to protect them all, and what she wanted to protect them from, demonstrated so clearly for her. The manipulation of a bully—an abuser—trading on the fears instilled in Morgan since her early childhood. He had done exactly what Morgan must have feared he would do. He had attacked them from within and targeted their son. She had run away to keep it from happening, and it had happened anyway.

  She brushed the tears from her cheeks.

  “I’m gonna be okay.” Morgan’s voice was hoarse and scratchy, but her words brought a fresh stream of tears to Erin’s eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

  The man slid a needle into Morgan’s arm, removing it when the cannula was sitting in the vein.

  “Do I really need that?” Morgan tipped her head toward the arm he was still holding.

  “Given the recent history Erin gave us, I’m not taking any chances. Better safe than sorry in this line of work.” The man winked at her and made some notes on his chart. “We’ll be there in just a minute.”

  Erin stroked her hand gently. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “I should have trusted you more. I should never have doubted you—”

  “Erin, I gave you no reason to trust me. I made so many mistakes. But that’s all in the past now, right?”

  “Yes.” Erin’s voice was thick with tears and emotion.

  “Then it doesn’t matter anymore. I love you.”

  Erin leaned forward and kissed her. “I love you too.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Erin sat with her arm around Tristan’s shoulders while they waited for news of Morgan, and for Chris to arrive with Maddie. She couldn’t stop remembering her frantic visit the night Morgan had been attacked. The same leaflets were scattered about, the same magazines littered tables, and empty plastic cups marked their place with thick, dark rings, and the bitter aroma of stale coffee.

  The doors burst open and Maddie flew down the corridor and into Erin’s arms. Erin hoisted her into her lap, inhaling the scent of her hair as she tucked her head against Erin’s neck.

  “How is she?” Chris wrapped her in a tight hug.

  “She’s okay. The doctors are just checking out her throat. She’s got some wicked bruises on her neck, her voice sounds like she’s been gargling gravel, but she’s fine.”

  Maddie’s fingers twisted in Erin’s hair, spinning the strands around her tiny fingers. “Can we see her?”

  “As soon as the doctor finishes up we can.” Erin kissed the tip of her nose.

  Tristan buried his face in his hands, sobs wracking his body. Chris sat next to him and pulled him close.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s all my fault.” Tristan’s words were muffled against Chris’s chest.

  “Tristan, I thought we talked about this. What’s going on?” Erin stroked a hand down his back.

  “She wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me. It’s my fault she’s hurt. If she forgets us all again, it’s my fault.” He dropped his head to his knees, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, his sobs uncontrollable.

  She eased Maddie off her lap, nodding in Chris’s direction. She sidled over to him as Erin pulled Tristan into her arms. She rocked him gently, the action born of years of comforting him, stroking his hair, and soothing the emotional turmoil raging inside him.

  “Okay, now I want you to listen to me. You didn’t cause this.” He started to pull away but she held on tighter. “No, listen. Yes, you did things you shouldn’t have done. You shouldn’t have run away. You shouldn’t have ditched school. You should have trusted us, and you shouldn’t have talked to him. But all of these things are mistakes. And everyone makes mistakes.”

  “But she’s hurt, and you were only there looking for me.”

  “Yes, we were, but George has been trying to get to see your mum for quite a long time. He sent her a letter when he was still in prison. That was why she left us. She was trying to protect us from him.”

  “And I let him get to her.” His words were difficult to understand through his sobs.

  Think, Erin. How can I make him see that he didn’t start any of this? “Tristan, how did he find you?”

  “He came to the house. He asked to see mum.”

  Fucking bastard! “When?”

  “Just before school started back.” Tristan’s sobs eased a little as he answered her questions. “She wasn’t in. You’d taken her for her appointment at the hospital, about her knee.”

  This is what we need, Tristan, good boy. “He came to see Morgan then?”

  “Yes.” Tristan’s eyes widened as he realized the conclusion she was leading him to. “He could have come to see her any time. I didn’t matter.”

  “I wouldn’t say you didn’t matter, kiddo. But in this instance, it was a question of when. You didn’t give him an opportunity to get to her that he couldn’t have arranged himself at some point. Remember, he arranged for those people to beat her up. Do you understand? This was his doing, his fault, not yours.”

  Erin reached into her pocket for a tissue and handed it to him. “You should have told us when he came to the house. Why didn’t you?”

  He blew his nose and grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t need sorry, Tristan. I need to know why.”

  He leaned back in his chair, slightly more relaxed as he started shredding the tissue in his hand. “The first time he came he just said not to worry about it and that he’d come back another day. He came back about an hour later and asked if he could wait.”

  “Oh, God.” I’ll kill him.

  “It’s okay, I said no. That I wasn’t going to let a stranger in the house.”

  “Good boy.” Erin breathed a small sigh of relief.

  “He said he shouldn’t have been a stranger. He said he was my granddad and that it was wrong that I didn’t know him, or even recognize him, after everything he did for Mum.”

  Erin looked at Chris. His eyes were stormy. “Go on.”

  “I thought he was some crazy guy, so I told him to fuck off. I’m sorry for swearing but—”

  “It’s okay.” I don’t give a flying fuck right now. “What happened next?”

  “He laughed and said I really was his grandson after all, that I had spunk. He got his wallet out and showed me the picture of him and Mum. It was definitely him and Mum when she was a kid. He wanted to know if she was all right and stuff. If she was happy. I told him she’d been in hospital. He’s her dad. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong.”

  “Shh, doesn’t matter. What happened next?”

  “He said that he was dead sorry that she was poorly, so I told him she wasn’t poorly, that she got hit in the head, and she had amnesia. He wanted to know what it meant. Like he didn’t know what amnesia meant, so I explained it to him.” He balled up the shredded tissue in his fist.

  “He was still outside?” She hated the thought of him inside their h
ome. It was their sanctuary, their private space, theirs alone. She didn’t want the memory of him in it to taint what they had created.

  “Yes, I never let him in the house. After that, he said it was probably best if he didn’t see Mum. He said he should ‘let sleeping dogs lie.’ I wanted him to tell me what he meant by that, and he looked at me all funny. Like he was looking for something on me. He asked me if she hit me. I laughed at him and said no.”

  Erin closed her eyes. Even though she knew the information had come from Morgan’s father, hearing how Tristan had learned it ripped her apart.

  “He said it was probably because she knew how strong I was. That I was the man of the house, and she had to know that. He started to walk away and then he turned round and asked if she hit you.”

  “Jesus Christ. The bastard. Carry on, Tristan.”

  “He said she had a black temper when she lived with him, that she used to snap and lash out at her mum. I told him she’d never hit us. That she wasn’t like that. He said it was all because the moods she had. He said her mum was the same. Got depressed and then angry, and lashed out, and then he asked if she still had her funny moods.”

  Erin held her anger in check as Tristan explained how he had been manipulated. She hated the way his childish innocence had been turned against him and knew that it had now been destroyed forever. Tristan would never again accept anything on faith as he had before.

  “She does have funny moods sometimes, and I got scared. Everything was still…weird. She’s Mum, but she isn’t. And I didn’t know why she left, and I thought maybe…I thought maybe she did hit you and you made her leave, but you didn’t want to tell us that. He said that women are ashamed if their partners hit them, and they don’t tell anyone. It kind of made sense. He said not to tell you that he’d been there because he didn’t want any of us to get hurt, because of him. I was so stupid.”

  Erin pulled him into her arms. “No, honey, you trusted someone who abused that trust. You were vulnerable because of everything that was happening at home. That doesn’t make you stupid, Tristan. It means I didn’t do my job very well. I should have protected you better. I failed you, sweetie, not the other way around. I’m so sorry for that.” She leaned back, cupping his face and looking into his eyes. “Can you forgive me?”