by Melissa Jane
I prayed he wouldn’t see me. Every terrifying night he’d held me captive, my body seized to the sound of his raised, drunken voice, and now, he was doing it again.
Tears welled as I looked between the man I detested and the black body bag that held the person I loved.
I’d never see my momma again.
He’d killed her. Just like he promised he always would.
I should have told Mom I loved her. I should have said it more. I should have given her encouragement to take control of her life. I should have gone home and checked up on her. Maybe if I had, my father wouldn’t have put her head through three different walls. Maybe if I had, he wouldn’t have then bludgeoned her to death with the broken shower faucet.
But I didn’t do any of it, and he did it all.
After the police wrestled my father into the back of the squad car and the ambulance left with my mother, I ran. Romeo called out to me from behind, but I was already ahead and much faster than him. I ran to the safest place I knew, the Neverland treehouse, and collapsed onto the bed of cushions. Painful, gut-wrenching sobs erupted from my core. I trembled uncontrollably like my body was possessed and screamed into the cushions until my throat was raw. I cursed and swore vengeance on God for standing back and allowing my father to destroy what was good. He allowed evil to win, and I hated him as much as I hated the man who conceived me.
Below the treehouse, concerned voices filtered through the floorboards, Mrs. Sanchez wanting an explanation for my hysterical behavior, and then arguing with Romeo to remain on the ground while she climbed the ladder. She claimed a spot next to me and pulled my dead-weight body into her arms the same way a mother would comfort a small child. Mrs. Sanchez held tight, allowing me to bury my face into her shoulder and sob. We rocked back and forth, her Spanish whispers eventually lulling me into numbness. Even when I’d quieted, she didn’t let go, gently kissing the top of my head while stroking my hair.
“Mama,” Romeo’s voice sounded from the ladder. “I want to be with Lucy.”
“Come in, miho,” she said before whispering to me. “Mi amor, remember who are. And remember we love you very much.” She squeezed me tight and I returned the gesture before she swapped positions with her son. “I’ll bring dinner up to you later tonight.”
Romeo laid down next me, his arm around my shoulder, my head on his chest. We remained silent for quite some time, both unsure what to say, both attempting to digest what we’d seen. Romeo’s thumb worked rhythmic circles on my back, his presence alone calming my aching heart.
“I don’t know how much I can take,” I finally said through fractured sounds. “What will happen to me now?”
“My parents won’t let anything happen to you, Lucy. I can promise you that.” His words gave me some reassurance but that wasn’t why my heart hurt.
My mother had been a beautiful vibrant woman once, her tattered and age-stained photo album held many smiles, many candid images of her laughing with those she loved and who loved her. Then she met my father and fell for his charisma and promise of a fulfilling life. Then he dragged her from their happy existence to his own personal hell. A hell he refused to let his wife escape from. Then he took that life away.
“Why did he do it, Romeo? Why did he have to kill her?”
“He had his demons, Lucy. You and your mom were just collateral damage.” I hugged him tighter, too scared to let go, tears saturating his shirt. “It’s fucked up. Everything about it is fucked up.” Hearing the pain in his own voice only caused me to sob harder. “You deserve so much more in life than what you’ve received. They aren’t ready, that’s all I can think of as to why life has been so cruel to you.”
“Who isn’t ready?”
Romeo kissed my forehead. “The world. This world just isn’t ready for you, Lucy.”
~~~
With pins pursed tightly between her lips, Mrs. Sanchez ran the last bit of hem through the sewing machine. Pulling the layers of fabric free, she shook the dress out and held it against my shoulders.
“Bonita,” I think she mumbled before removing the pins and stabbing them into the small cushion. “You truly are a beautiful young lady, Lucy. I’m so happy for you to be wearing a dress I wore when I first met Mr. Sanchez at my quinceañera.”
Mrs. Snachez knew I didn’t have a dress to wear to the school dance, my wardrobe consisting entirely of thrift shop casual clothes. She’d taken my hand after dinner and led me to her bedroom where she held the sea blue dress she’d already laid out on the bed. It was too long, and keen to have me wear it and attend the dance with her son, Mrs. Sanchez got straight to work on taking up the hem and removing some frills. The end result was just as beautiful as the original.
“It’s beyond generous of you, Mrs. Sanchez.”
She stroked my cheek before re-hanging the dress. “You are familia, bonita, and always will be.” She turned wearing a coy smile. “Plus, my son loves you like no other.”
I bit my lip to hide my own smile. I knew he did and I felt the same about him.
It had been a week since the murder. We’d buried my mother in a no-frills ceremony because there were no funds to give her the farewell she deserved. It was only me and the Sanchezes who attended, Mrs. Sanchez and Romeo holding each hand for support. We walked to the government-assigned plot at the local cemetery and along the way collected flowers growing on the sidewalk. Mr. Sanchez led a prayer and out of courtesy, I closed my eyes but instead of praying, I let Him know my true thoughts. Perhaps that’s why He felt the need to deliver yet another blow to my already falling apart world.
A knock sounded from the front door and we both paused to hear Mr. Sanchez talking. Moments later, he joined us in the bedroom, his tanned face now white. He swallowed hard before speaking in Spanish to his wife. Her face drained in color to match his, her eyes looking nervously between us.
“Carina, stay here,” she finally said to me before following her husband out.
Clutching the door frame, I listened to the voices and tried to make out the conversation. I understood the manner and tone more than the topic itself. Mrs. Sanchez was upset, raising her voice in defiance. She also sounded pained and angry. On the opposite side were two very official sounding people—a man and a woman. They remained calm yet assertive.
Mrs. Sanchez started to cry, her Spanish curses flowing with ease. I inched closer, wanting to wrap my arms around her and reassure everything would be all right just like she did with me when Mom died.
“Lucy!” Romeo rounded the corner crashing into me. He held both my shoulders, an urgency in his eyes that told me everything was not okay. “You have to go. Sneak out the back door and I’ll meet you up in Neverland.”
“What’s happening?” my voice was shaky with the fear it possessed.
“Just go, Lucy!”
The voices from the front grew close and before I could move, multiple bodies came barreling down the hall. The man and woman I’d heard were dressed in ill-fitting suits and were being led by a police officer.
“Just give us time,” Mrs. Sanchez pleaded, her face stained with tears. “We are caring for her. Just give us time to make it legal.
“This is ridiculous! You can’t enter our home and do this,” Mr. Sanchez barked.
They yelled and pleaded while trying to push their way in front of the intruders. Romeo’s fingers circled my wrist as he stepped in front, protecting me from those who had made it their mission to tear me away from the last people who loved and cared for me.
“She’s not going,” Romeo bellowed, he himself crying. “She’s happy here. She has everything she needs. She doesn’t need to go anywhere.”
“Move to the side, kid,” the officer instructed, trying to force his way around Romeo.
“You haven’t even asked Lucy if she wants to leave. Ask her!”
“Move to the side or I’ll put you in cuffs. Your choice.”
“Wait,” the female interrupted, hands raised in an attempt to placate the situa
tion. “As we just explained to your parents we have no choice in the matter. With one deceased parent and the other incarcerated, it’s by law the child is sent to a legal guardian or next of kin, of which you are neither.”
“Don’t you think she’s had enough?” Romeo’s words were falling on deaf ears.
“Move to the side, kid,” the officer warned again. When Romeo refused, the big burly man snapped into action, his patience non-existent. Twisting Romeo’s arm behind his back, the officer pushed him against the wall, knocking a family photograph smashing to the floor.
“Get off him! Leave him alone,” I screamed, pummeling the officer with my fists. It was years of anger manifesting itself. The entire hall erupted into a ruckus none of us had been expecting. Mr. and Mrs. Sanchez fought to get to their son and me to safety. The two CPS workers took an arm each to pull me toward the front door.
“Get off me,” I screamed, kicking wildly at their legs. “Why are you doing this? Get off.” Their fingers dug deep, the force lifting my feet off the ground. I could feel Mrs. Sanchez clawing frantically at my arm, trying her best to get a grip.
“We’ll be back to gather her things,” the CPS man said, dragging me through the door. I was sobbing so hard I could no longer see their faces, but their distress was heart-wrenching. Mrs. Sanchez was doubled over, her husband holding her while she wept.
“Lucy!” Romeo yelled, rounding the front door, his hands still in cuffs.
“Romeo,” I called back, desperately. “Please help me.” I blinked, my vision clearing, but when I saw him, I wished it hadn’t. Seeing him so broken tore my heart to shreds.
“I’ll find you, Lucy,” he called, voice cracking with emotion. “I promise, I’ll find you.”
~~~
“You’re not going anywhere until you eat your fucking dinner.” His fist smashed onto the dinner table causing the cutlery to rattle. I jumped from fright, although I’d seen it coming.
“Dairy upsets my—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what it does to you. We don’t waste food in this household, so eat.”
I looked around at the dirty faces staring at me, waiting to see my next move. They were smart. They knew to shut up and eat and move around the house as inconspicuously as possible. Heaven forbid they make a sound and be faced with the wrath of Uncle Brian who always seemed ready for a fight.
I never saw the Sanchezes again. After CPS stole me away that night and flew me four hours away, I’d been denied any privilege of contacting them. Apparently, it was ‘for the best.’ I don’t think the CPS workers really cared what was best for me because if they did, they wouldn’t have dropped me at Uncle Brian’s house, the brother of my father. They were so much alike, it was as if history were laughing at me while it repeated itself. The similarities were uncanny. They both drank like a fish, both used their fists as their way of communicating, and both believed instilling fear was the best way to run your family.
And to make it worse, it was obvious he held me responsible for what had happened. Like I was the one who told Dad to bludgeon my mother to death. And as the cherry on top, his resentment of being ‘next of kin,’ revealed itself in how he treated me. I was the leper in the family. The burden. The only benefit to him was that the state was giving him some sort of allowance for a certain period of time until I became adjusted.
And I only knew this because when CPS delivered me, Uncle Brian was sure to ask when his first payment would be made.
Uncle Brian and Aunty Meryl had five-year-old triplets, Jillian, Jaden, and Jessica. They, including Aunty Meryl, were already broken-spirited, unclean, and uneducated. They merely existed in the same terrifying world I’d lived in… and now live in again.
A brutal backhanded slap had me sliding to the edge of my chair. “I said, eat your fucking dinner!” Uncle Brian barked again. I tentatively touched my flaming cheek, feeling the burn of humiliation.
With wide-eyed stares watching closely, I picked up my fork and ate the chicken with congealed cream sauce, knowing full well I’d be clutching my stomach in pain in just a few hours’ time. I ate in silence, my tears going mostly unnoticed. The triplets saw, their own eyes starting to glisten. When you’d been through similar struggles it was easy to understand each other, even at such a young age.
With our plates all but licked clean, we waited, hands in laps, eyes careful not to look around. Only when Uncle Brian drained half a glass of beer and delivered a hearty belch were we finally instructed to leave the table.
“Clean this fucking shit up and go to bed.”
The four of us moved at lightning speed, chair legs scraping the floor.
I was almost finished the dishes when Jessica tapped my elbow. Looking down, I saw her sweet face that needed a good scrub. “Here,” she said in a mousy voice. She held up a cube of ice in her just as dirty fingers.
Drying my hands, I accepted her offering with a small smile and slid it across my cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered, careful not to be heard.
I didn’t know why life continued to throw me into places I imagined to be like hell, but I had to think that maybe I was here to look out for the triplets. They were still so young. So vulnerable to their own father. The problem was, life wasn’t quite finished with me yet.
~~~
Months passed yet every day was the same. One or more of us would be sporting a new bruise, black eye, or in Jillian’s case, a broken arm. I struggled to fit into school and could never concentrate on classwork. My scholarship was now just a dream, my grades slipping to barely passing. My teachers thought I was just another mediocre student plodding through the system. Nothing exceptional, nothing to invest in. What they didn’t know were the reasons why I fell asleep in class. I couldn’t tell them that I spent all night hiding in a closet with the triplets wrapped around me while I whispered sweet lullabies to them, my failed attempts at distracting them from the violence occurring in the rest of the house. They were all so different. Jillian filched every time there was a loud bang. Jaden squeezed my hand whenever he heard his father bellow cuss words at his mother, and Jessica sobbed every time she heard her mother’s cries.
When I wasn’t protecting the triplets from his punch-hungry hands, I would be in bed, the sheets pulled over my head so I could cry into the pillow and pray that Romeo would come searching for me.
It turned out I couldn’t wait for Romeo or anyone else because although Uncle Brian was bad enough on his own, come poker night, his buddy Vince was a dangerous force of nature.
I noticed a change in the triplets’ behavior on poker nights. I also noticed how Jillian would wet her pants when she was ordered to get Vince another beer. It meant getting close. It meant when he pulled her in for a one-armed hug, his hand would find its way up her skirt. Instead of doing homework, I took Jillian’s place and turned into more of their own personal server, ensuring they’d never call on her again. The nights would get rowdy, the grown men arguing over the smallest of things, and nine times out of ten, it would get physical. After spending the night in the closet, we’d wake to find new holes in the drywall, smashed beer bottles and blood stains. These were the type of poker nights we preferred best. The more subdued they were, the more dangerous and sinister they became. I discovered this the hard way.
Their voices emanating from the dining room had become white noise, my eyes eventually growing heavy. I started to dream of Romeo as I always did. His smile, the touch of his hand, his jokes that would leave me in the right kind of stitches. I dreamed of Neverland and how much I loved falling asleep next to my best friend while staring at the glowing stars above. I can’t really explain what it was that woke me. I didn’t know if it was a sound that brought me back to consciousness or the feeling that someone was close. The air changed and whatever it was that caused my skin to prickle.
With my heart thudding in my ears, I stared into the darkness. I waited for movement, even just the slightest breath. A faint silver glow from the moon filtered through th
e window, covering everything within its reach. What wasn’t covered fell into ominous, abyss-like shadows. The thin curtains began to sway like haunting ghosts, a storm looming not too far off in the distance. And then I saw it, a dark figure emerging from the shadows rounding Jillian’s bed. She was fast asleep, unaware of the danger. I squinted hard hoping the moon would reveal who it was. It definitely wasn’t Aunty Meryl. She was waif-thin and fragile, just like Mom was. It could only be Uncle Brian or Vince. A brief glimmer of metal told me who it was now bending over the bed. Uncle Brian didn’t wear a watch. He didn’t care for any jewelry. In fact, he didn’t even seem to care who was creeping into his children’s bedroom while they were sleeping.
I felt sick to my stomach and mentally ran through possible outcomes. I watched, still deciding whether he would actually be stupid enough to be so repulsive. Apparently, he was stupid enough. He lifted the blanket covering Jillian’s tiny body and I heard her small voice murmur awake. Vince whispered something I couldn’t make sense of and it was followed by him climbing into the bed. Jillian grew loud, no doubt having wet herself again with fear. She started to cry the same way any frightened five-year-old would, her whimpering quickly followed with a hand over the mouth and Vince whispering, “shh,” and believing it would be enough to calm her down. When the creep pulled the blanket over the both of them, I leaped out of bed and found the only object I knew which could cause damage. The bedside lamp. It wasn’t plugged in because the bulb had blown, and replacing it hadn’t been on anyone’s list. It had a nice ceramic base, heavy and large enough to achieve what I wanted. Snatching it off the table, I moved to the side Vince was on and held the lamp high above my head.
“Hey. Asshole.”
The sheet snapped back and I wished the moon were just a little brighter to reveal his shock. He would never have known what I was holding in my hands, but he certainly felt it when I brought the ceramic base crashing onto his face. It was a sickening blow and I fought the urge to vomit knowing I’d probably broken a nose and eye socket. Vince released an almighty roar that was followed by something I imagined an injured dog to sound like. Jillian screamed and rolled off her side and hid under the bed.