“I won’t let you hurt us anymore! You hear me? You’re done! You’re through!” Her eyes narrowed as she pointed the pistol at Jim’s thumping heart. “Now go to Hell!”
Shocked and startled to be staring down the barrel of his own Glock, he let the Jim Beam slip from his hand. It fell, wet and loud, splashing and shattering across the hardwood floor.
The loud crash and flash of glass caused Ashley to flinch. She yanked the trigger.
One shot ripped through the door frame. Wood splintered at Jim’s cheek as he threw his hands up to cover his face. But there wasn’t a second shot to follow the miss. Instead, there was the shrieking sound of terror and growl of frustration as Ashley realized the gun had jammed.
Jim saw his chance. He rushed her, spear tackling her across the hallway floor. The gun went skidding towards Jim’s open door. Quickly, he was on top of her, pinning her with his left hand, and delivering blow after blow with his right. His knuckles cracking and smacking her flesh. Ashley’s head whipped back and forth with each strike to her face.
Tyler jumped into action. He lowered his shoulder and threw himself at Jim, knocking him off of Ashley. The two wrestled around on the floor, each on top of the other for a moment, like two dogs in a backyard scrap.
But, Jim’s drunkenness was a clear and obvious weakness. Tyler found himself on top and ripped a right hand across Jim’s jaw. His nose gushed with blood, dripping across his lips. But this only enraged him. Jim went mad, swinging violently, like a maniac, striking Tyler multiple times in the face, shoulder, torso, and throat. Tyler rolled to the floor, but Jim didn’t let up, his anger fueling his fists.
By the time Ally had gotten to them, Tyler was done. If she would have just moved a little sooner, a little quicker, perhaps, the two of them, together, would have stood a chance. But, alone, they were weak, they were fragile. Alone, they were victims. Jim saw her advance out of the corner of his eye and simply tossed her aside like an empty beer can. She smashed into the wall, hitting her head against the window sill, and knocking her unconscious.
Jim stood up and looked over his wounded enemy. Tyler was groaning in pain, covering his face, rocking side to side on his back and kicking against the hallway wall in agony. Ally was in a limp heap to the side of him. Even in that moment, he couldn’t help but notice the top of her bra and cleavage hanging from her shirt. His stare lingered for a moment until he puffed away the images of her naked body.
He wiped his mouth clean and reminisced about how he used to choke her in bed while quickly taking his pleasure from her pain. He grunted and smiled at his accomplishments. But, the loud, furious barking of Shooter outside pulled him from his smile. His drunken imagination flashed back to the time that he had raged on like this before, years ago, flailing his anger at Ashley’s face, only to have Shooter rip deep into his flesh. He took a quick look to his room to make sure that Tyler’s bristly beast was not roaring out from the darkness to rip into him once again.
Ashley, bloodied and crying out in rage, barreled onto Jim’s back. He stumbled to a knee, barely feeling her tiny fists on the back of his head. Then, like an annoying mosquito at a backyard party, he swatted her off and onto the floor.
Without thinking about it, without caring, and before she could fully get to her feet, Jim cocked his leg to the rear and brought it forward with all of his might, booting her just under the chin. She faded to black and motionless. Empowered by his strength, and enraged by his family’s disobedience, he took it all out on her. One after another, he slammed his bare foot, his flesh, and bone against her limp body.
Blood splattered against the white walls, covering her face, and his foot. There was blood all through the hallway, smeared on the floor, and splashed across the family pictures hanging on the wall. There was blood on everyone’s face, on everyone’s hands, everyone’s except for Nikki’s.
She was frozen in horror, still in her bra and panties, standing in the doorway to her father’s den, her hell. She was in shock, eyes gaping, hands covering her terrified and quiet shrieks. Shaking, she watched as her family devoured each other.
But it was the limpness of Ally’s body that brought her out of that daze. The blood descending the side of her quiet face, her mouth open and gashed, and her nearly exposed breast from the awkward position in which she fell to her back, were pins jabbing at Nikki’s heart. The sickness of seeing her sister so vulnerable, so exposed and lifeless, switched a wire inside of her that sparked a fresh, electric revolution zinging through her body and jolted her from her frozen state of shock.
With new adrenaline pumping her thoughts, she looked around frantically for an answer. She saw the black gun a few feet in front of her. Without thinking, she bent down and picked it up. It was cold, so cold in her little hands. Instantly, the weight reminded her of when her dad used to take her shooting when she was younger. I know you’re afraid, but you need to learn how to do this. Because, as you get older, you will need to take responsibility for your own safety… and whether you like it, or not, you may have to take someone’s life to save your own. He taught her how to line up the sights on her target, how to control her breathing and relax, and how to feel and squeeze the smooth round trigger instead of jerking it like her fishing pole.
But, most important at this moment, her father had taught her how to clear a jammed pistol.
She grasped the top slide with her left hand just in front of the sights. Gripping the checkered plastic handle of the weapon tightly, she yanked violently, pulling it to the rear. The jammed brass casing came loose from the chamber and fell with a sharp echoing tink onto the hardwood floor. She let go of the slide, sweeping a fresh, new, shiny, brass cartridge into the chamber. Raising the cold, dark, heavy tool to eye level, her hands shook as she aimed in on her father’s chest.
Jim was still repeatedly booting Ashley in the face like a madman. He wasn’t stopping. He had lost all control. His demons were in charge now. Jim was a hollow, empty man, filled with hate and rage from years of his own childhood abuse. He had bottled it all up inside and buried it deep down, hoping to never let it rise to his mind, again. It was that abuse, that tragedy, that evil atrocity that created the monster that Jim was today. It bred damning hate inside of Jim. So much hate. So much rage. So long without seeking help. It was too late for him. He had given up on salvation. He had given up on himself, on his family, on the system, on the world, on his life.
“Stop!” Nikki yelled. But Jim was too focused on his fury.
“Stop, Dad! Stop it! You’re going to kill her!” She shouted over the top of the gun sights trembling at Jim’s back.
Jim hardly even noticed his youngest daughter’s high-pitched voice echoing above the thuds of his foot against Ashley’s jaw.
Nikki had no choice. She knew that. She knew what she had to do. She knew that she had to shoot her father.
Time had slowed to a lifetime played out in the span every ticking second. It all flashed before her; all of her sexual assaults burst into her mind at once, like a movie playing silently, a twisted horror flick, a gross fetish porno, a sick and vulgar, detailed film praising sexual abuse. It piled onto her heart like a load of dead bodies. She felt disgusting. She felt rotten. She felt wicked.
“I said STOP!” she yelled one last time.
Nothing. No one even knew she existed at this very moment. No one cared. No one paid her any attention. Everyone was beaten, finished, faded to black… end screen, film over, done, and gone. And anyone still alive in that moment, anyone able to hear her cries, were too focused on themselves. Their pain. Their wounds. Their hate. Their emotional carnage.
Nikki wanted to save them all. She wanted the hurt to stop. She wanted to free them from his spear.
Her finger tightened on the trigger. It was rigid and crisp.
She held the sights on her father’s twisting torso. He wouldn’t stop. He would NEVER stop. She decided that she was going to stop him.
“Dad! Dad!”
Exhausted and slowed, he heard her faint cries over the demons in his head.
He turned to see her aiming at his chest, at his heart. His eyes narrowed. His fists clenched. His jaw squeezed. His naked, blood-soaked body lunged for her.
“Stop!”
A shot roared through the hallway, louder than any noise she had ever heard before. A thundering boom that shook the entire house. The window rattled, sending a streaking crack up into the corner. Picture frames, barely hanging on, fell from the wall and shattered.
Then, for a moment, everything was silent. Everything was dead. Then came the sounds of the wounded murmuring through the hall.
The shot pulled Tyler and Ally from their solitude. Each looked up, hoping for the rapture, wishing it was all over, begging to God.
But it was not God that they saw standing there in the doorway to Hell.
No, it was not God. It was their baby sister. It was Nikki. And she was holding a smoking gun.
Jim crumbled to his knees, grabbing and clawing at his chest. Wide-eyed and mouth gaping, it took him a moment to understand what had just happened. Then, there was a burning sting hammering at his chest.
With warm scarlet splattering from his mouth, he cried out.
“No! No, God! No!”
And, right there, in the hallway, beside his bleeding family, he collapsed, convulsed, and died.
Nikki felt sick to her stomach. Instantly she was ill.
She hunched over, leaning against the wall, and let it go. She let it all go. Everything bad that had ever happened to her came pouring out. Heave after heave, she threw up the sickness inside of her.
She spat and wiped her mouth clean with her arm. She arose from her knees to her feet and felt new. She felt reborn, more alive than she had ever been. She felt the torment let go of her heart. It smoldered up from inside of her. Like the gun smoke twisting towards the ceiling, her pain fluttered up through her chest, into her jaw, her ringing ears, her temples, and tingled out the top of her head, until she felt weightless and free.
She dropped the gun and looked down at her trembling hands. They were wet with perspiration, glistening in the sunlight refracting through the splintered crack of the hallway window. She extended her fingers, felt them grow and stretch to their full potential. They felt full, so full of life.
In her mind, she had no idea what her little hands could do. Now, staring at them, admiring each detail like a finely crafted tool, she squeezed them shut, tightly, with all of her strength, shaking with the pressure, with the force of her might.
She closed her eyes, sucked in deeply through her nose, and counted slowly to ten.
Then, she opened her hands carefully, peacefully, and watched in awe as the warmth, the color, the love rushed back in.
Ten.
The Healing
Five years later
2023, July
Tyler swatted away the smoke rising from the open grill on Ally’s back patio. He poked at the sizzling ribeye steaks, rolled the black-lined hotdogs, and flipped the juicy burgers. He closed the lid, set his tongs on the hook, and took a swig from his red, white, and blue Budweiser can.
“Five minutes on the meat!” He yelled back to his mother, who had just carried out a big bowl of salad and set if on the American Flag themed tablecloth.
“You’re doing great! Thank you!” She yelled back and rushed inside to get the covered dishes.
It had been five years since the day they liberated themselves from Jim. It had been five years of therapy, healing, recovery, growing, loving, and learning how to live as a survivor. It had been a difficult five years.
But, today, they were celebrating America’s freedom with a backyard cookout at Ally’s house, which was just a short drive down the road from where they all grew up. Her large open yard had a row of apple trees in the front and a raspberry patch along the wood line to the rear. There was a large oak tree with a tire swing outside her bedroom window on the side of the house, where the yard was littered with toddler toys. Not far from the tree was a red and yellow plastic slide and swing set. Beside it was a small pool with orange floaties thrown off to the ground in the front. The two-story cottage was quaint, but perfect for her, Brian, and their three-year-old daughter, Jessa Marie.
Ally’s favorite part of her home was the back patio that Brian and Tyler had built just after Jessa was born. It overlooked a small creek and frog pond that gathered just below the wooded hills and valleys of Jackson Township. Most nights, after Jessa was put to bed, Brian and Ally would sit out in the flower-scented air on their hanging wooden swing, drilled into the angled half roof, and listen to the chirping tree frogs “talking” to the croaking bullfrogs in the pond. The trickling of the creek relaxed her and reminded her of the pond of her youth that she would spend hours playing around.
Today, the patio was decorated in small American flags, tiki torches, lawn chairs, and a large table full of food.
Nikki and Jessa Marie were chasing each other around the yard blowing bubbles at each other. Shooter, loose and free, would chase them excitedly, barking playfully and wagging his tail, before retreating to the shade of the oak for a quick, tongue-hanging breather.
Tyler manned the grill, while his girlfriend from Ohio University helped Ashley cut up vegetables on the speckled marble countertop in the kitchen. Brian threw more seasoning on the rotisserie chickens which were rolling over the top of glowing red coals and drifting smoke in the light breeze down by the wood line. His “Born 1776” shirt was damp with sweat, and he rehydrated with a cold Bud Light wrapped in an Ohio State koozie. Ally set the table with paper plates, plastic forks, and firework themed napkins. A few of their close friends mingled under the oak tree in the shade watching cornhole bags hit and slide up Brian’s Ohio State cornhole boards. Mike and Mrs. V. tried to help set the table, but Ally shewed them away. They were now enjoying a cold drink over by Tyler, watching him master the grill, a skill he learned while away at college.
“How’s school?” Mike asked, taking a sip of his sweet tea.
Tyler took a swallow of his beer, nodding his head before he answered.
“Going well, actually. I think I have a good chance of starting at receiver this year. Coach expects us to be in a bowl game, you know how coaches are… but, honestly, I think we have a shot.”
“I tell you what, if you end up in a bowl game, I’ll come and personally cheer you on, face painted and all.” Mike chuckled.
“Hell, I’d like to see that.” Tyler laughed. “You know, Mike, you can come down anytime and watch us play. I can probably set back a couple of extra tickets for you and your wife.”
Mike slapped Tyler on the back and shook his hand.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he smiled, “don’t you forget. Now, what’s this I hear about you leading a sexual abuse survivors group on campus?”
Tyler flipped the burgers one more time and savored his sweating drink.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding his head slowly, “I took the initiative to start a group. I wanted people like us to know that they’re not alone, you know, to know that the pain fades away. I guess I just wanted to do my part. I wanted to help people who have had similar experiences as us… and we have. Mike, I tell you what, I hear it all the time, that group is making a difference in people’s lives. I couldn’t be more proud of that group of people coming together and supporting each other. It’s completely inspiring.”
Mike smiled big, and Tyler could tell by the light in his eyes that he was proud.
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“Wow! Tyler, that’s amazing! I truly mean that. You’re an inspiration.”
“Well, I doubt I could be as great as you,” he grinned, “but honestly, I was thinking about declaring phychology or sociology as my major. I think I want to understand what makes people do these kinds of evil, disgusting things. You know, I just want to… I just want to try to understand it.”
Mrs. V. rubbed his arm.
“You’re a good kid. You know that? Your heart’s in the right place. We’re all so proud of you, Tyler… so proud of all of you.” Mrs. V. gestured to his family. “I think you can do whatever you want in life. Seriously, I think you will be just fine.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Mike put his hand in his khaki pants pocket and motioned at Tyler with his drink.
“Well, I don’t know how much it’ll help, but I do have some old books that you could have. Maybe you can read a little bit this summer and see if it’s what you want to do. I’ll be honest, it’s a lot of work, but the rewards of seeing people heal, of seeing how far they have come since they first walked in your door… that’s beautiful. That’s what makes it all worth it.”
Mike started to get misty-eyed. He wiped at them under his glasses.
“Now, how are those steaks doing? I’m dying of starvation over here.” He laughed.
Tyler lifted the lid and poked at them. “Looks done to me.” He pulled all the meat from the grill and placed it onto a large platter.
Turning and walking carefully toward the table he sounded the dinner bell.
“Come and get it, you freedom loving American badasses! It’s ready!” He shouted to the group.
“Tyler!” Ashley scolded as she set the last dish of pasta salad on the table.
“What? What I say?” He asked, smiling and placing the platter beside the mashed potatoes.
At Daddy’s Hands Page 15