The Calm

by William Butler

wasn’t there. A light flicked on from the corner of the living room. It was the light from Linda’s phone. Its blue light illuminated Kevin’s face.

  “So she’s here,” he said in a low growl. “You were planning on running out on me and your mom.” Linda took a deep breath gulping air into her throat. Her mouth was dry.

  “Yes,” she said. “I want out of this place. I want to be away from anything and everything that has to do with you.”

  “Really,” he said. Linda didn’t answer. The silence was his answer. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jean fumbled with the door handle as she tried not to look at him. His voice felt closer. She cringed and trembled, as she let the door handle go. She was too frightened to answer him. The wind howled outside and beat the rain against the house. “Well?”

  “I—I’m going to leave with Linda,” she said finally.

  “Really?” He looked hurt as he glared at Jean through the blue light.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You think you can do that? You think I will let you just walk out of this house with this piece of shit!” Kevin walked up to them both. He threw Linda’s cell phone across the room. It slam against the wall and broke, but Linda didn’t care—it was a small price to pay for freedom. “You’re not going anywhere!” Kevin shoved Jean away from the door. She fell backwards onto the floor.

  “I told you to leave her alone,” Linda said, striking her father. His face turned red and his eyes watered with fury. Kevin slapped Linda in the head and then slapped her again. Her face stung from the hit making her cry, but it didn’t stop her from yelling. “You can hit me all you want asshole. Mom, run! Go! Leave now,” she said. Kevin wrapped a hand around Linda’s throat as he balled up a fist, punching her. She screamed as he pushed her backwards into her room. The bedroom door slammed shut preventing her from leaving.

  Jean ran up to the door banging on it.

  “Stop this! Stop this, Kevin! Let me in!” She pounded her fists into the door. She heard Linda scream in pain. Jean could hear the hits as his fists made contact with her body.

  “Momma, run.” Her voice rang harshly from the room.

  “Kevin, stop doing this,” Jean said, tears poured from her eyes. Jean slowly fell to her knees as the screams and hits slowly came to a stop. “Stop…please…stop,” she said through her tears. The door opened. Kevin stood in the doorway and then brushed past Jean, who was still kneeling on the floor. She heard the faucet to the kitchen sink come on. He was washing his hands. Jean looked into the room. She trembled as she crawled into the darkness. The room ransacked from their fight. Her fingers fumbled across the floor, gently—yet cautiously feeling every crack in the wood. Her eyes settled onto Linda’s hand hanging over the edge of the bed. She didn’t move. Jean wiped her nose and eyes. “Baby—” she said softly. No answer. “Linda?” She called to her. Jean reached up and lightly touched Linda’s fingers. The touch was just enough for Jean to know that her daughter was dead. “No! No…no…no…no,” she said. “You killed her!” Jean bent over holding her stomach. A pain rushed through her. Linda’s lifeless hand reached out to her. Jean lay on the floor, paralyzed. Everything inside her died with Linda.

  “Woman, get in here and fix me another plate of food. I’m still hungry,” he said from the living room. Jean didn’t move. Her body was limp. She didn’t feel anything. She couldn’t feel anything. She only could fixate on Linda’s hand hanging over the bed. She closed her eyes, as his voice pierced through her emptiness. “Don’t make me come in there and drag your ass from that room.” The lights came back on. It was like a message from Linda. Jean opened her eyes. A few inches in front of her was the picture of her and Linda at Hollis Park. She reached over picking it up. “About time the lights came back on. That means the storm is almost over. Get in here—now!”

  “Coming,” she said softly. She pulled herself off the floor and walked back into the living room.

  “About damn time,” he said. “Now fix me another plate.”

  “Yes,” she said, slipping the picture in her pocket. “I’ll do that for you.” Jean walked into the kitchen. She grabbed a plate and the pot of chicken and dumplings. Kevin turned the television to a comedy show. Laughter came out of the television as Jean walked over. She laid the plate in front of him. She scooped the meal from the pot and filled his plate.

  “Damn woman this is so good today,” he said. She couldn’t believe he was acting like he didn’t just kill their daughter. Jean watched him as he laughed with the television show. She held the pot in her hand looking through the steam at him. He caught her staring. “Damn it woman go find something to do.”

  “Okay,” she said. She flung the hot steaming meal at his face. He screamed in pain as the hot liquid burned him. Kevin stood up wiping at his face.

  “You bitch.” He narrowed his eyes, his face red from the burns. Jean slammed the pot into Kevin’s face. He fell backwards. Before he could recover, she slammed his head again, this time making him fall to the floor. She straddled him bringing the pot down onto his head repeatedly. The television laughed making she laugh. They laughed at her and she laughed with them. The sound of the pot hitting Kevin’s face was like meat hitting a table before the butcher would cut it up. She continued to slam the pot down until she didn’t feel him move.

  A knock came to the door.

  “Jean,” a woman said. She stood up. She noticed that the storm had stopped. Jean walked over to the door.

  “Jean,” a man said. She opened the door and stared at the three people looking at her.

  “Oh, Jean, we were so worried. I saw your screen door laying in the yard and I thought something bad happened to you,” the older woman said. She glanced at Jean with an odd expression. “Honey, are you alright? Jean?”

  “Jean,” the man said.

  “I killed my husband,” she said quietly. The old woman looked at Jean as if she wasn’t sure if she heard her correctly.

  “You what?”

  “I killed Kevin,” she said. The old man walked past her and into the house.

  “Dear God,” he said. “Quickly we need to call 9-1-1.” The old woman ran past Jean to see what had happened. The other person walked up to her. She was unaware of what was happening.

  “Mrs. Battle, I’m Beth—Linda’s friend.” Jean focused on the young woman. She smiled.

  “Beth,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Mrs. Battle, is Linda okay?”

  “Linda,” Jean said as she thought about the picture in her pocket. She reached for it and took it out. She rubbed her fingers across Linda’s face. Beth walked past Jean and into the house. There was a scream from inside. Jean stepped out onto the porch. She took in a deep breath. Rainwater dripped off the sides of the house onto the ground making puddles in the mud. The sound of sirens rang out in the distance. Jean walked out on to the steps looking up to the sky. The sun peeked through the clouds making everything bright. She moved away from the house and started walking down the road—not even noticing the ambulance and police vehicles speed past her. She stared at the picture of her and Linda as she walked away to her freedom.