9. IF HEAVEN WON’T HAVE ME, I’LL TAKE A ROOM IN HELL
IF HEAVEN WON’T HAVE ME, I’LL TAKE A ROOM IN HELL
THEN
I’ll be honest, I don’t remember much of the funeral.
The only thing I can recall is wishing I could be with them, my husband and son.
Even surrounded by the mourners, their voices a blur of sympathy and sadness, I felt utterly alone.
It was as if I were watching my own life from the outside, trapped in this numb shell that couldn’t grieve because it didn’t know how.
They spoke, and I’m sure their words were kind, but they didn’t reach me.
I could barely hear them over the thunderous silence inside my own head.
Thinking about it now, I wish I had paid more attention, not just to be present for the sake of my loved ones, but because maybe, just maybe, I would have seen the shadows of what was coming, what they were going to do to me.
The days that followed the funeral blurred together like the tears that stained my pillowcase, each day more unbearable than the last as, neighbors and fellow church members of St. Ann’s dropped by with their condolences and casseroles.
I didn’t bother with the mundane things that used to be part of my routine—getting dressed, combing my hair, pretending that everything would somehow be okay.
I didn’t want to live in the world anymore.
I was too raw, too exposed, my soul shredded into too many fragments by grief and self-loathing.
I had no idea how to move on, and I certainly didn’t care to.
My only desire was to lose myself in the darkness, to be swallowed whole by it.
So when the knock came, I didn’t flinch.
I wasn’t startled. By then, I’d sunk too far, my mind heavy and sluggish in that thick tar-black fog where nothing mattered, where even the sound of someone at the door was just another ripple in the static.
I didn’t realize I was moving toward the door until I was already there, hand on the knob, eyes staring at the chipped wood like it might open all on its own.
I heard voices, low and rough, and for a moment, I thought they were imagined.
Echoes born from the fractured corners of my mind.
But no, there were men out there and they were real.
My stomach twisted with something unfamiliar .
. . fear, maybe? Or was it dread? It was hard to tell; everything inside me felt like it belonged to someone else.
I held the door handle, my finger numb and unresponsive.
Maybe I just wanted to get it over with.
Maybe I thought, in my desolation, that nothing could make the world worse than it already was.
I didn’t expect the door to be shoved open with such force, the copper lock hitting my face with a sickening crack that sent a shock wave of pain through me.
I barely had time to register the assault before I was on the floor, my head spinning, a warm trickle of blood running down my cheek.
“Close the door!” One man barked, his voice harsh and distant. A second figure loomed over me, pinning my arms above my head, his knees grinding into my palms as pain shot through me.
“Bernadette . . .” The voice of the third man was like thorns scraping across my skin. “I’ve had my eye on you for a long time.”
The words didn’t make sense at first, they were muffled by my own shock, but then . . . my body reacted, because my mind could not. His hand was creeping up under my skirt, and everything inside me screamed.
I fought back. I thrashed and kicked, panic flooding through my veins as I screamed into his grasp.
But the man’s weight was too much. I was trapped, held down by a force that felt like it was slowly crushing me, making me disappear into nothing.
His other hand clamped over my jaw, forcing me to silence myself.
All I could do was whimper now, helpless, a prisoner inside my own body.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Bernadette, so beautiful,” he growled, his breath hot and foul against my ear. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be John . . . to bed you every night. That man didn’t know what he had.”
I tried to scream, forcing every ragged breath from my lungs, willing sound to rise, to break free and reach someone, anyone who might hear me, who might come.
And then I felt him against my hips, his hands, rough and shaking, fumbling at his belt with a clumsy desperation that sent a cold bloom of horror spiraling through me.
My body locked, every nerve frayed and useless, as the instinct to fight drained out of me.
The edges of my vision dimmed, curling inward with a quiet finality before I closed my eyes, and in that narrowing dark, a single thought clung to me: I didn’t know if I could survive what was coming, and I didn’t know if I wanted to.
But while he touched me, while he destroyed me in a way I didn’t think I’d outlive, a violent sound split the air—a thud, a crack—and my eyes flew open.
The man above me froze, confusion flashing across his face, but he didn’t have time to make sense of it before a familiar voice filled the room.
Emil’s voice rang with rage. “Not today!” He growled.
Then he dropped. The man who had been violating me crumpled forward, his body jerking in a grotesque spasm as Emil’s hands closed around his throat, tight, and full of fury.
The merciless pressure of justice meted out by flesh and bone.
And then came the sound. A snap, so jarring and final, that it shattered the silence of the room like a trap springing shut. Swift, brutal, and irrevocable.
For a moment, I lay there, frozen, my mind struggling to catch up with what my eyes had witnessed.
The room felt impossibly still, my chest tight, heart hammering in disbelief.
The man who had pinned my hands above my head shuffled back, fear making him stumble, before I realized Emil was at my side, his hands steadying me, as he helped me to my feet.
I didn’t know if I felt relief or more fear, but as my mind began to clear, I sensed another presence entering the room.
Nell, Emil’s wife, the woman who worked the bakery stand at our local farmer’s market.
Her eyes were a mix of burning fury and icy calm as she swung the casserole pan across the face of the second man.
The sound of impact was harsh, but the follow-up was worse.
The man stumbled back, stunned, but as he lunged to retaliate, Nell grabbed the oil lantern from the mantle, swinging it through the air with an almost graceful violence. The fire caught him instantly, and in seconds he was covered in flames.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away, couldn’t stop watching as his screams mixed with the sickening scent of burning flesh.
Nell didn’t flinch, not once, not even as the fire began to burn her hand, her own pain barely registering on her face as she continued her assault, sending the man sprawling across the kitchen floor.
I didn’t know how to process the chaos, how to make sense of the brutality that had erupted within the walls of my own home.
My skin ached with the leftover surge of adrenaline, every nerve stretched thin, yet even that physical tremor was nothing compared to the weight of the trauma I’d been carrying for far too many weeks.
Everything blurred together—shouts, movement, the smell of blood and fear—too fast for my mind to separate one moment from the next.
But when I turned, I saw him, the last man.
The one who had helped hold me down. And Emil had him on his knees.
His body twisted, broken, positioned like some grotesque offering laid out before me, like a gift.
The man’s eyes, lit with the first real trace of fear, met mine. But there was no mercy left in me.
I didn’t need words. A single motion toward the stairs and a subtle flick of my hand was all it took. Emil understood immediately, as if he'd been waiting for the command all along.
The man jerked back on instinct, panic flashing across his face as his shoulders tightened, his body coiling like he might try to run.
But Emil was faster. He moved without hesitation, slipping behind him in one smooth, practiced motion, his arms snapping forward to wrench the man’s wrists behind his back before a scream could form.
The struggle turned wild and desperate, all flailing limbs and useless resistance, yet Emil handled him with chilling ease.
And then the man’s head struck the step with a sickening thud that echoed up the staircase.
I drew in a long, steady breath, forcing air into my lungs as I tried to ground myself for what waited ahead.
Fury, hate, and desperation churned beneath my skin—a volatile storm with no clear beginning and no end in sight.
The emotions surged upward, too powerful to contain, rising until there was nowhere left for them to go but forward.
This was the moment it had all led to, the breaking point, the reckoning. Everything I’d buried, everything I’d endured, converged now with perfect, terrifying clarity, and it had found its target.
With all the rage I could muster, I brought my heel down on his head, once, twice, and lost count after the twelfth stomp. Using my cries of anger and pain be the engine that drove my knee back and forth until there was nothing but splattered brains and shards of skull decorating my floors.
My breath came in short, uneven bursts, my chest rising and falling as the last traces of fury slowly drained from me, leaving behind hollowness and shaking.
Emil and Nell didn’t speak, didn’t move, but their quiet presence held me steady when I might have otherwise unraveled.
They understood, without judgment, what had just happened, and somehow, that unspoken understanding was enough to keep me grounded.