Chapter 17 #2
Vic had Mom forced to her knees in the kitchen. One hand tangled tightly in her mass of hair, the other pulled back and then began to pummel her face again and again. Her lips were already bleeding. Her shirt was soaked in blood.
It was a few seconds before I was able to take anything else in. I think it was the thought I need to go get Adam that finally forced me to look away. When I did, I found him.
Adam was on the floor, the cheap wooden end table crushed beneath him.
Half of his face was missing. Blood had slowed to an ooze out of the hole.
The pool beneath him covered a fourth of the carpet.
Chunky blood covered the sofa and the wall behind it.
Adam didn’t have a shirt on, only a pair of thin white boxers, which had begun to soak up the blood that was pooling on the carpet.
In a blur I heard, rather than saw, Vic rushing at me and then curses as he crashed to the ground, landing on Adam’s legs, causing Adam’s head to flop to his left, showing more of the cavernous mass in his head. Mom had managed to tackle Vic before he got me.
I don’t know how much time passed. I don’t remember anything else from that night.
Nothing. The next thing I knew, it was daylight.
I was huddled in Mom’s lap, her arms around me so tightly it was hard to breathe.
We were cramped in the corner of the kitchen, Mom’s back against the oven and small refrigerator.
Vic sat in the recliner in the living room, his gun casually pointed at us. Adam lay on the floor between.
We sat there forever; I have no idea how long.
It felt like forever. I needed to use the bathroom.
I didn’t say anything. I made no noise. We sat there, Mom’s arms wrapped around me.
She didn’t say anything either. She only cried the first part of that day.
She stopped when Vic told her he’d shoot us both if she didn’t quiet down. I’ve never heard her cry since.
After a time, maybe five or six hours, maybe not even an hour, I wet my pants. Mom’s arms tightened. I didn’t say anything, nor did she. I assume Vic didn’t notice. I am sure he wouldn’t have let such a thing go by without some reaction.
We sat there the entire day, no one saying anything.
Finally, after the sun went down, Vic stood and walked closer to Adam.
I could feel Mom stiffen and her breathing catch.
He pushed on Adam’s shoulder with his foot.
Adam’s body didn’t respond, didn’t even jiggle.
Vic bent closer and poked the tip of the gun’s muzzle into the hole in Adam’s head.
He looked up at Mom, the gun still in Adam, and told her to make him dinner.
When she didn’t respond, he screamed it at her. She got up and made dinner.
Instant mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese.
She kept me between her and the wall or stove, constantly moving me with her as she moved around the kitchen, always staying between me and Vic.
Vic made us sit on the bloody couch as he ate his bowl of potatoes and macaroni in the recliner, his gun balanced on his knees, pointed at us.
I don’t remember ever thinking about anything.
I only looked at Adam and tried to remember what his pretty face had looked like.
I couldn’t. Still can’t. We never had any pictures.
I didn’t think about Roscoe and wonder where he was, although I have since.
I didn’t even think about Donnie and Della.
They were in a different world. They didn’t exist here.
Sue and Chuck didn’t exist here either. Neither did Grandma and Grandpa.
We were all alone in this universe. Just me, Mom, Vic, and Adam.
I stared at Adam and felt Mom’s hand in mine.
That was my universe. Adams’s single brown eye, now glazed over, and Mom’s soft, clammy hand.
The only time Mom quit touching me was when Vic came and sat by us on the couch. Mom shifted so her body blocked more of mine from Vic’s sight.
Vic soon began to trace Mom’s thigh with his gun. She only had on a T-shirt and a pair of Adam’s boxers. I could feel my eyes tear up as he slid the muzzle under the hem of her boxers. She gasped and stiffened.
Vic laughed.
He pulled the gun back, took out the bullets, and put them in his pocket.
He got up and went over to Adam’s body. With a ripping sound, he pulled the waistband of Adam’s boxers, and the rigid body lifted slightly.
Vic slid the gun under Adam’s lower back and let go of the boxers.
Adam’s body covered the gun, but it caused him to lie in an even more awkward position than before.
From Mom’s breathing, I thought she was going to start crying again, but she didn’t.
Vic walked back and sat on the couch again.
This time, he used his hands. One returned to the spot under the boxers.
The other slid beneath her T-shirt. She cursed at him, and he withdrew the hand from her boxers.
Without warning, he reached around her and smacked me hard on the head.
Mom began screaming at him. I don’t know what she was saying.
Vic started hitting her with both hands, backhanding her face and punching her chest and stomach.
The force pushed her backward, smothering me between her weight and the sofa cushions.
He grabbed the neck of her T-shirt and pulled her from the couch.
He forced her down by Adam. He started to pull off her boxers, but she started screaming again and tried to kick him.
He slapped her again. She didn’t move for several seconds.
I thought she was dead. I started to cry.
Vic stared at her in shock. He must have thought she was dead too.
After a few seconds, she started to move again. He reached out and resumed removing her boxers. Mom kept saying, “Not here, not here,” over and over again. He told her that she could deal with it, that Adam could watch.
She told him to fuck off, to bring Adam into the bedroom, just not here, not in front of me.
He looked at me then. Really looked at me. I looked back. I didn’t see hate there. He wasn’t angry at me. He didn’t look like he wanted to hurt me. He didn’t look like he cared to hurt me either.
Without a word, he once again pulled Mom by the hair. He dragged her, half sliding, half crawling behind him into the bedroom. The door slammed shut.
I sat on the couch. I didn’t move. I sat there listening for Mom’s voice.
I never heard it. If she made a sound, it wasn’t ever loud enough to carry to the living room.
I could hear Vic, though, constantly yelling, screaming names at her, cursing Adam.
I could hear the smack of his fists as he hit her.
Finally the sounds of his screaming and hitting faded into long, drawn-out groans.
Even after his groans had finished, Mom didn’t return to me until the sun was starting to come up.
It was just me and Adam. We stayed in the living room.
More than once I started to get up and go to him.
Curl up beside him. Wrap his arm around my shoulder like he would do when he and Mom would rent a movie and we would eat popcorn on the couch.
I wanted to shake him, to have him rescue me and Mom from Vic.
Have him take us away again. Load us up into his truck and just drive away.
I knew he was dead. I knew he wouldn’t come back. I knew he couldn’t help us. I knew he was beyond wanting to.
I knew I would never get that puppy.
Looking back, I can clearly count three discernible days.
There may have been more, but I know there were at least three.
I am sure people had to have heard the gunshot, had to hear the screaming, had to hear something.
I don’t know what they thought—maybe a lovers’ quarrel.
Maybe they were afraid too, afraid to get involved.
Whatever the reason, no police came. No one came to rescue us from Vic.
We didn’t do anything. Vic didn’t talk to us.
Mom and I never spoke. She would cook. He would eat.
Mom never did. She tried to get me to eat, but I wouldn’t.
I drank water, but only when she drank. Several times a day Vic would take her to the bedroom.
The second time, she fought again, but after that, she walked back willingly.
Adam lay there, never moving. After that long, in the summertime too, I am sure that there must have been a smell.
There would have had to have been. However, I don’t remember it.
Maybe we didn’t notice as our noses were entrenched in it. Maybe it just didn’t matter.
The strangest thing about it all is that I don’t remember it ending. I don’t have any clue what happened. I don’t remember leaving Adam’s body. I don’t remember driving away. I simply remember being aware that we were back home again. Back in our house in El Dorado.
Maybe the police finally came. Maybe Mom snuck us away during the night. Maybe Vic just walked away. I fantasize that Mom managed to kill him, but I doubt it. It doesn’t ring true for some reason, not that she wouldn’t have or couldn’t if she’d gotten the chance, but I just don’t think she did.
We were back home. I remember very clearly her taking me in her arms and pulling me to her lap before bed. She told me we were home, that we were safe. That we weren’t going to leave again. She told me she loved me and she was always going to protect me.
She told me never to talk about it with anyone. I never did. Not even Donnie. It was only after several nightmares that I told Jed.