1 views
The Evil in Kansas
Part 4:1 NOTE:
I've only ever had one single person give me a hard time about what I just wrote and the event you just read about. Most folks have been very understanding, or at least non-judgemental about this particular incident. When I originally wrote this story, and before it was published as my first book, I'd had to take a break of about two weeks after writing of this.. I still feel so much guilt, and horror at what I did to my son that day over 18 years ago... But other things started to occur about this time , during my hashing it all up and putting it on digital paper.
I was almost hit by a truck , while in a crosswalk, that had been hit by a red light runner. I began to have trouble sleeping, (I've suffered from sleep paralysis since 2007, when we moved back to Arizona), nightmares and sleep paralysis. My body constantly aches, and I began to notice bruises appearing on my body, without any reason, injury, or in places I hadn't nor had anyone else hit hard enough to cause bruising..
But I had to finish it..
*****
Part 4:2 NOTE
Unfortunately, and with my apologies, I have to stop at this time. hopefully after reading what you just read you'll understand as to why. I've had to rewrite it and edit it to twice now and I cannot write anymore at this moment. I will however continue it at a later date not too much later, maybe a week or so, but right now I have to take a break. reliving this memory has been extremely painful and admitting to more than those who know, my children myself and my children's father and my ex of course, are the only ones that have known up until this point. I hope that you can take what you've read with a bit of understanding as things only continue to get worse from this point.
I fully take responsibility for what happened. there's no excuse on my part for what I did at least in my mind. demons or no, there's no excuse for hitting or striking someone that you love the way! What I had done to my son to this day I am horrified and ashamed of myself. I'm not sure that Ian ever truly forgave me for that, although then he said he did. I know I have never forgiven myself..
***
PART 4
I never bothered with a glass. Ijust opened the bottle, and swallowed three long pulled shots that had already began to not burn when I drank.
I was exhausted. I was to have had the day off, but as usual, I was covering another two coworkers shifts for lunch, and dinner. The first was probably the most menial in the restaurant, but the most important. Dishwashing. I didn't mind though, it gave me more time in the kitchen, and out of the house. I covered for another of our cooks, until we closed the restaurant at nine.
It was a family steak house, with a huge bar in the back of the building, and when I say family, I mean it. I often brought Ian and Ivy down to the place, when I couldn't get a sitter, (Becky was out of town with her husband on the road for a week), and my boss would allow them to sit in the back bar, eat, and watch T.V.
Hardly anyone ever sat in there anyway, unless it was rodeo season, and I and the kids enjoyed the extra time together. I never had to worry about any complaints, either, as Ian and Ivy were always on their best behavior, never running amok , inside or outside, bothering any of our customers, or misbehaving in any fashion. I have wonderful children!
They had been with me on this night, had full bellies of Branding Iron 2 meals, ( Ian's current favorite right then, philly cheese steak and french fries for him, and Ivy had her usual, chicken fried steak, and fries with extra sausage gravy!), so that after we got home, they both sacked out on the fold out bed in the living room.
I sat where I'd began to find myself sitting a lot lately. My stereo/ C. D. player was front of me, a stack of C. D. 's, and a full vodka bottle. Time to get my drink on.
In 2001, the kid's father had gotten into quite a bit of trouble, and was sentenced to 3 1/2 years in prison. It was the first time in my life, I was totally and completely on my own. Admittedly, I started having anxiety attacks, some so bad I would find I couldn't even move during some episodes. I couldn't sleep, and sometimes I was afraid to, as my always lucid dreams were becoming night terrors. I began taking 3 Tylenol PM's, that eventually turned into 4 and 5, just to fall out, and stay out.
This is when my dependency on alcohol finally hooked me into it's wicked allure. I'd drink to keep from panicking, then pass out so I wouldn't take anymore sleeping pills. By the time we'd moved to Phillipsburg, I had been putting a half gallon away on the weekends.
But I'd stopped drinking heavy the first year I was there, only occasionally a few drinks now and then. But once we moved into the house on 3rd Street, I couldn't seem to get the need for it, out of my blood.
My mind of course, drifted to the incident, three days prior, on the stairs. I felt hot tears slowly rise into my eyes, burning with just as much shame that filled my heart. I let them get heavy, blinked and didn't wipe any away as the slid down my cheeks, dropping onto the table below. In silence, I cried out my feelings of disgust and anger at myself for what had happened, what I had done to my son. I loved him, so very much! My first borne, who had his name picked out the second I knew I was carrying a boy, who every single day, up untill recently, made his sister and I laugh out loud at something he'd say or do.
His beautiful face, with his father's gorgeous dark green eyes, that would sparkle when he told a fib, was the first of only a few beings on this Earth I loved so deeply I'd give my very life for, was now carved into my minds eye. But now, the image of that angel, that I couldn't unsee, had changed.
That grin.
His teeth had been clenched, his little red lips stretched back over his perfect teeth, and he had growled! He'd been growling!
I took another long shot of the vodka, and shivered as it went down. It hadn't been Ian!, I told myself, my guilt trying to find an excuse for what I'd done. I was a piece of shit! A horrible woman that shouldn't have been given these two most precious of the Gods gifts a living being can be gifted! I hated myself, and what I had done
I'd made him piss himself! I'd kicked him! I wanted to die, and didn't belong in their lives, I felt.
But, softly, through the swimming warm effects of the vodka, a voice I'd only heard very few times in my life, broke through my intoxicated self guilt trip.
'That was NOT Ian, Mary', it clearly whispered.
'Somethings here, and it took him! You were protecting him! ' it spoke.
Yeah right!, I said back to in my head. Beating the piss literally outta my kid, is protecting him! There's a new one for an excuse to abuse your kid!, I thought sourly, as anger began to prickle and pop up my spine.
' Why don't you shut the fuck up! Go away and leave me alone! Don't rationalize what I did to him! It's not a fucking excuse! ' , I yelled inwardly to my conscience, as once again, the vision of Ian's face, grinning as he choked his beloved little sister, something else looking out at me, with Ian's eyes. Growling at me , filled my thoughts.
'If you hadn't hit him', it spoke back without anger or judgement, just a voice, 'Would you have been able to get him off of her? Would Ivy still be here with you both", it asked directly, silencing at that point, allowing the point to sink in.
I blinked back the angry tears, hearing the point to the question it had asked. I thought hard, struggling to form a coherent and truthful answer , a sober answer to that question.
Ian, who'd helped me raise his little sister, not because I'd expected him to, but because hed loved her from the day she came home after her birth. He'd sit quietly with her, while she slept, softly stroking her cheeks and forehead, and whisper his own stories and knowledge of life and how it worked to her. He'd always hovered just behind wherever she was, as she's grown, keeping an eye on her, watching where she didn't, seeing what she wasn't looking out for. He'd been the one to teach her how to ride a bike, always held her hand when we walked somewhere.
I tried to envision it. Ian actually choking his little sister to death. Actually killing her! I couldn't see it thankfully, didn't want to. But still that voice's question, cut so clear through the alcohol, remained.
Could I have pulled Ian off of her without force? If not, what would have happened? Would he have killed her!?
NO! I shook my head, and pushed the vodka bottle away. Why did I suddenly want another damned drink so bad!? I was beyond drunk, I knew. Hell, I was pretty sure I was going to puke before to long.
The light in the dining room flickered, then dimmed a bit. I barely noticed it, though I did. Slowly, the atmosphere began to change. It felt hard to get a full breath, and my vision seemed highlighted in a negative filtered sight. The sound slowly began to compress in a dulling, sphear around me, closing out the light in the room.
I watched then, as my hand reached back across the table, the fingernails looking more like ragged, broken shards than a young woman in her 20's pink clean ones should. I felt my hand grip the neck of the 5th, so hard a tight, I actually heard the glass make a tiny , "tink!" sound under the pressure of my hands grip.
A raw, delightful mirth began to rise up my chest, and into my throat. The neck of the bottle gave another distinct, " tink! tink!" sound, my brain trying to register just what was happening. Humans can't break the neck of a glass bottle with just their grip!, I realized with a moments clarity. What the hell was going on!?
I couldn't let the bottle go. I helplessly watched my own arm, slowly raise it to my mouth, the room growing darker as it got closer to my lips. Rainbow spots danced into my draining sight, as I tasted the vodka, felt my throat flex as I swallowed like water, several mouthful shots of it. The room went black then, my last thought of the strength of that grip on the bottle.
'No' I heard inside my head, a low growling voice.
" We would have killed her"....
Darkness then.
******
End of Part 4
© M.E.Purdy
I've only ever had one single person give me a hard time about what I just wrote and the event you just read about. Most folks have been very understanding, or at least non-judgemental about this particular incident. When I originally wrote this story, and before it was published as my first book, I'd had to take a break of about two weeks after writing of this.. I still feel so much guilt, and horror at what I did to my son that day over 18 years ago... But other things started to occur about this time , during my hashing it all up and putting it on digital paper.
I was almost hit by a truck , while in a crosswalk, that had been hit by a red light runner. I began to have trouble sleeping, (I've suffered from sleep paralysis since 2007, when we moved back to Arizona), nightmares and sleep paralysis. My body constantly aches, and I began to notice bruises appearing on my body, without any reason, injury, or in places I hadn't nor had anyone else hit hard enough to cause bruising..
But I had to finish it..
*****
Part 4:2 NOTE
Unfortunately, and with my apologies, I have to stop at this time. hopefully after reading what you just read you'll understand as to why. I've had to rewrite it and edit it to twice now and I cannot write anymore at this moment. I will however continue it at a later date not too much later, maybe a week or so, but right now I have to take a break. reliving this memory has been extremely painful and admitting to more than those who know, my children myself and my children's father and my ex of course, are the only ones that have known up until this point. I hope that you can take what you've read with a bit of understanding as things only continue to get worse from this point.
I fully take responsibility for what happened. there's no excuse on my part for what I did at least in my mind. demons or no, there's no excuse for hitting or striking someone that you love the way! What I had done to my son to this day I am horrified and ashamed of myself. I'm not sure that Ian ever truly forgave me for that, although then he said he did. I know I have never forgiven myself..
***
PART 4
I never bothered with a glass. Ijust opened the bottle, and swallowed three long pulled shots that had already began to not burn when I drank.
I was exhausted. I was to have had the day off, but as usual, I was covering another two coworkers shifts for lunch, and dinner. The first was probably the most menial in the restaurant, but the most important. Dishwashing. I didn't mind though, it gave me more time in the kitchen, and out of the house. I covered for another of our cooks, until we closed the restaurant at nine.
It was a family steak house, with a huge bar in the back of the building, and when I say family, I mean it. I often brought Ian and Ivy down to the place, when I couldn't get a sitter, (Becky was out of town with her husband on the road for a week), and my boss would allow them to sit in the back bar, eat, and watch T.V.
Hardly anyone ever sat in there anyway, unless it was rodeo season, and I and the kids enjoyed the extra time together. I never had to worry about any complaints, either, as Ian and Ivy were always on their best behavior, never running amok , inside or outside, bothering any of our customers, or misbehaving in any fashion. I have wonderful children!
They had been with me on this night, had full bellies of Branding Iron 2 meals, ( Ian's current favorite right then, philly cheese steak and french fries for him, and Ivy had her usual, chicken fried steak, and fries with extra sausage gravy!), so that after we got home, they both sacked out on the fold out bed in the living room.
I sat where I'd began to find myself sitting a lot lately. My stereo/ C. D. player was front of me, a stack of C. D. 's, and a full vodka bottle. Time to get my drink on.
In 2001, the kid's father had gotten into quite a bit of trouble, and was sentenced to 3 1/2 years in prison. It was the first time in my life, I was totally and completely on my own. Admittedly, I started having anxiety attacks, some so bad I would find I couldn't even move during some episodes. I couldn't sleep, and sometimes I was afraid to, as my always lucid dreams were becoming night terrors. I began taking 3 Tylenol PM's, that eventually turned into 4 and 5, just to fall out, and stay out.
This is when my dependency on alcohol finally hooked me into it's wicked allure. I'd drink to keep from panicking, then pass out so I wouldn't take anymore sleeping pills. By the time we'd moved to Phillipsburg, I had been putting a half gallon away on the weekends.
But I'd stopped drinking heavy the first year I was there, only occasionally a few drinks now and then. But once we moved into the house on 3rd Street, I couldn't seem to get the need for it, out of my blood.
My mind of course, drifted to the incident, three days prior, on the stairs. I felt hot tears slowly rise into my eyes, burning with just as much shame that filled my heart. I let them get heavy, blinked and didn't wipe any away as the slid down my cheeks, dropping onto the table below. In silence, I cried out my feelings of disgust and anger at myself for what had happened, what I had done to my son. I loved him, so very much! My first borne, who had his name picked out the second I knew I was carrying a boy, who every single day, up untill recently, made his sister and I laugh out loud at something he'd say or do.
His beautiful face, with his father's gorgeous dark green eyes, that would sparkle when he told a fib, was the first of only a few beings on this Earth I loved so deeply I'd give my very life for, was now carved into my minds eye. But now, the image of that angel, that I couldn't unsee, had changed.
That grin.
His teeth had been clenched, his little red lips stretched back over his perfect teeth, and he had growled! He'd been growling!
I took another long shot of the vodka, and shivered as it went down. It hadn't been Ian!, I told myself, my guilt trying to find an excuse for what I'd done. I was a piece of shit! A horrible woman that shouldn't have been given these two most precious of the Gods gifts a living being can be gifted! I hated myself, and what I had done
I'd made him piss himself! I'd kicked him! I wanted to die, and didn't belong in their lives, I felt.
But, softly, through the swimming warm effects of the vodka, a voice I'd only heard very few times in my life, broke through my intoxicated self guilt trip.
'That was NOT Ian, Mary', it clearly whispered.
'Somethings here, and it took him! You were protecting him! ' it spoke.
Yeah right!, I said back to in my head. Beating the piss literally outta my kid, is protecting him! There's a new one for an excuse to abuse your kid!, I thought sourly, as anger began to prickle and pop up my spine.
' Why don't you shut the fuck up! Go away and leave me alone! Don't rationalize what I did to him! It's not a fucking excuse! ' , I yelled inwardly to my conscience, as once again, the vision of Ian's face, grinning as he choked his beloved little sister, something else looking out at me, with Ian's eyes. Growling at me , filled my thoughts.
'If you hadn't hit him', it spoke back without anger or judgement, just a voice, 'Would you have been able to get him off of her? Would Ivy still be here with you both", it asked directly, silencing at that point, allowing the point to sink in.
I blinked back the angry tears, hearing the point to the question it had asked. I thought hard, struggling to form a coherent and truthful answer , a sober answer to that question.
Ian, who'd helped me raise his little sister, not because I'd expected him to, but because hed loved her from the day she came home after her birth. He'd sit quietly with her, while she slept, softly stroking her cheeks and forehead, and whisper his own stories and knowledge of life and how it worked to her. He'd always hovered just behind wherever she was, as she's grown, keeping an eye on her, watching where she didn't, seeing what she wasn't looking out for. He'd been the one to teach her how to ride a bike, always held her hand when we walked somewhere.
I tried to envision it. Ian actually choking his little sister to death. Actually killing her! I couldn't see it thankfully, didn't want to. But still that voice's question, cut so clear through the alcohol, remained.
Could I have pulled Ian off of her without force? If not, what would have happened? Would he have killed her!?
NO! I shook my head, and pushed the vodka bottle away. Why did I suddenly want another damned drink so bad!? I was beyond drunk, I knew. Hell, I was pretty sure I was going to puke before to long.
The light in the dining room flickered, then dimmed a bit. I barely noticed it, though I did. Slowly, the atmosphere began to change. It felt hard to get a full breath, and my vision seemed highlighted in a negative filtered sight. The sound slowly began to compress in a dulling, sphear around me, closing out the light in the room.
I watched then, as my hand reached back across the table, the fingernails looking more like ragged, broken shards than a young woman in her 20's pink clean ones should. I felt my hand grip the neck of the 5th, so hard a tight, I actually heard the glass make a tiny , "tink!" sound under the pressure of my hands grip.
A raw, delightful mirth began to rise up my chest, and into my throat. The neck of the bottle gave another distinct, " tink! tink!" sound, my brain trying to register just what was happening. Humans can't break the neck of a glass bottle with just their grip!, I realized with a moments clarity. What the hell was going on!?
I couldn't let the bottle go. I helplessly watched my own arm, slowly raise it to my mouth, the room growing darker as it got closer to my lips. Rainbow spots danced into my draining sight, as I tasted the vodka, felt my throat flex as I swallowed like water, several mouthful shots of it. The room went black then, my last thought of the strength of that grip on the bottle.
'No' I heard inside my head, a low growling voice.
" We would have killed her"....
Darkness then.
******
End of Part 4
© M.E.Purdy
Related Stories
