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| Fiction: A Mother's Revenge |
Posted by
DarkMistress on Monday, December 23, 2002 - 04:01 AM PST
I stared at my thumbs in annoyance and boredom. The man who's supposed to be my counselor was babbling on about thinking positively about other people and myself, but I only caught about a fifth of the words before I quit listening all together. My mind drifted to my art projects.
"Amelia"he said to me angrily "are you listening?" I looked at the man, he was tan with glasses that practically covered his entire face and was dressed in a sweater vest and khaki pants. He was slim and looked weak. I glared at him but then softened my expression.
"Why Mr. Corker, you shouldn't be so forceful in your words, you might damage my self-esteem." My voice was dripping with sarcasm and scorn and he looked even more irritable. I'd been going to him for weeks and he hadn't made any progress in analyzing my supposedly disturbed mind. The buzzer that told when the time was up went off.
"Times up," he said cheerfully and extended his hand toward me, a façade of a smile plastered on his face. I ignored his gesture and heaved my backpack up on my shoulder, then left the office briskly. The building seemed to bear down on my soul and the suffocation of always being under a microscope caused me to hate them, and my mother, even more. I glanced down at my watch, which hung loosely on my thin wrists in between about fifteen other bracelets. It was 6:00 and I had been waiting for an hour. Fifteen minutes later my mother pulled up in her big white car and smiled. I silently got into the car and stared straight ahead.
"Sorry I'm late," she tried. I still said nothing. "You could cut me a little slack Amelia, I've been working hard all day at the office and" "save it!" I snapped. I leaned in and turned on the radio, amplifying the volume. Almost immediately after my mother leaned in and turned it off. I sighed in agitation as she pulled into the driveway. I reached out to open the door but she held me there.
To break the uncomfortable silence that had been building up between us I said, "I don't want to go back there"
"Where?" She asked.
"To the counselor."
“You have to.” She told me.
“Why?”
"Because I still don't believe you're well. I'm not going to take the chance and let you attempt suicide again"
"Well you can find ways to kill yourself in an insane asylum too." I jerked out of her grasp and went into the house. I searched the kitchen for something to eat slamming cupboard doors as irritation crawled under my skin. Finally I settled on some left over pizza. Mom came in and looked at me.
"What?" I asked after a long silence.
"I'm going on a business trip and your father is going to come here and stay with you. I'm leaving tonight."
"I'm going to my room," I said, grabbing the plate and stalking away. She left at 6:30, I could hear the car pull away and my so-called father was here. I hadn't seen him in about four years; he didn't want to see me after the divorce although he was granted weekends. I looked absently at the bracelets on my wrists before taking them off. I still couldn't believe that I hadn't succeeded in killing myself. It was the night that my mom came home earlier than 10 and sober; she was barely ever sober.
As I was lying in the hospital bed she only stared at me, she didn't ask why like most mothers would, she didn't come closer. I could have sworn I saw a hint of amusement in her bright blue eyes but she looked away before I could be sure. I doubt my father even knew it happened; mom didn't tell anyone. It was unusual, because she liked to point out all my faults to anyone that would listen, and my father was definitely a listener.
"Amelia?" I could hear my father's voice beckoning to me. I went downstairs and he was leaning against the wall, a glass of brandy in his hand. Both of my parents were drunks, I didn't know why they divorced when they seemed so perfect for each other, at least in the alcoholic context.
"How old are you again? Eleven, twelve" He asked, his voice slightly slurred. They'd probably had a few drinks to toast my torture before she left.
"I/m fourteen," I said soberly and kept my distance.
"Why don't you come here and give your father a hug?" He smiled and held his arms out to me.
"Why don't you watch it before you spill that on the carpet?" I retorted and began walking away.
"Don't you talk to me like that!" he growled but I kept walking. He chased me up the stairs and I closed my door on him. He burst in after me, before I could lock the door, with a psychotic glaze in his eyes and smacked me to the floor. I could feel the blood pouring out of my nose but I did nothing, and he stood there for a while as if waiting for me to stand up, eventually he left. As soon as he was gone I locked the door and grabbed my bag and began stuffing it with clothes. I shoved my paints and art supplies in one section and zipped it up; a moment later I stopped and looked in the mirror, blood was still dripping from down my face, I wiped it away with my hand but more blood came gushing out.
I wasn't a very tall girl and my mother hated that I didn't wear light colored clothing. She once asked me why I always wear dark colors, but I didn't know the answer. I didn't know it mattered. Tonight I was wearing a black T-shirt with baggy black pants, my dark brown hair which was shoulder-length was pulled back in a ponytail. I had my ears pierced several times and my eyes were lined in kohl. My mother once said I looked like the undead since my skin was so pale. I was about to crawl out my window when there was a knock on my bedroom door.
"Amelia." It was he again. I didn't stay to listen to what he had to say; I was out in the night before he could say another word. I looked at my watch and saw that it was eleven-thirty, I had walked about a half a mile and now I stood in the front of my friend, Sam's, house. I didn't think to knock on the door, I hardly ever did. Instead I crawled up the side of the house and went through his window; my presence did not disturb his slumber. I went over to his bed and shook him gently, immediately his eyes shot open and he looked me over before turning on the light and handing me a tissue.
"What happened?" He demanded, his tone holding a hint of fear.
"My dad hit me," I told him flatly.
"He moved back in?"
"No, he's here to watch me while my mom is on a business trip." Sam nodded as I spoke and pulled me close when I'd finished. We talked only for a little while longer before I lie down next to him and fell asleep. He was tall, about six feet in height with broad shoulders and deep green eyes, his skin was pale like mine but his hair was black.
The next morning his mom greeted us at the table, she didn't mind that I stayed as I used to all the time when we were younger, nor did she know about the night before and I had no real intent on telling her, she also didn't ask. After school I went home and my father was waiting for me in the kitchen. I supposed he thought I left early, before he got up, though he probably got up around noon.
"How was school?" He asked as he poured himself a drink. He was as tall as Sam was, only his skin was a deep golden brown and his hair a sandy blond. I guessed he'd been lounging all day on the couch and probably even more drunk than the night before.
"Normal" I responded.
"Are you hungry?" He asked me.
"Yeah, I'm making a sandwich."
"Why don't you make dinner?"
"We never eat dinner."
He looked at me directly and reiterated, "Why don't you make dinner?" I didn't take note of the warning in his voice and I also repeated my response. I then turned to walk away and unexpectedly was hit in the head with a miniature cookie jar, one of my mom’s favorite collectibles, it fell to the floor and shattered.
"Clean that up!"He commanded. I knelt down to pick up the pieces and he came closer and stood in front of me, his foot just inches away from my body. I knew I was going to get hit again and I wasn't going to wait for it to happen. I threw the pieces of jar in his face and the moment he stalled to pick them out of his eyes I ran. He screamed profanity at me and chased me through the house until I was standing a few feet from him, gun in hand.
"Where did you get that?" He asked me through deep breaths. He wasn't very fit for being so young, and to be honest I hadn't expected to outrun him.
"I have my sources." I told him. I wasn't going to fear him, or die in fear of him. I was the one in charge now and he was under my command.
"Go pick up the pieces on the floor," I ordered. He turned and started walking by to the kitchen and I had the gun close to his back.
"You know,"he told me, "if you kill me you'll be charged for murder."
"It's self defense," I told him flatly.
"If that's what you want to call it,"his voice was bitter and angry. "You're not going to kill me."
"How do you know?" He turned and grabbed the gun, pulling out of my hand. I darted forward and knocked him down, the gun slid out of his grip and across the floor. He shoved me off of him and pinned me down, holding my wrists above my head.
"You know this could be fun," he smiled at me ran one hand down my face and neck.
"You're my father!" I exclaimed and squirmed, trying to get out of his hold.
"So?" He was mocking me. I stared at him in complete horror. His face was close to mine and the alcohol on his breath was potent. I didn't hear Sam come in the front door and I didn't hear him calling my name until he was close enough to the back room.
"Sam!" I yelled as loud as I could and my father covered my mouth with to quiet me. I kicked at anything as hard as I could and gagged at the sickness of the kiss. Sam was rattling the handle of the locked door and I realized that the gun was out there with him. Suddenly there was a pounding at the door, then the sound of metal breaking through wood. In an instant my father let go of me and was up on his feet, looking around for any weapon. Sam had broken the door down and was now standing inside, golf club in one hand and gun in other.
"Come on, Amelia." he urged me, his eyes never leaving my father who stood staring at Sam. I stood up from the corner I had crawled into when my father finally got off of me and started toward Sam.
"Don't do it Amelia. Don't you dare go." My father threatened. I kept walking and he grabbed me to him, holding a knife to my throat.
"Let her go," Sam warned. I didn't like feeling helpless like this and the fear I should have felt was pure anger and irritation.
"Put the weapons down or I'll kill her." He held the blade closer, piercing my skin a little, but Sam didn't put down the weapons. Father ran the blade across my neck and drew blood, I gasped as the blade sliced through my skin and twisted his arm forcing the blade out of my throat and him to pull away. I swiftly moved out of his clutches and ran to Sam, who shot my father once before leading me away. Father was holding his shoulder as blood ran through his fingers when we left.
Sam stayed with me in the hospital where they told him the wound wasn't deep enough for any severe damage. Sam's mother had shown up later day and they both waited until I could leave. On the way back to their house I stared out the window at the gray sky and the fields seemed to droop as we passed by. Sam had his arm around me and was holding me tightly as if he thought I might slip through his grasp and never return.
"I love you," he whispered. His mother overheard and smiled at me through the rearview mirror.
"Sam told me everything that happened,"she declared. "Why didn't you tell anyone before?"
"I don't know, Mrs. B-"
"Call me Joy."
"I don't know, Joy."
"Well that's all right. You aren't going back there again and when your mother gets home I'll have to inform her of all these incidents. Your father checked into the same hospital you were at and is still in intensive care, Sam punctured his lungs and they found him gasping for breath, he had lost a lot of blood." I nodded but didn't say anything.
Sam helped me into the house although I reassured him my legs worked perfectly. He and Joy both looked tired and I felt bad that they had to stay there waiting for me.
"You can sleep in the spare room upstairs across from Sam's bedroom, I can trust you two can't I" We laughed and she smiled. "I thought so. Anyway, I'm going to fix you a bowl of ice cream and you can go get cleaned up. After your father was taken to the hospital I went in and got your bag and more spare clothes."
"Thank you," I smiled.
"Not a problem."
I didn't have to see the counselor the three weeks I was at Sam's and it was a relief, that man was not one to confide in anyway. Joy wouldn't let me go home even when my mother came back, mainly because my father was out of the hospital then. I overheard the phone call Joy had received from my mother.
"No Miriam, it's not okay. No, she's not going back there when he's still there. I don't care. Fine."
I sat back down on the couch and sighed when Joy came in.
"I'm going home aren't I?"
"No, not yet, she's coming here so we can talk. You might want to stay upstairs with Sam for a little while when she arrives." I nodded to her and Sam and I went upstairs. I watched out the window as my mother showed up, cutting through the backyard and dragging my father along with her.
"He's here,"I told Sam.
"It'll be okay, he won't get you." He walked over and looked out the window at my pathetic excuse for parents.
"I'm worried about your mother, not me."
Joy answered the door to my mother who barged in without being invited. My father was no where in sight.
"Where is my daughter?”?"
"Do you know what your ex-husband has done to her?" Joy asked, completely ignoring my mother's question.
"Yes, I planned it." Mother replied flatly. Joy's eyes went wide then into a narrow glare.
"Why didn't you just let her die when she tried to commit suicide instead of sending Joe to kill her?"
"Because that's not as fun as letting her father kill her, and you know the publicity would be wonderful especially for the firm, and I have all confidence in faking devastation."
"He was going to rape her, not just kill her."
"Once again," my mother replied irritably, "it would be great publicity."
"How is your ex-husband killing your daughter going to help you at the firm?"
"I would be the one to land him in prison, and the public would see just how great of a lawyer I am." Mother smiled sweetly.
Moments later my father burst through the door and demanded to know where I was, apparently unaware that Mother would be turning him in. She kissed him lustfully and Joy glimpsed the knife he was holding in his hand. Mother turned to her again and repeated Father's question.
"I'm not going to let you kill your daughter, it's stupid of you to even assume that I'd tell you where she is," Joy told them scornfully.
Mother was losing patience and she held out her hand, "knife," she asked. Father gave her the knife and she turned to kiss him again but stabbed him in the eye instead. Blood gushed down his face and the back of his head, the only thing holding his body up was the knife sticking through his skull. She turned the blade six or seven times before pulling it out and letting his body fall.
"So, did you have plans for today?"Mother asked Joy. "Maybe go out to lunch with the kids? I didn't plan to kill you, but you're just so stubborn. If you'd only let me have my daughter back you wouldn't have to die. But now it's too late, and I'll still get my daughter back." Mother was walking slowly toward Joy who stood her ground.
I ran down the stairs and saw Mother with the knife. She looked up at me and smiled, "Hello Amelia," she smiled at me. I saw Father lying dead on the floor and looked at Mother again. "Now there's nothing to worry about and you can come home with me, no one has to know about your father. It's okay."
Joy looked at me and shook her head, her gleaming with objection. Mother noticed it too and lunged at Joy, stabbing at her and missing. I ran to Joy, who was backed against the fridge, and Mother knocked me into the stove. My head smashed against the metal and knocked me out. Sam, who was right behind on the stairs ran to me.
"Take her upstairs," Joy told him.
"But Mom, what about you?"
"Take her upstairs!" She yelled and he obeyed.
"Yes Miriam, I had plans for today." She continued the conversation they were having before I interrupted. I was the perfect decoy, as Mother was watching me struggle Joy managed to get hold of a gun. "But not to do this," she continued and shot my mother in the head. Sam heard the gun shot but didn't leave me there.
Joy walked over to the bodies and looked down at them. Then she cleaned the blood up off the counters and the floor and sucked the blood from Mothers body with a baster; she looked as if she'd been preserved. She cut my father up into seven pieces and drained the blood from those. Then she peeled the skin and hair off my father's head and put his skull in the sink. She drug their bodies up the to the attic and stored them in the insulation in the walls.
No one saw my parents go into Joy's house, so no one would see them leave. No one suspected Sam's mother of a murder, but the police of course questioned her to see if she knew anything. They reported my parents as missing but no one did much to search, as my parents were the most-hated people in our town. Only Sam and Joy knew they were dead, no one else did, not even I.
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| Note: I wrote this for my English class, we had to write a mystery. It's not all that mysterious but I got an excellent grade on it. |
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| A Mother's Revenge | Login/Create an account | 1 Comment |
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It has potential.
by Monolycus on Dec 31, 2002 - 02:43 AM
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It's an interesting template. You might want to expand on it a bit more... the characters did not seem very fleshed out, but this was probably due to space constraints. I think it would have been a lot more forceful if the protaganist was easier to sympathise with. Keep writing!
~Monolycus.
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