Chapter Two
Memories from the night the trailer burned to the ground threatened to bubble up from the distant, dark place she kept things that were too awful to bear. Her chest pounded for fear of what she didn’t know or remember. Over the past five years, she’d taught herself to use those feelings as a warning rather than an unconscious spring-board to chaos and ruin.
She got up, pulled a buck out of the back pocket of her shorts and left it on the table for the waitress. On her way to the car, she caught her reflection in a storefront window. She was glad she’d been disciplined enough to train her body into curves and definitions that were taut with strength. Her mouth curved into a grim smile as she got into the little Escort and pulled out in the direction of the country club subdivision.
She drove past manicured carpets of green that displayed boxes of wannabe Louisiana Shannon shook her head. Gossips and hypocrites—all of them.
She’d never forget the compassion the Stones had shown her after her father died. They’d been the light in the dark forest ten years ago, and took her in as one of the family… until the police came. Then, everything turned to hell.
She pulled into the Stone’s driveway blasting the horn. Katherine ran out to the carport and Shannon jumped out of the car. The two women embraced.
“I’m so glad you could come!” Katherine whispered.
“Oh, me too, Kate.” Shannon ’s eyes were moist.
Worry tugged, then skittered away when, arm in arm, she and Katherine walked into the kitchen that echoed sounds of past chaos; and now was full with a new generation of bedlam. Engulfed in the sounds of laughter while surrounded by toddlers, teenagers and various dogs, cats, and a ferret, Shannon greeted the adults she had known as children and the children who had been babies.
The laughter-filled havoc drifted into the background. Katherine’s husband, Bill, walked over and engulfed Shannon in a tight, close hug. His body was tense, and she felt his bony rib cage. He was not the lean, strong man she remembered. He was actually skinny. Had he been ill? Shannon broke the embrace and stepped back. Bill’s gaze began at her feet and roamed up her body. “You’re as gorgeous as ever.”
“And you are still the dirty old man you always were.” Shannon dodged around him to join Katherine at the table.
The three friends gathered at the Formica table with the wrap-around corner bench, the red Naugahyde worn by the shapes of countless bottoms. The older kids knew and respected this time between adult friends, and herded the grandkids, cousins, and pets outside.
The familiarity and predictability of their family environment was comforting and, at the same time, disconcerting. The warm feeling of belonging to a loving family also served to remind Shannon of what she never had. Over the years, Shannon had minimized the glimpses of hypocrisy in her pseudo-parents for the sake of those feelings of love and safety.
Curiosity pulled Shannon ’s gaze to Jonathon, the baby at 18, holding back from the others. His stare, dark and brooding, stayed glued to the floor. Black hair hung in strings to his shoulders. When he was eight, Jonathon had run across the street for a Popsicle from the ice cream truck, which then plowed into him and ran over his head. Jon survived the crushing head injury, but it changed him. The happy little boy Shannon had known, with the crooked grin and mischievous glint in his eye, had disappeared.
She got up and walked over to where he slouched against the refrigerator. “How’re you doing, Jon?” She squeezed his shoulder.
“Oh, you know. I’s all good.” He tossed his hair and jammed his hands deeper into the pockets of his baggy jeans. Shannon hugged him. He stood there, surrounded by her arms, while his remained at his side—lifeless. Head down, hair hanging over his face, he shuffled out the door, his right leg falling behind. Shannon felt a foreboding. Her past training and experience told her that Jonathon’s behavior was due to more than the residual effects of the head trauma. There was something smoldering.
In her low, quiet voice—the voice that forever carried the tremor of unshed tears—Katherine said, “Jon has had such a tough time of it. Remember when I wrote to you just before you were released? We found a loaded gun, boxes of ammunition, and an ounce of pot in his room. He got mixed up with the wrong crowd, then---.”
“BS!” Bill cut in. “The boy’s always been an idiot and the accident just made him dumber.”00
Katherine shot a glare at Bill. “He was caught breaking into cars and stealing radios and CD players to buy drugs. Twelve years old, can you imagine? My baby.” Her voice choked and her hand shook as she puffed on her cigarette. “We put him into treatment a couple of times. He’s back in school, now, and seems to be trying.”
“Yeah, right.” Bill tipped his beer up and emptied it, then belched. “I tried to get him to go into the Marines. That’s what the boy needs …some discipline.” He got up from the table to pull another beer from the refrigerator.
Katherine’s big gray eyes stared at Shannon . “How long are you staying?”
I’m not sure. I want to…well…to finish up some business before I head back north. Shannon had never shared with Katherine the terror she felt over blank spots in her memories.
Bill glowered at Katherine, then moved his gaze out the window. “Yeah. I missed the boat on moving to the Northwest long ago. Now, with the kids and grandkids and all.…” His old man’s eyes reflected lost dreams.
She could barely believe that at one time she’d looked up to the big man with the icy blue eyes that could look right through you. Now, he was a victim—a drunk with pre-cataract faded and phlegmy eyes. Shannon felt her stomach lurch in disgust. He’s turned into such a loser. The fine tendrels of fading dreams curled around Shannon ’s heart. She felt the cool frost of the glass against her fingers and washed away the image with a long swallow of her iced tea— that sweet, southern tea that quenched the thirst and made the drinker feel all was well.
“I drove by Barbara’s place. A piece of the yellow crime tape is still on the live oak. They never even had a suspect, did they?”
Katherine exchanged a fleeting glance with Bill, got up and dragged some hamburger out of the refrigerator. She busied herself on the other side of the room.
Bill downed his fifth beer. “Naw, they say some crazy transient did it. Same thing they said about the machete slasher.” For an instant, Bill’s eyes cut to Katherine. “They ought to look in their own friggin’ backyards.” With a sneer, he picked up his cigarette and stared at its glowing tip. “Besides, we got a lazy crook for a sheriff. He’s too busy collecting his bribes and whatever else to investigate anything. He kept that no good son of his out of jail when he’s the little sonofabitch who started Jon on dope.” Bill got up from the table, then picked his beer and cigarettes.
“Are you leaving us so early, darlin’?” Katherine asked.
“Yeah. I’m beat. Send out a plate of food when it’s done.” He shuffled out to his workshop behind the garage.
***
This 10x10 room was his refuge. Kids and Kate knew to stay away. He could get peace here. He’d always left his wife to organize the chaos generated by five children, and now their children. He stared down at the half-finished wood figurines. Chunks of wood. He sighed over lost dreams and untold sins. Rounded shoulders slumped deeper. Opening the cupboard above his woodworking tools, he pulled out the bottle of whiskey. He grabbed his glass and filled it three-quarters full, then topped it off with water. He took a gulp, then, with a half groan, half sigh, he plopped down into his butt-worn twenty-year-old chair. He took a long slug of his drink. After all, it was the weekend. For a while, he watched the blank television screen.
“Well, here’s to ya.” He chugged the rest of his whiskey and closed his eyes. Then, in a few minutes, his head dropped forward as his alcohol-soaked brain relented. A Marlboro, burned down to the filter, dangled from his nicotine stained fingers.
***
“Kate, isn’t it early for Bill to head to his cave?” It was not yet seven.
“Yes, it is. He gets upset with the talk of the murder and the machete slashing. Then, there are the kids that drive him crazy.” Katherine defended him as she slid the meatloaf into the oven, reached for a bottle of Tequila, and kicked the oven door shut with a slam. She stood there a moment, her back to Shannon , then held the bottle up, and tossed a grin over her shoulder.
“Oh, yeah! Bring it awwn, sistah!” Shannon laughed.
Katherine went to work with the special liqueurs and other secret ingredients for her margaritas. The two friends settled down at the kitchen table with frozen glasses filled with the red, frosty drinks. A pitcher of strawberry margaritas sat between them. They paused as they both took cool, delicious sips.
“Mmm. The best ever.” Shannon set her glass on the table and twirled the stem. “Has Bill been sick? He looks awfully thin and tense.”
“You know, right after you left he had trouble with some employees who wrote a grievance against him for drinking on duty. He said he was set up. It was a mutual agreement that he leave, and it hit him real hard. He’s gone through a few jobs, and just lost his fourth.” Katherine stared down and picked at the flowers in the design on the vinyl table cover. “We had to use his retirement funds. My salary isn’t enough to pay the bills and we’ve just about gone through our savings.” Kate looked up at Shannon with tears brimming her eyes and whispered, “I’m so disappointed in my life, Shannon . I didn’t think it would be like this.”
“I’m sorry, Kate.” Shannon felt pity for the woman, but she’d lost some respect for her. She didn’t want to get caught up in Katherine’s self-deprecation. Over the years, she’d gotten plenty of that in the letters Katherine sent her, increasing in intensity over the years. Boy, they’ve turned out to be quite the pair—a drunk and a weeping martyr.
Katherine dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a dishtowel.
The need to know what happened to her mother was a gap she had to fill. Why did her mom leave her? Had she been bad? So bad her mom couldn’t stand to be around her anymore?
Don’t go there, a voice from within whispered. Shannon took her hands away and straightened herself in the chair.
Katherine was only eight years her senior, but had shown Shannon a warm mother’s love when her dad died. The mother-daughter bond was glued together by tragedy.
Katherine picked up a cigarette and stared at the tip. “No, I never did.”
“Did you ever hear anything about where she went? Any gossip?”
“No, sugar. Nothing.” Katherine stared at the flame on her match as she lit her cigarette.
“Will you help me find her?” Shannon startled herself with the desperate volume of her voice.
Katherine flicked match into the ashtray, smothering the flame in the small hill of ashes that sat in the ashtray. off the tip of her Benson and Hedges into the ashtray. “Let’s talk about that later.” Then she changed the subject. “How was your first day back in good ol’ Plattesville , U. S. of A.
“You’ve never been able to remember what happened, honey?” Katherine’s tone and manner had turned warm, comforting, matronly.
“What do you remember, Shannon .” When Katherine brought her cigarette to her lips, Shannon could see them trembling.
“Flashing lights and men carrying her out of the trailer.”
Katherine put out her cigarette and took Shannon ’s hand in hers. “They found you in the bathroom with your mom on the floor. Do you remember that?”
“No.” Shannon ’s heart picked up pace.
You were only six years old, sugar. It wasn’t your fault.”
Every nerve in Shannon ’s body was jolted to alert. “What?...What wasn’t my fault? Katherine moved her chair next to Shannon ’s and engulfed her in her arms. “How could this be?” she pushed between the sobs. “Where was my dad, then? He was there, wasn’t he?”
“He said he was sleeping, woke up and found you and your mom in the bathroom, your mom out cold with her drug kit there, sitting on the toilet lid. Do you remember your dad being there?”
“No, at least not in the hospital. She checked herself out against medical advice and no one has seen or heard a thing since.”
Gradually, the sobbing stopped and Shannon sat up. “She is probably alive, then?”
“Honey, she was real sick with that heroin. I don’t know if she could have made it much longer the way she was going.
Finally, Shannon sat up and took a deep breath.
Katherine scooted her chair back to the other side of the table. “Okay?”
“I’ll help where I can, honey.”
The two women were silent as Shannon returned to the table and emptied the pitcher of the margaritas into their glasses. “Here’s to past memories and happy future ones.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Katherine lifted her glass and clinked it against Shannon ”
Katherine took a jerky puff off her cigarette. “Like Bill said, the police decided a transient did both. Nobody talks about it anymore.” Her tone had a finality.
The village of the dead—named that by the high schoolers who parked there and made out—was the scene of a violent attack on two of the teens just six months before Barb’s murder. The maniac blindly swung the huge, steel machete, breaking car windows and slashing tires. The slasher dragged one of the boys out of the back seat of the car and sliced his thigh to the bone, then ran away. At fourteen years of age, it was the boy’s first time necking with a girl. The boy was Jonathon.
Katherine got up from the table and carried the empty pitcher and glasses to the sink. Her friend reminded Shannon of a nervous and scared little bird. She never stood up for herself—even when Bill pushed her around and slapped her. Whenever one of her friends or her pastor broached the abuse, Katherine minimized it, saying she’d egged him on. Besides, he hadn’t raised a hand to her for two years now.
Katherine played her part well as mother of the children and wife of Bill. She’d mastered the face of hypocrisy and martyrdom in her world withing the walls of her house, and never fell victim to the gossip like Bill and Jonathon did. Shannon saw her vision of a close and caring family begin to blur.
On her way down the hall toward the bathroom, Shannon glanced into Jonathon’s room, then stopped short. Black walls held posters and drawings depicting detailed scenes of brutality. A chill grabbed her spine when she saw the poster. Bright red blood dripped from the curved blade of a huge dagger. The dagger was held over a half-naked woman who looked up at the knife, smiling. The blood dripped onto her breast and trickled down to spread a red stain on a white satin sheet. Shannon carried the chill back into the kitchen where Kate sat, holding her head in her hands.
“Tired, Kate?”
“Yes, very.” Katherine swallowed another pill that had the yellow oval shape of a Xanax—her fourth since Shannon arrived. Katherine glanced at Shannon . “To help me sleep. I don’t sleep.”
Katherine stood up and grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself. “The bed in the family room is made up for you. I’m exhausted and can’t hold my head up. Good night.” She grabbed the back of the couch, then the chair. She leaned against the wall in the hallway while she made her way to her bedroom.
Memories from the night the trailer burned to the ground threatened to bubble up from the distant, dark place she kept things that were too awful to bear. Her chest pounded for fear of what she didn’t know or remember. Over the past five years, she’d taught herself to use those feelings as a warning rather than an unconscious spring-board to chaos and ruin.
She got up, pulled a buck out of the back pocket of her shorts and left it on the table for the waitress. On her way to the car, she caught her reflection in a storefront window. She was glad she’d been disciplined enough to train her body into curves and definitions that were taut with strength. Her mouth curved into a grim smile as she got into the little Escort and pulled out in the direction of the country club subdivision.
She drove past manicured carpets of green that displayed boxes of wannabe Louisiana Shannon shook her head. Gossips and hypocrites—all of them.
She’d never forget the compassion the Stones had shown her after her father died. They’d been the light in the dark forest ten years ago, and took her in as one of the family… until the police came. Then, everything turned to hell.
She pulled into the Stone’s driveway blasting the horn. Katherine ran out to the carport and Shannon jumped out of the car. The two women embraced.
“I’m so glad you could come!” Katherine whispered.
“Oh, me too, Kate.” Shannon ’s eyes were moist.
Worry tugged, then skittered away when, arm in arm, she and Katherine walked into the kitchen that echoed sounds of past chaos; and now was full with a new generation of bedlam. Engulfed in the sounds of laughter while surrounded by toddlers, teenagers and various dogs, cats, and a ferret, Shannon greeted the adults she had known as children and the children who had been babies.
The laughter-filled havoc drifted into the background. Katherine’s husband, Bill, walked over and engulfed Shannon in a tight, close hug. His body was tense, and she felt his bony rib cage. He was not the lean, strong man she remembered. He was actually skinny. Had he been ill? Shannon broke the embrace and stepped back. Bill’s gaze began at her feet and roamed up her body. “You’re as gorgeous as ever.”
“And you are still the dirty old man you always were.” Shannon dodged around him to join Katherine at the table.
The three friends gathered at the Formica table with the wrap-around corner bench, the red Naugahyde worn by the shapes of countless bottoms. The older kids knew and respected this time between adult friends, and herded the grandkids, cousins, and pets outside.
The familiarity and predictability of their family environment was comforting and, at the same time, disconcerting. The warm feeling of belonging to a loving family also served to remind Shannon of what she never had. Over the years, Shannon had minimized the glimpses of hypocrisy in her pseudo-parents for the sake of those feelings of love and safety.
Curiosity pulled Shannon ’s gaze to Jonathon, the baby at 18, holding back from the others. His stare, dark and brooding, stayed glued to the floor. Black hair hung in strings to his shoulders. When he was eight, Jonathon had run across the street for a Popsicle from the ice cream truck, which then plowed into him and ran over his head. Jon survived the crushing head injury, but it changed him. The happy little boy Shannon had known, with the crooked grin and mischievous glint in his eye, had disappeared.
She got up and walked over to where he slouched against the refrigerator. “How’re you doing, Jon?” She squeezed his shoulder.
“Oh, you know. I’s all good.” He tossed his hair and jammed his hands deeper into the pockets of his baggy jeans. Shannon hugged him. He stood there, surrounded by her arms, while his remained at his side—lifeless. Head down, hair hanging over his face, he shuffled out the door, his right leg falling behind. Shannon felt a foreboding. Her past training and experience told her that Jonathon’s behavior was due to more than the residual effects of the head trauma. There was something smoldering.
In her low, quiet voice—the voice that forever carried the tremor of unshed tears—Katherine said, “Jon has had such a tough time of it. Remember when I wrote to you just before you were released? We found a loaded gun, boxes of ammunition, and an ounce of pot in his room. He got mixed up with the wrong crowd, then---.”
“BS!” Bill cut in. “The boy’s always been an idiot and the accident just made him dumber.”00
Katherine shot a glare at Bill. “He was caught breaking into cars and stealing radios and CD players to buy drugs. Twelve years old, can you imagine? My baby.” Her voice choked and her hand shook as she puffed on her cigarette. “We put him into treatment a couple of times. He’s back in school, now, and seems to be trying.”
“Yeah, right.” Bill tipped his beer up and emptied it, then belched. “I tried to get him to go into the Marines. That’s what the boy needs …some discipline.” He got up from the table to pull another beer from the refrigerator.
Katherine’s big gray eyes stared at Shannon . “How long are you staying?”
I’m not sure. I want to…well…to finish up some business before I head back north. Shannon had never shared with Katherine the terror she felt over blank spots in her memories.
Bill glowered at Katherine, then moved his gaze out the window. “Yeah. I missed the boat on moving to the Northwest long ago. Now, with the kids and grandkids and all.…” His old man’s eyes reflected lost dreams.
She could barely believe that at one time she’d looked up to the big man with the icy blue eyes that could look right through you. Now, he was a victim—a drunk with pre-cataract faded and phlegmy eyes. Shannon felt her stomach lurch in disgust. He’s turned into such a loser. The fine tendrels of fading dreams curled around Shannon ’s heart. She felt the cool frost of the glass against her fingers and washed away the image with a long swallow of her iced tea— that sweet, southern tea that quenched the thirst and made the drinker feel all was well.
“I drove by Barbara’s place. A piece of the yellow crime tape is still on the live oak. They never even had a suspect, did they?”
Katherine exchanged a fleeting glance with Bill, got up and dragged some hamburger out of the refrigerator. She busied herself on the other side of the room.
Bill downed his fifth beer. “Naw, they say some crazy transient did it. Same thing they said about the machete slasher.” For an instant, Bill’s eyes cut to Katherine. “They ought to look in their own friggin’ backyards.” With a sneer, he picked up his cigarette and stared at its glowing tip. “Besides, we got a lazy crook for a sheriff. He’s too busy collecting his bribes and whatever else to investigate anything. He kept that no good son of his out of jail when he’s the little sonofabitch who started Jon on dope.” Bill got up from the table, then picked his beer and cigarettes.
“Are you leaving us so early, darlin’?” Katherine asked.
“Yeah. I’m beat. Send out a plate of food when it’s done.” He shuffled out to his workshop behind the garage.
***
This 10x10 room was his refuge. Kids and Kate knew to stay away. He could get peace here. He’d always left his wife to organize the chaos generated by five children, and now their children. He stared down at the half-finished wood figurines. Chunks of wood. He sighed over lost dreams and untold sins. Rounded shoulders slumped deeper. Opening the cupboard above his woodworking tools, he pulled out the bottle of whiskey. He grabbed his glass and filled it three-quarters full, then topped it off with water. He took a gulp, then, with a half groan, half sigh, he plopped down into his butt-worn twenty-year-old chair. He took a long slug of his drink. After all, it was the weekend. For a while, he watched the blank television screen.
“Well, here’s to ya.” He chugged the rest of his whiskey and closed his eyes. Then, in a few minutes, his head dropped forward as his alcohol-soaked brain relented. A Marlboro, burned down to the filter, dangled from his nicotine stained fingers.
***
“Kate, isn’t it early for Bill to head to his cave?” It was not yet seven.
“Yes, it is. He gets upset with the talk of the murder and the machete slashing. Then, there are the kids that drive him crazy.” Katherine defended him as she slid the meatloaf into the oven, reached for a bottle of Tequila, and kicked the oven door shut with a slam. She stood there a moment, her back to Shannon , then held the bottle up, and tossed a grin over her shoulder.
“Oh, yeah! Bring it awwn, sistah!” Shannon laughed.
Katherine went to work with the special liqueurs and other secret ingredients for her margaritas. The two friends settled down at the kitchen table with frozen glasses filled with the red, frosty drinks. A pitcher of strawberry margaritas sat between them. They paused as they both took cool, delicious sips.
“Mmm. The best ever.” Shannon set her glass on the table and twirled the stem. “Has Bill been sick? He looks awfully thin and tense.”
“You know, right after you left he had trouble with some employees who wrote a grievance against him for drinking on duty. He said he was set up. It was a mutual agreement that he leave, and it hit him real hard. He’s gone through a few jobs, and just lost his fourth.” Katherine stared down and picked at the flowers in the design on the vinyl table cover. “We had to use his retirement funds. My salary isn’t enough to pay the bills and we’ve just about gone through our savings.” Kate looked up at Shannon with tears brimming her eyes and whispered, “I’m so disappointed in my life, Shannon . I didn’t think it would be like this.”
“I’m sorry, Kate.” Shannon felt pity for the woman, but she’d lost some respect for her. She didn’t want to get caught up in Katherine’s self-deprecation. Over the years, she’d gotten plenty of that in the letters Katherine sent her, increasing in intensity over the years. Boy, they’ve turned out to be quite the pair—a drunk and a weeping martyr.
Katherine dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a dishtowel.
The need to know what happened to her mother was a gap she had to fill. Why did her mom leave her? Had she been bad? So bad her mom couldn’t stand to be around her anymore?
Don’t go there, a voice from within whispered. Shannon took her hands away and straightened herself in the chair.
Katherine was only eight years her senior, but had shown Shannon a warm mother’s love when her dad died. The mother-daughter bond was glued together by tragedy.
Katherine picked up a cigarette and stared at the tip. “No, I never did.”
“Did you ever hear anything about where she went? Any gossip?”
“No, sugar. Nothing.” Katherine stared at the flame on her match as she lit her cigarette.
“Will you help me find her?” Shannon startled herself with the desperate volume of her voice.
Katherine flicked match into the ashtray, smothering the flame in the small hill of ashes that sat in the ashtray. off the tip of her Benson and Hedges into the ashtray. “Let’s talk about that later.” Then she changed the subject. “How was your first day back in good ol’ Plattesville , U. S. of A.
“You’ve never been able to remember what happened, honey?” Katherine’s tone and manner had turned warm, comforting, matronly.
“What do you remember, Shannon .” When Katherine brought her cigarette to her lips, Shannon could see them trembling.
“Flashing lights and men carrying her out of the trailer.”
Katherine put out her cigarette and took Shannon ’s hand in hers. “They found you in the bathroom with your mom on the floor. Do you remember that?”
“No.” Shannon ’s heart picked up pace.
You were only six years old, sugar. It wasn’t your fault.”
Every nerve in Shannon ’s body was jolted to alert. “What?...What wasn’t my fault? Katherine moved her chair next to Shannon ’s and engulfed her in her arms. “How could this be?” she pushed between the sobs. “Where was my dad, then? He was there, wasn’t he?”
“He said he was sleeping, woke up and found you and your mom in the bathroom, your mom out cold with her drug kit there, sitting on the toilet lid. Do you remember your dad being there?”
“No, at least not in the hospital. She checked herself out against medical advice and no one has seen or heard a thing since.”
Gradually, the sobbing stopped and Shannon sat up. “She is probably alive, then?”
“Honey, she was real sick with that heroin. I don’t know if she could have made it much longer the way she was going.
Finally, Shannon sat up and took a deep breath.
Katherine scooted her chair back to the other side of the table. “Okay?”
“I’ll help where I can, honey.”
The two women were silent as Shannon returned to the table and emptied the pitcher of the margaritas into their glasses. “Here’s to past memories and happy future ones.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Katherine lifted her glass and clinked it against Shannon ”
Katherine took a jerky puff off her cigarette. “Like Bill said, the police decided a transient did both. Nobody talks about it anymore.” Her tone had a finality.
The village of the dead—named that by the high schoolers who parked there and made out—was the scene of a violent attack on two of the teens just six months before Barb’s murder. The maniac blindly swung the huge, steel machete, breaking car windows and slashing tires. The slasher dragged one of the boys out of the back seat of the car and sliced his thigh to the bone, then ran away. At fourteen years of age, it was the boy’s first time necking with a girl. The boy was Jonathon.
Katherine got up from the table and carried the empty pitcher and glasses to the sink. Her friend reminded Shannon of a nervous and scared little bird. She never stood up for herself—even when Bill pushed her around and slapped her. Whenever one of her friends or her pastor broached the abuse, Katherine minimized it, saying she’d egged him on. Besides, he hadn’t raised a hand to her for two years now.
Katherine played her part well as mother of the children and wife of Bill. She’d mastered the face of hypocrisy and martyrdom in her world withing the walls of her house, and never fell victim to the gossip like Bill and Jonathon did. Shannon saw her vision of a close and caring family begin to blur.
On her way down the hall toward the bathroom, Shannon glanced into Jonathon’s room, then stopped short. Black walls held posters and drawings depicting detailed scenes of brutality. A chill grabbed her spine when she saw the poster. Bright red blood dripped from the curved blade of a huge dagger. The dagger was held over a half-naked woman who looked up at the knife, smiling. The blood dripped onto her breast and trickled down to spread a red stain on a white satin sheet. Shannon carried the chill back into the kitchen where Kate sat, holding her head in her hands.
“Tired, Kate?”
“Yes, very.” Katherine swallowed another pill that had the yellow oval shape of a Xanax—her fourth since Shannon arrived. Katherine glanced at Shannon . “To help me sleep. I don’t sleep.”
Katherine stood up and grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself. “The bed in the family room is made up for you. I’m exhausted and can’t hold my head up. Good night.” She grabbed the back of the couch, then the chair. She leaned against the wall in the hallway while she made her way to her bedroom.
