roses and retribution

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    Roses and Retribution,A New Year Short Story Special

    Vincent MIT 17

    The rag picked up grime, turning in circles over a dirt-streaked surface that showedno signs of redemption. Static hissed from the television, an anachronistic-looking

    device that could have been mistaken for a microwave. She could hear the clock tick,

    a systematic pattern that almost blended with the little swoosh sounds her own hand

    made as it moved the rag, spinning.

    It was nearly seven, and from the windowa slim triangular piece still starkly

    amissshe could see the grim, gray sky. No stars. She hadnt seen stars in a long time.

    She wasnt thinking of stars.

    The ticks stopped; something shattered. She rose to full height at once, staring

    at a door. Her muddled mind barely snatched itself away from her hideous thoughts

    to process the sound, but then Anthony began screaming. His voice came in hectic,

    shriek-filled bursts of pain. She mumbled his name once, as though tasting the sound

    of every syllable in that energy-devoid whisper would remedy the situation. She ran.

    A wooden door flung open, leading into a sparsely decorated bedroom. A low

    spring mattress resided against one wall, flanked by bedroom sundries, little drawers

    and piles of tattered books, rusty silverware and dim lamps. Anthony lay sprawled at

    the foot of the bed, broken glass pieces beside him. One of them poked out of his left

    arm, rising out of a mess of growing blood. He had looked up at the sound of the door,

    but his shrieks hadnt resided.

    Mommy! he screamed upon seeing her. Mommy!

    She ran towards him, but only after a moments hesitation. In that frozen

    moment of nothingness, she had been struck by the eeriness of the situationthe right

    condition, the expected vision, the wrong cause. This was something else. An accidentwas rare. Of course, they happened all the time, but those were just accidents. This

    wasthis was real.

    Baby, its okay, she promised him, unplugging the shard from his arm. She

    held his shoulder firmly, helped him stand. Following her lead, Anthony walked to

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    the bathroom. Amid his bawls, he tried to remember something his mom had said a

    long time ago about tears. He gave up after three seconds, and decided instead to let

    her rub wet cotton wool against his wound.

    Forty minutes later, Anthony had dinner.She reclined against a wall and watched him eat. Spoons of macaroni vanished

    from his plate and into his mouth. Sometimes, he stopped and picked up bits with his

    hands. He pretended they were the heroes from his comic books (Mommy!

    Mommy! Captain Wind!) or planes from the microwave in Aunt Susans house.

    Normally, shed make him stop, wiping his hands with the towel on the sink. Except

    that she wasnt really watching him.

    Her mind was turning something over. The grimy rag, moving over the surface

    of the floor. Images of an earlier lifetime that glistened all too clearly. Raised voices

    and furious snarls and desperate implorations.

    It was nearly eightshe knew what this meant. It was a Tuesday night. The

    factory had closed over two hours ago. He was likely at Schneiders with Damon and

    Avery. He was likely bawling over several rancid bottles of beer. Hed be back soon

    and hed be in the mood. For a little playtime. For a little fun.

    Sometimes, he wanted to remind herever so gently of course, amid lusty,

    loving whispersthat she was his. Sometimes, there was a brand. His favorite

    cigarette, lit at one end, branding a small ring onto her skin. Always the same spot.

    Always the small scabby circle of dead flesh on her left shoulder. And then there was

    his tongue, like a dog simultaneously rabid and hungry. Licking at her flesh with

    unquenchable appetite, from the dead spot to the length of her arm. His saliva sickened

    her; she felt the essence of rot his tongue etched onto her skin. In the darkest time of

    night, he snored and she stared. At his shadowy frame, its omen potent even in his

    inaction. At the lull of his chest, so soft, so gentle, so untruthful. She stared and shecried.

    On the mornings he was gone, she went to the mirror and lifted her shirt. She

    stared at the purple bruises, each one a statement of his love. Just beneath her thick left

    breast was the curious crescent, weaved into existence the last time shedasked for

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    money. That had been over breakfast, hadnt it? Shed been loading more eggs onto

    his plate and mentioning ever so gently that Anthonys clothes were old and

    undersized, that some of them even had holes no doubt from the vermin rodents that

    paraded the house. And maybe itd be a good thingjust maybe, doesnt have to

    be resolute dear, of course notif she could have a little more money. Just so Anthony

    could

    A meaty hand swept a plate of eggs and bacon off a rickety table and onto the

    floor.

    What did I say? he snarled.

    A mistake, she knew at once. A terrible mistake. Eight years down the road and

    she still couldnt tell when his demons were inert, when he could appease and be

    appeased. She knew what was coming. Her shoulder told the tale. Healing circles of

    bruises etched onto her back told the tale. She completely understood. She also knew

    she was powerless against the incoming tide.

    I know, she mumbled at once, backing away from him. It wasnt escape

    that was a silly thought. It was protection. Im sorry. It was merely a suggestion.

    He didnt seem to hear. He had risen and the space just in front of her was

    occupied by a livid demon in milliseconds. Who makes the suggestions in this

    house?He grabbed the skin beneath her breast, his fingers digging in so hard spots of

    blood formed. You do, she mumbled. Her eyes stung but no tears fell. They fell

    with less frequency now.

    Thats right bitch; I do.

    Protection failed. From ten inches away, Anthony watched. His face was the

    half-empty expression of incomprehension. The space between his upper and lower

    lips suggested an innate shock. Some essential part of him understood, but she knewit was eclipsed by the rest. Beyond the pictures of comics and his heroes, his brain

    could not fully understand anything. Not since one of those common accidents.

    Im sorry, she mumbled again, as he squeezed even harder. Please.

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    He let go, and looked at the clash of eggs and bacon on the floor. Pick it,he

    told her.

    She nodded, bent over. A shaking hand reached for a piece of egg when his leg

    struck her neck. She flew, her nose smashing onto the base of the table.

    With your mouth, he said. The steely anger in his voice had vanished,

    replaced by something worse, by a sick, raspy excitement. That tongue of yours. Did

    wonders last night baby. Now pick it.

    Please

    You. Heard. Me.

    And so from the floor, a surface merrily traversed by hungry cockroaches and

    idle dust particles, she lapped pieces of egg and bacon down her throat and into her

    stomach. Anthony watched.

    Later that evening, he tried to ask her about it.

    Mommywhat He stopped, breathed in and started again. Patiently, she

    watched him bring forth the words as best he could. Daddy. Kicked you.

    She didnt reply; she hugged him and prayed that hed say nothing else. A short

    while later, she walked into the bathroom and stared at the swollen lump beneath her

    breast. Slowly, she brushed her fingers against it. It stung.

    She sat on the floor and cried. When she rose, she finally noticed the five-dollarbill on the sink, on top of which lay a note. In his untidy scrawl: I Love You.

    She didntlike to think of the accident, of the first time Gabe had struck Anthony. It

    hadnt really been the first timethere had been those small cases when little Tony

    would make markings on the apartment wall with a red, muddy stone or break a glass

    cup, when Gabe would scream at him until he cried or cowered, when Gabe would

    sometimes slap him. But three years ago, the worst of it had thrust itself into existence,

    a terrible beanstalk rising from fertile dark-magic bean seeds.She had been cutting carrots near the sink; the small, squeaky sound of the

    conjoined toilet-bathroom door closing told her Anthony had just come out.

    You clean yourself good? she asked without looking back.

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    Yes mommy, he replied. His voice was small, somehow shaky, and that

    should have been the first sign something was wrong. But she had been focused on

    the carrots, on Gabe who would soon be home from the factory. He always bounded

    in with a fervent appetite and an unknown mood; the only way to even begin

    counteracting the oft unpleasant union of those two things was with a plate piled with

    food and, sometimes, a can of beer. The bastards at Green and Adams had kept her

    edgily waiting in a dank corridor only to tell her she hadnt gotten the job, and shed

    rushed home as quickly as she could afterward, amid a cloud of annoyed expletives.

    Alright baby, thats good. I think Tom and Jerrys on. Do you wanna watch

    it?

    I wanna play with Sam, he replied, his voice in the familiar high pitch of

    childish impatience. You promised.

    She washed her hands and swept the cut bits of carrot from a plate and into a

    small, steaming pot. I know. Just give me a few minutes.

    He sat at an angle on one of the spindly chairs facing the kitchen sink and

    watched her mutely. A knock rattled the front door of the apartment, followed by a

    loud, sullen voice: Angie, open up.

    Her heart gyrated. She glanced at the door and then at the cloud-engulfed pot.

    Open up, dammit! he snarled; a loud thud.She hurried to the door and unlocked it. There he was, his unsmiling face

    covered in sweat. One hand held onto a half-empty beer bottle and a bag hung onto

    the curve of his left shoulder. She was about to mumble a frenzied apology, but he

    swept past her, swearing, Those bastards! Those goddamn bastards!

    She locked the door after him, stomach plummeting. His mood was foul; she

    wasnt done cooking.Life had just served her the recipe for disaster.

    Daddy! cried Anthony, running towards him. Gabe obliged his son a smallhug before hurling the bag onto the floor and sitting near the room table. He held up

    a hand to cut off Anthonys babble about going to see Sam.

    You cant go.

    Anthonys face fell, his excitement replaced by crushing agony. But why?

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    Its late, Tony. Now go to your room and prepare for a shower.You stink.

    He turned to his wife, ignoring his sons crestfallen expression. Whats for dinner?

    Rice and some of the pork from last night, she replied, watching her sons

    broken posture as he trudged to his room. But the rice is still getting done

    Are you fucking kidding me?

    I know honey, but I swear, I got held up at Green and Adams. I didnt know

    it would take so long, but dinners almost done.

    Did you get the job?

    She paused, saying nothing.

    Well?

    No.

    He seemed unsurprised, and ran his hand across his stony face. Okay, then I

    guess youll have to talk to Stooge. Its gonna be a rough month babe so you might

    wanna prepare. The bastards at Kruger Mill had me suspended. A whole month, can

    you believe that? Might as well hole me up in Schneiderswith Avery and a keg. He

    placed the bottle hed been clutching on the table and rose, headed for the toilet.

    Anyway, dinner. Soon.

    Of course, she replied. She turned to face the pot but had barely stared at it

    five seconds, when she heard him scream.SON. OF. A. BITCH! Each word pumped bile into her bloodstream. Hed

    been pissed moments ago in a semi-volatile, non-violent way, his anger on the edge

    of eruption, but bordered enough towards the light that a good dinner could placate

    him. Now, there were demons in his mouth, and they were dancing with glee.

    ANTHONY, GET YOUR ASS HERE NOW! RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT!

    Gabe, whats wrong? she said, her voice unsteady. She was near the bathroom

    in seconds, and instantly saw what was wrong. At the same time, Anthony left hisroom and hurried towards his dads voice. The five-year-old knew what to expect

    with a delayed reaction.

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    Brown water flowed in streams over the toilet seat and onto the floor, forming

    a small pool filled with large pieces of feces. The stench emanating from the room was

    overpowering.

    Anthony, how many times have I warned you about shit like this? snarled

    Gabe, pointing at the dirty floor.

    It wasnt him Angie began, but Gabes furious eyes whipped at her.

    Shut your lying ass and get out of here, he growled.

    I she began, but he was staring at Anthony again. This happened two

    weeks ago. Two weeks!I told you what to do. WHAT DID I TELL YOU TO DO?

    He listened! Angie cried. Gabe, I told him Id take care of it. I swear! It aint

    his fault.

    She was standing at the doorway, her son beside her. Mere inches away, within

    the putrid-smelling room with the layer of shit-filled water on the floor, Gabes

    monstrous face hardened. Angies pleas were suddenly interspersed with bursts of tears

    from Anthony. The cacophony drilled into Gabes ears.

    Shut up! he snarled at the both of them. Wipe those goddamn tears away,

    Anthony. Now!

    He didnt. His chest heaved; the tears continued to fall, drawn out in Tonys

    usual loud burst of sound. That only seemed to make Gabe angrier.Angie didnt know if there was an expression Gabes face always took, some

    point, some ugly threshold it bypassed to signal the kind of rage that had toppled over

    the border of violence and was now swimming in its dark-red fields. But somehow, it

    was enough to stare at him and suddenly understand that he was there, that something

    ugly was about to happen.

    He moved forward; Angie reached for his arm, saying, Gabe, please, no! His

    right hand was suddenly a fist; it struck her chest, pushing her backward. She toppledpast the doorway and onto the floor beyond, her arms scraping the hard, uncarpeted

    floor. From where she lay, stuck in an infinite moment of hopelessness, she saw Gabe

    reach for Anthony, pull him in.

    Shut up! he was still screaming. Shut up now!

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    Anthony didnt; his eyes shut tight, he continued to bawl. Angie struggled to

    sit up; she rose feebly, heading towards Gabe as fast as she could. His left hand sailed

    through the air, fisted, striking Anthonys small three-feet-five frame. The little boy

    shot toward the toilet seat like a pin-stabbed balloon, slipping. The ground gave way

    beneath him; his falling body angled towards the mirror. His head struck the edge of

    the white porcelain sink hard. The sound was hollow, piercing, like a banshees shriek

    through a Plexiglas, but it was a sound she would hear over and over again in the

    months that followed this accident.

    Now, she was frozen, her arms stuck in front of her. Her mouth was open. The

    sudden gloom of silence that had fallen over the room seemed right; nothing moved.

    There was no sound but the faint plop of brown droplets still falling over the toilet seat

    and onto the ground. Anthonys shrieks were no more. He simply lay on the floor, an

    unmoving, unspeaking mass, his pose enough to suggest the inconceivable.

    On Anthonys mouth was a smear of feces.

    Four minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

    Angie, eyes still pink and watery, headed for it. Gabe grabbed her left arm and

    held it tightly. She stared at him. He wasnt smiling. There was no rage in his

    expression, no remorse either. Just a blankness that told her he wasnt proud of what

    hed done, but in any case, it was what was.

    Remember, he told her, his tone laced with quiet venom. Dont say shit.

    For a moment, she only looked at him. A second later, she nodded in

    acknowledgment.

    Anthonys condition was bada severe concussion that warranted several days of

    hospital stay and eventually a mental disability. For those few days, her life became a

    dreary cycle between the hospital and the apartment. The accident story she fed the

    doctors passed, despite the dark bruise that lay over Tonys left eye. Her friends flockedin on the second day with gift cards and get-well-soon notes and bags of chocolate.

    Denise pressed her for details; she seemed to know better. In fact, she probably knew

    everything. She also knew she had no right to say anything. Angies piercing look of

    reproof was telling enough; nothing good would come out of non-parental meddling.

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    On the third day, Gabe came over. He had several bouquets of beautiful rose

    flowers in a large basket. He stood beside her and stared at Anthonys body. An IV

    drip was plugged to his arm; a machine beeped with dull regularity.

    There was no one else there but them, the loving parents watching over their

    injured son. Gabe hugged Angie tight and kissed her neck. She stared at Anthony, a

    small tear rolling down her left cheek. She held Gabes left arm gently. He squeezed

    it.

    Ill make it right, he whispered. I promise you.

    She believed him.

    Now, she was watching Anthony eat. She believed nothing anymore. The last eight

    years had been a wasteland of cold memories and empty promises; she had hung onto

    the faade: Gabe was troubled, needed her. Despite all damning evidence, he was lost

    without her, and somehow, somewhere, in this twisted mess of a marriage, some kind

    of love existed. Some kind of love hadto exist. When he kissed her, there was passion,

    fire. Even when he hit her, when he called her names. His voice was framed around

    affection; necessity existed in his actions. Sometimes, she did stray and he recognized

    this. He corrected her out of inherent endearment; she understood that. It was for the

    best.

    The faade was gone.

    Those eight years were nothing short of a nuclear assault on her life, everything

    poisoned, radioactive. She couldnt delude herself anymore.

    That morning on New Years Eve, around five a.m., Anthony had woken up and

    looked around at the pressing darkness. His throat felt dry and when he swallowed, it

    hurt.

    Mommy? he mumbled. She didnt reply.

    Mommy? he repeated, rising. There was no sign of her. Slowly, he got outof bed and walked to the wooden door. It creaked when he opened it, making the

    boogey-man sound. He didnt care aboutthe boogey-man now. He wanted water.

    The living room was not as dark as the bedroom, but he still couldnt tell if

    mommy was around. From one of the windows, dim blue light filtered in. Outside,

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    the world looked so dark-blue. It reminded him of the pictures from the Captain

    Wind comic books mommy gave him.

    He liked the pictures.

    Slowly, he made his way across the room towards the window. He couldnt

    remember when, but mommy had shouted at him a little for playing too close to it.

    He didnt like it when she shouted. It made his stomach feel funny. Sometimes, it

    made him cry.

    He stared out the window, seeing nothing but shadowy trees and a small red

    streak of light far off in the sky, surrounded by more blue. Maybe Captain Wind was

    here? Maybe.

    He tugged at the window, pulling it up. There was a small, sudden noise that

    made him jump. Something had fallen. He looked at the window sill, and saw it, a

    long, slender piece of glass that looked like Sidekick Storms sword. He picked it up

    and stared at it.

    Sidesick Storm, he mumbled to himself and giggled. Except that it came out

    like, Side-kee Sorrrr. Waving the glass piece around, he retreated to his room, the

    window still open. He put the glass piece under his bed and slept excitedly. He

    couldnt wait to play tomorrow.

    An hour later, Angie woke up and came into the living room. She realized

    immediately that it was a tad too chilly and walked towards the window. As she shut

    it close, she noticed the missing glass piece and frowned.

    What the?

    After five seconds of contemplation, she shrugged. She had to make bacon and

    eggs for the family, and was looking forward to cutting some of them into Anthonys

    favorite choo-choo pieces.

    At 6:28p.m., she called her husband but there was no reply.He should have been done from work quite a while ago and she needed him

    home soon. It was hard to believe that in less than six hours, 2013 would be over. It

    had been a rough year, hadnt it? But it could be worse. And there had been less lashing

    out from Gabe; he was still unpredictable, but she was probably learning well.

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    She was by the kitchen sink, staring out the curtained window at the alley one

    end of the apartment faced. A grim stone wall was beset with a clash of spray-painted

    words and graffiti. She had seen Thomas Bloom and his Latino girlfriend skulking

    around earlier this afternoon with a bunch of cigarettes. Big Emily had gotten every

    inch of her skin tattooed since the last time Angie had seen her.

    Mommy, said Anthony. She turned. He was in the doorway of his room, and

    his face was crinkled, as though he would soon cry. Hungry.

    Well eat soon, I promise, she said. Just waiting for your dad to get back

    home.

    Wanna seeTV, he told her.

    Sure, she replied, although she realized Gabe hadnt paid for cablerenewal

    yet. She hadnt talked to him about it; it wasnt necessary. She helped Anthony turn

    on the TV, but there was only static.

    Ants! he said and giggled, pointing at the screen. Black ants! White ants!

    Running!

    She hugged him and kissed his cheek. Yes, honey, ants. The front door

    rattled. Oh, hey, thats probably your dad. Well eat soon.

    Any chicken? asked Anthony, bouncing up and down, sounding excited.

    She smiled. Yes, macaroni. And lots of chicken. And brownies too. Do youwanna watch the ants? Anthony nodded. Alright, well eatin a second.

    But it wasnt Gabe; it was Katie Salazar. She was a plump, perky woman, her

    hair fiery crimson. She lived right around the block.

    Hey Katie, said Angie, trying to infuse excitement into her voice. What a

    nice surprise.

    Its almost New Year; can you believe it? said Katie, beaming. She held up a

    tray covered in foil paper. I brought over my special-delight cupcakes! Can I comein?

    WellIm not sure, Angie replied, somewhat uncomfortable. My husband

    will be back anytime soon, and were gonna have dinner. Hell probably prefer

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    Oh no, no, no, said Katie, striding in anyway. Its no problem; Ill be here

    for just a minute. Have to run back soon anyway; Sarah and I are hitting the bars

    tonight, living it up, you know. She made a high-pitched giggle, one of many she

    often let out in any time period, no matter how small.

    Didnt take you for the type that went soul-searching in dingy little bars, said

    Angie, accepting the tray of cupcakes from Katie and placing it on the sink. And I

    cant believeSarahs still going along on these hungry adventures after what happened

    with that creep.

    Yeah well, shes recovered, Katie replied, looking at the TV. Angie

    recognized the look of disbelieving daze with which her friend regarded her son. Is

    he?

    Hes fine, calls them ants, said Angie, shrugging. And what do you mean

    shes recovered. It happened yesterday. Anyway, thanks for the cupcakes. I didnt

    think to get you something, so silly

    Oh no, its fine, absolutely fine! said Katie, waving her into silence and

    giggling. Theres still time. Anyway, I should probably get going. Gabe will be home

    soon like you said. Her smile suddenly vanished.How is he? Shouldnt he be back

    now? I took some of these delightful cupcakes to his office this morning, and I could

    swear he seemed just a bit worried.Angie shook her head. Yeah? I dont know; hes had a rough couple of days at

    work recently, always in a headlock with Cindy Kruger. She touched the spot

    beneath her breast where Gabes fingers had once cut into. For some reason, it itched.

    But hes She paused. Katie, why did you bring cupcakes to Gabe?

    Katie seemed confused. Are you silly? Were friends.

    You and me,yes, but youve never even met him.

    What are you talking about? Have you forgotten the Christmas dinner withDenise and her family just a week ago? Remember?

    Yes, but that was the only time, said Angie, wondering why her sense of

    unease was rising. He wouldnt even have been there if I hadnt convinced him that

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    it could be fun and She saw Katies expression turn; it resembled dismal

    resignation.

    Well, Angie, I knew him way before then. You and I, weve been friends since

    just around October. Ive known Gabe since February.

    Angie shook her head. What? Why didnt you say anything?

    Katie shrugged. I dont know.Just wasnt important. She looked carefully at

    Angies distressed face and sighed. Look, Angiehe was gonna tell you today, but

    maybe its better if you hear it from me.

    Angie frowned. What are you talking about? And wait, how could you have

    met Gabe in February? I thought you didnt move here until just a couple months ago.

    July?

    Well yeah, I used to live on the outskirts of town, just around Earlville, but

    Ive worked here for almost three years. I met Gabe at the Renaissance Fair. He didnt

    really strike me as the sort of person whod be into stuff like that, you know, just the

    way he looked, but She trailed off in silence and shifted around.

    Angies breathing felt hoarse. Katies expression was a testament of something

    utterly counterintuitive to what she felt, what she knew had to be true. If theres

    something you want to say, just

    Mommy! said Anthony ashort distance away. Hungry!Angie paid him no attention and Katie only threw a glance his way. Gabe told

    me thatyour marriages been struggling. That theres nothing left in it.

    What?

    Thats what he said, Angie, and he seemed reallydepressed?I dont know;

    he just wanted something more, called it a spark of life, and I was lonely. We kind of

    hit it off. We

    Mommy! Hungry! Anthonys voice was bordering on the edge of tears.Katie Angie felt very cold.

    But its true, isnt it? said Katie. Youve been complaining to me and to

    Denise, and hes been complaining about you, and he was gonna break it off tonight,

    before the New Year kicked in. Angie, he was gonna leave you. I justI thought Id

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    come over and see if hed done it cuz he wasnt picking my calls and I know he left

    work some time ago. Maybe its for the best. What him and I doits nothing, just

    some fun. And he says youve done it too, so I meanAngie, are you okay?

    She had taken two steps back, letting this influx of information sink in, dissipate.

    The world around her had taken a certain wry ring to it, as though from a pedestal

    high above, a skeletal figure called Life was waving its stick around and laughing at her

    face. She had never really interacted with Katie, had often done so with Denise as

    some friendship intermediary. To hear this, after everything

    Katie was still speaking. She looked concerned. But you did sleep with him,

    didnt you? Hugo Collins.

    MOMMY! said Anthony, and he was suddenly bawling.

    Angie still wasnt listening. She took a few more steps back until her legs pressed

    against the small row of cupboards beneath the kitchen sink. Her right hand roved

    behind her back with unsettling mechanicalness. Her heart thumped harder and

    harder, until it was a drum of sounds that filled her ears and throat. Katie moved closer,

    saying something about Right and Wrong and Harmless Fun but nothing made it past

    the low buzzing sound in Angies unthinking head.

    Angies right hand finally touched it, the handle of an old, damaged kitchen

    blender.GO TO HELL! she screamed, and lashed forward. The blender crashed onto

    one side of Katies face; the top half broke apart, turning into tumbling piecesof glass.

    Katie had realized too late what Angie was about to do, and the expression of terror

    only held onto her face for a second, before she was staggering backwards in hopeless,

    speechless pain.

    The lid of the blender fell to the ground. The blender itself was now nothing

    more than a crude glass cylinder, the jagged remnant a zigzag of sharp, blood-stainedpoints. Angie thrust the broken blender right into Katies pain-contorted face. Angie

    felt the glass pieces cut through flesh, some shattering off her face, some digging into

    her pale skin. Sharp glass punctured her left eye, from which oozed a stream of blood.

    Either side of her nose was lacerated, and more blood gushed out, running over

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    Angies fingers, running down the length of Angies arm, dripping in multiple droplets

    onto the floor.

    She withdrew the blender and struck, again and again and again. The buzzing

    in her head was much louder, drowning out whatever screams existed. The air was

    ripe with this pungent smell of blood. When the buzzing was gone, Katie was on the

    floor, face-down, a red pool growing. Angie dropped what she held and took several

    steps back, shaking. Her left hand moved in a clumsy arc and struck a vase, sending it

    to the floor. It shattered; blood ran over sand, over broken glass, over shards of

    ceramic.

    Slowly, Angie turned to look at her son. He had stopped crying and was staring

    at her in wide-eyed amazement.

    Hungry, he said in a low voice.

    Anthony was in his room, still hungry. He was sitting on the floor and staring at his

    bed. His stomach felt funny, empty. He was thinking of the woman that had screamed,

    of the way mommy had hit her. Sometimes, mommy got mad, but she never really

    hit him. The lady must have done somethingsomething awful.

    Maybe she was friends with the boogey-man.

    He stared at his bed, suddenly worried. What if he came out now? What if dark,

    smoke-like fingers curled out from under the bed, pulling out the leering, empty face

    of the boogey-man? What if he got out right now, his eyes dead and vacant, his tongue

    yellow, swinging about in sickening swerves?

    Captain Wind! Sidekick Storm. Storms sword!

    He had forgotten about it! The weapon. He reached under his bed for the secret

    weapon, his heartbeat rising when he imagined the boogey-man grabbing him,

    pulling him under. But there it was! He had the weapon now! The boogey-man

    couldnt get to him.Ever! he mumbled in delight.

    With his left hand, he waved the long glass piece around, thinking of what his

    mom told him Captain Wind said about bad guys. He couldnt exactly

    rememberbut they were bad guys? They were bad. They worked for

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    He tried to move the glass piece, from his left hand to his right, throwing it

    from one to the other. His right hand curled around it, and it fell at once, shattering

    on his left arm. The pain was instant. He began to shriek.

    Before she heard the shriek, she had been spinning the rag over the surface of the floor.Most of the blood was gone, but the red taint on the floor refused to vanish. Although

    she had swept and mopped, she could still see those red patches, and remnants of dirt.

    The rag picked up red and brown, but the surface still showed no sign of redemption.

    From the television, static hissed.

    All at once, a shriek cut through the semi-silence.

    It was nearly eight now. There was no question about ithe had to be at Schneiders

    with Damon and Avery, and when he got back, hed be in the mood for a little fun.

    She would make sure he got it.

    For a minute, she watched Anthony make a mess out of the macaroni and

    chicken shed slaved over. Finally, she picked up the spoon and fed him. He let her,

    grinning.

    Love you mommy, he said, after he was done.

    She smiled weakly, said nothing. She offered him brownies but he was full.

    Minutes later, she dug through a small wardrobe for his pajamas. In the dustbin a small

    distance away were several glass pieces, the biggest of them covered in blood.

    11:30p.m.

    No sign of him. Anthony had been tucked in and was fast asleep.

    She was sitting on a chair, staring at the front door. Her hand held an empty

    green mug. There was supposed to be tea in it, but there wasnt any hot water. She

    was boiling some in a heat-charred kettle. Her head was thumping; her back hurt. She

    had strained it moving Katies body to the small room she shared with Gabe. How

    many times had she fallen in and out of sleep with swaying irregularity because herteeth hurt or her back ached or some other sediment of his love had kept throbbing?

    How many times had she watched him ruffle Anthonys hair or come home with

    cones of ice-cream, those images feeding the lie of love? If there had been one string

    keeping her frayed broken life tied to her son, their lives tied to some greater purpose,

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    it had been the conviction that she still had a family here, and that it was all that

    mattered. Gabe was a part of it. Anthony was a part of it. What else could a person

    want?

    There was nothing else for her. One parent dead, the other in some renovation-

    starved two-story building where she could stare out a window at the woods all day,

    her mind sinking in a stew of emptiness. She had no job. Her friends disenchanted her,

    and shed taken to keeping away from them. One of them was dead, wrapped up in a

    now bloodstained sheet inside a musty wardrobe. This life, this vortex, this shell that

    she waded through only made any sense with her husband and her son. She couldnt

    do it alone. Not without a job. Not without Gabe. Gabes love was cold, but

    presenthadbeen cold but present. It had made years of accidents worthwhile, but

    without it, there was nothing left, nothing but retribution, an exponential clump of it

    she would make sure struck him in karmic proportions.

    By 11:43p.m., someone knocked on the door.

    She had still been staring at it when the knock came. She sat ten seconds waiting,

    and the knocks came again. They couldnt be Gabesthey were feeble, lacked the

    forceful authority she knew he used so well.

    Honey, said Gabe from outside, his voice low. Open up.

    Her head buzzed as she rose. She moved slowly, as though every idle second

    would throw in the pieces of this jumbled jigsaw togetherhis unusual tone, the body

    reeking in their bedroom, the empty mug sitting on a table, the rose flowers by the

    fridge. When she opened the door, she saw his face. Her heart swooped, as though

    suddenly pierced. The world seemed even less real, filtered in by the buzz drilling her

    skull. Maybe it was all a dreammaybe that would explain everything, especially the

    jarringly meek expression on his face. It wasnt just meekness though.

    Whats wrong? she asked him, two whispered, weary words.AverysAverys dead, he replied. He stumbled toward her, and for a

    moment, she thought of the zombies from Undead Forever, soulless empty creatures,

    their skins molting, breeding maggots and flies, their faces expressionless, their brittle

    arms stretched out before them, just as they trudged forward slowly, one step at a time.

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    For a moment, he was one of them, and then his arms were around her. He hugged

    her tight and whispered in her left ear. Hes dead.

    In that moment, she felt it solidify, a feeling so potently powerful it bore a

    shadow of fear for herself. She hated him. She hated him to death. Never, not once in

    their rusted train wreck of a marriage, had he shown a breath of emotion this warm,

    this genuine. In her mind, she could somehow juxtapose it with all the smiles, hugs,

    kisses that came on the heels of abuse.

    In her mind, his untidy scrawl surfaced: I Love You.

    He had always lied.

    By 11:50p.m., the microwave dinged. He sat by the table and ate a warmed-up plate

    of macaroni and chicken, his fork digging in slowly, so he could give a monologue

    about how suddenly it happened in the factory, Avery clutching his chest, buckling,

    him waiting at the hospital, stopping by his home with Damon and Alfred to see his

    wife. She barely listened; his words played their meaningless tune somewhere in the

    unprocessed background of her mind. She was staring at the utensils rack. At the

    knives.

    It felt wry, funny even, to imagine that in all those eight years, he had never

    brandished a knife at her. His hands, his legs, beer bottles, sometimes his teeth, but

    never a knife. She rose, walking quickly.

    Are you listening? he asked, sounding weak.

    Yes.

    She picked up one of the knives, the biggest one. Her back to him, she ran the

    flat surface of its blade against her right palm. Cold, nice.

    She turned around, the knife behind her. She walked towards him. He was

    stabbing at his food, talking in his low, weak voice, not aware of what was on the way.

    She walked around until she was behind him. She could stare at his neck, freckled,dotted with thin, red patches of skin. She placed her left hand on his shoulder. His

    right hand moved up to massage her left. Her right hand moved up to his neck.

    Thank you for he mumbled, and turned around to regard her face. The

    knife whizzed through the air. His eyes widened; for a millisecond, they did. The

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    buzzing in her head grew. A hand shoved at her stomach; at the same time, he rolled

    out of his chair, to the left. The knife struck empty air. She staggered backward, and

    turned to face him.

    You BITCH! he screamed, dashing forward before she could see his

    expression. Familiar venom charged his voice. She made a blind, empty swipe at the

    air with the knife; he thrust his weight into her, his head striking her stomach, his arms

    moving to secure her around the waist. She catapulted backward, the knife falling out

    of her hand. Their bodies thudded on the cold ground.

    His hands were suddenly fists, two boulders of rocks possessed by a demon.

    You BITCH! he repeated. He struck her face with his left fist. And then his

    right. He struck. He struck. He struck. She felt her teeth crunch on her tongue,

    drawing blood. She felt her left eye make a wet sound when he struck it, almost like a

    pop. Half her field of vision was suddenly red; the other allowed vision of his face, a

    contorted frame of hell and rage. His fists became claws, his fingers scratching at her,

    tearing at her skin, drawing lines of blood over her face. She tried to scream, tried to

    beg. Only whimpers of pain left her mouth.

    Suddenly, a powerful grip enclosed her neck, pressing into her throat.

    PLEASE! she wanted to cry. Spittle flew from her mouth. Her arms moved,

    tried to reach his hold. His grip pulled her head up and smashed it hard against theground. Pockets of darkness danced over her right field of vision.

    Goddamned bitch, he was saying. Suddenly, he was away from her. He had

    risen, was staring behind him at the knife on the floor. He reached for it.

    Despite the pain pressing over her, a coherent thought managed to float into

    the forefront of her mind. She saw him bend over to reach for the knife. A tear slipped

    out her right eye. She rose quickly and stumbled towards Anthonys room.

    Gabe picked up the knife. He saw her run, aimed for her stumbling frame, andflung the knife toward her like a spear. It missed her neck by inches, landing again on

    the floor. Now, she was screaming, her voice letting out pain-filled strings of the same

    word: Help!

    She had tried to kill him! The bitch had tried to kill him!

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    He began to run just as she grabbed the knob of Anthonys door, and by the

    time he had reached it, right hand clutching a knife, she was on the other side.

    Anthony was no long asleep and was sitting up on his bed when his mom ran into the

    dark room, shaking like a wind-caught leaf.Mommy! he cried. She didnt look at him; she swung his door shut and

    pressed her body against it. One hand reached for a switch. Dim yellow light flooded

    the room. Drops of blood splashed on the floor.

    Mommy! he cried again.

    I WAS GONNA LEAVE YOU TONIGHT BITCH! screamed Gabe on

    the other side. Thud! The door shook; Angie nearly lost her balance.

    She held on, still pressed against the door, and turned towards Anthony. Alarm

    filled Tonys face at the sight of his moms, one eye barely open, cheeks dripping

    blood.

    Sweetie, get under the bed!

    He stared.

    Under the bed NOW! she cried. PLEASE!

    He swallowed and rose. He was just stumbling under his bed, certain that the

    arms of boogey-man were about to grab him, when the door flew open. His mom

    flew backward. His dad ran into the room.

    He slammed Angie against the wall, his left hand pinning her hands above her head.

    Whyd you do it bitch? he asked, running the knife down the side of her

    neck. She whimpered, struggled.

    You. Betrayed. Me, she managed to spit out amid her whimpers. Us.

    Are you talking about Katie? An ugly smile curled his lips. Cmon honey;

    did you really think your smelly pussy was the only pussy I was getting? Are you really

    that stupid?Her struggle against his grip was suddenly more energetic.

    Ill kill you! she cried, but the words came out slurred. Tears poured down

    her face. Ill send your body to hell!

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    He shook his head, as though disappointed. Its over for you, honey.

    Everythings over. I guess little Anthonys all mine now.

    He plunged the knife forward. Six inches of steel cut through the right side of

    her stomach. Blood guzzled out in streams, running onto her bare feet and Gabes

    shoes. Her eyes were wide circles of excruciation. She let out a drawn-out scream of

    pain and cried, Please!

    Yeah, bitch, beg, he grinned. Its not even all the way in.

    Mommy! cried Anthony, running out from under the bed. Gabe turned;

    Anthony sank his teeth into his dads left leg, biting through the jean trouser. A fist

    struck one side of Anthonys face and he fell. In this moment of Gabes distraction,

    Angie reached forward, her teeth catching the flesh of Gabes neck. She bit hard;

    something crunched. As she pulled her head backward, tearing a layer of flesh out,

    blood seeped into her lips and teeth.

    Gabe screamed, staggering backward, clutching at his neck. His left shoe

    crunched on Anthonys left hand, crushing against the little boys fingers. Anthony

    screamed. Angie ran.

    She could feel the blood rushing out of her stomach; she could feel herself

    stumble. Her mind seemed to be losing its grip on reality, on coherence, but she

    fought to hold on, at least for the next few seconds. She was out of Anthonys room,wading down the length of the living room and toward the kitchen sink.

    The hurried patter of feet behind her told her Gabe was chasing after her. Inches

    away from the sink, the last of her energy seemed to vanish and she fell, the sink

    catching her chest. Warm blood dripped onto her legs.

    YOURE DEAD BITCH! screamed Gabe.

    Anthony was screaming, crying hard.

    MOMMY! he roared. MOMMY!His hand hurt; his fingers hurt so much.

    He heard his mom scream, and looked up at his wide-open door. Somehow,

    just inches away, the dustbin lay on its side, facing him. Shards of glass were on the

    floor.

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    His mom screamed again.

    Boogey-man.

    Sidekick Storm.

    Breathing hoarsely, he cried, MOMMY! and reached for the piece of glass

    caked in blood.

    He staggered to his feet.

    The pain was blooming, growing worse. She would split open; she just knew it; she

    would split open and everything would

    The patters, still incoming. One shaking hand reached for the kettles lid, threw

    it off. When she spun, Gabes face loomed into her vision, dripping hateful murder.

    She swung the kettle at him. Hot water flew out, most of it catching his face. He had

    dropped the knife, his arms reaching instinctively to protect his eyes and mouth; now

    his left palm clutched his wet face. His right hand swung out, blindly striking Angies

    nose. She flew back, struck the sink and slid to the ground.

    He screamed, backing away, unconsciously angling his face away from the

    kettle and toward the table, where his plate of macaroni and chicken still sat, waiting

    to be eaten. And then he saw something, something that made the pain sink out of

    mind for just a second, something that held him in place in utter disbelief.

    Anthony was stamping forward with a mechanical gait, soldier-like. Left foot.

    Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. His right hand clutched a blood-covered piece of

    glass that ran about five inches vertically. Nothing about those things held Gabe in

    place; what did was Anthonys face, Anthonys expression.

    There were tears all over his face, but he wasnt crying now. In fact, his lips

    were pressed thin. His eyes, his eyes were contorted in a rage unsettling for someone

    his age and stature, and even more unsettling because Gabe had never, ever, seen

    anything like it in Anthony. That face was the pinnacle of anger, of retribution. It wasan antithesis to the laws of the universe that had guided his sons life, or perhaps, even

    worse, a subtle manifestation of those laws, but it didnt matter. That anger terrified

    Gabe; it terrified every inch of his soul.

    He stared at his incoming son, overcome by shock, mouth open.

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    Suddenly, Angie was up, still clutching the kettle.

    Wham!

    Its metal spout struck the back of Gabesneck and he fell. Angie sat on her

    knees, staring over Gabes body at her son, who was now mere inches away. For a

    second, she looked at his expression, and what she saw frightened her. The next

    second, she tore the piece of glass out of his hand, mostly to use it, but also partly

    because him holding it fed this immediate image of her son that she couldnt define or

    explain, only abhor.

    Gabe was trying to rise.

    The glass piece she held bore a sharp end, a thin vertex. She curled her fingers

    around the glass so hard they cut into her palm, drawing blood, and struck at Gabes

    neck. The thin, bloodstained end of the glass cut through the center of his nape. He

    screamed, trashed. She withdrew the glass and struck again. She didnt know what it

    felt like; she couldnt feel anything now. A surmount of pain seemed to have

    desensitized all else; the only thought left was to strike, to kill, and even that didnt

    seem born of coherence, but of a quest that had become the inherent center of her

    existence for the past several hours.

    She struck again, cutting into his neck. There was a loud sound. Was he

    screaming?She cut through his nape again. Again. Again.

    She was suddenly lost in it. She cut through the nape. And then into the side of

    his neck. She cut across the back of his head. And sliced down towards his back.

    I Love You.

    Youre mine baby.

    Pick it.

    Eat it.I Love You.

    She struck. Her arm going faster. Aching.

    Come here bitch, come here now!

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    He was trashing around like a sinusoid, but her form atop his flailing body never

    wavered. She struck again. There was nothing but red, red everywhere, in half her

    vision, all over her hand, along the length of his body.

    Thats right bitch; I do.

    Shut up!

    I Love You.

    Come here; come here right now.

    Suck it like the dog you are, bitch.

    I Love You.

    You stupid, stupid bitch.

    He was motionless, but she still struck. She struck and struck, blood and tears

    on her face, blood everywhere, her arms tired. Finally, she stopped. She dropped the

    weapon. Bits of glass were embedded on her bloody palm.

    Anthonys chilling expression was gone, replaced by a curiousness at the sight

    before him. She stared at him. He smiled. It disturbed her to see that smile. He walked

    slowly towards her and put his arm around her neck.

    She hugged him. The last of her strength was gone; she felt it leave, like a

    friendly pinprick of light in a sea of darkness, winking out of existence.

    Mommy, said Anthony, his voice small. He pressed harder onto her body.Mommy.

    After that, there was no sound in the room for a long time, nothing but the

    clock, ticking, ticking.

    It was midnight.