This is from my debut Novel Earth's First. It details the first appearance of Earth's first, true superhero, and what happens when he crosses path with single mother in an abusive relationship. No ones life will ever be the same after that fateful night.
1
It was during the
dark days when the American government began buying up its country’s giant
technology firms, that the first true superhero appeared. The United States
citizens were growing uneasy; paranoia was beginning to grip the country and
many were whispering of Black Cells and agencies designed to keep an eye on the
people of a once proud nation. Unlike the heroes that followed, he did not come
from some twisted mutation of the flesh; he did not spring into being from a
womb that was destroyed by his birth. No, his arrival was heralded by a single
sonic boom, and a flash of light that turned night to day in the high country
of Maine. His charred and limp form hit the Earth at roughly three times the
speed of a bullet. The resulting heat and shock wave devastated the surrounding
forest. Within a one and a half square mile radius, everything simply
disappeared. Anything that lived was vaporized. Anything that stood was
flattened. On the outer fringe, trees that had been standing when Columbus
stumbled upon the shores, were up rooted and cast outward; flung about as
easily as a child might swipe his arm over a table, scattering his toys. Some
animals, those that were fleet of foot, and had sensed the impending danger,
managed to escape the searing heat blast; others were seared alive, antler,
fur, and bone melting in the outer rings of the concussive blast. The Earth
moaned in response; trembling at the site of the impact. Dirt, sand, leaf and
root all fused into glass. Eyed from above, it would look like someone had
dropped a pebble into the center of a perfectly still pond. But instead of
ripples radiating out, it was heat, nigh irresistible wind, and cosmic debris
that rose in a plume high into the atmosphere.
In the center of it
all, He lay. Motionless, and for the first time in His existence; unconscious. Although
he was unaware of His surroundings, His body began to adapt; to heal. Lungs
that were collapsed and solid in the void of space began to inflate. Arteries
that had retreated into His heart, so as to be unaffected by the vacuum of
space, began to extend throughout His body and down strangely humanoid looking
limbs. The first draw of air into His system activated chemical receptors
buried deep within His brain, analyzing the atmosphere and causing His internal
organ structures to conform and function in Earth’s atmosphere. Skin that had
been horribly charred during his fall through the atmosphere began to heal;
already taking on its natural bronze hue. His skeletal structure had not been
damaged by the impact with the planet's surface, but He had suffered muscle and
tissue damage; although damage that was caused by the impact and damage that
was caused by the events that transpired before were anybody's guess. Either
way, by the time His hearing became active, His body had healed. He opened his
eyes. Protective sheathes that had covered them in space, allowing Him to see
and retain fluid around his orbs, retreated. They were dim, but soon enough
would be pulsing with their normal, brilliant blue sapphire color. He had no
pupils, or iris; in fact, His eyes were nothing more than two solid orbs in His
face that glowed and pulsed with His biorhythms.
He lay there,
looking up into the heavens. There was a time when He could discern the
spectral analysis of stars and entire solar systems if He concentrated hard
enough. But He was not yet sufficiently healed, nor was He aware enough to do
this. Instead, He simply gazed at the stars, not recognizing them for what they
were. He could feel hardness beneath his flesh, but He did not move. He
listened, but there was nothing to hear. Everything for a mile around was
quiet; deafeningly quiet. Had it been possible for Him to experience a chill
travel up His spine he would have. He, one of the most powerful and feared
beings in the universe, lay there, with no knowledge of who or what He was. For
all intents and purposes He was new born; a blank slate that needed to be
imprinted. A brain capable of processing information at a rate incomprehensible
to humans, could formulate but a single thought; "Who am I"?
Slightly pointed
ears, that lay close to His skull detected sound. They moved slightly,
orienting themselves to the source. He could hear the crashing of far away
water cascading over rock, and He could make out the sounds of animals walking;
just starting to peer out of their hiding places, already their dim brains
forgetting what had driven them to flee. He listened to the rhythmical thumping
of their heart rate as it returned to normal. But somewhere, beyond the sounds
of the forest, there was something else. Something that seemed familiar to Him.
He listened more intently. His brain began to shut out all other sound as it
focused. There. Roughly sixty miles south of him. Voices. Human voices, and
they were singing.
He stood. Drawing
Himself up to a full seven feet of height, and then slowly began to walk south.
2
Maura Riley sat in
her pew and prayed.
She wasn't the most
spiritual of persons, but she hadn't quite abandoned hope. Though God knows, if
anyone had a right not to believe, then it was she. It wasn't that she did not
believe in God, she just wondered if maybe He had turned his back on humanity.
What other reason could there be for such wickedness in this world? If she were
truly honest with herself, she needed spirituality in her life. Her problem was
with the message that sometimes came out in the sermon.
She looked around
the room, only half listening to Deacon Myles as he postured and ranted.
Only half the town
was there. Not to worry, the other half had come to the morning sermon.
Had they truly come
out of reverence for the Lord, or were they looking for absolution? She knew
that most of the people sitting around her didn't believe in God. But in the
back of their minds, a small, childish voice would sometimes whisper,
"what if"? What if He did exist? Would He truly forgive the many sins
they committed behind closed doors if they didn't even bother to walk into His
house at least once a week? Could He see the rank filth that played across
their minds? The darkness that hid in the depths? And if He could see that,
then did such things matter to someone who created worlds? Maybe He even put
those things in us; a way of weeding out the unfit, and testing the strong.
Not that she was
perfect. Lord knows she had done her fair share of sinning. There was no
rationalizing some of the things she had done. Looking back, she could blame
some of it on youth. But that excuse could only go so far. What was done in the
past, stayed in the past. All she could do was look forward, and try to move
on. Each day spent hoping against fleeting hope that she would find the
strength to survive another sun up.
She winced. The
bruise on her side, just below the rib cage, ran deep. Sitting still was a
chore for her. Unable to stand and shift her weight as needed, all she could do
was arch her back slightly and take deep breaths. At least it was starting to
fade from blue/black, to phlegm yellow. A good sign. It would be healed soon. If
she were lucky she would get another week, maybe two, before he forgot all the
apologies and promises that he would never hit her again. Maybe if she were
really lucky, and really quiet, she would get a month of respite.
Her mother had
looked at her and simply shrugged and looked away when her daughter asked her
if she had ever been hit before.
"Men are not
like us, baby. They react without thinking. We make them mad, and it is only
natural for them to lash out at times. That's why the Good Father made us
different. We are quieter, more thoughtful. And we are built to take pain. Every
now and then, we are reminded of just how much we can take. But we always heal.
The trick is to not let it poison your mind. Your man doesn't mean to do what
he does. He's always sorry after the fact right? We just have to remember our
place, and like the Good Book says, turn the other cheek."
Turn the other
cheek. That was easy to do. Until one day you look in the mirror and see both
cheeks are bruised. Makeup and oversized sunglasses only go so far. She sighed
to herself and looked over at the slight, hunched form of her mother sitting
beside her.
Is this the life
that her mother had endured for all those years at the hands of her father? The
man had died almost two years ago, and her mother hadn’t spoken of him since. She
had loved him; that much was certain. But Lord knows he could be a mean cuss
when he drank. Many were the nights that Maura remembered him stumbling in,
smelling just this side of a brewery. Her mother would always tell her to just
stay in her room and keep quiet. She remembered listening hard to the muffled
sounds that came from downstairs in the kitchen where her mother would always
greet him. Every now and then she would hear a glass break or a pan hit hard on
the floor. Sometimes her father would shout, and other times she was sure he
was sobbing. Either way, she knew not to go down and see what was happening.
Try as she might, she had no memory of her mother with marks or bruises on her.
Maybe he had never struck her. At least not physically. She remembered
listening to a talk show psychologist one morning and hearing him say that
emotional abuse was still abuse. That scars inflicted by words could take even
longer to heal than those left by fists.
Yeah right. Maura
was certain that the good doctor had never been clapped so hard on the side of
the head that he couldn't hear out of one ear for a week. She winced at the
memory. Unconsciously shifting in her seat to take some of the pressure off her
sore ribs. She ignored the slight glare her fidgeting drew from her mother.
She wasn't feeling
the spirit today. Certainly if it hadn't been for the fact that lately it
seemed like Sunday was the only day of the week she saw her mother, she would
have found a reason to skip service. She tried to focus on the sermon, but
found her mind wandering. She was thinking about Andy and whether or not she
was ready to stay with him and his temper for the rest of her life. How would
her mother react if she told her she was planning to leave him? And if she left
him, where would she go? Her entire life had been lived in the confines of this
small, close-minded town. It and its inbred inhabitants were all she had ever
known. Andy wasn't a bad man, she reasoned. He just had a problem controlling
his anger, and she had a problem with always seeming to provoke it. She was
getting better however. She knew when he was brooding about something, or he'd
had a particularly bad day at the quarry. On those days, she would just put his
supper in front of him without saying a word and go about her business. Careful
not to say too much, and careful to make sure that his drink cup stayed full.
She was also getting
pretty good at reading his signals. Knowing when the laughter was genuine and
when it was a precursor to screaming and cussing. She knew to follow his leads
in conversation, and when it was safe to venture her opinion, as opposed to
just nodding to what he had to say. Most of all, she knew what, and who, not to
speak of. Still, it wasn't always bad. And she figured as long as he kept his
anger focused on her, and not the child that sat cradled on her lap, then
everything was ok.
After the service,
she went back to her car, picked up her babies diaper bag, and headed over to
her mother's SUV. Justin was already fastened into the back car seat, and she
leaned in, kissing him and ruffling his hair.
"You be a good
boy. Mommy loves you, and I'll pick you up tomorrow when I get off work." She
smiled; again amazed at the ache in her heart every time she looked at him.
She looked at her
mother. "Thank you. I'll pick him up at eight. I know it's a pain when I
work a double, but I really could use the extra money."
"Wouldn't need
the extra money if you had a man that worked his fair share."
"Mother. Mama;
please. Not now. I appreciate everything you do, but not now."
Her mother looked at
her with weary eyes. Smiled and raised her hands, brushing back a stray strand
of red hair from her daughters face. "Don't worry. We have all kinds of
fun planned for tonight don't we little one." She smiled at her grandson
in the back seat. "Don't work too hard. You're starting to look thin. Why
don't you go on home after your shift? Get some sleep. I can certainly bring
him to you later on in the day."
Maura smiled at her
mom, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. One last wave at her son, and then
she headed back to her car.
She knew her mother
was right. While she might not be sure as to whether or not her man was a good
man, she was certain that he was a lazy man. Granted, she was making good money
as a nurse at county general, but it was all she could do to keep her house up,
diapers on her son and bills paid. To say she was stretching things, trying to
take care of a grown man, was putting it lightly indeed. Lord knows she was
tired. Deep down in her bones tired. While she hated to admit it, she was glad
her mother had offered to keep Justin just a little longer. Recovering from a
double shift was never easy for her, and to be honest, she never slept well
knowing Andy was watching her son. Hell, Andy needed watching just as much as
the little one. She allowed herself a slight smile at that, just as she rounded
a blind curve.
She saw him, or it,
whatever the hell it was, standing in the middle of her lane. She had a brief
moment to register that it looked like a man, but a very tall one, with glowing
eyes that seemed to be looking at her, but not really seeing her. Reflexes took
over, and she slammed on her brakes, while simultaneously wrenching the wheel
to the right. Amazingly, her mind was crystal clear. She knew there was no way
to avoid a collision. There was no panic, no flashing of her life before her
eyes as she felt her car hit the figure head-on at forty miles per hour. Remarkably,
the one thought she had was, "I'm just glad Justin is not in the
car".
Then everything went
black. The impact should have sent the figure flying into her windshield and
then careening off in some obscenely bent mess of shattered bone and torn skin.
Instead, it was like her car had slammed full tilt into a concrete barrier. While
her car may have come to a complete, crumpled stop, she didn't. A body in
motion stays in motion right? The flimsy seat belt snapped as her mass
continued to carry forward. She was blissfully unconscious when she hit the
windshield headfirst―the impact shattering the glass and the front portion of her
skull as well. Shards of glass ripped at her clothing and gouged her skin as
she passed through it. One of her femurs snapped as her lower body made contact
with the steering wheel on her way out of the car. The impact with the pavement
outside of her vehicle would snap the vertebrae in her spine, crush her chest,
and drive shards of her splintered ribs into her still beating heart. Her
nervous system would shut down long before the rest of her body, keeping her
from experiencing any pain or shock. She would never know what if felt like to
have her lungs fill with her own blood, suffocating her in minutes. It would be
one of those painless deaths that she had seen carted time and time again into
the emergency room. She had never really thought such a thing was possible. They
had to feel something, right? Some flash of supreme pain as they passed on,
right? But no, she would leave this world with the last thought in her mind
being one of her beautiful son.
But it didn't happen
that way. She was unconscious and her body was exiting her car through the
front windshield, on the way to its fateful meeting with unforgiving pavement. Then
she stopped, almost in mid air. He caught her with such precision and
gentleness, that he was able to bleed her forward momentum down to nothing as
he turned with her, shielding her already broken body from further damage as
glass, plastic, and steel wrapped around his frame. The nose of the car was
caved in and diving down into the pavement. That caused the rear of the vehicle
to rise up, threatening to flip over onto the pair. He casually lifted one arm
and braced it against the hood of the falling car. A simple shrug of his
shoulder sent the vehicle flying into the thick trees that lined the road.
He looked at the
frail, broken form in his arms. His features, while somewhat humanoid, were
unreadable. He felt no connection to this creature he cradled. No kinship, no
sense of protector-ship. Had his actions been purely reflex he wondered? No,
for some reason he knew that he did what he did because it was the right thing
to do. He did not know where he was, or who he was; he certainly did not know
what this soft, pulpy mass was he cradled, but he knew it to be a living, sentient
being, and as such he could not allow its life to be snuffed out as a result of
his actions. But now what? Instinct told him she was close to expiration, and
even if he knew how, there was nothing he could do to help her sidestep the
abyss. Since he could do nothing to stave off the inevitable, he carried her
gently from the road and into the marsh that surrounded the area. A few hundred
feet into the dense growth, he laid her gently behind the protective covering
of dense shrubs.
He strode away
without a second glance back. In all honesty, as soon as he stepped away from
her he had already forgotten her. Once again, his ears were tuned to the
strange drone of human voices that were still miles away. He wasn't sure how,
but a part of his mind was beginning to decipher the strange clicks and
whistles and translate them into some semblance of a language he could
understand. While he didn’t know how he was doing it, he was actively learning
the English language; and by the time he reached the source, he would be nearly
fluent in its usage.
****
She lay there,
broken and bleeding for almost two full days. The undergrowth where he had
placed her protected her from the sharp eyes of buzzards, hawks and owls that
circled the skies; ever vigilant for a quick and easy meal. While they could
never have scooped her up as easily as they did, the field mice and rabbits
that darted about, they might have been tempted to drop down for a quick
bite; easily mistaking her for a dead thing that for some reason just had
not started to smell yet. She didn't move. Not when snakes and rodents crawled
across her. Not when those pesky Black Flies and no-seeums lit on her and took
long, satisfying drinks from her open flesh. She didn't move. Not even when a
grey Coyote sniffed at her and started to take a lick from one of her wounds,
but for some reason thought better of it and went on about its business. Other
critters gave her a wide berth as well. Where she should have attracted the
attention of scavengers that would have lapped her up, she instead repelled
them. Instinct told them this one was not ripe for the picking. More than that,
biting her might just prove their undoing. So they scampered all about, but
never ventured too close.
At dusk, on the
second day, she sat up.
No struggling, no
wincing from pain. No effort at all. She just sat up, and drew breath deep into
her aching lungs. God that felt good to her. It was as if it was the first
breath of air she had ever drawn. And in some ways it was. Although a bit
confused, Maura was quickly becoming aware of her surroundings. The cool
evening air was already beginning to collect into a fine sheen on her naked
legs. Her Sunday dress, or what was left of it, was near soaked through. She
could feel cold, wet mud caked on one side of her face. Her throat was burning.
Thirst, true thirst, was a bitch. And that bitch was clawing relentlessly at
her from the inside. Her head ached something awful. She reached up and felt
gently. There was a goose egg on her forehead that throbbed and pounded in
response to her hands gentle probing. What had happened to her?
She sat there,
trying to remember, not trusting her legs to get her up off the ground just
yet. She had gotten up early, she remembered. Early enough to have some coffee
and time alone on the front porch before Justin awoke. Justin! Where is he? She
was frantic now, unable to quell the rush of emotions that began to fire
through her. Where was her baby? She looked around, feeling at the ground
around her. But then she remembered; she had taken him to service with her. They
sat with her mother at church; and then, what? Her mother was keeping him. Yes,
that was right. She had packed him into her mother's car and kissed him
goodbye. He was going to stay with Grandma while she worked that night. Work! Oh
no, she thought. I cannot afford to lose that job. How long have I been
lying here? It was late she knew. The sun had almost completely set. If she
hurried, then she could still get to work, and maybe get away with only being
given a verbal for tardiness. But something, some inner clock, told her that
she was a lot later than a couple of hours.
She had to get to
her car, maybe start … and that was when it hit her. Her memory came flooding
back. She had been in her car, and on her way to her evening shift at the
hospital. She had packed a duffel bag with her scrubs in it, so she could go
right from church to the hospital. She had come around a bend. That damned bend
that she was always afraid of, because it was so blind. She always went that
way from church because it cut twenty minutes off her drive. But it was a
dangerous road. It was not frequently travelled, so there was always some form
of road kill littering it; the animals had no fear of crossing it, and she had
always been afraid that one day she would come around that curve and their
would be a big buck standing in the way. But it wasn't a buck she had hit. It
was something else. A man? God, had she hit a person? She remembered a flash of
someone tall and powerfully built standing in the road. But that was it. Everything
after that was not even a blur. There was nothing else swimming around in the
old grey matter, until just a few minutes ago when she had opened her eyes and
sat up.
She got to her feet.
A little more wobbly than she would have liked; but all things considered, she
was happy to stand and be able to take in her surroundings. God her head hurt. She
raised her hand to her forehead to see if she were actively bleeding. Her
vision wasn't blurry and she didn't feel nauseous. That was a good sign at
least. Hopefully she had only whacked her head really good, but hadn't gotten a
concussion. Best she could judge she was a couple of hundred feet from the
road. How long had she been lying out there? Why hadn't someone seen her car in
the road and come to find her? For that matter, how had she gotten so far off
the road? No way she could have been thrown that far. If that had been the case
she would have awakened at the pearly gates. Maybe she had walked into the
woods in shock, and then passed out? Yes. That would explain where she was. But
not why no one had come to look for her. Granted that road was deserted, but it
was still trafficked enough that someone should have spotted the wreckage and
called the local police by now.
Oh God. What about
the …
whatever it was she hit? If that was a man, then he might have been knocked
into the far ditch. At the rate she was travelling, if he survived, then he
would be in pretty bad shape. If he survived. Judging from the shape she found
herself in, that would be a long shot.
She made her way out
of the undergrowth and up onto the side of the road. One hand holding the side
of her pounding head, and the other clutching instinctively at her torn dress,
holding the tattered remnants closed over her breasts. She looked around, but
didn't see her car anywhere. She crossed the road as swiftly as her shaky legs
would let her but still did not see any sign of her wrecked vehicle. She knew
the direction she was coming from and looked along the ditch in the opposite
direction. No sign of a body, and the weeds and vegetation looked undisturbed. Nothing
larger than a field cat or a fox had bounded through. Maybe the police had come
by and had her car towed, and had been unable to find her body. But no, that didn't
really make sense to her at all. She looked at the road, and her eyes were
drawn to two parallel dark stripes that appeared to be burned onto the asphalt.
Those were definitely her skid marks. They were short, and they just stopped. No
veering to the side, no swerve into the ditch. They just stopped. There was no
sign of whatever she had hit, just as there was no sign of her car.
She was starting to
feel uneasy about the whole thing. Her head ached, she really wasn't thinking
clearly, and her throat felt like it was on fire. Self-preservation was
starting to kick in and she began to wonder how she would make it back to her
house. She knew she could cut through the woods, maybe find a house, and it
would definitely take some time off getting back to civilization, but was that
really the best plan of action? In her condition, she wasn't sure she was up
for a cross-country trek. She had a good idea of which way to head, but if she
became disoriented and lost, or worse yet, she really did have a concussion and
passed out, no one would find her and she would probably lay out there and die.
That wasn't an option. She had a son that was depending on her, and dammit, she
was not dying in the woods and leaving that boy to grow up with someone like Andy.
The thought of that made her burn, giving her a quick shot of adrenaline that
helped her steel her resolve. She headed back the way she had come, walking
along the edge of the road. This would take longer, but she had a better shot
of someone coming by and offering help. If only she could find her car, then
maybe her cell phone was still working.
No. Stop thinking
like that she told herself. All those "if onlys" and "what
ifs" and "maybes" were just wasted energy at this point. Put one
foot in front of the other and start moving girl. Before you pass out again,
and end up face first in the middle of Highway 29.
She guessed she had
been walking for about 20 minutes when she heard a car coming from behind her,
heading in the same direction she was walking. She turned and waved
frantically. One hand gripping her torn, mud caked dress, the other waving
stiffly in the air, back and forth over her head. The car swerved and was past
her before she saw the brake lights come on, and it screeched to a halt on the
side of the road. She ran to it, grateful that one, it had not hit her, and
two, it had also stopped for her. She was on her way to the car when she saw
both the passenger and the driver's side car doors open. A man in his late
sixties was driving and he rushed towards her, the concern on his face was easy
to read. A woman of roughly the same age was riding shotgun. A little on the
heavy side, she wasn't quite as quick as her husband to reach her.
"Miss, are you
ok? I almost ran you over!" The man's words were warm and caring. He
reached her just as her legs started to give out, and she tumbled forward into
his arms.
"I… I was in an accident. Just a
ways back up the road." Her words sounded foreign in her ears. Flat, weak,
tremulous. The fire in her throat was making her speech raspy and hard. Like
dried, broken twigs being dragged across scorched pavement.
The man's wife
reached her just as he was steadying her.
"Land sakes,
Charley, she looks about dead!" Her words matched her look; heavy and
rushed, without enough wind behind them to carry them much further than Maura's
ears.
"She said she
was in an accident, a ways back. Did we see a wrecked car back there?"
"Lord knows. What
with the way you drive, it's a wonder we can see anything"
Charley ignored her,
focusing instead on the young woman in his arms. He reached up and kindly
brushed the hair back from her face, noticing the wince when he touched her
forehead. "We need to get her to a hospital. Martha, help me get her to
the car."
"No." Maura's
voice was weak, and she could hear it cracking. "No hospital please. I'll
be ok. I just hit my head when I ran off the road." She looked form one to
the other, taking in the measure of empathy on their faces. These were good
people and they meant well, but she had to get home to her son. She had to make
sure he was ok.
It was Martha who
spoke up first. "I don't know, honey. You look pretty banged up. Looks
like you took quite a lick to the head."
They had made their
way back to the car. An old Crown Victoria with a blessedly big back seat. They
buckled her into it before seating themselves up front.
"Are you sure
we can't take you to the hospital? County General is just a ways up the road,
sweetie." Martha's words were warm and her concern was sincere. She
reminded Maura of her own mother and that thought just made her all the more
anxious to get home. Her mother would be worried sick about her at this point.
"No, thank you,
but I really am starting to feel better. I don't know if it is out of your way,
but if you could just get me home I know I'll be fine. I just need some rest
and a hot bath." The smile she forced made her face feel like it was
cracking in two. But the funny thing was, she really was starting to feel
better. Her throat was still aching, but her head had settled down to a dull
roar. The little bit of walking she had done before Charley and Martha had come
along had obviously helped loosen her aching joints, because the stiffness in
her hips and lower back had lessened considerably. "If you can just drop
me at my house, then I'll be more than happy to pay you."
"Oh hush
now," Charley said. "We'll have none of that. You're just lucky we
came along when we did. We'll drop you anywhere you like."
She thanked him and
gave him her address before sinking back into the stiff but embracing faux
leather of their old Ford.
It had taken
multiple assurances from Maura, that she didn't need a hospital on the way
home. Finally, when she had told them that she was a registered nurse, they
seemed to ease up on her a little. She promised them that she would have
herself checked over when she reported for work.
They dropped her off
at her front door, and again refused any type of payment. Seeing Andy's jeep
wrangler in the drive, she assured them she would be fine for the night. She couldn't
thank them enough, and again apologized for having taken them so far out of
their way. She watched them as they pulled away and disappeared down the road. She
looked at the front door to her house, then at the jeep sitting in the drive,
and back to the front door and took a deep breath. What was the likelihood he
would let her take the jeep to pick up Justin? She would just have to call her
mother and ask her to bring her baby back to her. Legs heavy, she walked up the
steps to the porch and opened the door.
Stepping into the
small entryway, she was met with both the blaring sound of heavy metal being
blasted from the stereo in the family room, and the pungent smell of burning
weed that permeated the entire first floor. Jesus and God, she had told him
about smoking that shit in her house. And that music was bringing back the
headache that she had only just begun to realize was gone. Nice to see I was
missed, she thought.
She walked into the
kitchen to find Andy bent over the counter making a sandwich. He looked up at
her, mouth dropping open as if he had seen a ghost.
"Maura? Where
the fuck have you been woman? Everyone and their fucking brother has been
calling looking for you."
She ignored the
cursing. She had long since giving up on trying to clean up his vocabulary,
only making the effort now when he would swear in front of Justin.
"I was in a car
accident. Out on Highway 29. I hit… something. Ran off the road. Must
have knocked myself out."
Andy looked at her. If
there had been a look of concern on his face, then it was creeping away. Replaced
instead with his usual look of annoyance. "A wreck? Is the car ok? Goddammit,
I just put new brakes on that thing for you."
Now it was Maura's
turn to be annoyed. Usually she would have let this slip, but was not in the
mood for it right now. "No, Andy, the car is not ok. But don't worry, I'm
fine. Can I please have some water."
He winced at her
words, but still made no effort to apologize or act concerned as she made her
way to the kitchen table.
"The hospitals
been calling for you for two days now. Said you never showed up for work. Your
mamma's calling too. Keeps going on about calling the police on me if I
couldn't tell her where you was. Fucking bitch. She needs to mind her―"
Maura cut him off. Turning
to face him. "What did you say? How long have I been gone?"
Andy looked at her,
cocking his head to one side. "You been gone two days, Maura. And if you
didn't call into work, then I'm betting they will fire your ass. You better not
end up getting fired cause you didn't have sense enough to call out."
She couldn't contain
the anger that she suddenly felt well up inside of her. Two days? Was that
possible? And if she had been unconscious for two days, why the hell had he not
come looking for her? "I was in a car accident, Andy! How the hell could I
call out if I were unconscious?"
"You mean to
tell me you been knocked out for two days somewhere," he shot back at her.
"Hell, if that was the case, then you'd be dead! And look at ya, not
hardly a scratch on you? You don't look like you were in some Godawful
accident. And just so you know, I called the State troopers to see if there
were any accidents called in, and they said no." He was eyeing her now. Annoyance
was giving way to suspicion.
"Andy, please. I
am really not up for this right now. I need to call my mother and let her know
I'm ok. Did she bring Justin by?"
"No. Bitch said
she would keep him till you showed up. She said if you didn't call her by
tomorrow, then she was calling the police on me cause she thinks I did
something to you. She is convinced I've gotten rid of you. Especially since you
didn't show up at the hospital, and you didn't show up to pick up your Goddamn
brat."
She looked at him;
anger growing inside of her. What in God's Good Name had she ever seen in him? His
beady eyes were narrowed and red. The pot was dimming them and his brain.
He moved closer to
her. Slowly moving across the kitchen floor until he was only steps from her. Now
she could smell not only marijuana coming off him, but beer as well. She had
been missing for two days and he was working on a bender. What did that tell
her?
"And here you
stand now. Saying that you was in a bad car wreck that knocked you out, but not
a mark on you. Your hairs all wild, and your dress is barely hanging on
you." The look in his eyes worried her and she backed up, reaching for the
counter behind her to steady her as he advanced. "You ain't been in no
accident. Where the fuck have you really been? You been laid up somewhere with
somebody else?"
Suddenly, the fear
that had been creeping into her was replaced by a fury she had never known. How
dare he say this to her?
"You ignorant
bastard," she hissed. "How dare you?" Her voice trembled and she
locked eyes with him, for once not looking at the floor when he bulled his way
into her personal space. "You know, if I had any sense I would have 'laid
up' with someone a long damn time ago. Anyone would have been better than your
lazy, worthless, small dicked useless excuse for a man! I want you out of my
house!"
Instantly she
regretted what she had said. His eyes were wild with anger now, and she knew
what was coming.
"You fucking,
ungrateful whore!" She could feel the spittle hitting her face, and she
closed her eyes, sensing the blow that was coming.
It was an open
handed, back hand slap to the right side of her face that rattled her teeth. She
was braced for it, and he hadn't held back. The last time he hit her like that,
she had gone deaf for a week. But this time, she barely felt it. The aching in
her head was residual from the accident. But the slap had hardly registered. She
looked at him. His face red and contorted with dark rage. She looked at him and
she laughed. His eyes widened in surprise, but only for a second. Then he drew
back his fist and she knew he was not going to pull this one. It was a punch
that was aimed straight at her jaw. She heard the pop as it landed and was
expecting to feel the cold, hard linoleum rush up to greet her. But she didn't
fall. The pain she was expecting wasn't there either. She raised her
hands, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.
She pulled him in close to her. Looked him in
the eyes. "I said, I want you OUT OF MY HOUSE!" And she pushed him. Only,
he didn't step back away from her. Instead, he flew across the kitchen and into
the refrigerator on the opposite wall from them. The impact shook the walls,
knocking the small, framed pictures of roosters that lined the walls from their
hooks.
She was in shock and
looked down at her trembling hands. Then she looked up at Andy as he was just
starting to get to his feet. He had hit the fridge so hard it was knocked
sideways and the door had flown open. The look in his eyes was different this
time, and was one she was not familiar with. He made his way to his feet, not
once breaking his gaze with her. "You crazy bitch," he said. Fear
made his voice break. "You're fucking on crack ain't you? You've been out
whoring and smoking crack with some low life, and then you show up here and
pull this shit!" He was on his feet now and moving away from her towards
the hall.
"You want me
out, well you got it," he yelled from the hall. She could hear him snatch
up his keys from the sideboard in the entryway. She was still looking at her
hands, only half listening to what he was saying.
"I am out of
here, you fucking bitch! You don't have to worry about ever seeing me again! Or
my son!"
She heard the slam
of the jeep door and the engine turning over before she processed what he said.
"Justin," she whispered into the emptiness of the kitchen. "No"!
She was through the
hall and out onto the porch just in time to see his back tail lights disappear
out the drive in a shower of gravel and dirt. She didn't think, she didn't
question what needed to be done. Driven by the thought of protecting her son,
she ran after him.
She was off the
porch and down the road without even realizing she had taken the first step. For
some reason, the jeep that had seemed so far away was not really that far from
her. As a matter of fact, it was getting closer to her. No, that wasn't right. She
was getting closer to it. She was only vaguely aware of the fact that her legs
were pumping insanely hard, propelling her closer to the jeep. So close, as a
matter of fact, that she could now reach out and touch the bumper. And she did
touch it. Grabbing ahold of it and digging her feet into the asphalt. She felt
the car lurch, but then a strange thing happened. The bumper came off in her
hands and the jeep jumped forward, continuing down the road. She tossed the
bumper aside and ran even harder. Then she was alongside the jeep on the driver
side, and could see the incredulous look on Andy's face as he saw her outside
his driver side window. Before he could swerve into her, she lowered her
shoulder and rammed the jeep. To her surprise, it began to tilt up onto two
wheels. Before it could come back down she hit it again. This time driving it
up and over and into the ditch. Rage coursed through her as she approached it
and punched through the front windshield, grabbing the father of her son and
pulling him out of the vehicle.
She hauled the
frightened, disoriented form of the man she once thought she loved out through
the front of the jeep. She held him out in front of her, both of his feet
dangling in the air; not unlike the way a loving parent might raise their
laughing child into the air, holding onto their arms or chest. That was how she
thought of this man she hated right now. Only he was a very bad little boy that
needed scolding.
"You listen to
me you little asshole!" The fury in her voice matched that in her eyes. "Don't
you ever come near me or my son again! As of right now we are finished, and we
don't ever need to lay eyes on one another again. Do you understand me?"
Andy laughed. Held
aloft, his limp body racked with labored breathing that told Maura he had
probably cracked a couple of ribs in the roll over. "You stupid
bitch," he spat down at her. "I don't know what kind of freak shit
you've gotten into, but you are definitely some kind of fucking freak right
now! And you know what? No one is going to give custody of a child to a fucking
freak!" Despite herself, Maura felt his works sting at her. They lashed at
her in the same way that his stinging backhands used to. He smiled down at her,
coughing with each breath. "I may not want the little bastard, but I will
make good and damn sure you never get him."
The coldness of his
words, and the meaning behind them, shook her to her very soul. Rage and fury
were replaced with fear.
"No," she
said, "you will not touch him!" For added emphasize she shook him. But
rather than the fear she was hoping to hear in his voice, she heard a
resounding pop as his neck snapped, and bones in his arms cracked in her grasp.
He was dead before his limp body hit the ground when she dropped him.
"My God. What
have I done?" She looked down at her hands. Shock began to circulate
through her body as the realization of what had just happened began to sink in.
What was happening to her? He had felt like a rag doll in her hands. A grown
man that easily weighed a buck ninety was like putty in her hands. She had the
feeling that her shake had done a little more than snap his neck.
When the state
troopers received the call about a rolled Jeep on a back woods stretch of
highway, they would find his body lying pinned under his jeep; the massive
internal damage to his soft tissue organs would be attributed to the enormous
weight of the jeep rolling over onto his body. Case closed. Another drunk
driver added to their highway death toll. When they would try to notify his
long term girlfriend, and mother of his child, they would not be able to reach
her by phone, and the hospital she worked at had terminated her employment for
failing to report to work. A drive out to her small house, a couple of miles
back of the accident, would reveal the signs of a struggle and plenty of
contraband. But the woman known as Maura Riley was nowhere to be found.
