It's Not Over - Chapter 7c

[madbottoms]

...continuing...

~~~

“Daddy, please don’t hit me. I didn’t mean it. I was just playing and the bale fell over. I tried to pull it back up, but it was too heavy and…and it fell apart.” Jack tried to explain. He’d been playing in the barn as he always did before supper and after jumping around the hayloft, one fell over the edge. He tried to get it back, but it was heavy and he wasn’t strong enough to get the pulley to lift it back up on his own. After trying countless times, the bale broke apart. It didn’t matter that it could be used in the animal stalls after mucking the old crap out, he had fucked up good and he knew what was coming.

 

“You’re a weakling, boy. No good son, shoulda’ drowned ya at birth.” John Twist said menacingly to his son. “I’ll learn ya to stop fooling around and makin’ my life harder. Cleanin’ up after your fuck-ups. Twelve damn years of my life wasted on a weakling whelp who don’t deserve nothin’ but a good kickin’.” Old man Twist was a bastard if ever there was one. For some unknown reason, he despised his son and Jack paid for it. There was really no reasoning behind it. Jack wasn’t a bad kid. He may have done some silly things, but all kids did. It seemed all he would have to do is breath and he would pay for it.

 

John Twist lifted the riding crop that he held in his left hand and raised it high before bringing it down in an arc, connecting leather to skin as Jack cried out. He did this repeatedly and only became madder as Jack tried to ward off the blows with his arms. This particular time, he was crueller than usual and didn’t stop until after he’d drawn blood. With a smile of macabre satisfaction, the old man grabbed Jack by a bloody arm, making him scream in pain and dragged him outside.

 

Jack was weak from the beating and couldn’t do anything but be pulled along by his father. His body was shrieking with pain, his clothes soaked with his blood and sweat. Jack could not remember ever feeling so much pain in his life. But for as long as he could remember, this was how it had always been. Even though his daddy hated him so much, Jack tried to make him love him. He would do his chores and some extra, try to do something to make him proud, but it was never enough.

 

His mama did nothing about it, but then she suffered almost as much as Jack himself. He had noticed the bruises on her, too. Oh, the old man was careful not to mark her face because she still had to go out in public, but Jack saw them on her legs and arms and he knew that she was suffering as much as he was.

 

John Twist stopped in front of the storm cellar door and dumped Jack roughly to the ground. He lifted the door open and turned to Jack, spitting on the ground next to him as if just looking at him put a bad taste in him mouth. “Guess you’ll be sleeping in the dark again tonight, boy.”

 

“No, Daddy, please, I’m sorry. Don’t make me stay down there,” young Jack begged, tears glistening in his fearful eyes. He tried so hard to not be weak because he knew it would only make things harder for him. Any sort of fear or emotion got the old man riled up. But he was beyond caring. He didn’t want to go down there again. “I’m scared.”

 

“You’re weak, Jack. Weak and worthless.” He sneered. “Now you get down there before I throw ya down, boy.”

 

Jack practically crawled through the entrance, all the while watching his father stare at him with his gimpy eye. Just as he made it down the first few steps, the cellar door slammed shut and he was in complete darkness.

 

He started to make his way down the rest of the stairs but tripped and fell, rolling down the few remaining stairs to the cold concrete floor below. He groaned in pain as his battered and bruised body connected with the hard surface, although the coolness was welcoming to the heat that flared through his aching body.

 

Jack lay there and listened. Sometimes his father would stay a bit longer and hurl more insults and cruel words down to him, just to rub it in some more. But this time it seemed he’d had his fill of fun and left Jack to suffer on his own. He’d probably get drunk, torment his mother and then pass out again.

 

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he was able to move, his body stiff from the fall, but thankfully nothing was broken. Well, maybe not nothing. He spirit was starting to break. He could feel the cracks. Each time his father hit him or belittled him, he could feel something inside breaking. And he knew if he couldn’t find a way out of this, that something would finally break wide open and he didn’t think he would be able to fix it.

 

Jack shuffled around, putting an arm out to feel his way. He knew the layout of the cellar, having spent some time down here on many other occasions, but one could never be too careful. He knew there were some supplies down here, but he never touched them for fear he would receive a bigger beating than the one previously. There was water, candles, a first aid kit and some tinned food in a cupboard at the rear of the room. This time, he decided that he didn’t care anymore. He wasn’t going to sit in the dark and he knew he needed to clean up or his wounds would surely get infected. After the last beating, he had got an infection where the buckle of his father’s belt had snagged him on his inner thigh. It had taken a long time to heal, because his father had let it fester while he’d been locked away for two days in the cellar.

 

This time, however, it was more than a little cut. Jack’s arms were covered in blood and he knew his back was, too. He needed to wash himself as best he could. Making his way to the cupboard, he opened it, searching first for the candles and matches. After lighting the candle, he found the water and kit. Painfully, he removed his bloody shirt and cried out as it pulled at his skin, the dried blood sticking his shirt to his wounds.

 

Jack uncapped the gallon-sized water and lifted it to pour the water over his back. His arms were throbbing, shaking with the exertion of such a little movement. He did the same with each arm and then used a cloth to wipe off the blood as best he could. He squeezed some antiseptic cream on his palms and rubbed it in as best he could, hoping it would alleviate some of the pain and ward off any infection. 

 

His first aid seemed to take off some of the edge, enough that his body was not shrieking still. However, the soreness would remain for some time. He knew from experience.

 

Jack wished he could fight back. Wished he could do something to stop it. If only he could beat the old man back. Maybe his father was right. Maybe he was just a weak, no good kid. But no, Jack was stronger than he knew, stronger than his father realised. So why did he not fight back? Why did he not stand up to his father? The simple reason was his mother. He knew if he put up a fight, his mother would pay for it.

 

Jack felt the tears come again, tears of frustration and anger at his situation. He should just kill the bastard and then both he and his mama would be safe from him once and for all. But what if he failed? What if he fucked it up? Then he would really feel his father’s wrath and perhaps he would end up being the one dead, and his mama, too.

 

Scenarios of what he could do to his father and in turn what his father could do to him swam around his head for what seemed like hours. But he knew it hadn’t been longer than perhaps a few minutes.

 

He lay down on the cot, stretching out on his stomach and put his head on the pillow. He watched as the candle flame danced in the dark, flickering this way and that, creating shadows on the wall behind it. Mesmerised by its beauty, Jack finally fell asleep and dreamed of a better life for him and his mama, where they would be free of his father’s tyranny.

 

Sometime later, Jack woke to the smell of smoke. He bolted upright and choked as a waft of acrid smoke filled his lungs. The cellar was alight, flames burning brightly across from him, where the candle once stood. He dropped to the floor and scrambled up the steps to the door, frantically trying to get it open. But it was locked, a precaution his father always took to make sure Jack couldn’t get out until the old man was ready to let him out. Sometimes it would be days.

 

He banged as hard as he could on the door and yelled, “Please let me out, somebody help me. I can’t breathe. Please, Mama, Daddy, let me out!” Jack pleaded, scratching and thumping at the door.

 

Sadly, he could imagine his father relishing in the fact that he was down here, unable to escape. He could see the old man’s sneer turn into a menacing smile and hear him saying something like, “Well, boy, looks as if you’re finally getting what you deserve.”

 

Jack continued to choke on the smoke as it rose up the steps and he could feel the heat begin to seep through his body. He knew he would not last much longer if he didn’t get out of here. He yelled again, as loud as he could and banged and thumped and pounded, praying someone would hear him.

 

Just as he was about to lose consciousness, the cellar doors opened and he was pulled out. Coughing and spluttering, Jack looked up to see his mother standing there calmly, dressed in her nightgown and slippers. “Mama?”

 

“It’s okay now, Jackie. Everything is gonna be fine.” Mrs. Twist promised her son. “Ya don’t need to worry no more, son.”

 

“Mama, I didn’t mean it. The candle fell.” Jack looked petrified then said, “Oh Mama, Daddy’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna…oh, Mama, we gotta get out of here.” Jack was frantic with fear for both of them.

 

“It’s okay, baby, He can’t hurt ya no more,” she replied cryptically. “Sshh, Jackie.” His mama pulled him to her breast and hugged him tight, kissing the top of his head gently. “It’s gonna be okay.”

 

It was then Jack noticed a bag beside his mother and pulled out of her comforting embrace to look at her questioningly. “Mama?”

 

“Ya have to leave, Jackie. I’ve packed yer stuff and there’s some money in there for ya. It’s not much, but enough to get ya to yer Uncle Harold’s. He just got back from overseas and he’s a nice man, Jackie. He’ll take care of ya. He knows you're coming. But ya gotta leave now, baby.” Mrs Twist relayed this calmly to her son, as if he was just going for a visit and not standing outside their home as it was consumed by flames.

 

The fire in the cellar had grown and was now eating away at the first floor of the Twist house. For a moment, both Jack and his mother watched as if spectators of some captivating show. It was truly mesmerising watching the flames devour everything it touched and Jack found it somehow cleansing.

 

“Jackie? Jackie, it’s time, ya gotta go.”

 

“What about you, Mama? Aren’t ya coming?”

 

“Don’t ya worry about me. Ya go get yer horse, she’s already saddled and I managed to get some stuff packed for her, too. And ya go out the back way across the west field. That’ll be quicker.”

 

“Mama, please, come with me now, please!” Jack sobbed. “Come on.” Jack frantically pulled at his mother’s arm. “Mama, I can’t leave ya here.”

“No, ya go on now and I promise things will be okay. Go on now, Jackie. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to protect ya better. But I can protect ya now. I love ya, my Jackie.” Jack’s mother pulled her son in for one last hug. “Now please, go, Jack, and don’t look back. Be good, baby.”

 

“Mama, please!”

 

Jack sobbed as his mother pushed him away. She turned away and looked back at their house consumed by the blaze, ignoring her son’s last plea. She had done all she could do for him now. She only wished that she could have done something sooner. And now that her son was safe, she could be free, too.

 

“I love you, Mama.” Jack said finally, picking up the bag his mother had packed and ran for the stables. He found Belle saddled and packed as his mama said and threw the other bag on. Making sure everything was set, he mounted his horse and left by the barn’s rear door.

 

He made it to a safe distance and stopped. Unable to do as his mother said, he turned back and watched as the flames engulfed their house. He could not see her from this distance but hoped she was okay. But he had no way of knowing. Strangely enough, he thought he would feel a sense of retribution at his father’s demise but he felt nothing, just a coldness that had begun to seep into his body.

 

Shivering, he realised he was naked from waist up. His shirt had been bloody and ruined and he hadn’t had time to put one on before escaping. Dazedly, he reached around and found a shirt in his bag. He thought it strange that after all his body had been through this night, he felt nothing now. All he felt was a numbness, a complete lack of sensation as his mind finally switched off.

 

Mechanically, he pulled his shirt over his raw skin and continued to watch the flames dance in the night, until all that remained of his house was now a pile of rubble.

 

Somewhere in the distance, he heard sirens approaching. The neighbours must have finally seen the flames and called the fire service. Too late for any help. It was all gone and so was Jack. He turned his horse and made his way across the west field to the boundary of their property. The darkness hid him as he saw the emergency vehicles pass by. Once out of sight, he continued on his journey until he finally reached his Uncle Harold’s property.

 

His uncle welcomed him with open arms and never asked any questions. When the authorities finally contacted him about his brother, sister-in-law and their missing son, he informed them Jack had been spending some time with him and that he was thankful that this tragedy did not claim the life of his young nephew, too.

 

Jack had a good life with Uncle Harold, who treated him with love and respect, the way a real father should treat a son and Jack was thankful for that. It took him a while to get over the loss of his mother, but his uncle was patient and gave Jack the space to grieve properly and was there when Jack woke up crying in the night for his mama.

 

Jack went to a different school and did well enough. He made friends easily with others and relished in the fact that he was liked. He was never cussed out or made to feel weak or worthless. His friends respected him and liked him for who he was and not who they expected him to be. Sometimes in the back of his head was a little voice whispering to him that he was worthless, weak. But Jack was strong and soon he was able to lock that little voice away and move on from the past. But every now and then, the past had a way of coming back to haunt you.

~~~

 

“Jack, Jack, I’m not gonna hurt ya, bud. It’s me, darlin, it's Ennis.” Ennis looked almost as scared as Jack. “I could never hurt ya.” Ennis crouched down and touched Jack’s face, smoothing his hair out of his eyes. “Jack, darlin’, open yer eyes. It’s me, Ennis, yer cowboy. C’mon, darlin’, please.” Ennis knelt down fully and gathered Jack in his arms, rocking him gently like he did his first night back home.

 

“Oh, darlin’, what happened to ya?” Ennis knew that Jack’s father had been an abusive prick, but to what extent Jack had never really gone into. And now after years in prison, it must have brought it all back. “What did they do to ya, My Jack?”

 

Ennis’ frustration turned into anger and pain. It wasn’t directed at Jack, but at those who had hurt his lil’ darlin’ and the tears that had threatened to blind him took hold as he sat heavily on the ground and knuckled the back of his eyes to try and rid himself of the tears falling. He felt a warm wetness seep through his pants and realised that Jack had pissed himself. “Jesus Christ, what did they do?” he repeated, as a mournful sob escaped his throat.

 

And then he let go. He cried for Jack. Cried for the light he saw extinguished in his once bright eyes, for the pain he suffered at the hands of people who didn’t deserve to breath for what they had done to his Jack. And he cried for himself, too. He let all the emotion out he’d kept bottled up for so long. All the sadness, all the fear, everything. This was the first time he had really let himself go in all the time Jack was gone. He’d closed himself off when Jack went away, bottled it all up and tucked it neatly away. Finally the cracks appeared and there was no stopping the deluge now and he cried until he had nothing left and he was exhausted.

 

After a time, both men had calmed a little and their sobs died down to little sniffles. Ennis continued to rock him and hummed a tune in his ear. He wanted to take care of Jack so badly, to protect him from whatever was hurting him. He wanted to chase the demons away, but unless he really knew what they were, he had no chance.

 

He knew that the kind of fear Jack was experiencing came from deep in your soul, something that embedded itself and refused to go away. He only hoped they could make it through this and the best way was to do it together. But it was all down to Jack – he had to let Ennis in, had to let him help, even if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t ask for it.

 

~~~

 

Jack allowed Ennis to move him from the kitchen floor and clean him up. All the while, he said nothing and just stared into space. He didn't speak, nor did he acknowledge Ennis in anyway other than to follow instructions.

 

“Lift you leg, Jack,” or “Open you mouth...spit…” Ennis had said to do it and so he did. He let Ennis wash him, brush his teeth and dress him like a child. 

 

Once he had put Jack in bed, Ennis undressed and stepped into the shower. His tears mingled with the water. His poor Jack was suffering so badly and Ennis wanted to bring his father back from the dead just so he could kill him - very slowly - and send him to the deepest parts of hell to suffer as he’d made his son suffer.

 

Ennis punched the wall in fury, breaking the skin on his knuckles, and exacerbating the cut already there on his hand, but he didn’t care. The pain was nothing compared to what his Jack must be going through. Damn it, he felt so helpless. He really had no idea how to help him, he just knew that he needed to and would stop at nothing to see Jack happy again.

 

Stepping out of the shower, he dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He made his way quietly through the bedroom, so as not to wake Jack and went into the lounge in search of something. He looked by the phone for the phone book and searched for the number he needed, picked up the phone and dialled.

 

After a few rings, a woman answered, “Hello?”

 

“Um… hello…Ma’am, um, could I speak to Rufus, please?”

 

“Who’s calling please?” the woman asked.

 

“Ennis del Mar, Ma’am.”

 

“Oh, certainly, Mr. del Mar, just a moment,” she said as if expecting his call.

 

A few moments passed and another voice came down the line. “Hey Ennis, this is Rufus. It’s so good to finally talk to ya, friend.”

 

“Oh… well, yeah, same here. Um… well, the reason I’m calling is about Jack.”

 

“I thought I’d be hearing from you soon enough.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ennis asked gruffly.

 

“I just mean that I’d been hoping you would call so we could talk. Actually, I had been hoping to meet you sooner, but Jack always said you were too busy on the farm.”

 

Ennis bristled at the accusation but tried to stay cool. “Now see here…”

 

“I’m sorry, Ennis, I meant no offence. Jack just always said…well, that he didn’t want to take you away from your work.”

 

“Well, how would he know, he never damn well asked me. He never gave me the chance to meet ya.”

 

“I know. Let’s see if we can’t remedy that. Why don’t you come over here tomorrow and we can get better acquainted?” Rufus offered.

 

“Mm… I don’t want Jack to think I’m going behind his back none. He doesn’t seem to want my help right now,” Ennis admitted ruefully. “But I gotta help him. He’s falling apart.”

 

“I know, Ennis. Why don’t we see if we can do something about that? You just come over and we’ll see what we can sort out, okay?”

 

“Okay then. But it’ll have to be sometime in the afternoon. That okay? ” Ennis took down Rufus’ directions and rang off. He sat there for a moment and took a few deep breaths before heading back into the bedroom.

 

Ennis stood at the foot of the bed and watched Jack sleep. He looked like a child sometimes and seeing him the way he was tonight, with that look of terror reflected back at him, tore him apart. Ennis couldn’t help but feel responsible for Jack’s frightened actions this evening. And although Ennis would never have struck Jack in a million years, he had been so angry and he’d wanted answers. But as soon as Ennis saw Jack’s reaction, he had pulled back and was immediately sorry for what he had done.

 

Moving to the dresser, Ennis changed into some boxers and climbed into bed. He lay on his side and continued to watch his lover. He wanted to touch him, but once again he was afraid of the reaction he might get. He had almost become afraid to touch him, in fear of another rejection, so he remained on his side and just watched over him protectively until slumber took him, too.

 

Sometime during the night, Ennis heard Jack call out his name and he was immediately by his side, soothing him. “It’s alright. It’s alright.” And Jack took hold of Ennis arm and wrapped it around him tight, not letting go.

 

 ~~~

TBC