Beth’s tensed shoulders relaxed as she exhaled a long sigh of relief. Peeking through the musty drapes, she couldn’t see any sign of the caseworkers or their vehicle.

Thank you, Jesus.

She was grateful she’d escaped their questions about her bruises and Toby.

Especially poor sweet Toby.

 

Her heart ached. Tears glistened in her eyes. She made her way to the kitchen window and stared out into the backyard. Amidst her mother’s flowers, her blurry eyes focused on the freshly dug dirt in the garden. Yesterday, she’d discovered Toby’s beaten body, discarded like trash amidst the thorny bushes. Overwhelmed with grief, she’d found a shovel in the shed and dug Toby a grave.

She'd wrapped Toby's body in an old flannel shirt and held her beloved friend against her chest, sobbing and telling him how much she loved him. Finally, she’d laid his body to rest, wishing she could join him. She knew she couldn’t mention Toby’s death for fear of being beaten, but she could never forgive him. Never!

Struggling with her pain, she hadn’t noticed her neighbor watching from her back porch. If she had, Beth would have seen Amanda dab the corner of her eyes with her apron. The crusty old lady had a caring heart for young people and dogs.

Hunger pangs gnawed at her empty stomach. Sighing, she moved away from the window, but her sadness followed. She missed her mom and now Toby, too. Rachel’s friendship was all she had left that mattered. 

Beth opened the refrigerator and groaned. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of curdled, sour milk. An open package of shriveled-up hotdogs, a half-empty Coke bottle, a few slices of bread, condiments, and a twelve-pack of beer was all she found. In the cabinet, an almost empty box of cereal remained. She poured it into a bowl, then realized there wasn’t any milk.

“Great! Dry cereal it is, I guess.” At least it wasn’t stale. A string of sugar ants marched across the counter. She brushed the uninvited visitors into the empty cereal box and tossed it in the trash. Collapsing into a chair, Beth nibbled on the tiny pieces of Fruit Loops, thankful it wasn’t corn flakes.

 **********

With her legs curled beneath her, she rested her head against the back of the recliner. Car magazines and stacks of unopened mail lay scattered across the coffee table. She’d been lucky that Bert and Gigi hadn’t pressed to come inside. She could only imagine what would have happened if they’d seen the remnants of Dwight’s daily drinking.

The stress-weary teenager closed her eyes. As she drifted into a restless sleep, her thoughts filled with memories of happy times with her mom. And then she saw the accident. Her mom was crashing through the car window. Crimson red blood spurted everywhere as her face bounced over and over on the asphalt pavement. She was moaning in agonizing pain. Beth jerked to a sitting position, screaming, “No!” She could feel her heart pounding against her chest as she gasped for air. Realizing she was in her front room and it had been a dream, she buried her face in her hands. Torrents of tears racked her body.

Another long and guttural moan echoed down the hallway. Beth’s heart sank. It hadn’t been her mom moaning. The groans were coming from the first-floor bedroom. She buried her head in the sofa pillows, praying she could block out the noise, but old habits are hard to break.

Dragging herself out of the recliner, she trudged down the hallway, avoiding empty beer bottles until she reached the bedroom door. Peering through the cracked opening, she tried to see if her dad was in bed.

The unkempt bed told her he was not. Her mother’s embroidered duvet hung from an oak footboard. More beer bottles and an empty pizza box littered the once-pristine white carpet. It was a familiar scene with a promised nightmare to follow.

She hesitated, afraid to enter, but knowing it was impossible to walk away. Dwight’s groaning stopped her as she turned, wanting to escape. Her neck cracked with the tension. A searing pain shot through her temples.

What if he’s hurt and in need of help?

She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Another loud groan accosted her. She stood in the doorway, frozen in fear.

Oh God, please tell me what to do. I don’t want to go in there. If I run, I’ll never forgive myself; yet, if I stay…

“Help me.” Her father’s voice sounded pathetic as he begged for help. She knew what she had to do. Moving from the doorway, she walked toward the master bathroom. She gasped when she saw him.

Her father was sprawled across the floor with an empty gin bottle at his side. Blood from the gash on his forehead ran down his forehead into his eyes. Moving to his side, she knelt and shook his arm.

“Dad, are you okay?”

His answer was a vulgar smelling belch as he lifted the empty gin bottle to his lips, licking the remaining drops as they trickled out. Beth grimaced at the foul odor.

“Dad, you’re drunk. You need to go to bed and sleep it off.” She raised his arm, tugging on it.

Anger flashed from his bloodshot eyes, and he shoved her. The violent force sent her crashing against the wall. She winced as pain shot through her head. “Dad, you’re drunk.”

He growled, “Shut your mouth.”

“Come on, Dad. I’ll help you.” She slipped his arm around her neck, inhaling the sharp pungent smell of cheap liquor. She fought back the urge to vomit. “Dad, you have to help me.”

His hands pawed at her chest, ripping the pocket on her shirt. Stunned, she let him drop to the floor. Shintoned over the sink, gagging. He was vulgar and abusive, but he’d never touched her that way. Her skin crawled at the thought. She couldn’t - no, wouldn’t - touch him again. Confused and mortified, she stepped out of the bathroom, putting much-needed space between her and the monster she once thought of as dad. Her heart was racing.

“I’ll go make some coffee.” She left him on the floor and fled to the kitchen, trying to escape the barrage of obscenities that followed her.

 

***********

 

As the coffee brewed, she searched for a can of tuna, mayonnaise, and a few slices of leftover bread. Her hands shook as she struggled with the can opener. She remembered how her mom would always tell her she needed to feed the angry beast. She hadn’t understood why until now. Maybe food would temper his sickening lust.

She cringed when she heard Dwight staggering down the hallway, banging against the walls, sending pictures crashing to the floor. A disgusting stench announced her father’s presence in the kitchen. Beth pulled out a chair, hoping he would prefer sitting to falling.

“I’ll make you something to eat. I found some tuna.”

“I don’t want to eat!” He slammed his fist against the tabletop, releasing another belch. “Get me another bottle of booze.”

“You’ve had enough.” She regretted the words the moment they crossed her lips.

The chair sailed across the room as he staggered to his feet, snarling at her. “No snot-nosed kid is going to tell Dwight Culbertson when he’s had enough.” He grabbed her arm, yanking her towards him. His blood-shot eyes made him look demonic.

Terrified, she screamed, “Stop it, Dad. You’re hurting me.” She tried to pull away, but his grip seemed to get tighter. “Mom was right. You’re just an ugly drunk.”

He swung his hand, slapping her face so hard, she flew backward, slamming into the stove. He lunged at her, but this time she sidestepped him. Her hand touched her burning cheek.

“What? You gonna beat me like you did, Toby?” Hurt and anger bubbled inside her. She sneered at him, hating the sight of her father. “You gonna kill me like you did, Mom?”  

She was relieved the kitchen table separated her from the menacing devil. His temples pulsed against his molten red face. Immediately, Beth knew she’d said too much. As he yanked off his belt, he snarled, “Time I show you who’s boss, bitch.” The leather strap ripped the fabric of her shirt, cutting her skin with every snap. Falling to the floor, she winced in agony as he beat her until he was satisfied.

Frozen in terror, Beth didn’t move. He sat at the table, eating the tuna sandwich, apparently unaware of what had taken place. Finally, he staggered down the hallway, yelling, “Bring me a beer.”

When she heard his obnoxious snoring, she gradually pushed herself to a sitting position. Her breathing was jagged as she forced air into her lungs. Every inch of her body was screaming from the deep cuts across her back. Her shirt was shredded and covered with red stains. 

Holding onto the countertops, she shuffled to the back door. It took every ounce of strength she could muster to pull a flannel shirt from the hook. She stumbled down the porch steps, across the yard, whispering goodbye to Toby, and then out the gate.

“I’m never coming back!” As the tears tumbled down her cheeks, Beth walked into the dark, looking for a brighter future and praying she was leaving the evil darkness behind her.