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Removing Crooked Stains

He held my hand and mumbled in pleading agony. I knew, that moment, my future and Mother’s was bound together. An eeriness crept over my being and filled me in terrifying satisfaction.

Ever since I could remember Dad was always loud and rough. It seemed when we were at home he yelled at Mom about everything.

Eleven-year-olds should only have fond memories of their younger years, but the trauma of seeing your father backhand your mother then push her to the ground sticks in your mind. The vague recollection of Dad’s reason for the assault being Mom didn’t wash the stain out of his underwear visits upon me each time I put on my undies.

I hated him for being so cruel to Mom and then chiding me when I ran and gave her comfort. Dad said, “Sure, run to your mommy. You pussies belong together. You’re Mom can’t get anything right and your soft dumb ass is going to make a good pin cushion for a pimp one day!”

Dad resented his only child being a girl. He wanted a boy and my parents couldn’t have any more children because Mom developed a medical condition requiring the removal of her uterus.

She told me her doctors said something about having sustained blunt force injuries to her lower abdomen and nether regions. The connection was instant for me. Many nights I had spied on Dad slamming Mom against walls in our house and punching her in the gut so he wouldn’t leave marks on her face easily identified as assaults.

When I walked into the kitchen and watched Mom stepping away from Dad lying there bleeding on the ground I didn’t react for a minute. I was stunned. She stood shoulders back with a matter-of-fact grin on her face. The ancient GE clothes iron in her left hand told me most of the ‘Whys?’ bouncing around in my head.

I walked to him and knelt slowly as he reached up to grasp my right hand and then I saw his smashed right cheek and the extent of damage to his nose.

“She hit me baby Beth,” he said. The gurgle of words spit in a slight drool of watery blood ran down his chin.

I smiled and said, “I know.”

Mom handed me the old General Electric clothes iron. Our bond was charged in the most exciting and electric, shocking spasm of the moment.

“Thank you, Norma,” I said to my Mom.

“Finish him,” Mom commanded in the loving tone only a mother can use with her child.

Putting Dad in the back of our SUV was tough but Mom and I are strong. We are of one mind on this one. The drive out to the quiet forest took 3 hours and we didn’t say a word to each other. The nightmare was over.

The hole we dug will never be found but that day Mom and I found a love and link never to be broken.

The twelve other holes we’ve dug in our Freedom Forest have helped a dozen other families be rid of violent men.

Mother and I are sharing a deeper love and purpose. We are more than human huntresses, we find each other in the blood.

Recommended2 Simily SnapsPublished in Adventure, Contemporary Fiction, Fiction, Horror, Mystery/Thriller

Responses

    1. Thank you. I like this for a book. Am I wrong for thinking there aren’t a lot of serial killer Mom and daughter teams books out there? Men who abuse are cowards and act less than human many times.

      1. Unfortunately, you don’t hear a lot about abused women killing their abuser or even getting out of the relationship. And, if and when a woman does kill her abuser, if she hasn’t reported any abuse and doesn’t show physical signs, she is labeled guilty of murder. It helps that this MC has her Freedom Forest, but it makes me wonder if the police will ever catch up to her.

        1. When I wrote this I was thinking along the same lines. You don’t hear about women killing their abusers. It sickens me the men get away with it and the woman is blamed. I think she will not get caught and there is the adventure.