Blood Wounds (18 page)

A
LYSSA RAN TO
OUR ROOM.
Jack followed her, but she wouldn't talk to him. Brooke went in, and after a while she came out and told me to sleep in her room, and she'd sleep in mine.

Jack went downstairs. I could hear him on the phone, trying to track Mom down. It only took a couple of phone calls before he found her at Curt and Pauline's. I don't know what he said, but Mom came home around eleven thirty. She and Jack went to their room, and I could hear them talking softly for a long time after that.

I knew I'd never be able to sleep in Brooke's room. I grabbed a pillow and some blankets from the linen closet and stretched out on the sofa in the den.

I closed my eyes, but my mind was flooded with thoughts. Eventually, I quit even pretending I might sleep. Desperate for anything that might keep me from the basement, from the only comfort I could imagine, I turned the computer on.

There was a reply to the e-mail I'd sent Uncle Martin.

My dear niece Willa,

I'm very glad to hear from you. I've thought about you and Terri Doreen often.

As you may know, God has blessed me with eight daughters. Seven of them have followed the path of righteousness, and live near their mother and me with their husbands and children.

One daughter, however, rejected our world. Rebekah went to the city, where she led a life of sin and degradation. She was dead to me. Then I learned she was ill. She was alone and had no money. My wife begged me to go to the city and do what I could for her. In spite of my grave misgivings, I went.

God, in His infinite mercy, opened my heart to my daughter, and through prayers, her life and her soul were saved. Although she continues to live in the city, she has renounced her old ways and works in a mission house.

After reading your e-mail, I learned what Dwayne has done. It could have been you, your mother, victims of his madness. I could have lost the sister I once loved so dearly, the niece I've never known.

But God has spared you and offered me a second chance. It would mean everything to me if you and Terri Doreen could visit. For such an occasion, Rebekah would certainly come home, and my family would be complete.

With Christ's Word To Guide Us,
Your Uncle Martin Penders

I printed the e-mail, thinking I would show it to Mom the next morning. After what we'd been through, I was sure she'd be glad to hear from Martin. And I knew I wanted to visit him, to meet my cousins, to gain that part of my family, my life, that I'd never had before.

But then I thought about how much a trip to Idaho would cost. We couldn't possibly afford it.

I began shaking with anger. Brooke and Alyssa visited Val's parents three or four times a year. They flew to Orlando for long weekends, spent vacations in Switzerland, France, China. Alyssa traveled all over the country for tennis tournaments, Brooke for dressage tests.

But Mom and I couldn't afford to go to Idaho to see the only family we had. Our blood family.

I could afford it. I could have enough money to buy anything I wanted. I could have more money than Brooke or Alyssa.

All I had to do was say yes to Sam, to turn my back on Trace, to ignore Crystal's family and their suffering. All I had to do was go against Jack's wishes, something I had never done, something I'd always been too afraid to even think of doing.

I felt as though I would explode if I stayed in the den. I had to go to the one place I felt safe in, my haven, my home. My blood called me.

I opened the door to the hallway. I heard nothing.

Walking as quietly as I could, making sure that no one heard me, I made my way to the basement.

E
VERYTHING WAS THERE
as I'd left it: bandages, peroxide, blades.

I took a razorblade out of its cardboard packaging, rubbed my forefinger against its cold, welcoming steel.

How many times had I come down here? How many times had I cut? I did it only when the pressure was so intense, I could think of no other way to release it. I cut to feel pain, because it was safer to feel pain than anger or fear.

I shook with laughter. I'd never known anger or fear before, not this kind. No little slice here, little jab there, could overcome these emotions.

I looked at the blade. It would be so easy, I thought, to cut horizontally, deep into an artery, let my blood flow away, taking my life along with it. So easy.

I was two stories away from everyone. Even if I cried out from the wound, no one would hear me. They never did. If they needed to, they could pretend to themselves it was an accident. Brooke and Alyssa knew I cut, and my body had its share of fading scars. Eventually they'd believe it.

I pressed the blade against my neck.
No tears,
I thought. Not for my sisters, not for me. I hadn't cried since the funeral. No anger, no fear. Some pain, but I was no stranger to pain. Then I would never have to feel anymore.

Mom would get the money. It would pass from Crystal to Krissi, from Krissi to me, from me to Mom. She would never keep it, though. Jack wouldn't let her, and she wouldn't want it. Maybe she'd give it to Trace, the way I'd thought of doing. Let him buy the drugs he used like I used blades.

Budge had five children, I thought. One way or another, he'd found the means to kill us all.

I pictured him then, not the Budge I barely remembered or even the Budge whose picture had been shown endlessly on TV. More a sense of Budge than the man himself. A tired man, drinking again, aware that Crystal feared him, suspecting that she was dreaming of escaping as Terri Doreen had escaped. Wanting nothing more than to sleep away his exhaustion, only to find Kadi in his bed, embraced by Crystal like a babe in the womb.

Where did he keep his hunting knives? In the bedroom, or on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet? Somewhere he could get to them easily enough but the girls couldn't. Knives like Budge owned were too dangerous for little girls.

He took his favorite, savoring the sharpness of its blade as I savored the sharpness of mine. He intended no harm, I thought. Crystal had felt his blows often enough and that kept her in line. The knife was to frighten her, to impress upon her that it was his bed, not his daughter's.

He carried the knife into his bedroom.

How did he wake them? Did he scream at Crystal, or did he whisper? Maybe he shook her awake, or maybe the sound of his footsteps was enough. If she lived in fear, she'd be able to sense Budge even as she slept.

She pressed her body against Kadi's. If Budge began to beat her, Kadi would escape unscathed. That was probably the best Crystal could hope for, that her babies stay unhurt.

Something about the gesture enraged Budge. Or maybe he was looking for an excuse to start slashing.

There was blood everywhere. Budge was used to blood, to death. He'd killed animals most of his life with his knives. But they'd been clean kills.

This was different—wilder, more exciting.

Kelli Marie screamed.

He heard her running to the bathroom, slamming the door. There was no lock, or if there was, she didn't know how to use it.

Budge raced after her. She hid in the bathtub, behind the shower curtain, as though that would provide her with a cloak of invisibility.

"Come out, sweetie," he said, but she curled her body into a little ball.

"Itsy-bitsy spider," he crooned, "climbed up the water spout."

"Go away, Daddy!" she cried. "I hate you!"

Her fear enraged him. She should know better than to speak to him like that. He'd never hurt her in anger, only when she deserved it. But she was just like her bitch momma—no love, no respect.

No life.

There was blood everywhere. He couldn't clean himself in the bathroom sink, not with Kelli Marie's reproachful eyes staring at him.

He stumbled into the kitchen. Crystal had left a sinkful of dishes.
Just like her,
he thought with comforting resentment. Expecting him to clean up after her and the girls. She didn't care that he worked his butt off at the tannery. The girls were just as bad, never putting their toys away.

He washed himself as best he could. He was damned if he was going to do the dishes.

"Daddy? I had a bad dream, Daddy."

He bent over and picked up little Krissi. She was the youngest of the five children he'd fathered, and the sweetest. No one could accuse him of playing favorites, but if he had one, it would be this little angel.

"You know what chases bad dreams away?" he asked her. "A trip to Dairy Queen. Just the two of us. What do you think about that?"

"Really?" Krissi squealed. "Now?"

"Right now," he said, turning the water off and wiping his hands on the filthy dishtowel. "Let's go to your room and dress you in your best Dairy Queen outfit."

He made sure to carry Krissi, keeping her from seeing things not fit for a baby to see. The two of them selected an outfit and he dressed her quickly, then carried her to the car and placed her in the back seat.

"We're going to a very special Dairy Queen," he said. "One far away from here."

"I love you, Daddy," Krissi said.

He bent down so she could kiss him.

"Go back to sleep, angel," he said. "I'll wake you when we get there."

He began to drive. Almost to his surprise, he found himself going northeast on 54.

He came up with a plan, the best one he could, given the mess he found himself in. He'd leave Krissi with Terri Doreen. She'd taken care of Trace when he'd asked her to. She'd give Krissi a home, and he'd find a place far away from Pryor, from the tannery, from the people who'd held him down all his life.

At first he stopped whenever Krissi asked, but after being in the car for a day or longer, she grew more and more difficult.

Where was Mommy? Where were Kelli Marie and Kadi? She wanted to go home. She was hungry. She was thirsty. She had to potty. Why? Why? Why?

It broke his heart to hear her so unhappy. He told her Mommy and her sisters were in heaven now with Jesus.

"I want Mommy!" she screamed. "I want to go to heaven!"

He was glad he'd brought his knife with him. He kissed his little angel, then gave her the peace she'd begged for. It was a clean kill, one of his best. She felt no pain, just the joy of knowing she'd be united with her momma, her sisters, and Jesus in heaven.

He was the one who suffered, knowing he'd never see any of them again. He prayed that they could find it in their hearts to forgive him.

He kept driving. He couldn't take Krissi back. It was too far, and he'd run out of cash for the gas he'd need. He'd leave her with Terri Doreen. Somehow she'd find a way to bring Krissi back home, to be with Crystal, Kelli Marie, and Kadi.

It didn't matter what happened to him. He was a dead man. Satan owned his soul and would be coming around to collect it soon enough.

He stopped once to find a phone book, a second time to get directions. Little Krissi wore her blanket shroud, and no one seemed to notice.

He parked the car, impressed by the neighborhood, by how far Terri Doreen had come. If he thought of me at all it was to marvel at the wealth I'd grown up with.

But he probably didn't think of me. He thought of Krissi, her head severed from her body. He couldn't carry her that way. But Terri Doreen had to know who the child was.

He cradled his baby's head in his arms and walked toward the house.

The cops surprised him. He knew they'd be looking for him in Pryor, but he didn't think anyone would care so far away from home. Startled, he dropped Krissi's head and then, enraged that the cop made him commit such a sacrilege, he began swinging wildly. He felt flesh against knife, and then the bitter cold taste of fear. Then he felt nothing.

I knew all this as though I'd been there. I knew it because I was Budge's daughter. His blood coursed through me.

But I wasn't Budge. I could look in a mirror and see his face reflected back at me, but that didn't make me him. I might know his feelings, but that didn't mean they were mine. He was part of my being, but so was Mom. So were Jack and Brooke and Alyssa. So were Granny Coffey and Trace and Mrs. Chen and Curt and Pauline and Derreck and a hundred other people whose lives had been entwined with mine.

I took the peroxide, the bandages, the razorblades. The peroxide and bandages could be returned to the bathroom, hidden in plain sight. The other times I'd made the grand gesture as proof I'd never cut again, I'd buried the razorblades in the garbage, covering them with vegetable peels or eggshells.

This time, though, I held on to the blades. They were as much a part of me as Mom, Jack, my sisters, my brother, Budge.

The blades weren't going to kill me. Budge had five children, and this one, at least, was determined to stay alive.

T
HE HABITS OF HAPPY
families die hard.

It was Wednesday night, and on Wednesdays we always had dinner together. It didn't matter that Mom had poured out years of resentment, that Brooke longed to escape, that Alyssa had learned of Jack's imperfections.

It didn't matter that these four people, whose love had been the one thing I'd been sure of, were strangers to me.

Usually Jack went to great effort with Wednesday supper. But tonight, supper was supermarket roasted chicken, supermarket coleslaw, supermarket pasta salad.

I'd gotten home only a few minutes before supper. There was a choir practice, and I'd stayed on afterward to talk with Mrs. Chen. After that, I'd called Sam. I'd been in no hurry to get home.

But it was Wednesday, and on Wednesdays, happy families ate together.

We could have been five people eating alone. We could have been five acquaintances, thrown by circumstance into sharing a meal. A couple of times Mom tried to start a conversation. First she asked Brooke, then Alyssa how their day had been.

"Okay," Brooke said.

"I don't want to talk about it," Alyssa said.