Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel (31 page)

“Come on back here woman. You got some wifely duties to perform for the man of the house. Be quick about it now.”

“I have dishes to clean up Albert. It won’t take long.” It was a ruse that Imogene had used before and
this evening
she had purposely left the frying pan out, the bottom covered in bits of chicken skin and grease.
If she was lucky, Albert would be asleep in a few minutes.

“Forget about them dishes. You can do
‘em
later. Get your ass back here. I don’t wan
na
have to tell you again.”

The demand had an undertone of menace and violence, a tone that Imogene was all too familiar with. A thoroughly dejected and beaten woman turned off the lights.
There was no option but to obey.

Moments later, Albert was on top of her with every pound of his obesity
,
mauling, pushing, shoving. His breath reeked of whiskey and neglected teeth. The glow from
a
nightlight beside the bed lit up the beads of sweat on Albert’s forehead as he struggled with the act. His eyes were squeezed shut in concentration, mouth agape, grunting with every stroke.
Imogene did her best to block it out, to think of other times and places, happier times, but tonight, with Melissa gone, her mind traveled only as far as her little girl’s bedroom, a room where she and her daughter had shared conversations late at night and giggled about girly things. Melissa’s room had been a sanctuary of sorts, off limit to Albert and his ways. On many nights, Imogene had rocked her daughter to sleep in the antique rocking chair that sat there to this day, a treasure that had been passed down through the generations on Imogene’s side of the family. She had read to Melissa from that chair; first with nursery rhymes, then Dick and Jane, followed by Winnie the Poo and Dr. Seuss. To watch her fall asleep, to tuck her in with a gentle kiss on her forehead, wishing her a good night, sleep tight, were the happiest moments Imogene had ever known.

“Wiggle it a little woman. My gawd, it’s like screwing a dead fish. Hell, nobody could get off with you, you ugly bitch. Move it, shit.”

Imogene ignored him.
You’re on your own tonight you fat pig,
she thought, but
she
dare not say it of course. Albert is gasping now, exhausted, his legs and arms quivering.
The thought passed through Imogene’s head that if she continued to lie still, the man might have a heart attack. The idea was so sinful, so un-Godlike, and yet…comforting.
She couldn’t suppress the hint of a smile at the darkened ceiling.

Albert didn’t see the little smile, his eyes scrunched down in lustful concentration as they were, but he did continue to rant.

“You want this to be over? You can’t wait can you? Well, you need to help out the Big Daddy here. Put a little action on it or I’ll move on to other pastures.”

Imogene knew what that meant, but it was what Albert said next that opened her eyes and wiped the semblance of any grin off her face, perhaps forever.

“I didn’t have any problems like this with the girl,
”
he said,
wheezing.

I
mogene’s body went ridged.

“What did you say?”

Despite the whiskey, Albert realized he had gone too far this time. His mouth had betrayed him. Yet, the woman was still there, beneath him. He was over her
, in complete control,
and always would be. He reacted the only way he knew how and slapped the woman across her face, hard, the crack of flesh on flesh loud in the darkened room.

Screw it
, he thought.

It was the meanest lie that Albert had ever told to his wife, the mother of all lies, but damn it, he was sick and tired of her laying there like a corpse, staring at the ceiling every time he wanted a little.
It was time for a different kind of payback, not a simple slap across her chops, but something for her to remember and think about. Next time he wanted sex, all he’d have to say was “you…or her.” He’d hear no more excuses about washing up any pots and pans.

“Yeah, I took her once
,” he elaborated, making it up on the spot. “
But she was asking for it. Twitching that little ass of hers around, wearing those short skirts. That and the low cut shirts showing half her boobs. Coming out of the bathroom with only a towel around her with part of her hind end hanging out. What did she think she was doing if not teasing me? It was plain as day. So what? She’s of age. Nothing illegal. Deal with it bitch.”

There was a moment of pure shock,
utter
disbelief. Surely she hadn’t heard it right. Her husband had sex with Melissa? Is that what he
’d
said? No, no. It was the
liquor
talking, had to be. Even Albert, as mean as
he
was, wouldn’t do that.
But as she looked into his reddened face and porcine eyes, she
thought it to be
true.

“You bastard, get off of me!” Imogene yelled. She put her hands on his flabby chest and shoved, bucking her hips, and tossing the big man to the side with strength she didn’t know she had. Albert laughed.

“Oh, so there
is
a little fire left in the stove huh? Could have fooled me. Where was that fighting spirit a while ago?”

Imogene stood beside the bed, her
thin
naked body trembling in rage, glaring at the monster she was living with.

“You’ve hit me and I’ve said nothing, hoping for better times. You’ve tormented me all these years and I put up with it, mostly for the sake of my daughter so that she could have a father figure in her life. I’ve cooked for you when I was too sick to get out of bed.
I’ve let you do whatever you wanted to do with me in the bedroom and whenever you wanted to do it.
I did
it
for Melissa.
Yes, y
ou took us
in when Melissa’s birth daddy abandoned us and we were about to be evicted,
when my baby and I had no place to go. I give you that. I was thankful… then.
You
gave us a home. I thought you were the kindest man I’d ever met. I thought you were the answer to my prayers; my baby and I had a house to live in, a man to provide for us, a protector.
”

Albert was getting tired of listening to the sass.

“Damn right I took you in and don’t you ever forget it. You need to shut your mouth woman, before I slap you backwards.”

“No, I won’t shut up, not this time Albert. Not now. For once, you’re going to listen to me.”

Albert knew he should get off the bed, smack the bitch up side the head, and remind
her
of her place. But considering the whopping lie he’d just told about screwing her big tittied daughter, just to watch her face, he’d show
a little mercy and let her rant a while. Then, he’d take her again…hard. The thought of it was getting him excited.

“I figured you out soon enough
,
Albert,
it didn’t take long.
It wasn’t that you felt sorry for us and wanted a family, no, you wanted a cook, a maid, and a sex slave. As for Melissa, you
never
liked her did you? She was baggage, someone to be tolerated, right? You never had a kind word for her, no matter how hard she tried to please you. She always believed you were her real daddy you know, I never told her otherwise. Thought it would be simpler that way.
But as bad as it got, I figured I owed you something for what you did,
how you helped us.
I put up with it, the cussing, the yelling, and even the beatings, but the way I see it, that debt was paid long ago.

And now, now you tell me that you’ve forced yourself on Melissa. I should have guessed it was coming.
I saw the way you looked at her sometimes, followed her with your mean little eyes. I blame myself for not getting her out of here sooner, but I was waiting for her to graduate, to have a diploma where she could find a job and get out from under your roof, to make it on her own. Tell me this
,
Albert, and don’t you dare lie. Do you know where Melissa is? Did you see her out there on the road when you dumped her clothes up at
that
bar? Did you do something to her? Did you hurt her, or worse?
Imogene’s eyes blazed in the semi-darkness,
“
Did you kill her
,
Albert?”

Albert lay with his head propped on a
doubled-up
pillow, his expression dull and blank. One hand was under the covers and in his crotch. There was movement beneath the sheet.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” he said with a sneer, enjoying the power, the domination.
He’d never seen his wife in such a tizzy.
This
was fun.

“It’s over
,
Albert. I’ll pack in the morning and live in a cave if I have to, but I’ll not spend one more night in your bed.” Imogene grabbed her robe from a hook inside the closet and left the room with Albert calling after her.

“Hey, come on back here. I’m not finished with you.”

Back in the living room, Imogene found comfort in the familiar creaks of
her
old
chair
as she rocked herself, back and forth, trancelike, covered with a quilt she kept handy for chilly evenings. She rocked and rocked, thinking
of Melissa, the only thing good and pure in her life.
She rocked
and listened for
Albert’s ugly drunken snores
to come rumbling
out of the bedroom and down the hall.
Anger building on itself, growing, multiplying; she rocked
faster and faster, the chair groaning from the force of it, the wood threatening to split and break. Ten minutes,
twenty,
rocking, rocking.

That son of a bitch, that miserable son of a bitch.

A horrible image flashed in her mind. Albert on top of Melissa, just as he’d been with her earlier, grunting and sweating.
The hot nausea in her stomach was at a boiling point.
Springing from the chair and cinching
her robe tight with the sash, Imogene dashed out the front door and onto the lawn. Twigs jabbed at her bare feet, the grass cold and wet.
She ran to the end of the drive, ignoring the sharp gravel,
took a deep breath of cool air,
and screamed, loud and long, into the night. She had failed her child, failed to protect her from the monster they lived with, failed in the most awful way a mother
could
fail, failed to save her own daughter’s life.

Albert
heard the yell
through the bedroom window
, grinned, and
tugged the sheet up around his chin, feeling the sleep coming on fast. His stomach bounced as he couldn’t help but chuckle at Imogene’s reaction to his
so
called confession. The look on her face,
hee hee
, like she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water.
He’d tell her the truth in the morning. As it was, she might not make him breakfast. There was that
one
time though, that morning
with Melissa when
it almost happened.

It had happened on a Sunday
when his wife had gone to church with the neighbors and Melissa had stayed home, saying she didn’t feel well. It was just past eleven when Albert decided to look in on her, curious if she was really sick or using some lame excuse to avoid another sermon on sins and Satan.
If she was fakin’ it, well, he might have to deal out a little punishment.

As always, her bedroom door was closed. Albert
quietly
turned the knob and eased the door inward. Melissa lay across the sheets asleep, covers pushed down from fighting off the slight fever she’d felt the night before. Some kind of flu bug was going around the school, lots of absences, and she was hoping to shake it off before Monday. She had an excellent attendance record and hated to miss her classes.

She wore a thin nightie, almost transparent, barely coming to her waist, her white cotton panties in plain view. Albert froze and stared. He’d never seen the girl this exposed, so pretty, so vulnerable. He couldn’t take his eyes off her perfectly rounded buttocks and the way one breast pushed against the gauze-like material, the nipple clearly outlined beneath the fabric. The early stages of an erection pushed against the crotch of his overalls. The girl was sleeping soundly, her chest rhythmically rising and falling in a most erotic manner. Silently, Albert moved closer to the bed for a better look, mesmerized by the sight of all that soft, womanly flesh. He touched himself, felt a stirring. He had to see more, at least one bare breast, all of it. His hand, almost of a mind of its own, moved to the scooped neck of the nightie, took the hem of the collar and oh so carefully lifted it up and over the milky skin.

Melissa opened her eyes and screamed.

“What are you doing in my room? Get out of here. Out! Now!