Authors: Bonnie Wheeler
Passing the corner, Marge halted. Despite the influence of wine and drugs, she knew exactly what she was seeing.
That son of a bitch.
Brian was in the living room. Pressing Katie against the wall, he stood grinding his naked body into her daughter. Using the strength of his forearm to pin the girl’s hands over
her head, his free hand clutched at one of her breasts. The halter top Marge had selected for Katie to wear was in shreds on the floor. Despite her daughter flailing against him, Brian was crushing his mouth over hers.
Catching Marge’s eyes, Katie’s expression was wild with fear. Even though she whimpered and tried blocking him from kissing her face, Brian was oblivious in his use of the same moves on Katie that he pleasured Marge with.
He’s like Darryl. Done with the mother, he now wants the daughter.
Desperate for something to hit him with, Marge’s eyes caught the sight of Veronica’s gun. Sitting on the coffee table next to Katie’s purse, she had forgotten all about it. Marge grabbed the
Ruger
, flicked off the safety the way Herman showed her, and leveled it on Brian.
“Get the hell off her,” she screamed. Her hands shook wildly, making it difficult to aim the piece.
Turning his head, he glanced at Marge. “Can’t you take a hint? We want to be alone.”
“Get off my daughter,” she bawled. “What the hell are you doing?”
Letting go of Katie, Brian backed up, his face confused. Stumbling to the side a little, he straightened himself and shook his head.
“Your daughter?
I thought she was Daisy.”
You bastard...
Realizing what she held in her hands, Brian’s eyes darted from Marge’s hands to her face. “Is that a fucking gun?” he shouted, reaching out to snatch it from her.
In that moment, something snapped inside Marge’s head. She had to stop him from ruining all she had worked for. Feeling the weight of the pistol in her hands, Marge knew the opportunity would never come again.
Pulling the trigger, the weapon kicked back. The blast resounded through the air. As Brian crumbled to the floor before her, Marge watched it all in slow motion. Pulling the trigger again, she didn’t care what happened next. As Katie screamed somewhere in the backdrop, Marge let out a sigh of relief.
Brian wasn’t leaving. That was for damn sure.
50
KATIE
Friday 9:20 PM
It took forever to get home. Darla promised she would drive Katie once she finished her beer, but the minutes began adding up. The next thing she knew, Marco was carrying Darla upstairs to the rooms couples used for hooking up. With squeals of pleasure, Katie’s stoned friend wasn’t in any danger. Dreading the thirty minute walk at night in high heels, she considered staying, even thought of asking Davey to hide the gun in his bedroom or something, but decided against it. His caution about her mother possibly getting in trouble over the weapon scared her.
Marge was already causing problems for Veronica with her drinking. If she had taken the gun from the shop, the owner would most certainly can her mother. If Marge really wanted to stop drinking and make a new start for them, she would need the stability of her job.
What would happen if Veronica called the cops and reported the gun stolen? What if she blames Mom?
Her mother would be arrested, possibly go to jail. The thought nagged at her. She knew she needed to bring it home and have a talk with her mom. Marge promised she would change, that they were going to start their new life tomorrow. If the weapon did belong to Veronica and Herman like Katie assumed, it wouldn’t be too late to use the shop keys and sneak it back before it was identified as missing.
Maybe then, Katie could begin helping her mother get a grasp on reality and stop screwing up everything good the two of them had going in their lives.
As she slipped in the apartment, she tried to be quiet. Her mother’s Honda was in the driveway and the “his and her” pile of clothes left on the floor in the entrance made it clear Marge had company. Placing the gun and her purse on the coffee table, Katie was just about to call Darla, when she realized Brian was walking towards her.
Holy shit, he’s naked.
It all happened so fast. Muttering something unintelligible, the preacher shoved her back against the door, his sick wet mouth, invading hers. Trying to scream, Katie pushed him, but his strength overwhelmed her.
Groping her flesh – his hands darted between her legs, then up and under her halter top, exposing her breasts. With a
quick snap, the sound of fabric tearing alerted her ears. Trying to slap him, his left hand snaked around her wrists, pinning her hands above her head. Brian Jones was going to rape her, her mother’s sick ass boyfriend, right in her own damn apartment.
The realization caused her to scream.
“Katie?” her mother called.
Mom, help me….
Brian squeezed her breast. The feel of his touch repulsed her – his breath thick with booze, sprayed her face. His pasty flesh gyrated and heaved against hers. The hairy skin on his chest was slick with perspiration. She tasted bile in her throat. Knowing the man had slept with her mother and now thought he could have her too made Katie sick.
Straining her head to the side, Katie caught site of her mother. Standing behind Brian in nothing but a pair of yellow underwear, Marge’s expression was incensed. Her mother’s eyes darted around the room. Quickly, she shifted past the sofa.
Katie rammed her knee as hard as she could against him, but her assertiveness only encouraged him. Forcing his hand down her side, he slipped it beneath her waistband, cupping her buttocks.
Pressing his erection hard against her belly, he moaned. “You know you’ve
been wanting
this,” he suggested in her ear. “I see you watching me.”
“No,” she sobbed.
“Get the hell off her,” Marge screamed. Flailing her arms, she pointed something at them.
Please, not the gun…
Finally, stepping back, Brian kept one hand grip locked on her wrist. “Can’t you take a hint? We want to be alone.” Katie tried peeling his fingers from there hold, but Brian’s sweaty hand held her in place.
With her blood roaring in her ears, Katie tried to speak, but couldn’t. Wiping off the spit Brian left across her face, she thought she might get sick. Never had she been so scared before. Even Mike Tanner was easier to control.
How can I make this not be happening? How do I turn this shit off?
“Get off my daughter,” her mother screamed, “What the hell are you doing?”
Releasing his grip, Brian turned and studied Katie with bloodshot eyes. Uncertainty darted across his face.
“Your daughter?
I thought she was Daisy.”
Daisy?
From Lucinda’s?
My hair…
“Is that a fucking gun?” Launching towards Marge, Brian’s movements were fast.
Katie stooped to grasp what was left of her flimsy top. Feeling exposed, she tried covering her breasts while her brain screamed for her to move. A bullet blasted, driving Brian backwards, until he lost balance and plunged to the floor. His weight crashed into her, dragging her down with him. Another shot rang past her, the impact slamming Brian harder against her.
Pain jolted her body, knocking breath from her lungs.
“Mom,” Katie wept, “
help
me.”
Trying to shift him off her, Brian’s torso trapped her legs beneath him. Pools of thick blood ran from his chest and onto Katie’s thighs. A moaning sound came from his throat, mixed with a sickening whoosh of air from one of the holes in his chest. With each exhalation, red bubbles gushed from his mouth.
He’s dying.
“Mom,” she cried again. “Call an ambulance. We need help.” Wriggling her legs free, she pressed her hands against Brian’s wounds. Groaning at her touch, he tried batting her
away. The injury gurgled beneath her fingers, like air forcing its way out of an old accordion.
“He isn’t leaving now,” Marge said quietly. Blinking her eyes, she glanced up at her daughter with a hazy expression. “He was going home, but I didn’t want him to.”
The blood from Brian’s wounds seeped through Katie’s fingers. Helpless, she felt her throat constrict. His labored breathing sounded like something from a horror movie.
This can’t be happening.
Reaching up, Brian grasped Katie’s hands, this time not trying to push her away. “Help me,” he grunted, “I can’t move.” Arching forward, a coughing fit spewed more blood from his mouth. “Please, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Tears streamed from his eyes, mixing with the spray of crimson that coated his chin.
“I don’t know what to do,” Katie moaned. Looking at the pastor, she knew he was dying. Despair rocked her. It was all her fault, she should have stopped her mother – should have thrown the gun away. “Mom, you have to call 911. Please.”
Finally hearing her, Marge shuffled closer. Bending down, her long fingers caressed the side of Brian’s face. “I told you tonight
was
for us. Why didn’t you listen? Look what you made me do.”
Staring up at her, Brian’s eyes bulged as he coughed. Struggling to force air in his chest, his mouth tightened to strained slit. As his body began shuddering, he turned to Katie, whispering, “Help me.”
51
RACHEL
Friday 9:25 PM
Rachel stared out at the parking lot, watching for her mom’s arrival. Illuminated by street lights, the area bustled with drivers looking for late night shopping and dining. Headlights pulled in and out – many of which were frequenting the Chinese restaurant, but it was the familiar Subaru station wagon Rachel yearned to see.
After a stressful twenty-four hours, the teen longed to curl up in her bed at home. Thinking of her favorite pajamas and
fleece comforter, she leaned from one side of the doorway to the next, hoping she would soon be curled up in her twin size bed.
Glancing at the time, Rachel felt bad for keeping the Beckers away from home all evening. She didn’t know what she would have done if Colette didn’t take her in. The thought of wandering alone in the dark terrified her – Torrington was nothing like the quiet streets of home. Canaan wasn’t exactly crime free, but the residents of the small town cared about one another and kept a close eye on their own.