Coming Home

Chapter 43

Coming Home

 

I had woken up screaming in the middle of the night as the lightning flashed cross my window. Its cold breath circling the outside as the winds howled bending fierce shadow monsters against the wall. My father’s eyes red with hate, his belt buckle flashed in the air as it came down across my small frame body. I screamed in pain seeing my crimson blood spreading across my bed. I could hear the snap of worn leather and the taste of blood as he smacks me across the face. The feral growl in his throat and his hands around my neck choking the life out of me; the lightning flashed his form shifted to Mr. Rothwell screaming my name, gripping my arms yelling, but the cold wind takes his words as if they sounded far, far away.

The lightning flashed and the air crackled. I could see the fire in his eyes as my father tries to smother me. I try to call out for help. But my voice seemed restricted as I yelled against the wind; yelling over and over begging my father to stop beating me; begging him to stop… saying over and “over no more, no more.” Something cold and wet hits my face like hard rain from the blackened sky.  The lightning flashed twice then three times with a loud crackle like trees falling to the ground.

I turned and found I was standing in a bright light yet dulled in comparison. I tried to see him, sense him as I call out his name; “Jeff where are you?” The wind howled angrily around me as it tries to rip my skin apart. My skin suddenly felt like ice as if I had fallen into the river. I screamed over and over again for help, trying to find the source that was trying to drown me. And then I woke I found myself in a tub of water. Dad holding me in his arms pouring water down my back while my tears of terror flowed down my wet cheeks against his shoulder.

It was nearly 4: am before Dad helped me back to bed as I looked out the window seeing the storm and lightning and hearing the wind howl against the glass. I have always hated storms for the memories of my father and my mother is the strongest during them. No medicine can cure fear or terror, not even time; for it does not heal all wounds. Dad held me in his arm as we watched the storm from the window; letting me rest my head against his chest as we laid there together in my bed with a warm blanket over my shoulders. We stayed that way until the sun brightened slowly through the window.

Today I was going home if you could call it that. Even in most cases it really was never home to me like the Downing’s, Steeds and the Frys. Home in this definition is Hell on a good day. Never knowing if you are going to be loved or beaten or worse; every time Mom and Dad remind themselves that I am just another foster kid, a problem child or mentally challenge like Arthur. Or roll the dice and become the loving parents that actually care about your well being. No. Home here is a fickle thing, going from one extreme to the other.

By seven Dad and I had done our laps around the race track. Only to come back to have them drill me for oil and remove the IV needle from my arm. Instead of six male nurses, there were eight. Which in my case made it easier as they tried to gain a piece of me. Only to have three of them end up on the floor; collecting bets between them, passing three twenty dollar bills to Dad. Personally, I felt that money should have gone to me. Considering I was the victim and it was my blood that they wanted.

By nine we were fed and clothed, well dad was anyway. Considering all I had were socks and my shorts as the Doctor examined me. Telling us he was almost sorry to see me leave, and nurses are quite fond of me. Dad laughed saying they just all liked my very cute butt strolling down the hall. The doctor smiled saying there is that?

Telling Dad that if everything still holds I’d be discharged at 3:00 and my prescriptions would be waiting; and he had lined me up with their family Doctor here in town to see me. Warning him no shirt until my scabs are nearly gone, but I could wear a hospital gown if he was concerned of decency out in public or an over sized button-down shirt unbuttoned and un-tucked for a limited time. Warning him I better not end back up in here due to another, “skateboard accident.”

Dad paled knowing he knew it was not skateboarding accident but wasn’t from my lips. It was just speculation; strong speculation. But he agreed and promised that it wouldn’t happen again; even though he didn’t shake hands to seal the pack.  I knew he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let that happen. But I also knew there were far worst ways to punish someone, the evidence was in his kid’s eyes and Arthur’s and more so with James. Something must have happened to cause him to run. Considering my own father and mother alone has beaten me with his belt and fist and my mothers wooden spoons more times then I care to count.

Dad and I spent the afternoon in the pool having lunch poolside just me and him alone; before they discharged me. Grandma helped me pack placing a note in my pocket and twenty dollars in case I needed a cab or bus fare. Providing if I needed a quick getaway and roll of dimes for the pay phone. Telling me I better call her if I needed anything or just wanted to talk. I hugged her and cried against her shoulder as we said goodbye before my Mom and Dad came back to take me home.

I wished I could have gone home with her, but there was no way her lone could hide me or smuggle me out of the country without help. The Downing’s were gone and done everything in their power. Now it was up to me and Jeff to find that clean break and to prevent another child like my brother ending up in the Rothwell home. Providing I lived long enough to do it; either way, I was about to change my life and theirs with Gods help and the friends that Jeff has sent to aide me. I may not believe that God listens to my prayers, but I do believe that there is a counterbalance against evil in the world.

Mom hugged my bare shoulders tight against her as Dad carried my things to the car. We stopped for ice cream before going home as I sat silently between them as I watched each turn we made on our way home. Dad sighed heavily telling me it was so good to have me home again. I waited for the monsters inside of them to break loose while we sat in the car, yet instead, he wrapped me in his arms and carried me into the house. Having everyone welcome me home; with balloons and streamers; hung all over the pristine family room where there was a smell of fresh white paint and clean carpets that must have been done recently. My sisters hugged the stuffing out me the second Dad sat me down on the coach and Shane messing up my hair picking me up around the waist and swing me around the room.

Shawn angrily stood against the wall while Arthur sat on the floor next to him, his eyes staring at the floor like a whipped dog. I could see fresh marks like welts on his arms and legs, and his ankles were red as if he’d been chained like a wild animal with mud and straw in his hair and he reeked of old urine that filled the air overpowering the fresh paint smell.

That was when the monster broke free as Dad dragged Arthur out of the room by his hair asking why he wasn’t bathed by the time we got home, that this was unacceptable. He has been gone a week and his house had been falling apart. Yelling at Shane and Shawn asking why they haven’t taken the time to have least cleaned him up before we arrived.

The party was over before really started as Dad screamed orders like a mad man. Ripping off my shoes and socks and fling them across the room nearly, dragging me angrily down to my room; locking the door. Leaving me to wonder what I had done wrong. It was three hours before he came back with my things. Telling me it was time to wash up for dinner; prodding me to the bathroom, while he watched me wash my hands and face and throwing me a towel to dry them.

I could easily see he was still angry, I could see it in his eyes, guiding me to the seat next to him. I kept my head bowed like Arthur’s as I sat across from me. Dad took my hand as I waited for him to crush it, but instead, it was gentle. I looked under my eyelids around the table everyone had wet tears on their cheeks and a fresh hand marks on each of the boy's faces.

Dad was indeed angry and I knew my place. I was a mule boy once again. It was hard to believe that Dad could be a kind and loving father and the next a monster within a heartbeat. I stayed silent and kept my eyes down melting into the background. I waited for everyone to be served not risking angering the monster further. He filled Arthur’s plate and left mine empty. I stayed silent and kept my head bowed. It was nothing new for me to missing a meal or two, but I also knew it was better to sit silently then ask why I was here instead of my room or risk a beating.

Ten minutes passed then twenty as sat I there alone in my shell, blending in with the background. Dad asked why I wasn’t eating or if I was sick to my stomach. I didn’t say anything as he placed his hand on my forehead telling Mom that I was running a slight fever, but not as bad as had been.

Mom got up and quickly grabbed my pills placed them in a cup and poured me a glass of orange juice. I swallowed them as she checked herself, told Kerry to run me a cold bath after supper just in case I was spiking again; asking me if I needed to lye down for a bit. I shook my head that it wasn’t necessary as I watched everyone eat but me.

When Kerry was done she led me down to the bathroom sticking the thermometer in my mouth while she finished undressing me. She didn’t say a word as my tears ran down my cheeks while I watched the water fill around me. Telling Mom who was standing in the doorway, with clean towels and my boxers that it was barely a 100. Kerry took her time and gently bathed me, told me I had nothing to fear. No one was going to drown me, but it didn’t matter, I still shook with fear as my tears became great big sobs. She held me in her arms to comfort me while she dried me off and helped me with boxers so I wouldn’t have to bend my back causing the scabs to break open.

Mom tucked me into bed asking me if needed anything I shook my head no while she placed extra blanket on top me telling me to rest, she’d come and get me for family prayer. I nodded my head and cried into my pillow because I was so terrified of the monster in the house. I missed my Grandmother and I missed my proctors, and most of all I missed my best friend Jeff. I knew without a doubt that I was alone here in hell.

It was Dad that came to get me for family prayer asking me if I needed any help. I shook my head and got out of bed on my own, and followed him into the living room. I took my spot between Mom and Dad waiting for him to punish me. But instead, he gently took my hand and said the prayer like we had done each night when we are all together. When he was done he walked me back to my room and tucked me in telling me he was glad that I was home and if needed him I knew where he’d be, leaving my door opened.

Like every night, I don’t sleep well unless I am heavily drugged, and this night wasn’t any different as I woke up screaming in terror, dreaming of Dad and my father taking turns beating me in the boiler room. Dad and Mom were there shaking me awake as Dad held me in his arms until I realized that it was only a dream. Dad telling them it happens every night worse when there is a thunderstorm. Jody and Kerry were groggily standing in the doorway.

Kerry asking her if I was alright, Mom feeling the bed said I needed fresh bedding while she cleaned me up. I wasn’t known as a bed wetter, it only happened when I was terrified and every time I dreamed of my parents and Dad beating me did it happen. It didn’t matter if I used the bathroom beforehand, it still happened. It was what was and was worse in that house of horrors. I seldom slept as laid there watching the room or I would read until the break of dawn.

Mom and Dad were getting concerned as it happened nearly every night; even though my room was basically sound proof except when my door was opened. Dad set an alarm on all the doors that led to the outside; before I had come home from the hospital in case I tried to run away at night. I should know considering I tried that route and paid dearly the consequences within my first year there after a very bad beating. Not quite as bad as the one that ended me in the hospital, but close.

Yet my night terrors were a whole new problem entirely. They didn’t dare close my door in case I tried harming myself; finding fresh cut wounds from either a knife or sharp objects while I lashed out in my dreams.  It didn’t matter if they searched my room and my person or locked me in. I would beat myself bloody against the wall over and over until they were able to wake me. Thunderstorms were the worst in that house as my terror intensified I would lashing out if anyone so much as touched me while I wasn’t awake. Just two nights alone was enough to drive me insane and them having to wake me constantly in the middle of the night.