Horton Hears A Domestic Disturbance

Trigger Warning

Horton Hears a Domestic Disturbance

By Alexis Sophia Loge

The five of them, an unofficial yet exclusive club, sat outside of Horton’s bar, their brand of poison placed perfectly between their fingers. Sydney, the statuesque blonde and the token female member of the group, was the one who had began to call them a club, she even went so far as to dub them the “Cancer Crew”. When she first brought up the idea, Tim, a robust 21 year old with two children and a sometimes sweet, mostly irritating wife under his belt, had laughed for a solid minute when he heard this, “Yeah ok. Gonna make us jackets too, sweetheart?”

The other three men, all in their early forties, had smirked at this, but they admired the name. Yes, smoking caused cancer, but it was strongly felt that if they acknowledged the potentially fatal side effects, it would not happen to them. They only saw each other for brief moments outside every night before going back into the bar, where they returned to their normal spots, away from each other. Horton, the barkeep, was another Official Unofficial member but he was inside that night, Friday’s were his busiest days and he refused to hire anyone else. “Nothing but the damn illegals and the retardeds. And Lord knows the only thing they’re good at is raping our women and stealing our jobs. Well they ain’t takin this one,” He would often grumble when customers would ask why he didn’t just hire some help.

Leo, the Newport man with glasses and a black t-shirt with a white cross, noticed the new girl approach them first. She wasn’t exactly new, she was a frequent flier at Horton’s, and she was also a heavy duty smoker, but she had never come up to them in front of the building before. Normally she would go to the side alley, and they had all come to the conclusion that she was either too shy or too stuck up to join them. “Girl barely looks like she graduated high school, surprised Hort serves the poor thing,” he remarked to the group as she walked up.

She did look awfully young, with her pageboy brown haircut and her wide brown eyes that seemed to scream innocence, but she was actually 25 and had been through the roughest patch of life. Her large brown eyes scanned the faces of all of them, resting for a moment on Devin, the heavyset black man whose choice of poison was American Spirit. “Do you mind sharing?” She asked him, her voice low and ashy, surprising the group.

Aaron, the fifth and last member of the group, handed her his entire pack of Camels, there were only six left, but it looked as if she might need it. She was wearing a thin blue long sleeve that looked like it had outlived its purpose years ago, and a pair of ripped blue jeans, her face, free of makeup, screamed youth and exhaustion, and there was a look in her eyes that reminded Sydney of a girl she used to work with when she was in her early teens. The girl had been being abused at home, and everything had startled her, this new potential member had the same “Deer caught in headlights” look. “You can have em all, if you don't go runnin off to the alley like a rabbit. Don’t you know we’re in New York? There’s safety in numbers, sweetie pie.” Aaron remarked to her, his blue eyes unreadable.

The girl smiled sheepishly and took one from the pack. She lit it with a Zippo, the thin blue flame shaking slightly. She inhaled deeply, the first puff of smoke seeming to awaken her. “I’ve seen you guys out here a lot, I just figured you didn’t want anyone else invading your terf.” She spoke with a slight Midwestern accent, subtle humor threaded through her voice.

“We don’t. But we always welcome those who enjoy catching cancer and an early death. I’m Tim, the big boy over there is Devin, the old guy who looks like he touches children is Aaron and the religious f**k is Leo. Happy to have you here, Miss…?” Tim let his sentence drag on, hoping she would tell them her name. And maybe her story, everyone in the group had had their own opinions of the girl. Leo had assumed she was just stuck up, a b***h that thought she was better than everyone else in the bar- Normally she would go in, sidle up to the bar and order two Vodka on the Rocks, and avoided the other bar people religiously. But Tim, Aaron and Sydney thought differently-there was a look in her eyes that made her seem awkward, out of place in a public setting. She looked like she would be more comfortable locked away, a Pristine Figure of Post Modern Times. “Thank you, Melissa is my name, but I’d prefer if you’d call me Missy.”

“Now this is the part where we say our stories, like AA but we continue to f**k up our lives after.” Devin joked, a goofy grin splitting his face.

Missy jumped, startled. “I don’t really have a story, other than being a small town Michigan girl, I moved to New York with a boyfriend and a son, and now it’s just us.” She spoke quickly, as if she’d be punished for speaking out of turn, or for speaking too much.

“Just you, the boyfriend and the son?” Sydney asked, her pointy nose wrinkling in slight disgust: Children and anything associated with children were not her forte-they were messy, they screamed and everyone put them on a pedestal.

She shook her head, her bangs flying with the intensity. “Sorry, I think I’ve said too much already. The boyfriend is gone, at least for the most part. It’s just my son and I now.”

“How old is your son? I have a four year old myself, his name is Teddy.” Tim’s voice was filled a pride that only parents can know, and as he asked he pulled out his phone to show her a picture of a smiling, gap toothed curly haired boy who stared bravely into the camera.

She pulled out her own phone, a battered sidekick from 2008 that she was fiercely and weirdly proud of, to show him a picture of her own son, an intense child with bright blue eyes and a mop of black hair. “ He’s two. His name is Jebediah.”

“That’s a unique name, whose watching him now?” Leo asked, he had four kids of his own, all adults, and three stepchildren that he had barely concealed hate for.

“Oh, my mother. She flew here to take him home, while I packed the rest of my things. I’m actually going back to Michigan soon- I wanted to say goodbye to Horton first though. He’s been almost like a Guardian Angel to me during my stay here.” She said, and smiled.

Aaron thought her smile showed secrets- a life that only the severely unlucky have to go through, but it was also a beautiful smile. He compared it in his head to sun rays after a week long storm, hope that things would get better. The other members exchanged a glance, Horton as an angel? “You must have had some pretty s****y people in your life if you think grumpy racist old Horton is an angel, Pretty Face.” Leo laughed, and threw his butt into the gutter, “If you’ll excuse me guys, I have drunk s***s to hit on.”

Missy took Leo’s spot with ease and smirked at his rough language. “Thank you guys, for letting me join you.” She rolled up her sleeves without thinking and revealed crisscrossing bruises, fingerprints circling her thin wrist.

“Sure that boyfriend is as gone as you say he is, Missy?” Tim asked, his blue eyes granite and harsh.

She avoided looking at any of them, and a heavy, tension filled silence filled the humid night air. Crimson flooded through her angled cheekbones and as she opened her mouth, she could feel excuses, slick and vile, start to come out. She shut her mouth sharply, Sydney could hear her teeth click together. “He’s gone.” Missy said shortly, her tone of voice suggesting the conversation was going no further.

Syd put a gentle manicured hand on her thin shoulder, “He better be. I don’t know your story and I don't think I particularly want to-but nobody deserves to have bruises like that put on them, especially a woman as beautiful as you.”

“You can talk to us if you want, Melissa. And what harm would it do, besides relieve you of stress? And if you’re going back to Michigan, you don't have to see any of us again.” Devin added.

Missy gave each of them a long, assessing stare. “I don’t have time to tell you everything, and even thinking about it is making my throat close up, plus I can’t waste your time anymore than I already have. But his name is Brighton, he was my childhood sweetheart and somewhere along the line he became my beautiful nightmare. I was with him for eight years, we had one break when I was 19, and we’ve been together since-there was a lot he put me through but the worst was the gun.” She stopped and took a huge shuddering breath, but no tears. That was something she promised herself after leaving Bright, she would never shed another tear because of that psychotic b*****d.

“The gun?” Tim asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. He had dealt with victims of abuse before and he knew that even something as small as the wrong tone of voice would send them running the other way.

“The gun. It was a form of punishment, I got used to it after a while-I suppose a human can get used to anything if they’re put through it enough.

Brighton had a glock 22, he had bought if off his father before we moved. I’m not sure if there was ever any real bullets in it but the first time it happened I was terrified. We were living in this s**t motel, off 22nd street, and I had come home late from job searching. Brighton had been shooting up, something he had tried to hide from me in Bay City.

But he, he uh, got real angry,” Her voice hitched and treacherous tears threatened at the edge of her long, mascara free lashes, “And accused me of f*****g for money. When I denied it, he forced me down to my knees,” She closed her eyes, “He pulled out his gun and he put it to my forehead. He asked me if I was ready to go and whether or not I had anything to say to him. I’m not proud of myself for this but I begged and begged for my life, I pleaded with him, I told him I loved him more than anything and that I would do anything for him.

He had laughed and told me my whining was pathetic, then he pulled the trigger. There was nothing in the chamber, but he had laughed manically and whispered “Click”. Then he forced the gun into my mouth and did the same thing. I thought for sure the next shot would be the one that killed me, but there was never a next shot. He pistol whipped me instead and nearly broke my jaw. As the butt of the gun hit me, he yelled “BOOM” and that’s how he punished me for years-until last week. He tried to punish Jebediah the same way and thats when I had enough.”

The group was shocked into silence, although they had all had their fair share of abusive moments in their lives, nothing had stunned them like this. Missy looked up, another sheepish smile on her face, “Now that Improv Therapy is over, I think I should head inside. It was nice to meet you all.” She flicked her butt into the street and sauntered into the bar, her walk suggesting that the talk had lightened her a bit.

“I think she’s gonna need help, and moving to Michigan ain’t gonna help her. Especially if that story about the gun was true, you think a man like that is gonna let her go so easy?” Devin asked.

“Well, it’s a good thing she’s going back home then. She’ll have family there that can help her when he comes after her. And lord knows he will, especially if Jebediah is his.” Tim remarked.

Sydney was the only one who remained quiet, her mind turning. “She said she just wanted to say goodbye to Horton. This must be her last night here, if he knows that, what if he comes here to try something?”

“In a bar full of drunk people, drunk people in New York, who will gladly fight you over something perceived? I don’t think so.”

“He’s clearly crazy, I don't think he’s gonna care.”

“Well, someone should tell Horton, he can keep an eye on the door and make sure Missy is safe.”

“It’s a good thing we know what he looks like.” Tim drawled sarcastically.

“Oh f**k off, Tim. We might as well keep an eye on her. Make sure no steroid-ed out f**k comes up and tries to mess with her.” Sydney remarked, and then they went inside, this time Sydney and Tim stuck close to each other in a booth, while Devin stood posted by the door. The Cancer Crew had found someone to protect.

Aaron had warned Horton about Missy as soon as he came in. “I think you should keep an eye on that lil girl over there.” He gestured towards Missy, who was just coming out of the bathroom, her eyes bloodshot and aimed on the floor.

Horton, an aging man with watery blue eyes and thick warts on his neck, snorted. “Listen Aaron, I don’t give a f**k if she’s snorting in the bathroom, as long as she isn’t trying to sell it to my customers and as long as she isn’t doing it out here, I don’t care.”

“No, no. She’s a victim. And she says that he’s gone. But I think you know as well as I do that when victims say that, they’re usually lying. She says its her last night here, she just wanted to tell you goodbye.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, seems you had an effect on her.”

“I’m sure I did, you can go sit down now. I got it from here.”

Missy came up to the bar and ordered her usual. “Free of charge, lil lady. Heard you got a story to tell me.”

She blanched and glanced around at the bar, searching for the guilty party that had snitched her out. “There’s not too much to tell, Hort. I’m getting the f**k out of dodge. I just wanted to tell you bye, you meant a lot to me during my time here.”

“What’s he look like, Melissa? It’s okay to tell me. And if you’re serious about leaving him, I need to know. In case he thinks hes gonna grow some balls and come in here, we don’t want you handling it by yourself.”

She took a deep breath. “No, Hort. I refuse to talk about him anymore than I already have, but your concern is touching. Thank you.”

He grunted and shrugged, turning away from her to handle the new people who came in. He had done his job, it wasn’t his fault if the broad didn’t want to talk. Missy sipped her drink, ruminating on the fact that she said too much, an intense fear clouded her heart and choked her, Brighton was going to find out, he was going to find out and find her, and once he found her the gun would come out. But this time, it would be loaded, there was no way it wouldn’t be-she had broken the most important rule, she had opened her mouth. And now others knew, it didn’t matter if they knew him or not, they knew of him and of his ways and that would be enough to be punished.

“I hope I’m not bothering you, but can I join?” Tim had sat down next to her, and startled her out of her morbid thoughts.

She smiled wanly at him, “You’re not a bother. I hope I didn’t bother you outside. I’m sorry for the story, it wasn’t my place to tell.”

He wrapped his large hand over her thin one and when she looked at him, the tears fell openly. “I’m glad you told us. It’s a shame you’re going back to Michigan, it would have been nice to get to know you.”

She nodded, “I’m sure I’ll be back eventually. I just need time to regroup, so does Jeb. He doesn’t know that we’re leaving-he thinks I just took time to cool down,” She shuddered, “I may be a p***y for this, but I couldn’t break up with him to his face. I’m scared that he’ll flip his lid….but I’m also afraid of the tears. He’ll cry, and that’ll break my heart, and then I’ll take him back. I know I will, but I can’t. For the sake of my son.” She said it all in one breath.

He nodded, “I understand. You may be a lot of things that I havent discovered yet, but a p***y is not one of them.”

She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to argue his point, but her phone began to go off in an angry buzz. She checked the number, the color draining from her face, replaced with a sick green. She clicked the f**k you button, set it down on the counter, and grinned apologetically at him, “Brighton.”

“Don’t answer.”

They stared at the phone as it began to go off again. And again. And then her voicemail notification went off. “Do you mind if I check it?” She asked, her voice a hoarse, tense whisper.

He shrugged, “Go ahead. Do you mind if I listen?”

She played it and the deep voice that had more or less been her prison since she was a high school graduate filled the small space around them, “Listen, you dirty b***h, I don’t know who you think you are but you need to get your a*s back home right now. I want my son back-and I’m not letting you corrupt him with your s**t ways. If you aren’t home in twenty minutes, I’m going to choke you to f*****g death in front of Jeb, and you know I’ll get away with it.”

The voicemail ended. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. Honestly he wasn’t always like this, I swear.” She babbled.

He called again. And again. And again. After the fourth call, Missy stood up, nearly knocking her drink over. “I think I’m gonna go outside for a moment, excuse me.”

Tim went to stand up too but Missy shook her head, “I’d like a moment alone, to collect myself. You don’t have to worry about him finding me, he doesn’t like to leave the house.”

“Does he know where you are?”

“I don’t think so. I promise you, I’ll be fine.”

Tim watched her walk out, a sick feeling resting in his stomach. He snuck a look at Hort and saw that he looked as sick as Tim felt, “So why does she think of you as a Guardian Angel?” He asked, hoping to start up a friendly conversation.

He shrugged and began to pour a Rum and Coke for the metrosexual who had clearly chosen the wrong god damn bar, “I helped her out with cash a few times when she couldn’t get diapers for the kid. Free of charge, and I respected her, I din’t ask for nuthin’, no sex or nuthin’, girl’s young enough to be my god damn daughter. I think that’s just what she needed, someone to respect her. She’s respectable unlike that god damn queer who thinks by ordering a slightly manly drink that he deserves to keep that man a*s lovin’ c**k- I’d spit in his drink if I didn’t think he’d like it.” Hort grumbled before sliding the customer’s drink over.

“She really appreciates it. I don’t think she’s gonna go back though. Now that the kid is safe, she might just stay with him-especially if he manages to talk to her before she goes.” Tim remarked, staring at the door uneasily, but not exactly willing to go outside and check on her himself.

Horton took the hint, and sighed loudly. “Fine. I’ll go check on the little broad, but she didn’t want to talk to me. And I ain’t gonna waste my time pressuring her. But I’ll go make sure her rough and tough Rumblefish hasn’t found her if you’ll stop giving the door such a puppy dog look, okay?” He threw the bar towel at Tim, “Hold down the fort, I might share a cig or two with her, if she’ll let me.”

She was leaning against the dark bar alley, but she wasn’t alone. As Horton turned the corner, his tired and mostly irritated joints aching from a long day of standing, he noticed an abnormally large man standing over her-he easily topped her by several inches. His first natural instinct was rape, rape between strangers, but then he noticed how badly Missy was shaking, and the way she cowered-she knew her attacker. And then it hit him, somehow Brighton had found her. He was close enough so he could hear the conversation, but far enough away that he was unseen, for now at least.

“You really think you can take MY f*****g son away from me? Huh, you dirty b***h?! I don't know who the f**k you think you are, but this attitude of yours is gonna change real f*****g quick, you f*****g c**t.” Brighton growled, and his large hand whipped its way into her hair and pulled back hard, snapping her neck back to an unnatural and painful angle.

Missy yelped once and then slapped her hand over her mouth, from Hort’s position it looked as if she was trying not to throw up, and he could understand, he could feel her fear from here. He was slightly afraid himself, even though he had two wars under his belt. There was something off about the man, and Horton did not like to f**k with Crazy. Crazy was unpredictable. “Get down on your f*****g knees, you fat f**k.” Brighton kneed her flat belly and sent her, gasping, to the ground.

Horton stepped forward at the same time Brighton pulled out his gun. Missy saw the gun before she saw Hort and she let out an involuntary cry, “Please, Brighton. No!” She shouted.

He delivered a swift punch to her temple and she covered her face with her hands, sobbing an incoherent apology that he didn’t deserve. Horton was sickly reminded of an Eminem song that he had heard back when his son was into white n*****s, “Kim.”

“Let the girl go,son, and maybe you can walk out of here with just a broken arm.” He warned, making himself known.

Brighton turned around, brown hair plastered in crazy corkscrews around his large green eyes. “And who the f**k are you? You f*****g this s**t, how’s my dick taste bro?” He yelled.

Horton took another step towards him, even though Missy shook her head no. She mouthed to him to run, but he was too angry to pay attention. “I’m warning ya, ya old f**k, don’t come any closer.”

“Yeah, yeah. Click, click, Boom, right m**********r? By the time you wind your arm back to clock me, I’ll have your chicken neck between my hands-so just give it up.” Horton kept his voice calm, even though coils of fear were resting in his stomach, thrumming.

Brighton smiled, showing work that clearly had had a lot of dental work done during his childhood. There was no warmth or sanity in that smile and Horton suddenly changed his mind-let the broad handle this business, he had his own family that needed him and this man looked completely willing to murder him in cold blood. But his body kept pushing him forth, until he was face to face with this large, angry, most likely demented human being. “Click, click, boom is right. M**********r.” And then he shot.

A sharp, yet amazingly warm, pain went through the center of Horton’s forehead and he had a moment to think, “Boom goes the dynamite, ma!” before crumpling to the ground.

FIN