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Battered eight-year-old, Ben Young, lay in his hospital bed seemingly sound asleep. An occasional moan from the young boy echoed throughout the room in a chilling tone, audible evidence of the pain and soreness of his mangled body. The inflicted injuries would be slow to mend and his suffering slow to ease. Cuts to the lad’s face and back were crusted with drying blood, and there were so many wounds outlining his small frame that to bandage them all would have enwrapped the boy completely! The reddened handprints around Ben’s neck, along with one lone print on his forehead, at first so horribly prominent, had begun to fade to a duller shade of pink. Bruising from his father’s boot made it almost impossible for this young boy to find comfort in any position. There would be no silence found in the ward that night. In between the routine hospital interruptions, those who congregated around the young boy spoke in hushed tones. The whispers of gossip and speculation paused only when the words of a horror story emerged from Ben’s innocent mind . . . a mind that could not rest. Though the boy spoke the words, according to a man named Bart, it was the spirit of his mother who spoke through him. |
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Chapter
One
ounds of splashing water from the old wringer washer could be heard throughout the wooden, two-car garage. The aged clunker spit out soapy foam in a vibrating rage as it occasionally attempted to walk across the smooth cement floor. Ann spoke loudly as she battled the stubborn device back to its location. “Stay put, you stupid machine, or next time, I’ll rope you to the wall!” She longed for a better washroom with decent equipment; however, she knew it was a blessing that Jim had provided her with a way to do laundry at all. Struggling with the annoying appliance, she slipped around on the suds and decided to seek out a nearby chair for a brief rest to clear her head before the next battle. Sounds of the agitating water soothed her thoughts as she sat gazing out the opened garage door. Her eyes looked over their “mansion” just beyond the doorway. The peeling paint and rotting lumber clearly showed the deteriorating condition of the small, two-bedroom, white-framed wooden house. A shadow from an old Oak tree danced across one wall. Ann loved that old tree and the over-sized lot it stood on. Both features gave the home more of a country feeling. The tree also aided in blocking the ugly view of the business district and downtown Dallas. Machine shops bordered the property to the west, and, to the rear, were joined warehouses. Industry had taken all but six homes from the neighborhood. A slamming door pulled Ann out of her daydreaming. Jim was home early and dinner wasn’t quite ready so this could mean trouble for her, depending upon his mood. Ann braced herself emotionally, her instincts on alert. Prepare for anything, she told herself, knowing how he hated waiting for his meal after working all day! Jim’s personality could change from tolerable to a raging madman in just moments. It seemed he thrived on creating hardship and grief. Fulfilling her fears, Jim, who didn’t find a meal or wife awaiting him, stormed out of the house to search for her, hitting the screened backdoor with full force. Despite her anxiety, Ann’s eyes showed a bit of humor as she focused her attention on the door’s retaliation. Her husband had taken his anger out on that old door one time too many. This time the return spring broke loose, popping back to hit him across the right shoulder. If Jim felt pain from the blow, it wasn’t enough to slow the anger marching Ann’s way. Yelling, he neared the garage, “Ann, where the hell are you hiding?” “I’m not hiding; I’m just out here doing the laundry.” “Is that all you made for dinner . . . vegetables and rolls? It doesn’t even look fit to eat.” “That’s not the whole meal! There’s a pot roast in the oven but it’s not completely finished.” His voice was full of sarcasm. “Oh, so that’s what I smelled—my dinner burning! What have you been doing all day besides sitting here in the garage, daydreaming?” Determined to keep her cool, she simply said, “The roast isn’t burning, and you know it takes me longer to get everything done these days! With this baby inside me, I can barely move anymore. Pregnancy slows a person down, you know!” “That’s not my damn fault! I told you not to get pregnant! I hate kids.” He was screaming angrily at her, acting as though he wanted the whole world to hear his remarks. “ I don’t want any children in my life! Don’t you get it?” Ann paused to regroup her thoughts, still hoping to prevent a major fight. Seemed like Jim hated everything these days. Softly, she coaxed, “But Jim, this is your baby. How can you hate your own child?” Even as she asked, she knew that he wouldn’t or couldn’t answer. Something inside him was messed up. But, maybe, after the baby was born, it would be different. “I’m going to Bill’s.” Jim said, changing the subject. “Why are you always leaving when we need to talk?” “Talk about what?” Jim snarled back. “Our baby, and the budget; we need to discuss both!” “We’ve already discussed the home budget. I told you then and I’m telling you now—no more money! I’m already giving you enough.” Jim’s facial expressions showed his growing irritation. He was so stingy with his money that he made the word “greedy” seem like a complimentary word. Ann didn’t let up, her concern over the budget greater than the fear of her husband’s spiraling anger. Her voice was steady. “Jim, if it were just us, I wouldn’t ask. But, as I tried to explain the last time, there’s no way I can purchase food and things for the baby with the amount of money you’re giving me.” “Here comes that damn baby excuse, again.” His teeth clenched, Jim was seething. “I told you before. All my extra cash is tied up with Bill.” “That’s not good enough,” Ann replied. “Why are you giving our money to Bill anyway? Seems like you care more for his needs than you do mine!” From the grimace on Jim’s reddening face, Ann knew she had said too much. She backed up deeper into the garage for protection, not wanting to be on the receiving end of a physical confrontation. But, as he lunged toward her, she knew it was too late; he was out of control and she was trapped. With a trembling voice, she continued to try and calm him. “Settle down, Jim! We’re only talking. No need to get so upset.” He moved closer, inhibiting her from going anywhere. Whatever she said, and how she said it, no longer made any difference to him. Ravaged with white heat, Jim clinched a tight fist at his wife. “I told you before that what I do at Bill’s is none of your damn business.” He released his rage with a swinging, powerful blow, hitting Ann’s right temple and throwing her off balance. Afterward, he turned and exited the garage, without thought or regret of what he had just done to his wife. Ann fell forward onto a lawnmower parked nearby and then rolled onto the cold cement floor. Her tears flowed as she gently tested how badly she was hurt. Lifting her blouse, she checked her wounded side and saw a red swelling area along with an imprinted mark from the lawn mower. “My baby—oh, God, please let it be okay!” she prayed. It was just moments later that a strange, uneasy feeling came over her. In her spirit, she felt that her unborn baby was crying. Could her child sense life, as it would be outside of her protective womb? Did her innocent unborn baby already feel the fear of its father’s demonic hate? Ann stretched her arms around her stomach, and hoped her little one could feel her great enfolding love. Then, while her tears of pain still fell, she smiled gently, experiencing a strange warmth. The tears caressed the smile and, with loving amazement, she acknowledged an inward, whispering thought. I believe I’m having a son! There was joy in her spirit. Louise, her next-door neighbor, had heard the arguing and peeked around the doorjamb to investigate. “Ann, is that you crying?” Seeing her on the floor, she hurried forward. “My goodness, what happened in here? Oh, never mind; I know what happened! That beast hit you again, didn’t he?” “No, it was just my clumsiness. I wasn’t paying attention and tripped over the lawn mower.” Ann didn’t want to discuss Jim’s abuse with Louise, but her cover-ups and lies did no good, for the prying lady already knew all about it. How could she help it with Jim screaming loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear! “I’ll just bet you tripped.” Louise gave her a knowing look. “And where is the bastard who tripped you?” she asked while helping Ann off the floor. “I told you what happened. Can we talk about this later? I need to get inside.” “All right, I’ll help get you into the house.” She sighed. “Just look at you, barely sixteen years old and about to have a baby. How much longer until it’s born?” Louise asked. “Should be in about three weeks.” “Well, let’s get you to the bedroom. Looks to me like you need to rest a spell. One of these days that man’s abuse is going to kill you!” She wished she could get the girl to open up and discuss her problems. Though the couple had moved in only a few months earlier, Louise had taken an instant liking to the young girl and wished she could help in some way. But, it was obvious that the mother-to-be wasn’t going to talk now, so Louise let it go after asking, “Do you want me to call a doctor?” “No, I’ll be fine after resting a spell.” “Well, I need to get back home. There’s a pot of stew that is requiring my attention. But, just let me know if you need anything.” Ann was grateful. “Before you leave, will you please turn off my oven so the roast doesn’t burn.” “I’ll be glad to; it smells delicious.” Yes, she thought, delicious, not burned. Aloud she said, “Thanks so much for your kindness and help.” Ann was happy to be alone so she could try to sort out what had just happened. Her thoughts were troublesome and accusing. Was it my fault? Am I a bad wife? She was worried about Jim’s hatred of children and his abusive nature. Chills poured over her body as she wondered what could have filled him with so much bitterness and hatred. As she struggled for understanding, her worries and thoughts succumbed to the exhaustion that was overpowering her body. Hugging her stomach protectively and lovingly, she bonded spiritually with her son, and, once again, before drifting off to sleep, she experienced the warmth and joy that she had known in the garage. |
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Chapter Two
im could barely keep his car on the road. Voices filled his head and he felt himself drawn into the past where he sought and found justification for his feelings about fatherhood. Since my own father never loved me, why should I want a kid? He hated his old man and even resented the fact that he looked so much like him with his dark brown hair and green eyes. His father was taller at six feet but their facial features were strikingly similar. These sultry thoughts took him back to the summer of 1975 and the town of Huntsville, Texas, where he stood outside the kitchen doorway of his home. With growing concern, he had strained to hear the conversation that was taking place between his father and aunt who were discussing his custody. It seemed his father was seriously considering sending him home to live with his aunt. Jim’s rebellious thoughts instantly rejected the idea. I hate Aunt Sandy, and won’t live with her; I’d rather live on the streets! Living in a cardboard box and eating from a garbage can would have to be better than putting up with my know-it-all aunt. When there’s an issue between my dear cousins and me, her little ones are always right! The bitch! His thoughts turned into mutterings, “There has to be a way to stop this. I’ll throw a damn fit—put up a serious fight.” Meanwhile, the discussion at the kitchen table continued. “Seems Jim is getting worse by the day,” explained Barry. “I can understand part of his angry outlook on the world. After all, losing a mother at such a young age is bound to have planted some deep emotional scars!” Sandy Green looked at him with understanding but said nothing. She sensed that he was talking to himself as well as to her. He continued on, his voice reflecting his inward turmoil. “Jim was very attached to his mother, but it’s time for the healing to begin. After all, she’s been gone two years now. Hell, I lost my wife in that car crash, too, and I was an emotional mess.” He choked up. “Now, it seems like I’m also losing a son.” “You’re not losing a son, Barry. He’s still going through an adjustment phase,” Sandy said, as she searched for ways to comfort her brother-in-law. “Alice was my sister, and I felt the loss same as you both did. Everyone heals differently. Some people just take a lot longer to adjust, that’s all.” “Sandy, there’s more to his behavior than you know. Jim has changed. It seems like every time he faces a decision about what to do, he purposely chooses the wrong thing! Rather than improving, he’s becoming worse. He refuses to behave himself—most of the time he’s fighting against me. Not to mention that he’s been in trouble with the law. I can barely control him myself these days. How can you possibly take over his care?” “I can be more like a mother, for starters! That’s what Jim needs right now—a motherly influence and a caring home with more of a family setting. Barry, I think this is what my sister would have wanted. There are things you’re not able to provide for him right now. Besides, my two kids are almost grown, and I know how to handle one mad little boy.” He nodded. “I know Jim needs a proper home and better parental influence. A part-time father—that’s what I feel like. But I’ve got to keep working, and my job requires business trips out of town. Jim’s been shifted around so much. My not being here hasn’t helped, but there’s nothing else I can think of to do. At my age I can’t just go out and find another job. Still, that’s no excuse for his rotten behavior. I hear that he’s been calling me names behind my back. Actually, nowadays, he makes an effort for me to hear his mouthing off.” “Jim is just retaliating for things that have gone wrong; let me see if I can change him back into the loving kid he used to be.” “Okay, if you think you can control him, I’m willing to try. Make sure you fully understand though that he’s a very stubborn and angry boy. He won’t be easy to look after,” Barry warned. “I’m afraid that if this doesn’t work, I may be forced to send him to a home—a place where people are trained to handle uncontrollable kids like him!” Sandy nodded sadly. Jim decided he’d heard enough. Picking up a half-full can of pop from a nearby end table, he kicked open the kitchen door in an outburst of rage. The force made the door slam into the kitchen wall, driving the knob deep into the sheetrock. “I won’t go and live with that bitch! I won’t!” he screamed while throwing the can. The can passed between Barry and Sandy, striking the refrigerator, its contents spattering the room on impact. Furious, his father marched over and grabbed Jim’s shoulder. “Let me go!” he demanded. “You could have hit your aunt with that can!” Barry yelled. “And talking to us like that—you’re just asking for punishment. Tell your aunt you’re sorry, right now, mister!” Jim mumbled a few words, just enough to get his father to release his grip. But then he started in again. “I won’t go live with her! She’s my mother’s sister but she’s nothing like her. The only thing they ever had in common was their shiny, black hair. “Why are you doing this to me?” he whined, suddenly changing tactics. Barry ignored his son’s pleas. “Save it for another day! I’ve heard this act before. Get to your room, gather your belongings and put them into Aunt Sandy’s car. No more of your attitudes and tactics.” Jim stomped toward his room, leaving a trail of steam behind. Words of hate and profanity filled his mind. While packing two suitcases, he tried to calm down by telling himself that going to live with his aunt was only temporary. He knew that it had been troublesome for his dad to make arrangements for him while he traveled. Suddenly, it seemed as though someone else entered his mind to push away this logical thinking and replace it with spoken thoughts of revenging evil. “Payback time! Get him for doing this to you.” Although he knew nobody else was there, he found himself glancing over his shoulders . . . and also checking out his closet.
Grinning at
his own fantasy, Jim carried his belongings to Sandy’s Buick.
While he sat there waiting, his anger and hatred grew and, once
again, he heard another voice in his head.
Just as before, it seemed as if he were listening to someone
else. The voice grew
louder and more insistent. “Your
Father doesn’t love you! He’s
sending you away so he can do whatever he wants!
He knows that Sandy just wants to have a little slave to help
her and that she’s never really acted as a loving aunt!
Nobody loves you—why should you have to live with your
aunt?” Jim had no idea that his mind was the battlefield, and that, on this day, evil had gained a firm root in his young mind and body. The feelings of hate and revenge within him would grow stronger and stronger, slowly consuming all the love and warmth that his mother and father had given him. He pressed his hands against his forehead as the thoughts of revenge took control of his mind. “Do it now!” the evil voice taunted. Leaving the car, the boy walked without emotion to the storage shed near the garage entrance. Quietly, he searched the dark building for the gas can that always sat near the lawn mower. “Torch his precious antique car, and see how he likes that!” Jim picked up the gas can. Barry and Sandy stood in the front doorway as they finished discussing Jim’s living arrangement. “I hope he doesn’t cause you a lot of problems especially after . . .” Barry paused, a puzzled look on his face. “Do you smell something burning?” Before she could reply, a loud shattering of bursting glass startled the two of them as flames busted out the rear windows in Barry’s 1965 Mustang. Jim had soaked the back seat of the car with gas and set it on fire. Then he’d returned to sit in Sandy’s car, acting like nothing at all was happening. Barry ran when he saw his antique auto going up in flames. Frantically, he located the water hose and started to extinguish the flames. Sandy shouted, “I’ll go call the fire department!” “No wait,” Barry ordered. “I can handle it.” Once the fire was under control, Sandy questioned Barry as they watched the cooling inferno. “I’m puzzled,” she said. “Why did you tell me not to call this in?” “Jim did this to get back at me. See the leaking gas can over there on the ground? It came out of the storage shed. If you had called this in, there would have been an investigation, and Jim’s already in enough trouble with authorities. This could have gotten him arrested and he’d been handed over to the state. Now do you understand how bad he has become? If you want to reconsider taking him, I’ll understand.” Jim still sat in Sandy’s car, acting as if he hadn’t done a thing wrong in his life. “I’ll straighten that little man out!” Sandy said with determination. But, indeed, she was starting to wonder if she was making the right decision. Barry walked over to the innocent-acting child, expecting a second confrontation. “Another stunt like this one and you’re going to be in a detention home as a ward of the state.” His voice was stern. “Do you understand me, son?” Jim continued his silent, innocent act until his father’s anger was almost full-boiled; only then did he nod his head in agreement. Inside his head was laughter, “That’s what you get. A roasted car, it’s my going-away present to you!” “Jim, you cause Sandy problems or grief, I swear I’ll come up to Kent and inflict some pain on your back end!” Barry warned. Sandy gave her brother-in-law a hug, slid into the driver’s seat of her car, and started the motor. “Try not to worry Barry; everything will be fine.” The father’s goodbye to his son was a simple promise. “I’ll call and check on you in a few days.” Jim scornfully boasted, “Don’t bother. I’ll never speak to you again!” And those were the last words he ever said to his father. |
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Chapter Three
im pulled into Bill’s driveway on two wheels, slamming on the brakes just before going on through the garage door. Though he glanced through the window and saw that his friend’s car was gone, he nevertheless ran to the door, banging and yelling, “Bill, let me in…and get me a beer!” His loud knocking did nothing to make his friend appear! Disappointed, Jim went back to his car, found a candy bar in the glove compartment and, after munching it down, decided to wait for Bill. He found himself thinking about the past and Kent, Texas where he had landed when his dad kicked him out. Kent was 200 miles northeast of Huntsville and 80 miles from Dallas. When Jim had visited his Aunt Sandy back in his normal boyhood days, before the death of his mother; he had teased her about living 100 miles from nowhere. But, thanks to his father, he had been forced to think of “nowhere” as his new home! The trip, though only four hours, had seemed to take forever. Jim sulked the whole way, telling himself that soon he would escape this two-bit town. He hated this woman who looked like a witch with her shoulder-length frizzy hair and long nose. As Sandy’s car pulled into a gravel driveway, a large frame house sitting on the side of a steep hill came into view. Her home was one of the biggest in the area. It was a five-bedroom, two-story house with a deck-type porch. The elevated hillside allowed for a good overview of Kent. “We’re home,” Sandy said. These were her first two and last two words spoken during the trip. “You mean you’re home!” Jim remarked. “I plan to go back to Huntsville as soon as possible.” “Let’s not start with the attitude. Remember your father’s warning. This may be your last chance at redeeming yourself.” “I may be forced to live here for now, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever like it!” As the pair entered the living room, Sandy paused to say, “You remember your two cousins—Mark is fifteen now and Janet is fourteen. I know you’ll remember your Uncle Steven who has trucker’s disease. He’s rarely home, and only stops by once in a while to grab a meal before he takes off again.” Janet and Mark paid little notice to their arrival. Music videos controlled both of their interests. They hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d seen them. Both had sandy-brown hair and blue eyes and, he supposed, were “okay” in the looks department. Actually, Janet, was better than okay; she had her father’s fair skin and twinkling eyes. He sure couldn’t understand what his Uncle Steven, with his tall, muscular build, and blondish-red hair, had been thinking when he married the witch. “Children, are you not going to welcome Jim?” The two siblings returned a weak greeting to their guest. “I know when I’m not wanted! Just show me the room I must stay in, and keep out of my life!” Sandy granted Jim’s request, then returned to the living room to talk with her children. “I know this is going to be hard, but we have to give it a try. Without going into a lot of detail at this time, I simply need to let you know to be prepared for anything . . . and to watch each other’s backs.” Although her kids’ mouths dropped open and questions formed on their lips, they remained silent. They knew better than to start asking questions before their mother could unwind, eat, and get settled back into a normal routine. But, with Jim moving in, who knew exactly what that normal routine would be! Jim’s lack of welcome from his cousins, and his newfound room—or prison cell as he would often call it—fed his bitterness. He muttered to himself. “There has to be a way to get out of living here, but what is it?”
“Run
away!” The
new voice instructed. “Become your own boss, answer to no one.” As if responding to another, Jim whispered, “That’s it! I’ll run away, but to where? Not back to my ex-father, that’s for sure. And without money to spend and no transportation, Sandy would have me dragged back here before the sun goes down. Money! That’s what I need to get out of this place. I’ll have to get a job and save up enough. That’s gonna take some time.” “Steal it!” “Yeah, right! By now this bunch has locked up every valuable thing in the place.”
“Steal
it elsewhere.” “You’re not helping!” Jim said aloud. “And why am I talking like there’s someone here. I have nobody but myself to depend on. Right now, I need to think up a plan and show them all!” Jim managed to accustom himself to living with his relatives. He turned thirteen a few days after his arrival in Kent, and that first summer, he spent most of his free time doing odd jobs around town; mowing yards, running errands. Avoiding the family became a daily pastime Sandy viewed this as a blessing; this way, there were fewer conflicts between the children. The first year was relatively uneventful. Jim had managed to accumulate a couple of hundred dollars. But he quickly realized that the money wasn’t adding up fast enough to allow him to leave as soon as he wished. His future seemed dismal and the hate and anger began to fester. “I told you to steal. Nobody’s going to help you, not ever again!” This time, Jim didn’t even hesitate. To acquire a quick build-up of capital, he had to steal. It didn’t take long for him to earn the reputation of being the local thief. This resulted in the dwindling of odd job offers and, of course, there were no more advances from his bosses. He had no income until he discovered a part-time job opening at the Checker grocery store. A sack boy was needed after school and weekends, and Jim persuaded Mr. Kline he was the right boy for the job. Kline hadn’t heard of Jim’s reputation or he would not have hired him. Once again, thinking about his plan, Jim decided he’d better stop the petty theft. Besides, with the new steady income, the amount of his savings was accumulating much faster. Even though he was feeling he might be able to relocate soon, a new emotion began to consume him—greed. His love of money took the place of all normal teenage emotions.
“You’ll
never have enough money working for that old man.
What do you plan to do after you move—live high on the hog
with your accumulation from $1.37 an hour?” Jim was beginning to fear that he would be stuck in “nowhere” forever, and this fear fueled his anger and resentment. For a while, he never let his savings out of sight; he would take his money with him everywhere he went. But as the amount grew, he knew that this was no longer such a good idea. He could easily lose it or have it stolen. So, on September 28, the bank of Jim opened. After all, he was the only person he could trust. The top drawer of his bedroom dresser is where he deposited all his money, believing it to be the safest place to keep his bundle. It was a worry-free hiding place since the other family members never dared to enter his private sanctuary. His threat of retaliation—if he caught anyone invading his room—had worked wonders! Seeing his stacks of money each time he opened the drawer fed Jim’s desire to get more of the green stuff. By October, the difficulties in the family started and every day seemed to grow worse. Jim, who had decided that getting an education was hindering him from accumulating more money to fund his escape, began ditching school. This became an everyday event, and, though Sandy tried to force him to attend, her efforts failed. Even when she drove the deceitful teen to the school building and watched him enter, Jim would simply go in the front entrance and exit out the back door.
Janet and
Mark started complaining about their troublesome cousin; they were
tired of the daily hassles and didn’t like the unruly boy with the
bad attitude. Both kids demanded a return to a pre-Jim, normal life,
pleading with their mother to send the annoying kid back to his
father. Sandy’s concerns mounted as the tension increased and more and more squabbles erupted. She lost many a night’s sleep worrying for her children’s safety and fretting over her nephew’s increasingly bad behavior. He was rude, inconsiderate, and constantly used foul language, swearing at all of them. This was something that Sandy had never allowed in her home. Jim had succeeded in convincing her that he was a lost cause, and she was ready to give up on him. He needed to leave their home, but where could she send him? Certainly not back to his father whom he obviously hated. Then, quite unexpectedly, the matter was taken out of her hands. Thursday afternoon, two weeks before Jim’s sixteenth birthday, he anxiously waited for Mr. Kline to arrive with his paycheck. At 5:15 p.m., he received his check, asked off work early to cash it, and then went home to add it to his personal stash. He loved counting the money; it gave him a feeling of power.
Mark was home readying himself for a date with Cindy, his girlfriend,
whom he planned to take out for dinner and a movie. He panicked when
he realized he didn’t have enough money and that his mother, who was
shopping, would never get back in time to give him a loan.
He searched his mind for a solution.
Janet never had cash but he’d seen Jim stash money in his
dresser drawer more than once. But his cousin was the last person on
earth he would ever ask for help. Ah, that’s it, he
thought, I won’t ask. I’ll
just take some money out and put it back later. He’ll never know
it’s missing. Mark entered the forbidden bedroom and opened the drawer. “My God!” he said aloud. “Has he robbed a bank? There must be more than a thousand dollars in here. Surely the brat won’t miss a hundred or so.” Having cashed his paycheck, Jim was rapidly nearing the house. Mark was so overwhelmed by the amount Jim had saved, he didn’t hear anything but his own greedy counting. Sandy parked in the driveway preparing to unload her car, and was about to walk into the unfolding battle. “What the hell are you doing in here Mark?” Jim screamed. “I was only going to borrow a little money for my date tonight.” “Like hell you were. You were trying to steal it!” “I was not!” Mark tried to explain, but Jim wasn’t listening to any excuses. He lunged forward with his fist drawn, and attacked Mark without mercy, hitting him in the face repeatedly. The stunned boy fell backwards on the bed, with Jim on top, while he continued to launch blow after blow on his cousin. Mark retaliated by matching blows . . . briefly overpowering Jim. When he moved to a standing position near the bed, Jim paused long enough to stand and aim his foot into Mark’s groin. A moan of defeat filled the room as Mark grabbed his wounded pride and fell to the floor. Hearing the moaning, Sandy sought out the battle. As she entered the room, her scream froze Jim in his tracks . . . just as he was about to carry out a finishing blow. He stood over Mark’s folded body, both hands tightly gripping a shoe, ready to drive the heel right into his skull. Sandy ordered her son to his room, isolating the battling boys before she turned back to Jim. “What were you trying to do, kill him?” “No, just knock his brains out for stealing my money.” “Stay in this room and think about what you did.” Sandy said in a cold voice, closing the cell door. “I know what I did, bitch!” “You’re right! She is a bitch who doesn’t think about you—or why her son was even in your room! You don’t have a chance at this place!” That night Jim disappeared out his bedroom window, taking his savings with him. His anger was boiling at Mark and Sandy, and he knew he’d better get out of town before he did something that he would regret. Jim walked around town, turning his anger into a plan. When he saw a used car lot, he knew that was part of his solution. It’s time to get me some wheels, he thought. While searching the lot for the cheapest vehicle, he discovered an old ‘68 Cutlass. The car was a real eyesore with gray, peeling paint, some areas turning to rust, and the vinyl top cracked. But it fit his budget and he told himself that if it ran well enough, he’d buy it. He camped out near the lot waiting for the first sign of a salesman. “This is the car you would like to buy?” asked the puzzled salesman. “Are you even old enough to purchase an automobile?” “I’m sixteen and I have the cash to prove it,” Jim said assuredly. “Okay, if you think this is the right car for you, I’ll let you have it for $800.” The salesman would not have cared if Jim were ten; he just wanted to make the sale and get the junker off his lot. Jim bought the Cutlass, even though it took most of his savings. He taught himself to drive on the way back to Sandy’s. It was a sight!
That familiar inward voice was laughing. “Look out world—now we
have a demon on wheels!” Sandy ran outside when she saw Jim parking the clunker in the driveway. Unable to contain her fury, she screamed “Didn’t I tell you to stay in your room? Where were you roaming all night? And just where did you get that ugly thing?” “I bought it and it’s not ugly!” “Don’t plan on driving it again until you’re older. Now get ready and go to school. And plan on talking to me about your behavior when you get home.” “Yes, ma’am,” Jim replied as he returned to his bedroom. That was too easy—he’s up to something! Sandy told herself. But what? Jim wasted no time in preparing for his escape. That same night he started sneaking out his belongings and storing them in the Cutlass. He decided to get out of Kent the night before his seventeenth birthday, but knew he’d need more money to make this happen. After spending most of his savings on the car, and only having a few working days left before his escape date, he worried about how he could quickly get more money. It didn’t take long for him to agree with the voice. “Hit the Kline store; he’s loaded!” The day he planned to leave, everything seemed to be working out perfectly. His Aunt Sandy was called to Kingston to assist Steven with truck repairs, and Mark was primping for a night out on the town. Janet was the only person who was going to be at home, and he knew that she would be unable to block his escape. Darkness fell on the quiet home as Jim finished packing his belongings and transferring them to the Cutlass. Then he returned to his vacated jail cell for a last look around. Well, it looks like I have everything, he thought. Suddenly he heard Janet’s accusing voice. “What are you doing? Looks like you’re moving out. Are you running away?” “If you must know, that’s exactly what I’m doing!” “Mom isn’t going to like this,” she warned. He snapped back. “I couldn’t care less what your mother likes.” “Don’t get hateful with me cousin; I’m glad you’re leaving. The sooner the better!” Her remarks infuriated him. “Are you going to let her get away with talking to you like that? Get that girl and show her you’re a man. You know you’ve wanted to for a long time. Make her pay for those remarks and leave ‘dear’ Aunt Sandy a going away present!” Jim was consumed with evil, hateful anger. Raging and shouting obscenities, he followed Janet down the hall and forced his way into her bedroom. She screamed at him, “Get out of my room! You said you were leaving—so leave.” But Jim, possessed with his cravings, ignored her pleas, and grabbed her clothes, ripping most of them off her body. He began hitting her in the face and the stomach. There was a loud thump that echoed throughout the house as he knocked his cousin to the floor. Jumping on top of her, he tore off her remaining clothes and proceeded to rape her. A deep, demonic voice growled out in disappointment. “Damn, you’re not even a virgin! Tell what happened tonight and you die!” Without a look back, Jim left the sullied Janet a few moments later and drove like a madman to the corner grocery store where he busted out a window and emptied the cash register. Next stop, Dallas! Sandy returned home the next morning to find Jim’s car gone. His room was empty and Janet was too frightened to tell her what had happened. Gently, she touched the bruise on her daughter’s face, startled by the haunted look in her eyes. Jim had abused both of her kids and made a mockery of her efforts to help him. With feelings of relief she didn’t want to analyze, Sandy decided to make no attempt to bring her nephew back. |