Mystic Hearts (16 page)

The
cedar siding house had seen better days, but at least it still held up. The
jackass wouldn’t put a dime into anything of value. Afraid if he did, too much
attention would be directed toward it––and by default, his mother––his
stepfather did everything in his power to keep the property just barely this
side of the Health Department condemning it. He treated his mom the same, hence
hitting her in spots that he could cover up by saying she was just clumsy.

Despite
his mother’s past pleas, this was the last time he’d only break up the fight,
next time he’d arrest his stepfather or worse—he’d end up with the same fate as
his father…buried in the ground.

Larry
opened the squeaking screen door and shoved the wooden one back. Screaming
mixed with his mother crying blasted his ear drums. Red-hot fury tackled his
muscles, pumped adrenaline into his veins. He rushed through the kitchen to the
living room. The TV lay on the floor, screen shattered. The coffee table was
overturned. Soil scattered across the room. A broken potted plant crumbled in
the corner as if it had been used for a weapon.

Roger,
his uncle turned stepfather, pinned his mother on the floor with a knee in her
stomach. His hands wrapped around her neck.

Larry
felt like he’d blow his mind and steam would rush out of his ears and nose.
“Get off her!”

The
asshole applied enough pressure to frighten her, but not cut off her air
supply. A sick joke his father and uncle both enjoyed.

“Now!”

Roger
twisted and glared. “This. Is. Not. Your. Business.” Spittle flew with each
syllable. He stood.

Men
who beat their wives…children…couldn’t be reasoned with. Only one thing they
understood…an ass-whooping. He charged the last two steps.

“Think
you’re gonna do me in like your old man? Better think again.”

Larry
hit him in the jaw and stomach. The younger and bigger version of his dad
grunted but didn’t waver.

“Bring
your gun this time, pussy?” Roger’s hand flew backwards. Larry ducked.

Each
time they fought, the dialogue was identical. Roger making petty comments
thinking it’d rile him up. It did, but he shoved it back, not letting the man’s
pathetic words interfere with logic.
 

Larry
tagged Roger’s nose, then his gut. The old fart had too much body weight to
move fast.

From
the corner of his eye, his mother moved. With her, he never knew if he was the
good guy or the bad one. Sometimes, she’d come after Larry to stop him from
hitting his father, or in this case, his uncle.

When
she sat on the couch, he blew out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t the bad guy this
time.

Bent
at the waist, Larry rammed his stepfather in the chest, lifted him off the
floor, and forced him backwards until Roger’s back collided with the wall, Then
 
slumped onto the floor, moaning.

Larry
stepped backwards, flexing and closing his hand. He wanted to knock the living
shit out of his uncle, but knew he shouldn’t.
 

Blood
covered Roger’s face, and he cradled his stomach.

Larry
turned to his mother, who stared at her hands in her lap. “Are you pressing
charges?”

She
shook her head no.

“Then,
I am.”

“Please
no, Benny,
please
,” she cried.

How
could he not arrest him? By law, he had to. Personally, he wanted to throw him
in prison and let the other inmates take care of him. They didn’t like people
who beat on women, especially women the same age as their mothers.

“Ben-ny,
don’t.” Her crying deepened into sobs. She played the card he couldn’t resist.
The name she called him when he was a boy.

“This
is the last time.” He wanted to tell her the next instance, he’d bring an
officer who would have no choice but to make an arrest, but if he did she might
not call. A chance he wasn’t willing to risk.

Family
screwed with his judgment. As far as he was concerned, she was his only blood
relative. Yet, she caused more grief than all the other agents’ families in the
department put together.

After
a fight, Roger usually behaved for a while. At least, Larry had some sort of
consolation and would breathe a little easier without worrying about his
mother’s safety for the next few months.

“Ben,”
she sobbed.

He
held back and didn’t swear at the name she called his father. “It’s Benjamin or
Larry, but never Ben.”

“It’s
your name.”

“Don’t
call me Ben if you expect me to answer.” The man was dead…gone…buried in the
ground, and still made his blood boil. He turned to leave, but stopped. The
love he had for his mom outweighed the craziness. She was a victim.

Numerous
assault cases he’d worked had the same pattern, battered women refusing to
leave their spouses. A helpless feeling ate at his gut with each circumstance.
With his mom, he felt downright hollow. He remained helpless, not able to do
anything to stop the atrocious events in her life, until she decided to help
herself. Why women thought they had to tolerate the agony, he didn’t know.
Shelters, family members, friends, and several different organizations would
help abused women. Now, like previously, he offered support. Until she made up
her mind, his options were limited unless he wanted to cut ties with her.
Something he could never do.

Sitting
on the couch, holding his mother’s hand, Larry’s mind drifted to an event that
altered the course of their lives. He shot and killed his old man. When it
happened, he didn’t experience elation for their troubles ending. Felt no
sadness. The act left him numb and would forever scar his soul.

After
years of dealing with his father’s abusive behavior and not able to convince
his mother to leave, Larry left home, signed on with the FBI, and was trained
at the highest levels. When he returned, the beatings his father inflicted on
his mother still occurred. After trying to make him understand reason to no
avail, he gave a warning: hit her again and it’d be the last thing he did.

His
dad had nodded and understood Larry would do whatever he needed to do in order
to keep his mother safe. When Larry arrived at his parents’ house the next
time, he ended the life-long battle. In the process, he’d lost the affection
and admiration of his mother.

Black,
blue, and bleeding from every orifice, Kathy had yelled at Larry, saying she
disowned him. A year later, she married her husband’s brother. It disgusted
Larry, but he supported her despite her disowning him. Here they were again, in
the exact same predicament.

He
knelt in front of her, covered her hands with his, and took in her black and
blue face. A lump formed in his throat. If only he could throw her over his
shoulder and take her to his home. “I wish you’d leave.” He couldn’t stop his
voice from cracking.

“I
will. Take me to my friend’s house. I’ll stay with her for a while.”

His
mother believed being away from Roger for a few hours would solve the
situation. “I meant, leave him for good.”

She
gazed with the same color eyes as his. Lines etched her face, making her years
older than she was. “I can’t. Where would I go?”

The
identical conversation they had on numerous occasions. “Live with me.”

“But
you have a life of your own. Besides, you’re gone all the time. I’d be by
myself. I can’t…” She shook her head. “I can’t be alone, Benny. You know that.”

He
did. His mother suffered from autophobia. “Have a friend stay or I can hire
someone.”

A
groan from Roger broke off his futile argument. He eyed him across the room,
hunched against the wall, to make sure he wasn’t moving. He didn’t want any
sneak attacks or another man would be dead, this time by his hand and not a
gun. “What if I hire a nurse or someone to stay with you?”

Before
he finished, she shook her head. She truly believed this type of life was her
destiny. But no one deserved this treatment.

Unless
Larry declared her incompetent, his hands stayed tied. Arresting Roger would
only add fuel to the fire and push her further away from him. At least, he had
the comfort of knowing his father didn’t have any more brothers who could draw
her into their sick web. If his mother agreed to leave Roger, he believed he
could convince her to stay away from other destructive personalities.

One
thing he discerned to be true, Roger, like his father, would only go so far
with the beatings. If she wasn’t here, they’d lose power. But, damn the
beatings. Larry pressed his fingers into his eyes. He couldn’t do this anymore.

He
cleared his throat, removing the lump before his eyes stung more. Damn, he
wanted her free.

Kathy
patted his hand. “You go. I’m okay. Roger’s hurting too much and needs my
attention.”

She’d
changed her mind about going to her friend’s house. Larry dragged a hand down
his face, feeling absolutely and utterly worthless. “Mom—”

She
held up a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t.”

He
dropped his chin to his chest. Next time, he’d follow through with his previous
thoughts and bring Jake with him. His comrade would stay focused and not become
as enraged as Larry. He didn’t want to kill another father figure. If Roger
laid another hand on her, he would. “You know where to find me.” He kissed her
cheek. “You don’t need an invitation to come to my house.”

She
smiled. “You are a good son. I wish you’d stop hurting people.”

He
grimaced. “I defend. Huge difference.”

“Use
your words,” she said with a pat on his cheek, bringing him back to when he was
a boy and had a fist fight in school.

“Yes,
ma’am.” Nothing else could be said to get her to understand he wasn’t the bad
guy. “I love you, Mom.”

“I
know you do.”

Larry
left the house with the sense he was stuck in a movie that replayed over and
over, the same dialogue, the same fight, the same dismissal. He climbed into
the SUV, retrieved his guns and holstered them, and waited in the driveway
hoping Roger would come after him, yet praying the ignorant fuck would
magically straighten up.

Through
the picture window, he watched Roger slump next to Kathy on the couch and lay
his head on her shoulder.

“Same
shit. Different day.”

Larry
stuck the gearshift in reverse and stomped on the gas. Tires spun. He flew onto
the side road, caught his behavior, and breathed in a deep breath to calm down
before he wrecked. Two things he wished: to hear his mother say she loved him,
maybe say she was proud of what he accomplished in life despite his odds, and
most of all, that she loved herself.

Back
on the main road, he glanced at the time. Nine o’clock. The day got away from
him. When he and Charlene spoke on the side of the road, he mentioned he’d come
by later. After the episode with Jake’s car, he wasn’t sure she wanted company.

She
was another person who had been abused. Maybe that’s why he was so drawn to
her. A person battered at any age had a hard time coping. No matter how
irritated Charlene made him with her mixed signals, he would never lay an angry
hand on her.

The
drive to Charlene’s didn’t take long. He hoped she wanted to see him since he
parked in front of her house. Tired and sexually frustrated, he slid out of his
truck, grabbed the flower he picked from the manor that afternoon, and prayed he
knew what the hell he was doing.

Chapter Ten

Resting
in Henry’s bed, Charlene’s back against the headboard, Henry’s head in the
crook of her arm, she lifted the book from the table beside to start their
nightly tradition.

She
loved this time of day, Henry snuggling and talking about whatever was on his
mind. Tonight, he’d remained quiet. His silence worried her. Afraid Henry would
withdraw like he had at the table earlier, she asked, “Sweetheart, do you want
to talk about anything?”

He
shook his head and twisted his hands in the sheet.

Charlene’s
heart clenched for her baby. Andrew putting their son in this position, of not
knowing what he should say or do, was unfair. The thought sent a new wave of
anger through her system. Tomorrow, she’d search for and deal with Andrew. She
gazed at the blue wall and then to the ceiling and lassoed in her anger before
she tried to talk to Henry again. Hearing her taking crap shots at his dad
wouldn’t help her baby.

“Sweetie,
you can talk about your father. Remember how we used to sit in bed and discuss
how Andrew left?” She hated bringing up the past. It was like tearing open
another scab, doubling the pain, but her goal was to help him understand that
talking about what upset him was okay.

He
shifted from staring at his fingers, twisting in his blue and red Spiderman
sheet. Big brown eyes looked up at her. He nodded.

“We
worked through a lot of hard stuff. We can do it again.”