Beyond The Storm

1981

         A cold thunderous rain battled against the ageing window pain as Amy sat in silence watching the windswept trees swayed in the battering winds. She usually enjoyed watching the storms roll in, the anger of them, and the power within those jagged streaks of lightning. The humming of electrical energy in the air that always followed and seemed to empower her. She felt even at her age the peace that came over her own mind as storms darkened the once blue sky. But nothing could compare to the storm that was brewing inside her own home a storm she felt no peace from, only fear of more burses and more tears from her momma’s gentle face.
         With her young wide eyes Amy was dazzled by the world outside her own and took it all in. She didn't know if it was right to wish her out of this place, to want to leave her mom and become swallowed up in the wind. It seemed to her seven-year-old mind, any storm by nature was better then the violence of the storm she was living in. One storm that, just seemed to never end.
         He thought her stupid and treated her so; but even at her age she understood the concept of what was going on between her parents. Just from the sound of voices in the kitchen Amy could tell her father was drinking his “spirits” as he called them, and her mother was trying to fight him off and make a decent meal for them. She could smell the chicken frying in the pan and the bread she helped her mother make in the oven. That brought a smile to her face.
         The storm outside was slowing and the clouds were beginning break, something she always saw as a joyous occasion. Amy loved to watch the sun filter down from the holes in the clouds washing light back through the darkened sky. To her it looked like angels were washing the land with the rays and she loved every minuet of it. Sometimes if she wished real hard for a rainbow she could see them and all their colors spread across the sky. Sometimes when she was good her mommy would let her go outside after and watch for them. She loved the feel of the wind across her face as she counted the all the colors she would see.
         But tonight she saw no rainbow and a cold chill crawled through her as she wrapped her small arms around her knees and sat quietly in her picture window. All she saw was the reflection of her father’s angry face in windowpane. A flash of shock and fear spread through her as he looked down at her. Frantically tying to form an escape route in her mind. She knew that look in his eye and she knew what came with that look.
         “Amy Mae what do you think your doing sitting they’re in that dress with your knees all up in the air like that.” He knew then that he’d have to teach his daughter a lesson, one she would never forget. One he never thought to teach his wife. Be dammed if he’d let his daughter be the whore her mother was. He should have thought of this sooner. Better to teach them when their young.
         With quickness she lowered her knees and dropped her eyes to the floor. Her mind was racing she knew she needed get away from him ,she could smell the sour smell of him as he spoke and it made her tummy do a roll. “Nothing daddy, I’m sorry I... I was just watching the storm.”
         Balling his fist in a wave of anger he lowered his face to meet her eye to eye. The emotions he saw in his little girl’s face made his heart leap with joy. She was scared of him and she should be. She was a whore just like her mother and they would both pay. No longer would he put up with the mockery and the disrespect. He saved his wife from a poor women's life gave her everything she every wanted even this little runt and what does she do. She sleeps with someone else and thinks ill never find out. What a joke! It’s my job to find out. “Just watching the storm huh?” No it’s never too early to learn. “ No I don’t think you are anymore.”
         His fist came on her so fast Amy had no way of reacting to the blow. She went airborne, dizzy from the blow and the thud onto the hardwood floor where she landed. Her lungs burned with every short breath she managed to take and she tasted something bitter in her mouth. She tried to call out for her mother but she couldn't get the breath to talk. The buzzing in her head gave way to wails she found to be her own as fat tears rolled down her face. Curl into a ball she told herself.
         “Shut your mouth you little whore. Just like your mother, whining about every little thing. You deserve this as much as your whore mother.” Her tears empowered him, he knew now more than ever this is what he had to do and something he could get away with. He was a
cop after all and a good cop at that, he'd be damned if he let anyone say other wise. So what he planted some evidence, covered a few of his men, they all did it. Ten years on the force taught him to find ways to do everything and ways to cover up things your could undo. It was the only true trust he knew, from his fellow men and his only true family. His mother once told him, there was no trust like the trust of the your child, when they look up into your eyes all they have is the purest form of love for you. Yeah well his mother lied because his child was going to lie to him and be just like her fucking mother and deserved the same treatment.
         Disgusted he grabbed his betraying unconscious daughter by her arm and dragged her down the hall into the kitchen.
         “Would you just tell me where my missing papers are Mary Jo?” He yelled as he dropped Amy to the ground at her mother’s feet like a rag doll. “I’m done playing games. You think that because you hid them I wouldn’t find them or find out the truth. I never took you to be this damn stupid.”
         Mary Jo heard her daughter’s cries from the living room and struggled against the rope Billy had placed her in; unable to loosen them, her wrist were sore while sweat beaded down her forehead into her eyes. There was a time in her life she though she loved Billy Marlo, and there were times she could still see him in her husbands eyes. But her Billy was long gone, deep in the shell of the madman in front of her. She blamed herself of corse. She could have stopped this all of this, but it had gone so wrong so fast she knew she had made the wrong decision and was paying for it dearly now. She only prayed Amy Mae would live to not make the same mistake she did. She sat in silence as she prayed her plan would work out in the end.
         He slapped her with the pleasure of a child on Christmas morning and relished in the joy of seeing blood trickle down the corner of her mouth. A new flash of anger flew through him. He was growing impatient and was pissed at himself for that. His years on the force taught him so much more than this. He knew becoming impatient was to become sloppy and that he would not tolerate. “I’ll ask you one more time Marry Joe. Where did you and your little artist here do with my goddamned papers!”
         She was gathering strength but knew it would do no good. Less then a week ago she took care of all those papers and set something up she hoped would change Amy’s life forever, but shed rather go to hell then tell him what she did with everything. She also knew that if she didn’t tell him something he would kill them both. The slight smell of smoke had her opening her eyes to look up at the stove. The dinner she was cooking was burning. She had forgotten all about the food. Something so stupid to think of at a time like this but it was the distraction she needed as saw him sweep his gaze to see where it was she was looking.
         It had to be a trick he thought she was buying time and he knew it. He let her sit in silence, giving her time to think of the answer she wanted to give. It seems she chose the wrong answer. Even if she begged now it wouldn’t do her any good.
         Turing he walked out of the kitchen and into his living room. She wanted him to think she burned them in the fireplace, he knew her better than that she wasn't raised to be an idiot. It was one of the things he loved at one time so much about her. I guess now he knew that should have been the warning signs for her not to be trusted.
         He began to rip up pillows throwing handful of feathers around the room. He opened shelves and broke pictures and knickknacks as he finished the plans mapped out in his head. It will look like a robbery and by God he’ll greave like a widowed husband and father.
         He continued through the house, breaking things, ripping things apart, saving nothing that was hers. His fingerprints were everywhere but this was his home it was to be expected. Besides according to the logbooks, he was across town interviewing some scum he scrapped off the street on a case and his partner would vouch for him. That was a fact he knew he could trust. The beauty of being a cop. A crooked one at that.
         With a kind of loving sigh at the thought he waked back into the kitchen with a smile. The chicken Mary Joe had been cooking was as black as the skillet she cooked it in and smoke poured from it. The perfect cover story, a break in and forgotten food left to burn. Could things get any better?
         As he ransacked the house she had the time she needed to find her voice and to think of something to get him to listen. She wasn’t sure if anything would work at this point but giving up wasn‘t one of her quality‘s especially if her daughter was in danger. “Billy, baby, please untie me and ill tell you what you wanna know. Please.”
         He looked at her and almost laughed. He wasn't stupid and for thinking so he should just leave them here to die but he need to find those papers. If that information got out it could ruin so many lives and careers, including his own. “Tell me where they are, and ill untie you, then you can go to your boy toy and fuck him. What do you think Mary Jo, do you think I'm that stupid?”
         At that she grew cold with panic. “Billy, I don’t know what your talking about. Please just untie me I need to get to Amy Mae she’s bleeding.” Frantic now she pulled harder at her restraints. “Please for the love of God Billy she's your daughter. She didn’t do anything to you!”
         The slap silenced her, which was good; he could no longer stand the sound of her voice. The small amount of Irish hills you could still detect in her voice, the voice of a siren. She put him under some spell and it‘s taken him this long to break from the fog of it. He knew he should have left her where he found her. Instead he talked her into coming back to the states with him. He thought he loved her, he was just wrapped up in her hair of fire and eyes of green moss. She was only good for one thing after that and when he wasn't interested in that anymore she wasn't good for anything but he still loved the color of her eyes.
         Now those eyes shown of tears and pain and he loved them even more. “She was born and she breaths that’s doing enough for me...” He whipped a tear from his wife's face. “...and now your going to loose everything.”
         She watched in horror as he poured the last of his whisky out on to the counters spilling onto the floor. His laugh was no longer the deep laugh of his she loved it was the crazed giggle of someone all too happy with them selves. She felt the trickle of blood from her wrist as she desperately tried to get out of her restraints. She had to get to her daughter.
         It was a pitiful sight he saw but still she wouldn’t crack, all this time he thought force was the right thing to do and it always worked until now. A good drink and few backhands always got the point across. Now he'd take it all and search for the answers later. It was what he did anyways. He looked down into her sobbing face and took and handful of hair so she’d look straight at him. “It’s too late to beg Mary Jo; I grow tired and impatient. I think ill go to the bar for a pint.” He kissed her hard and was satisfied with the revulsion she showed toward him as he untied her bound wrist.
         The chair she was in tipped as she jumped up but he was ready for her. This time when he hit her he made it count.
         It felt like hitting the home run at the bottom of the ninth and he had just watched the ball fly into the stands winning the game. Satisfied he lit his cigar, turned on all the burners then casually walked out the back door. He broke the bottom pain of glass for good measure and shook his head at the sight of his wife trying to crawl to his daughter and wrap her arms around her small frame.
         All he could do was smile wider as his home was engulfed in flames. “ Yeah that’s it cover as much as you can, but you’ll both die anyways.”
         With a whistle and a song he walked down the back ally to the tune of sirens.