Kelly

The boy cried as he ran screaming to his mother, who held him tightly. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I know it hurts now, but it’s only for a moment. You must never let it truly hurt. We’ll be strong, you and I, we’ll be strong together.”

It was nearing dusk, and the bright red-orange of the sun began to merge into the reddish dirt of the road until it began to become impossible for me to discern the differences between them. I wasn’t exactly sure when I had stopped being in Idaho and started being in Montana, but I knew enough to know that’s where I was. The thing is, when I left California the evening after I had been released I never actually intended to go to Montana. I left the small town of Bahia Bay in which I had currently been renting an apartment with only vague ideas of possibly settling in the Midwest, but as I drove I found myself continuously making turns that carried me more North than East.
I had been driving for almost a day now, without a break. For food I had stopped at a variety of local fast-food drive-ins, the remains of wax paper with the names ‘McDonald’s’ or ‘Subway’ sat crumpled somewhere in the backseat and the truck smelled strongly of pickles. Also, I still had a couple bottles of water out of the twelve pack I bought before I left. I was thirsty now, and would’ve grabbed one, but there’s only so many bottles of room-temperature Evian you can consume before you lose your taste for it. My problem at that point, however, was neither hunger nor thirst, but fatigue.
Although I had always been a light sleeper, I was one of those people who, when out late, would admittedly deny I was tired and claim to be “resting my eyes.” So when I began to get tired a good four or five hours earlier I convinced myself that I needn’t stop at any of the number of motels I saw. Instead I simply turned on the radio to attempt to suffocate my exhaustion with loud music. Yet, I was in an area which (despite it’s considerable distance from Tennessee, Arkansas or Kentucky) seemed to have nothing but country music stations. I turned off the radio. I didn’t much care for country music.
I cursed my stubbornness because now that I had become too tired to drive there wasn’t a motel, or any stop, in sight. This didn’t necessarily come as a surprise, as I knew Montana wouldn’t have as many places to stop as the area of Nevada I was in five hours earlier; yet it still caused me considerable annoyance as I began realizing that I may have to spend the night sleeping in the back seat of a car. In fact, I was just beginning to debate about whether or not to pull over when the warning light by the gas gauge decided for me. Out of gas, I pulled off to the side of the road.
The thing about getting stranded on a road at dusk in October in Montana is that it’s not all that fun. My first thoughts were that I would try to sleep through the night and then go off in search of gas in the morning when it was warmer and I had more energy. However, after about fifteen minutes trying to lay quietly in the backseat I began to get antsy and eventually realized that worrying about getting gas, so as to keep from being stranded, put me in a state of mind that didn’t exactly lull me to sleep. Groggily, I dragged myself out of the truck.
I tried in vain to pull my leather jacket tightly around myself for warmth as I began to walk along the road in search of civilization. Truth be told, it probably wasn’t as cold as I seem to remember it. But I had spent the previous two or three years of my life in the warm areas of California, so Montana was a bit of a change.
It was somewhere between one to two hours, closer to the former, when I came across a small general store-type place. It seemed thrown together with a variety of different building materials; wood, stone, etc. A sign over top of it was hand-painted and read McGoolington’s c. 1933. A small bell rang inside the store as I walked in; needless to say I was the only customer there.
An old man with white hair coming from his chin, ears and nose (but not his head) sat behind a counter watching an old black and white TV tuned in to some baseball game, when he noticed me he sidled up beside me, no doubt I was the first customer he had had that day.
“Hello there,” he said to me in a gravelly voice, a toothy grin on his face, “Can I help you?”
“Um, yeah. Do you have gas?”
The old man shook his head, “No, this isn’t a gas station, see.”
I sighed, “Well, do you have a phone or something so that I can call a tow truck?”
The old man looked me over in an appraising sort of way; I suppose I looked out of place from the usual Montanians, eventually he seemed satisfied and then nodded to an old rotary phone on the counter, “Go ahead.”
I gave a small nod of thanks and headed towards the phone. It took me three times of trying to call the operator before I realized there was no dial tone. I turned to the man, “Why’s the phone dead?” I asked, “It’s not storming.”
The old man stared blankly at me for a second until it began to connect with him, “Oh, sorry,” he said, “That phone hasn’t been working for the past couple of weeks. It breaks every few months or so, sometimes I hardly notice. ‘Don’t make much calls, you see.”
I sighed and put the receiver back down on the cradle; I looked around the store and sighed again. Without turning towards him I asked, “How far’s the next town?”
“Oh,” he said, “It’s a good ways away. Close to forty miles if you take the road, but I believe it’s only about fifteen or twenty if you go through Sherman’s Woods back there.”
I turned sharply to him, “Did you say Sherman’s Woods?”
The old man looked at me questioningly before slowly nodding, “Yes… do you know it? I had figured you weren’t from around here.”
“So that town nearby would be Fishpole?”
Again the old man nodded, “Yeah.”
I took a deep breath and then stood staring silently at the floor. I could feel the old man’s eyes boring into me with curiosity but I didn’t much care, finally I spoke up, “Besides Fishpole, what’s the closest town?”
“Um…well that would be New Haven. But that’s too far away; you’d never make it walking if that’s the way you’re thinking.”
“I’ll manage it,” I said, I began to begin looking at the bags of chips he had on a nearby shelf.
“Well, New Haven’s awfully small, and I happen to know there’s not a gas station or a towing service. No, your best bet is definitely Fishpole.”
Considering this, I relented. I inhaled and exhaled sharply and then turned to the man, “Okay. I’ll take this bag of Cheetos, the Funyons, and a six pack of root beer,” I looked around until I spotted a row of hiking-style backpacks, and selected a black Jansport, “And the backpack.”
The old man slipped behind the counter and begin ringing the items up. He had an old-fashioned cash register and no bar code scanner. He placed them all in the backpack and handed it to me, “Thirty-three dollars,” he said. I took two tens, two fives and three ones out of my wallet and handed it to him. As I turned to leave, I heard his voice.
“Don’t you want directions?” He asked.
I stopped in my tracks, the door half-open against my hand, “That won’t be necessary,” I said. Sensing his bemused look I walked through the door.
I felt the cold significantly less now, although as it was later, logic dictates it must have been colder. My mind was elsewhere. In fact, I was so deep in thought that I scarcely noticed that I had unconsciously turned off the road at just the right spot to enter Sherman’s Woods and take the quickest route to Fishpole.
There wasn’t an equal density of trees in Sherman’s Woods, you would get large clumps of many trees for acres and then they’ll be acres of sparsely populated areas, where you’d find very few trees. I knew the woods well enough to know where all the less-dense areas were and my trip went rather smoothly for a good while.
Dusk was by now, officially over, and the night sky turned a deep inky blue. It was a full moon, or at least pretty close to one, so it wasn’t all that dark. The woods were also quieter than I remembered them to be, I didn’t hear the hoot of an owl, or the howls of any coyotes. Although, even if I had, I doubt it would have taken away from the shrillness of the scream.
It startled me completely, but I had seen too much in my life to physically react to it. It had come from up ahead, to the left. I ran swiftly and silently into deeper depths of the woods. I made very little sound, a technique my brother and I had learned from a guy we knew during Persian Gulf.
The people came into view very slowly. There were three of them, two were flannel-covered mountain-type men; the other was an adolescent girl with dark brown hair and a thin, angry face. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the situation.
“Come on, little lady, have some fun with us,” said the older of the two men, a grizzled old-timer with a gray beard covering most his face, “Jeb and I will treat you very nice. Won’t we?”
The younger one, a fat blonde guy, nodded dumbly, “You said it Gus.”
The little girl hardly seemed likely to submit to the demands of the men, and it was in part her belligerence that caused me to hesitate to jump in. The other part was the hand I saw gripped in her pocket, and the slight bulge coming out of the fabric of her jeans. Although the two idiots, who probably didn’t know guns besides rifles existed, wouldn’t recognize it, I certainly did. The girl, who couldn’t be more than fourteen, had a gun.
“As charming as I find you both I’m afraid I’d have to decline your offer as I’d imagine I’d have a lot more ‘fun’ being bludgeoned to death with a large bat.”
“That can be arranged,” the old-timer said through gritted teeth.
“Ooh, charming. You sure know how to make a girl feel special. Now leave me alone, I’m warning you.”
“Oh,” Gus said, turning to his companion, “Did you hear that, Jeb? She’s warning us! I suppose we should be afraid then, eh?”
The two of them took a few steps closer to the girl, whose lip began to tremble. I began to realize I had to step in, in spite of the press it might give me. I took a minute to compose myself; I didn’t want to get into this thing angry which would have been very easy to be, given the circumstances. Slowly I walked out into the forest directly in between the path of the men and the girl.
“Hey guys,” I said pleasantly to the two men, “Thanks for looking out after this girl in the forest at night like this, but I can take it from here.”
The girl looked at me with large, confused eyes. I tried to give her what I thought to be an encouraging smile; it only caused her to look away.
The two men looked at each other and then turned to me, “Who’re you? And what’re you doing with our girl?”
“I’m not your girl, creeps,” The girl said, bitterly, her eyes still averted from all of us.
“I’m no one,” I replied, my voice quiet, “And I’m merely looking after the safety of this girl. Now, I think it best you both return to your homes.”
Gus looked at me confusedly, and then cocked an eyebrow, “Do I know you?”
I quickly looked away from them, “No. You don’t.”
“I swear you look familiar,” he said slowly.
“We’ll be leaving now,” I said. I turned on my heels and waited for the girl to start ahead.
“Now wait just a damn second,” Gus said, angrily, “Now, this is our girl, you hear?” He turned to Jeb to back him up. The younger man simply nodded.
I took a slow, deep breath and turned back to them, “Goodnight.”
At this Gus swore and grabbed me sharply n the arm, “Goodnight nothing! Give me back the girl!”
I could feel rage burning inside me, I tried one last desperate attempt to stay calm, “I’m going to advise you to let go of my arm.”
“Oh?” Gus said, “Well, I’m going to advise you to shut your damn mouth and leave yourself out of me’n Jeb’s business before something very bad happens to you.” At this, Jeb raised his rifle directly at me.
I snapped. Shoving Gus sharply by his arm I knocked him into Jeb whose rifle went flying out of his hands. Gus grappled vainly for his gun as he struggled to his feet as the more able-bodied Jeb began running towards me.
Now, in spite of their ignorance, this was not the first time I had met either of these two men and I knew them by reputation. Jeb, although quite dumb, was a very big man and was known to be a frequent participator in brawls, generally brawls his older brother Gus had gotten him into. However, when I saw the big, fat, lumbering guy barreling at me I was too far gone to feel fear. I was angry; there was nothing that could help them now.
Over-all, the fight lasted maybe five minutes and both Jeb and Gus were on the ground. Gus was wheezing, doubled-over in pain; Jeb was bleeding from the head and unconscious, if I had been more level-headed I might have been concerned about whether or not he was going to pull through. But his personal safety was not my top concern, I spat a large amount of saliva mixed with blood I had in my mouth. It only occurred to me now how hard Jeb had hit me, I had been too attentive on the fight to notice any pain, but now that I’d noticed, it became almost intolerable. I decided to focus on something else, and turned to the girl who sat on a nearby boulder, her face impassive.
“You alright?” I asked her.
She looked up at me with her wide eyes and said, softly, “What the hell did you do that for?”
Whatever response I expected after beating up men who almost assuredly were going to rape her, this certainly wasn’t it. I didn’t respond, just stared at her.
“I could’ve handled them myself,” she said. She pulled the gun out of her pocket, “See?”
“Yeah,” I said, wiping the sweat from my face, “I noticed that too. But you were never going to use it.”
The girl became indignant at this, “I was too! How the hell do you know what I was or was not going to do?”
“You were too afraid to,” I said, a small smile on my face, “My guess is you’ve never used one of those in your life, and I’m a little curious as to why you have it and what you’re doing in the woods at,” I checked my watch, “9:12 at night.”
“I’m hunting wild buffalo, now leave me the hell alone,” She turned on her heels and began to walk towards the open areas of the forest where I had come from. I picked up my backpack and began in the same direction.
She quickly turned around and glared at me, “Stop following me!” she said.
“First of all, No,” I said, “You’re in a forest in the middle of the night and I can’t speak for Jeb, but Gus will be okay in less than twenty minutes. I can’t risk you getting hurt again. Besides, this is the way I’m headed anyways.”
She stopped and turned around, “I’m serious! Stop following me!”
I gave a small smile, “Or what, kid, you’ll shoot me?”
Her face contorted into a small little frown, she raised the gun at me, “Yeah, I will.”
“Funny,” I said, “Somehow I don’t believe that.”
“Oh,” she said, “Don’t you?” And she fired.
Now, when you get shot at with a gun you generally don’t have time to dive out of the way, even though that’d be most people’s first inclinations. So when I realized I had effectively done that without feeling the searing pain of lead. I realized she had not gotten me. I looked up at her.
“Are you insane?!?” I shrieked.
“Now will you leave me alone?” She asked coolly.
“You’d shoot at me, who saved your life but not at two guys who were going to rape you?!?”
She turned on her heels again and began walking away, “I missed, didn’t I?”
It then struck me that she shot at me and not them, not because she feared me and not them, but because she feared them and not me. She knew that if she had shot at me she would not have gotten herself killed. This was not quite so safe a bet in regards to the other two.
I got up and began following her, “Why do you have a gun with you, kid?” I asked again.
“That’s really not any of your business. Now stop following me, and stop asking me questions. I don’t ask you questions.”
“Well, go ahead then,” I said, “Ask me a question.”
“I don’t want to,” she replied, “Because unlike you who have a sick need to know things about a complete stranger, I don’t give a damn about you.”
I ignored this, “My name’s Jason,” I said, “What about you?”
She stopped slowly but remained faced away from me. I caught up with her and stood a few feet behind her, waiting for her to say something. Finally, she spoke. “Kelly.”
“Hi Kelly.”
She didn’t respond, and began walking again, this time a little faster.
“So, Kelly… You hungry?”
She turned and looked at me, “What?”
“Do you want something to eat? I have Funyons and Cheetos. Both cornerstones of any nutritious meal.”
She turned and stared at me.
“Um, I have root beer too,” I said, “It’s A&W though, which, personally, is my least favorite. But it’ll have to make do.”
She continued to stare.
“Well,” I said turning and sitting down on an old log, “I’m going to sit down here, make a fire, and have myself dinner. You may join me if you wish.”
I found a bundle of sticks and gathered them up in a pile. I had then began to look around for a piece of flint or something to start a fire, (I believed this was the right way to go about that, to be honest, however, I didn’t regularly make campfires.) when I felt a small tap on my shoulder. I turned to see the girl, avoiding eye contact with me, with her arm outstretched holding a lighter. I took it.
I asked, “You smoke?”
She didn’t respond, but sat herself down on the log I had been sitting on earlier.
“Bad habit,” I said. I turned from her and began to try to light the sticks, after a few unsuccessful attempts I had a fire going. I handed her back her lighter and, my log now being occupied, sat down on the grass. I opened my backpack and looked at her, “Funyons or Cheetos?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it indignantly.
“Fine,” I shrugged, “Then you’re getting Funyons.” I tossed the bag to her, which she caught. She pried open her bag and began munching on them slowly.
I, however, emphatically tore open my bag, as I hadn’t had anything to eat since that stop at Subway over eight hours ago. I then looked at Kelly carefully for the first time.
She was skinny. Not anorexic skinny, but the kind of skinny that most guys find attractive but I find a little excessive. Her hair was dark brown and long, and her eyes were the same “chestnut” brown, that an ex-girlfriend had once said my eyes were. Her most distinguishing characteristic, however, was a large bruise that formed around the area of her upper left cheek, and around the eye. The bruise was the greenish color that bruises turn when they’re healing. She must have noticed me looking at it because she turned her had to the left, covering it from me.
“So,” I asked, taking a swig of root beer to wash down Cheetos’ ‘dangerously cheesy’ taste before speaking, “What’s the gun for?”
“I don’t feel like talking about that, okay?” She snapped.
“Fine,” I said, “What do you want to talk about?”
“Why are you in these woods? You’re not out here burying high school kids are you?”
“Well, they did egg my car,” I said, in mock-seriousness, “No, my car ran out of gas some twenty miles back, I’m just walking to Fishpole because it’s the closest town.”
“So, you’re not from around here then? I sort of got the sense you were.”
“Well, Technically I live in California now. I used to live around her though.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“You don’t anymore?” I asked.
She glared at me, “How did we start talking about me again?”
I raised my hands in the air defensively, “Sorry. Sorry.”
“So, if you live in California, what’re you doing here?” She asked, nibbling on a Funyon.
“I’m not sure exactly. I know I just wanted to leave California. Bad memories there.”
“Is that why you left Montana too?”
I felt my face flush and said, “You know, if you’re allowed to withhold some things, so am I.”
She shrugged, “Fair enough. So, why did you want to leave California?”
“Try spending almost two years in a state penitentiary and you’ll want to leave that state too.”
Kelly’s eyes got rather wide again, “You were in jail? Why?”
“Assault and battery,” I said, softly.
“What happened?”
I scratched my neck, “It’s stupid. I don’t want to say.”
“Come on.”
“Alright… Well… I was in a restaurant, now anything fancy or upscale or anything, like a local Chili’s or something. Do you have Chili’s here? Well, it doesn’t matter. So, I ordered this hamburger, and the waiter gave it to me and everything. And it was really dry. So, I called the waiter over and told him about it. Now, I don’t know if the waiter had had a bad day or what, but he picks up my plate. Takes off the top bun and dumps my glass of water on top of the burger. And tosses back on the table and says ‘It’s not dry now,’ and I snapped. I literally jumped on the guy and began beating the crap out of him. He was in really bad shape, I was lucky not to get attempted murder,” I said all this as I stared down at the fire. I never looked up for fear of seeing Kelly’s reaction and the look of revolt or terror that must have been on her face.
“And you only served two years?”
“Less,” I said.
“How’d you get out?”
“Good behavior. Extremely good behavior.”
“What do you mean?”
“The warden said I was perhaps the most docile guy ever to be arrested under his jurisdiction for assault and battery. He seemed convinced that I had just been in a wrong-place/wrong-time kind of thing and when it became the earliest possible time I could be considered for parole he vouched for me. I was let out last night.”
“But it wasn’t a wrong-place/wrong-time kind of thing. You just were vicious.”
“That’s true,” I said softly.
“So you tricked the warden then?”
“Not really. I mean, I didn’t try to act innocent or anything, and I never claimed to be. But, I mean, if he was going to let me out of prison earlier for parole I certainly wasn’t going to argue with him.”
“Wait,” Kelly asked, “If you’re on parole, aren’t you not supposed to leave the state?”
I nodded.
“But you’re in Montana, not California.”
I nodded again.
“Why?”
I needlessly stoked the fire, “I’m not sure exactly, in retrospect it doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. And what with the whole thing with those two hunter guys, you’re likely to get in trouble, and when they find out you’re violating parole you’ll probably go back to jail. Why would you risk all that?”
“You would’ve been hurt, probably even died.”
“I would’ve been fine,” Kelly snapped, “I had a gun didn’t I?”
“Why do you have a gun?”
Kelly’s face turned bright red as she stared, eye-brows furrowed, at the fire.
“Are you planning on killing someone with it?”
She didn’t respond at first, and for a second I thought she hadn’t heard me, and then slowly she nodded.
“Is it the same person who did that to you?” I nodded gingerly to the bruise on her face.
Again, she nodded slowly.
“Who?” I asked.
In a voice barely audible she whispered, “My father.”
“Your father did that to you?”
“Yeah.”
“If he treats you like this, you should go to authorities and go to a foster home.”
“I’m already in one. I’ve been in one for almost five months now.”
“Then why this?” I asked, eyeing her intently.
Her voice was cold and bitter, in it I recognized another voice from my past, and “It doesn’t take away what he did. He needs to pay for it.”
“What about your mom?”
“I don’t have a mom.”
“Everyone has a mom.”
Kelly looked up at me, “Everyone has a mother, not everyone has a mom.”
“As impressed as I am with your deep proverbial sayings, you know what I mean.”
“I only have vague memories of my mother singing me ‘Let it Be’ to sleep when I was very young. I have no idea what would have happened to her or anyone else in my family besides him. Dad had mentioned other siblings of mine that I had in the past, probably before I was born; I think I might’ve had a brother or two. He complained about them and he complained about the loss of his old career, he was a country singer, I believe. I don’t know much about it. Dad never liked me asking questions.”
“So, you’re planning on killing him…” I said softly.

“Yes. He deserves it.”
“Even if he does—”
“Don’t you dare,” Kelly hissed, getting to her feet, “Don’t you dare try to tell me it’s wrong. Don’t act like I’m the one who’s doing the bad thing here, ‘cause I’m not! You have no idea what I’ve gone through!”
It was quiet. Like earlier, there were no sounds. No crickets, no owls, nothing.
“So, you were abused. And I suppose that makes you special. I mean, it’s not like that could’ve happened to anyone else.”
I looked up at Kelly’s who’s eyes penetrated deeply into mine, it was almost if for that brief moment, we had the same thoughts and felt the same pains, but the moment passed in a flash and she slowly sat back down. “You were abused?”
I nodded.
“By your father?”
I nodded again.
“I don’t suppose you killed your father.”
“No,” I said, “I didn’t. I considered it many times, in fact maybe I had more reason to than you did; I had a mother whose safety I had to worry about. But I never did lay a hand on him. As many as he laid on me.”
Neither of us talked for a good ten minutes, until Kelly spoke up, “My father used to put a belt, a stick and a golf club on the table and choose which one he’d beat me with.”
“I’d go with the belt,” I said.
Kelly looked up at me, “I would always go for the club.”
“Why?”
“Because I wouldn’t take his crap. I didn’t then, I won’t now, and I won’t let anyone else in the future take it either. I’m going to go to sleep.”
She got up and walked a good distance away, took off her denim jacket and put it down as a pillow. She then lay down, facing away from me.
I stayed up another hour only, until I decided I had better get some sleep too. I slept close to the fire, following Kelly’s lead and using my leather jacket as a pillow. The last thing I heard before I drifted off to sleep were the soft sobs I heard five feet away. And if they hadn’t been so familiar, they may have been enough to keep me awake.

When I opened my eyes the stars had changed and I knew time had gone by, but I didn’t know how long. In the thick area of the forest where the camp was it was almost impossible to see the rays of the sun unless it was in plain view, which it wasn’t. Groggily I got up and looked across the burnt firewood to where I had seen Kelly sleeping hours before.
There was no sign of her.
I quickly threw on my leather jacket, leaving my backpack where it was on the ground. I began to run. Swiftly I dodged through the trees I remembered from long ago. It was amazing how it all had come back to me after so long.
I would like to say I didn’t know where to go; I would like to say that I hadn’t a clue where Kelly might have gone. But that wouldn’t be the truth. The truth was I knew exactly where she was headed. In some ways I knew it from the moment I met her.
The house was old and rickety, with green shudders hanging haphazardly off of the windows. The grass was patchy and the dirt path that led to the dilapidated doors was overgrown with weeds and other plant life. It was on this dirt road that she stood staring at the house. She never flinched as an old cat wandered by and hissed at her, nor when the screen door banged open and a man walked out.
He was big and beefy. A charcoal mustache covered his face, and chestnut eyes stared impassively at the girl standing before him. He growled the same kind of growl he always made when he had been drinking. “So, you’re back, are you?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but I beat her too the punch.
“Yes, she is,” I said, “And so am I.”
His eyes flashed up and met mine. And as they did every fear, every haunted memory of my own life, however long suppressed, came rushing back to me. My rage was gone as long as he looked at me, all that remained was fear. But I could handle fear now, and it only strengthened my determination.
I looked at Kelly who looked back at me; with the same wide eyes she always used too look at me. I couldn’t say anything to my sister; I couldn’t tell her how sorry I was that I didn’t know of her existence until a few hours ago.
“How did you two meet?” He asked, glancing back and forth between us, “She wasn’t born until after you and that rat Adam left home.”
I ignored this, “Where is she?” I asked.
He raises his eyebrows, “Where is who?”
“You know damn well who I’m talking about. Mom. Kelly claims not have known a mother. What happened to her?”
“She died,” He said gruffly, “In childbirth with her.”
“That’s a lie!” I snapped, “Kelly remembers her singing ‘Let it Be’ just like Mom always used to sing to us. She couldn’t have just pulled that out of thin air.”
He stared at me for a moment, shocked. I had never stood up to him before. “Fine. Maybe I killed her,” I smile game on his disgusting face, “Maybe I got so fed up with her crap that I killed her.”
“No,” I said, “No. You couldn’t have killed her. She was strong; she never left, because of us. She took everything you gave her, and she did it for us. In all those years, she never cried. Because she never let you make her cry. She’d never give you the satisfaction of killing her. She did it herself, didn’t she? She went to the one place you couldn’t reach her, and she went there herself.”
“Shut up!” He raised a rifle in his hands and pointed it at us, “I don’t need this. As far as I, and the state are concerned, I have no connection to any of you and you’re trespassing on my property now get off or so help me I will shoot you both dead.”
I faltered, I wasn’t prepared for this direct confrontation with him, and after my speech I felt like I had used up what nerve I had. I turned to Kelly to see what she was thinking and feeling, to get confirmation from her that it was time to leave. My sister smiled at me, a bright and sunny smile, and her dark hair waving in the breeze.
She then shouted and ran towards my father. Her gun in hand and it was pointing straight at him. My father stared at her in utter shock. Neither had time to think, only to react.
Only one shot was fired, and as it hit its mark and I saw her fall slowly to the ground, I no longer felt the fear I had felt for my entire life. The only thing I noticed about my sister’s body as I saw her on the ground was that she didn’t look unhappy.
The thing about old-fashioned rifles, like the kind that my father had, is that you can only really get one shot out of them at a time before reloading. So guns became null and void as I dived on him. And he fell under wave after wave of punches. The blows had lots of energy behind them, as they had been thirty-two years in the making.
When he was no longer able to get up because of his pain I grabbed the gun that lay on the ground next to Kelly. My father saw what I was doing, but he made no attempt to stop what I was doing. I aimed the gun at him.
And for the first time mid-fight, it wasn’t rage I felt. It was simply power. I had won the battle over control of who I am, I was truly strong enough to change things would end, and control my own present, even despite of my past. I gripped them gun tighter. I had power.

I felt the power still as the cops hand-cuffed him, placed him in the back seat of the squad car, and drove him away. Kelly never lived on through vengeance, but instead lived on in the strength she had given me.
I looked around the house that had once represented the root of all evil, and now was little more than just walls and a roof. The old brown roof that I remembered from my youth was now red, and the tire swing that Adam and I had erected as a momentary escape, in which we could fly away from the house and its memories, if only for twenty or thirty seconds until our feet touched back down on the ground was gone now too. But the house itself and the land it stood on are still around.
And so am I.