Abuse Scene - Ongoing Project - Novel - jk cosmos

Abuse scene – Ongoing Project of Novel                                                                                              JK Cosmos

 

Fear, she wouldn’t have imagined the coldness and immobility of being fearful.  How could the love turn around so quickly with such violence?

 The courting and romancing ended at the wedding ceremony.  Her husband was rude and curt at the reception with her and the guests.  His only focus was getting high with a few of his friends.  Her groom was handsome, blonde, blue eyes and tall.  He was so perfect on paper.

 Moving around the ballroom the bride greets their guests, alone.  She is alone, again despite the marrying part.  She is holding up the beautiful satin train of her gown, and stepping lightly in the most elegant heeled close-toed shoes, the step with the shoes feeling like royalty and changing the walk to more of a glide.  How lovely the movement in the gown and with the shoes.

 The music played a soft jazz selection and the wait-staff moved through the ballroom, giving a tone of a lifetime movie feature.  And yet, she knew in her heart that the trimmings and the planning for the wedding wouldn’t make it all wonderful.  The Groom remains a nasty person, someone without dignity and certainly someone without any respect or love for her.

He prefers to do lines of coke with his buddies in the adjoining room, rather than be by her side and dance and talk with family.  He has made it clear that he has distain for the family that has come to share in their wedding day.

            The childish dreams of her wedding day crushed in a moment.   His spin remained that the drugs and the coke up his nose so much more important than making a commitment to each other.   So, why would she continue with this farce?  And, why would she cover up his bad behavior at the wedding and reception with their friends.  She continues to think that she can make it better.  She knows that she can help him be the best person possible.  She is so naïve and she continues to believe that she can get him into recovery and back to the loving person that he seems to want to be.

            The reality, as she now knows, is that a person delving into the drug scene is not going to work to get away from the ‘high’.  The person drugging and partying is committed to a lifestyle and not going to leave it behind to be ‘straight’.

            She dreams of an alternative life, one of love and joy!  She realizes that her reality is one of fear, drugs, waste and anger.  Her husband works when it suits him for money for his habit, not for them.  She work to pay the bills and to keep the household going.   She resents him.

 The resentment turns to pure hatred.  She wishes that he would not come home.  She wishes so hard that he will stay away from her.  He is a lousy, selfish lover.  He is a childish husband.  He is not a friend.   In fact, as the days wear on, he is her enemy.  He is pure evil.

Where does he go, when he leaves home in the morning and doesn’t return until the early hours of the following day?  Who are the people that hang on his every word and cater to his whims?

            Her wandering thoughts meander to other women’s marriages.  How many young women are covering up for the bad behavior of their handsome and childish husbands?  She keeps wondering about other women’s lives and she thinks that perhaps there are many that suffer.  Suffering in silence was not part of the bargain.  She would never imagine becoming ‘that suffering, victimized woman’.

            One night she asks him something about what he’d like for dinner. He lashes out at her and throws a glass piggy bank, her childhood trinket, across the room directly at her.  It misses her head. She flinches and it hits the wall, breaking. 

Her childhood bank is shattered against the wall and onto the kitchen floor.   Perhaps, she should have stayed at work.  Perhaps, she should stay away to avoid these confrontations.  She begins to cry and then louder. She must leave the room, so not to be in his way.  She leaves the room, but not the house to stay out of danger’s way.  Her husband is the danger.  Why didn’t she know?

            That night, as she lay in bed, her husband comes into the room and turns on the overhead light.  Then he turns on the bed lamp and finds his pistol in his night stand.  He loads the pistol and tells her to get up out of the bed.  He says that he wants to show her how to use the gun so that she can defend herself, just in case someone breaks into the house.  He takes the gun and pulls her out of the bed.  She refuses and tells him that they can look at the gun tomorrow.  He insists. He is holding her under her arms and lifts her up and out of the bed.  She is out of the bed and standing in a swoop of his effort to get her out of that bed.

 She is standing next to the bed in her nightgown, naked underneath and vulnerable.  She is so vulnerable that it feels like a dream.  Her husband pulls her around so that her back is against his chest.  He holds that gun in one hand over her shoulder.  He is showing her the open gun so that she can see the bullets, up close. 

She thinks that she should be shaking, but she is resigned to having a crazy, drug-ridden husband.  He keeps saying that he just wants to show her.  He presses her fingers around the butt of the gun.  Actually, it’s a pistol, he corrects her misinformation.  He tells her in her ear, slow and hushed that he found the gun and rubbed off the numbers of this pistol, just for her.  He tells her that it’s called a ‘throw-away’.  It is an untraceable weapon.

            A ‘throw-away’ pistol in their bedroom and he has her around the neck.  He has her in a position where only her fingerprints are on the gun.  If she is shot, he will tell the police that she shot herself, that she was depressed.  This is not far from the truth, a half-truth, as she is depressed having married this horrid man.  He has manipulated the facts, but then again, the truth may be that he has manipulated her.  She is the successful lawyer with the beautiful home, and he is not.  She is the person with the skill and the reputation in the profession, and he has nothing.  He is a joke and not skilled at all.

 She does not have the will to live, let alone to love anyone.  She is not able to think clearly and she has no reason to get through her day.  She is lonely and alone.  She is sick and bone-weary and tired of living.

 Fear, the fear becomes a reality later in the marriage.  The fear and aloneness is something that builds up over time and once in her life settles in so that she feels that she can never survive.  If she survives, will she ever feel joy?  If she survives, will she wish that she didn’t and wish that the gun did go off that night?  Will she be the one that is resilient and tells this story?  Or, will she be the one that ends up a murder victim?  Or, will she be the one that is the perpetrator of a murder?

 

Death - work in progress

Driving to Presentation Parish, she could only see the road through her teary eyelashes and her fogged up sunglasses.  She drove quickly and wondered about Harris’s family.  She drove out of the city up Storrow Drive.  She didn’t ever want to be on Memorial Drive again. So far, she had avoided it and she thought she could cross the river and get almost anywhere from the other side of the Charles River.

 Her thoughts wandered to their first few weeks together and the constant laughter. The beginning, like most beginnings was glorious.  She kept driving and tried to stay on the road, at the speed posted.  She maneuvered the intersection of Storrow and the service road by the ice rink.  Harris took her skating there.  Kate wondered if everywhere she went, she would be reminded of things that they did together.  The sharpness of the day and the harshness of the sun surprised her. 

When grief strikes so close to one’s heart, the simple tasks, the routine tasks take such effort, she thought.  She couldn’t recall much since the news of his murder.  She had dream-walked through her days.

Kate wore a black skirt, a black lacey t-shirt and of course, black tights and high heels.  She had on a black tailored jacket.  She wore no makeup, no lipstick and her hair straight, hid her face.  She was apprehensive.  She thought his family might blame her for his murder.

Kate thought about Harris’s family and the grief-stricken parents and brothers.  She hadn’t eaten and was so skittish driving, her mind wandered to the times of Harris’s life and to his funeral.  He was too young to be taken from them.

Kate had decided against going to the wake.  She couldn’t imagine seeing Harris laid out and if he was in open view, how strange would that be.  She knew that she would not attend the wake and she didn’t.  The funeral home was in Brighton Center on Washington Street, very near the church that she was driving to from one community on the river to the other.  Brighton was part of Boston and infamous for the Boston College parties, where Harris attended and played Division One Varsity Soccer.

She arrived at Presie, Presentation Parish, just on the line of Newton and up the hill from the neighborhood of triple-deckers and blue-collar workers.  She was familiar with this area and hadn’t been in the Parish since her childhood.  She loved the nuns, who lived next door and who polished the brass and dusted the areas.  The nuns washed and polished everything. 

She found a parking spot on the street, for a quick getaway if necessary.  Kate hated to be bogged in.  That held true for parking spots, crowds and it seemed she felt that way in relationships.  Being at the funeral and at this parish was not something that she could have anticipated.  She didn’t know how she felt.  She thought later on in the day she might try to figure out more about herself.

The church was empty, except for the priest, who was at the alter preparing for the service.  The priest had on a plain white robe and sash.  Two assistants helped him and moved quietly at the alter.  She watched, as the men went about their routine.  She was impressed at their exactness in the preparations.  Harris would have liked it, too.

She decided to stand by the back wall and tried to think about where she would fit in without being noticed.  She was there to pay her respects, only.  She had decided not to attend the dinner reception after the funeral and not to sit anywhere close to the front on the church. 

Her attention was drawn to one of Harris’s friends, who had come along beside her.  He gave her his sympathy.  That isn’t why she was at the church, but his words surprised her.  He softly told her how sorry he was that Harris was gone.  ‘Peace be with you.’

‘And, with you.  Thank you.’

Kate kept her sunglasses on to hide her tear-stained face and her red eyes.  She pulled her hair forward to cover herself.

Another friend came in with his wife, and walked right over to the side of the church where she stood.  She felt that the messages of sympathy and kind words should be saved for the parents.  She felt sad and guilty that some people were holding her and kissing her, when the family hadn’t arrived yet.

The fellow by her side, Brian Mahoney, directed her with his arm around her waist and back.  He led her to the second row of the church.  It was too close to the front and to the family.  Kate just couldn’t be there.  She hesitated and then she balked.  Brian told her that she should be in the front few rows. 

“Please move me back a bit.  This is too public.  I just can’t.”

He led her to the fifth row on the left side of the church. She was on the aisle in the center.  Much better, she thought.  She settled in.  He moved to the back of the church.

A moment later, one of the Investigators from the State Trooper Office stopped at her aisle and took her hand in his.  His gesture was so tender and quiet, that she began to weep.  Her tears flowed freely down her face, but Kate did not make a noise.

Kate did continue to receive kind words of sympathy from their friends and co-workers. 

Harris’s parents and family came into the church.  She could hear the hush of the crowd.  As she cried for him, the church had filled with people.  The family was prominent and Harris’s college friends, as well as his associates, were in attendance.  The pianist played a chord.

Everyone stood.

The pallbearers carried him in, young, tall and handsome, like Harris had been.  The coffin was shiny and the wood reflected the light of the simple church.

As Harris was carried past her, her tears stopped.  She was surprised that she continued to breathe.  Harris, she knew, would become a memory and fade from her. Kate did think about how she would grow old and he would stay forever young.  In thinking about the ‘forever young’ she heard the song title.  She thought how trite some things become.  She thought how some truths become cliché and yet they are true.

She watched Harris’s mother, quiet and small.  She watched his father, who looked small, although he was not.  The music began and the priest spoke about the teachings of the Church.  The congregation stood and sat, prompted by the bells.  Kate also stood and sat.  She wondered if she should have come at all.

Harris’s older brother, Eddie, spoke about their childhood and spoke about their brotherly love and the life that they shared.  The churchgoers were held in the story.  Kate was held in the moment of hearing one brother talk about the other.  She felt the loss that Harris’s family must be feeling.

 She looked up.  The ceiling had a blue mural with the face of Jesus looking down.  Kate kept her eyes up to the mural and to the kind eyes and face of Jesus.  She felt better that Harris was with Jesus and that the sorrows of his life had come to an end.

The service ended with music and the slow procession of the pallbearers carrying Harris’s coffin out of the church.  Some in the crowd cried.  Kate had done her crying earlier and kept herself quiet.  She listened.

As the family walked out of the church behind Harris’s casket, walking behind their adored son and brother, she watched them.  She thought about returning home.  As she left the darkness of the church and went into the open sunlight of the day, Harris’s father approached her and told her how much she meant to his son.

“You meant so much to Harris.  He loved you very much. I wish you…”  His thoughts were not completed and his voice was strained.  Kate didn’t know how to help him.  She repeated how sorry she was and wished the family peace.

“Thank you, Kate.  I know everyone loved Harris.” His father said.

Kate didn’t know how to respond.  She started to give her sympathy again and she started to reply that she loved him, as well.  His Dad didn’t wait on the response, but quickly returned to his wife.  They were greeted by some relatives and got into the limo.  She could see Harris’s mother’s head bent over and her smallness became unbearable.  Kate decided to drive home.

The drive back was less anxious.  She thought about her decision to attend and was satisfied that it had been the right thing to do.

   Kate knew that this day, Harris’s funeral, would be the end of a major part of her life. 

She drove up to her apartment.  As she sorted out her things to go in, she thought about him.  She kept seeing his smiling face and his pale blue eyes.  She recalled his boisterous ways, his excitement about doing everything..  Kate looked up at the steep stairs, and remembered the times they walked up those stairs together.  She began to walk up the stairs, holding on to the rail and maneuvering herself to the landing and up again to the third level.  She hoped that being inside would give her some relief and repose.  It was not to be.

She thought she should read for the rest of the afternoon.  She could not read.  She could not cook for herself.  She could not talk to anyone.  She sat on her couch.  She sat on the edge of her bed.  She was unable to move or to do anything in particular.

Maybe she should have gone to the cemetery.  She was so at odds with everything.  She was at odds with herself.  No one came by and no one called her.

Time passed.  The day ended.

Night was upon her before she realized it.  Harris’s untimely death and his murder consumed her.  She was hopeful that his case would not become a cold case.  Kate would keep a good eye on the investigation and prosecution of this case.  She did regret having left the DA’s Office. 

Why did she quit the Office?  Why was her timing off?  Kate wondered if she could follow the case through the media, only.  She wondered if one of the victim-witness staff would keep her filled in.  She thought of Brian, who had assisted her at the church.  He was easy-going and apt to take pity on her and share the inner workings on this case.  Kate did think about how her personal feelings could flip to the lawyer side of her thinking, on this day.  She felt that she wanted to help and she felt that as a former lover, she had complicated attachment to Harris and to his murder. 

Kate needed sleep.  Tomorrow would bring answers, she thought.  If not answers, Kate would find people to help her and she would stay on top things because she had to.  She had to finish this for Harris.  She needed answers and retribution.  She needed justice.