The One You Feed Read online

  “I said I’d clean it up.” She removed the blanket from the now silent Devon. He was probably as shocked as she was at Garrett’s anger.

  “You didn’t have to go anywhere, and this should have been taken care of right away.” He stumbled toward them, scowled, and pointed a shaking finger.

  He had changed from his work clothes, into faded blue jeans and a red flannel shirt. The buttons weren’t quite right, though. He’d missed two in the middle. Tiny fingers of ice tickled Dana’s belly. She removed her boots. Devon fussed.

  “I’ll clean it up as soon as I feed Devon and put him to bed. I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me.”

  She risked a glance at Garrett, regretting it instantly. His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. Damn it, she should have dried the carpet first. Why did she make such stupid mistakes?

  “The brat can wait.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the bedroom.

  She pulled back.

  He turned. “You’re going to fight me?”

  “No, I—”

  “I warned you this morning, I’m through with your shit. Now get in there, or I’ll drag you in.”

  Dana wavered, his fingers biting into her flesh. Devon fussed again. She glanced back toward the door. Garrett jerked her arm.

  “It won’t hurt him to cry a bit,” he said. “He needs to learn that Mama has other obligations besides him.” Jealousy dripped from his voice.

  “Okay, but I just bought the—”

  The force of the blow halted her words. Pain radiated from the side of her head. She fell down the hallway as he dragged her, smashing a knee into the floor.

  “I didn’t ask you to speak. I told you to get in the fucking bedroom. Now go.” He kicked her backside as she scrambled to her feet.

  His hand in her hair propelled her forward. He dragged her through the door and slammed it as he followed behind her.

  “We don’t have to fight,” Dana said, backing away. “I just want to be responsible. We can’t afford another baby right now.”

  “If you’d do just one thing I asked you to do… I don’t understand what goes through your stupid head sometimes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You will be.”

  He lunged.

  She dodged.

  The din of the bed creaking as he fell onto it, and his grunt of rage, sounded like a bomb going off in the small room.

  “Get on the bed.”

  Dana moved to the far side of the room, unable to force herself to do as he ordered. “I’m sorry about the carpet.”

  “Get on the bed.”

  “I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

  He stood and staggered around the bed toward her. “Too late. You never do what you know is expected. Never. Is it the blond hair?”

  “No.” Dana backed into the nightstand, prolonging the inevitable.

  “So, you’re just stupid?”

  “No, Garrett, please don’t do this. If you’d just wait—”

  “I think you like pissing me off.”

  She shook her head.

  “And I bet you begged Marcus to touch you; poor bastard didn’t stand a chance. You like to feel like the victim. Poor little Dana has to have all of the attention.”

  For the first time, rage enveloped her like a warm blanket. She welcomed it to clear her mind of the fear and sadness that kept her at Garrett’s mercy each time he assaulted her. “You don’t know a goddamn thing,” she spat. “He raped me and he raped my sisters. None of us asked for it. And you…” She pointed a shaky finger at him. “You like to feel like the big strong man, punishing me for your imagined wrongs. I am not a child and you are not my father.”

  “Maybe if you didn’t act like a kid, I wouldn’t treat you like one. You vowed to obey, and that is what you’ll do.”

  “You can’t treat me like this. I’m your wife, but I’m not your property.” Dana shoved him and tried to move past. She might make it to the door, his shock at her rebellion freezing him in place.

  “I know you’re joking because only an idiot without a lick of sense would dare speak to me the way you just did.”

  She forced herself to remain calm, to walk, and not run to the door. “Fuck off, Garrett. I’m not your punching bag.”

  Before she could take another step, he was on her, pushing her to the floor. His fists slammed into her back, her head, her sides, everywhere. She struggled to crawl out from under him.

  He dragged her back, flipping her over before straddling her. “It’s been too long since you’ve had a proper lesson. You will not talk like common filth, and definitely not when speaking to me.”

  Pinning her arms over her head with one hand, he backhanded her with the other. The slap echoed in the room like a gunshot. Her ears rang and fear replaced her rage once more. Devon’s cries, muffled by the door, floated through the haze clouding her brain. She stopped struggling. The only way through it was to let him do what he wanted.

  He yanked her pants off and fumbled with his own. Then he released her arms, grinning in satisfaction at her easy submission. He squeezed the loose flesh of her stomach, grimacing in disgust. “What the hell is this?”

  “I just had a baby.”

  “Months ago. Fuck, that’s just laziness. You’re going to get rid of that.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, and continued to stare at the wall.

  Grunting, he managed to push himself inside her despite his revulsion. Through a haze of tears, she lay still until he finished and moved off her.

  “Go see to your freak,” he grumbled as he pulled on his pants. “Next time you might want to move or something. I don’t enjoy fucking a corpse.”

  His footsteps echoed in the hall an instant before he bitched at the baby.

  Dana forced herself to sit up. Her side ached, the blows bruising her already sore ribs. Numb, unable to think beyond getting to Devon, she pulled on her pants and ran a hand through her hair. Her mouth throbbed. She reached to her lip and winced; the swelling already evident.

  The front door slammed.

  Dana hurried to the living room, picked Devon out of the stroller, and the tears finally broke free. Devon cried with her; his face almost purple in his rage at being ignored.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured and kissed the top of his head. “I’m so sorry.”

  CHAPTER 15

  October, 1977

  Amy chattered happily as they walked down the street, her musical voice grating on Vicki’s nerves. Since Emily up and died two months earlier, Amy had been her responsibility. She wasn’t meant to be a mother. Kids were fucking hard.

  Ronny tried to play the big man and tell her what she needed to do. Instead, she’d told him where he could go. Fucking retard, just like his old man said. Was it fair that she had to give her life up while he continued on as he always did? Mr. Big Shot kept on going on long hauls, leaving her home alone with no money and no dope, thinking he could control her. Well, he’d learn, wouldn’t he?

  Vicki’s vision blurred. She paused to clear her head. A few people passed by. Although she sensed their stares, Vicki didn’t spare them a glance. After today, she wouldn’t worry about anyone in this shithole town Ronny had trapped her in. Sonny promised that once she got rid of Amy and Ronny, he’d take her west with him. She turned onto Main Street and hurried past the small stores jammed in together side by side.

  Amy pointed to the candy store, squealing with glee. “Candy, Mama Vick, pease!”

  “No. Granny can buy you candy,” Vicki said. The little bitch insisted on calling her mama. She’d tried to train her to call her Vicki, but having Ronny’s blood in her, the stupid shit picked Mama Vick instead.

  Amy wailed, slamming chubby fists on the tray of her stroller. Vicki struggled to control her temper. “Okay.” She turned toward the store. “I’ll get you a sucker, but you have to promise to do what I say after that.”

  Amy bounced and clapped her hands. Her muddy-brown curls danced around
her face. “Kay, tucker.”

  The back of her head resembled a scouring pad. Vicki never tried to brush it. Why bother?

  Inside the store, she left the stroller at the door and hurried to the counter, grabbed a red sucker, threw a dollar on the counter and waited for the pimply faced teen to ring it through the register.

  “Your little girl is adorable,” he said, handing Vicki her change.

  “She’s not mine.” Vicki shoved the sucker at Amy and left the store, the annoying little bell tinkling behind her.

  Her buzz was wearing off and the pain in her body threatened to return. She needed another hit, but Sonny refused until they were on the road.

  “Fuck,” she muttered and stared at the busy street. The welfare office was across town. It would take at least an hour to walk there. She didn’t have money to waste on a cab.

  Turning the corner to a quieter street, with only an apartment building on the left and a small restaurant next to a hardware store on the right, Vicki tried to figure out an easier solution. A man shuffled toward them, but turned right, down an alleyway. Vicki followed slowly. It was shallow, with a dumpster at the end. The man disappeared through a steel door at the back of the restaurant.

  Someone would find Amy before morning. It’s not like she was leaving her alone. Shit, the people in the restaurant probably went to the dumpster like, at least every hour. She tucked the letter she’d written before leaving into the pocket of Amy’s sweater. Then she pushed the stroller into the alley, parking it right next to the dumpster. She leaned into the stroller. “You be good and someone will come get you in a while.”

  “Want some?” Amy held the licked sucker out, almost touching Vicki’s face.

  Vicki shoved her hand away and stood. “Gross. I have to go.”

  “Mama Vick go bye?” Amy’s bottom lip quivered.

  “Yes. Now you be good and you’ll get a treat when Daddy comes home.” Vicki lied, and backed away.

  Amy, distracted once more by the sucker, sat back in the stroller and stared at the dumpster.

  Vicki walked away.

  —

  Ronny waved to Martin, the Superintendent, as he passed him on the stairs to his apartment. Martin spared him a glance then turned into his own unit, without a smile or even a nod. Ronny frowned. That wasn’t like Martin. Usually it was all Ronny could do to get upstairs without stopping to talk a while.

  His thoughts turned to Vicki, and to what she might have done to piss Martin off. He ran the rest of the way, fumbling with his keys. On his door, an envelope was taped over the peephole.

  What had she done? As he peeled the tape from the door, Ronny spotted the tenant next to his unit peeking through her door. He went inside, closed the door behind him, and tore open the envelope, his heart thumping against his chest.

  It took him a full hour to read and understand every word on the paper, and as he struggled to decipher the letters, his anger bubbled, building to a full boil by the time he finished.

  Dear Mr. Sampson;

  My name is Connie Morris. I am a representative of the Dept. of Social Services, and supervisor for the Children & Family unit.

  On October 2, 1977, we found your child unsupervised in an alley off Jamieson Street, next to Mother’s restaurant. The child was cold, hungry, and inappropriately attired to be sitting outside in these temperatures for such a long period of time.

  There was a letter in the pocket of her sweater, written by her mother. In the letter, Miss Victoria Karson made allegations of sexual and physical abuse committed by you, as well as claims of drug trafficking.

  It would be in your best interest to contact my office as soon as possible to clear up these allegations and assist us in placing your child in a safe and loving environment.

  The fucking bitch ditched his child and left. That didn’t shock him, but why would she make up such lies? Ronny picked up the closest object, an empty vodka bottle, and heaved it across the room. The satisfying sound of glass shattering against the wall tore something loose inside him. He picked up whatever he could get his hands on and hurled it, while tears streamed down his cheeks. When he ran out of breakable objects, he collapsed on the floor, emotionally spent. He was suddenly thirsty.

  He walked to the fridge and took out a beer. By the time the first knock sounded at the door, he’d polished off seven bottles and was rummaging through the mess to find his stash of pot.

  “Open the door, Ronny.”

  His father. The prick.

  “I’ll break the damn thing down if you don’t.”

  “It ain’t mine anyway,” Ronny yelled.

  Murmuring voices outside the door, his mother’s rising; Ronny chuckled at the idea of her yelling at his dad. He wondered how she made it up the stairs, fat piece of shit.

  “Ronny,” his mother’s singsong tone. She used it when she wanted something from his dad, but Ronny never imagined he’d hear it when she addressed him.

  “Please, son, open the door. We want to help.”

  “Help?” Ronny laughed. “When have you fuckers ever wanted to help me?”

  “Don’t speak to your mother that way. You ain’t too big yet to feel the whip across your sorry ass.”

  “Try it, old man, and see how big I really am.”

  Silence, then a shuffling sound and a key in the lock.

  Where’d they find a key?

  The door opened. Martin stepped aside to allow his parents in. Ronny glared at the man, who glanced around the wrecked apartment with a scowl. His skinny body sagged. He scratched his bald head. “Someone’s paying for this. He’s out of here by the end of the month.”

  “Yeah, thanks Marty. Thanks a fucking lot.”

  Martin shook his head and closed the door.

  Ronny glared at his parents’ sad faces. Wrapped in a shawl, a blue and white dress beneath, his mother seemed even fatter than usual. His dad stood next to her, hands in the pockets of worn plaid jacket. Hatless, a rare thing for Warren, his grey hair stood on end, blown around by the cool October wind.

  Why are they sad? He just proved them right, didn’t he? He was useless; a fuck up who’d lost his crack whore and his kid in one shot. Now, he’d be locked up for something he didn’t do and never see Amy again. He blinked, knowing if he cried Warren would never let him forget it. Someone should show that miserable prick a thing or two. He’d love to pop his father right between the eyes, but he was too defeated to try it now. All he wanted was for them to leave so he could find his stash and oblivion.

  “Social Services called us last week. They’ve got Amy,” his father said.

  Ronny waved an arm toward the counter, where he’d left the letter. “I know. They left a note.”

  “Do you understand what it says?” his mother asked.

  Of course, the retard couldn’t possibly understand a simple letter. “I can read some, you know.”

  “We want to help.” His dad moved aside an empty chip bag, a used syringe, and some clothes and sat on the couch. He rubbed his face as though the situation really bothered him.

  “Fuck off, you’ve never bothered to help me once. Unless you consider beating the shit out of me helping.”

  “Ronny—” His mother glanced at his father.

  But Warren didn’t seem to register the comment or simply took it as rambling. “We’ve been talking to Connie.”

  Connie?

  “Oh, you have been busy. Couldn’t wait to hear how bad I messed things up, could you?”

  “Listen…just listen. Stop this nonsense. Amy is what matters here, not your damn pride.”

  Now that was the mother he knew and despised.

  “Connie says there is a way for you to get her back,” his father said.

  Ronny sobered, his dad’s words sinking through the haze of beer and misery.

  Warren continued, “They don’t believe Vicki’s lies. I mean she left the poor kid in an alley for at least six hours.”

  “Oh God.”

  “They hav
en’t been able to track her down. I never thought she’d be the type. She seemed like such a good girl.”

  “You’re fucking blind then. She hated Amy. Anyone who saw Vicki with her knew that.”

  “Well, she covered it well. We had no clue.” His mother sniffed.

  Tears threatened again. Ronnie couldn’t show them weakness, they’d jump all over that. “Doesn’t matter.”

  Warren stood, walked to the fridge, stared at its barren contents—most of it covered in mold—and took a beer out for himself. “Bottom line is she’s gone. Now, you have a chance to get Amy back, but they have a few conditions.”

  “What?”

  “Well, you can’t have custody, not by yourself. First, they have to make sure you had nothing to do with leaving her in that alley and then they have to check out Vicki’s charges. Even if they decide you didn’t do any of the stuff she says you did, you aren’t here for weeks at a time. They want you to find work that keeps you home. I told them that would be impossible.”

  “Too fucking retarded, am I?”

  Warren tipped the bottle to his mouth and frowned, as though considering his words. That was a first. “I didn’t say that. Stop putting words in my mouth. They said if you’ll give your mother and me guardianship, they’ll release Amy to us. Then she’s cared for while they investigate and clear you. As soon as this shit is cleared up, the social worker said, you can get her when you’re home. When you’re on the road, she’s with us.”

  “No.”

  Warren slammed a fist into the fridge behind him. Something clunked inside. “Are you hearing me, boy? This is the only way you can have her back. If you don’t give us guardianship, she goes to foster care. You won’t see her at all. Good luck getting her back once she’s in the fucking system.”

  “I’d rather she went with strangers. No way are you two getting your fucked-up hands on my daughter.”

  “She’ll be with us either way,” his mother said, a smirk spreading across her flabby face. “They’ve already started the paperwork. I knew you’d be bullheaded about this. It’s faster and easier if you just sign guardianship over, but if you want to be that way about it, we can adopt her. She’ll go into temporary foster care until it’s all been through the court, but we will get her one way or the other. If you want her when you’re home, you have to agree, or we get her and you don’t see her at all. If you’re too stupid to see this as a chance to fix your pathetic life, then fine.” She turned and marched toward the door.