Shadow II Page 3

  Chapter 3

  After stashing her bike behind some dumpsters and checking the house for security systems, she found none. She opens the back door connected directly to the kitchen.

  She pauses before she steps in. She has ridden by this house only twice before, since she’s regained some of her past back, but after seeing Mark’s old beat up pickup, which was new years ago, the second time, when she seen it last, she couldn’t bear going back yet.

  The fact bothered her a lot. Here she was, a killing machine that had decapitated people without a second thought, scared of a pickup truck. She understood that it wasn’t actually the pickup truck but the memories and emotion associated with the truck’s owner. This is why she paused at the back door.

  “What other memories, most likely horrible, would this house hold? Could she deal with these thoughts and feelings at the same time as Mark?” These thoughts are what kept her at the backdoor.

  “Hell yes, I can deal with this! What? He must be almost 50!” she smiles as she enters the kitchen and as expected, after looking around the kitchen only briefly, she has to lean against a wall as a strong flashback takes over.

  It was the day of the shooting, the day Betty’s mother tried to kill Mark. It was the day before Betty was supposed to go back to school since her black eye was completely gone. This was the first time Mark hit her in the face and as far as Shadow could recall, the last time, too. The physical abuse mainly involved shoving, pushing, and pulling concerning Betty, but it was no holds barred for Betty’s mother, and that morning was a typical example.

  Betty was home from school, bored, and her mother decided to have Betty help with chores because something was bothering her; little Betty could sense it. Her mother was almost always happy and cheerful toward her no matter how much abuse she received, but that day was different in that aspect. She moped around sluggishly and didn’t even get dressed in the outfit Mark handpicked for her that morning.

  Surprisingly, that afternoon, Mark came home for lunch. He found little Betty and her mother in the kitchen. To him, they were just standing around doing nothing. He was outraged. How come she was not made up? How could she expect him to love her when she let herself look like shit? The comments grew more and more harsh as she didn’t reply. She looked as if she didn’t care, as if she was finally defeated.

  This infuriated Mark “but back then what didn’t,” Shadow thought.

  Mark beat down Betty’s mom in the kitchen as little Betty watched. This was the last time Mark would be able to do this.

  Shadow punches the wall, not hard enough to leave a mark, which could have easily done. She wanted to punch harder but she knew she couldn’t leave any sign of her being there as she was going to do this right.

  The punch came from the hate of this man and the hurt he caused, but also from the fact that she had blacked out again during a flashback. This happened regularly when the first ones started and several times left her coming to at the hands of would-be capturers, if it wasn’t for an inside person not wanting her to be caught. Over the months, these visions had been nothing more than day dreams, but she feels it has something to do with this house, being the place where some of the bad things happened. This is the house that she and Mark moved to after the shooting.

  She makes her way into the adjacent dining room. It looks so familiar, just like her visions, a few things are either missing or rearranged but most are in the same spots they were for over a decade. So far the house looks immaculate, the exact way that Mark demanded for all the women in his life.

  Betty spent most of her teen age years as teenager/student/housekeeper. Mark kept her real busy. Never allowed her to go out to school social events or even really leave the house without him beside her, not even to check the mailbox by the road.

  Of course, being a teenage girl, she snuck out to see her boyfriend Jack. They dated for about two years and they never rounded second base. They loved each other dearly, but Mark’s grasp was too strong.

  In the corner is the piano that Betty used to play when Mark allowed her to, but she remembers the time that she forgot Mark was sleeping. She was practicing away until he came down and shut the key case on her fingers. She screamed horribly. Shadow clenches her fist as this memory still stings.

  “Why was he so mean? Stinking alcoholic was mean even when he wasn’t drunk.”

  Shadow makes her way into the living room. It’s similar to their first house, but things are in different places and the room is a little bigger. Looking at the couch she thinks how her mom used to sit there zombied out waiting for Mark to get home, that fateful day, the day of the shooting. Without knowing why, Shadow sits down on the sofa, she then tried to picture that day through her mother’s eyes.

  Suddenly, she snaps out of a trance-like state. “Damn it,” she thinks as she looks at her Barbee watch, the only piece of unnecessary equipment on her person. It’s been 14 minutes,

  “I’ve got to control this, it’s just a house.”

  She glances around the room, fully aware that this might trigger another flashback but she can’t resist, she’s been waiting for this moment for almost a year, or a lifetime as it feels to her now.

  On the near end table, she notices a picture of a little girl with golden ponytails and a bright smile. “Could this be me? After all the years the old bastard still has my picture out?” After the shooting, Mark stopped taking pictures of them, she could never figure out why.

  Shadow picks up the photo and looks at it. She holds it like it’s an infant, scared to drop it. She doesn’t remember the dress, but that’s not shocking to her, there’s a lot she can't remember. For the first time, a positive flashback comes forth.

  Little Betty was in her room crying because she was going to be an angel in her first school play. Her mother worked on the outfit all day and forgot to start dinner so Mark beat her up in the kitchen.

  As she sits on her bed crying, Mark came in and asked her if she was ready. She had no clue what he meant because he told her mother that no one was going anywhere. Little Betty looked at him confused and a little scared, when her mother came in with dark glasses on. She said, “Let’s go.”

  In the car on the way there, it was completely silent until Mark apologized. It was short and simple, “I’m sorry,” but it was also rare, Betty’s mother smiles. The play was a blast even though little Betty only had one line, she had tons of fun. That night they even went out to dinner, another rarity.

  “Not many good memories,” thinks Shadow as she looks at the picture, “Not many at all.”

  The sound of a key entering the front door lock grabs Shadow’s attention. She puts the photo on the couch and looks at the door that is about 20 feet away and perpendicular to her. All the muscles in her body tense, she’s ready to pounce. She pulls her mask back, she wants him to remember this face as he slowly dies.

  As the door opens, an elderly man enters slowly. Shadow recognizes him, it’s Mark but the years and beers have taken their toll on him. He looks almost ten years older than he should, but it’s Mark, there’s no doubt. Mark steps a few feet and notices the unexpected visitor standing up.

  “Who are you? And what do you want?” says Mark in a startled, undemanding tone.

  Shadow replies with a slowing raising tone that ends in a yell, “I’m here to hurt you like you hurt me and my mother!”

  Either Mark didn’t hear her completely or didn’t understand because he looks clueless.

  She takes a few steps toward him, when a little girl no more than 8 years old runs up and grabs his leg, “Daddy, daddy, I checked the mail and we got none.”

  The little girl looks at the stranger in the costume and asks, “Daddy, daddy, who’s this?”

  Shadow had froze in her spot, that little girl in the picture is not her; it’s this little girl hugging his leg.

  Mark pleads with Shadow, “Please take what you want, but don’t hurt us.” Anger and confusion fills Shadow’s eyes, her body langu
age emphasizing that she’s going to attack, but all Shadow can muster from her daily growing vocab is, “You!”

  Mark then realizes that this must be personal. He’s hurt a lot of people in his lifetime and he knows it. He pleads, “Please if you...need...to do something to me, could you please let my daughter go sit in the car. I beg you, please don’t allow her to see this.”

  The little girl senses something's not right, squeezes his leg harder.

  “Jeanie, go out to the car please,” Mark says as he bends over, crying and trying to remove the reluctant child off his leg.

  Shadow’s body relaxes as she mumbles, “Jean..ie?” Mark looks up and sees this woman's face contorted into an image of sadness and disappointment. He recognizes this look, he looks deep into Shadow’s face and asks, “Betty Jean?”

  Shadow was looking down, slightly in thought and slightly at the little girl, suddenly looks up. “How does he know it’s me?! It’s been years!”

  A stew of emotions take over, too much for Shadow to handle, she runs though the house and out the back door. She removes her bike from the stashed location, jumps on and accelerates like a bat out of hell.