MY FATHER WAS UP TO HIS USUAL SHENANIGANS WHEN I arrived at home. He and my mother were in the middle of one of their trademarked arguments as I entered the living room. My mother quickly turned away from me, probably hoping I had not noticed the tears in the corners of her eyes.
“Where the hell have you been?” Phillip, Sr. barked as soon as he noticed me. I knew better than to ignore him when he was in that kind of state. His normally yellowish eyes were reddened and I could smell the alcohol on his breath from twelve feet away.
“I was just hanging out with a friend. I lost track of time,” I said quietly.
“You lost track of time? How in the hell did you lose track of time?”
“Dad, it’s Friday. Give him a break!” said PJ, who had surprisingly emerged from the basement to come to my defense.
“Quiet, PJ! Your father is just concerned,” our mother interjected. It was hard for me to even look at her lately. She always had this look of sorrow in her eyes that would nearly bring me to tears. She was only 45 years old, but her now sunken face and hollow cheeks made her appear to be far older. It was as though the stress of our poverty and her desolate marriage to our father had caused her to age at twice the normal rate.
“You’d better listen to your mother, boy,” Phillip, Sr. growled as he glared at PJ.
I could tell by the expression on PJ’s face that he had no intentions of backing down. There was a familiar darkness within his eyes. A darkness that I knew all too well. I had felt it seeping into me and corrupting my soul as I plunged Fat Pat’s head into that toilet bowl and held him there so long that he almost drowned in the filth. At first, I thought my newfound strength was the catalyst of my morbid impulses, but I now knew that I had my father to thank for them. PJ wasn’t nearly as strong as I was but we shared the same darkness within. We were both merely products of our environment. I had Monica’s presence to help me keep the dark at bay, but PJ had no one.
“Are you going to hit me again if I don’t shut up?” PJ hissed as he pushed his stringy hair out of his face.
“Listen boy, just because you’re going off and visiting some fancy college this weekend doesn’t make you a man. You’d better show me some damn respect before I teach you some,” Phillip, Sr. roared, his eyes wide with rage.
“I wish I could leave tonight. I’m sick of this piece of crap house and this piece of crap family!” PJ bellowed.
“Phillip, please don’t talk to your father that way,” our mother pleaded.
“I don’t have a father.” PJ braced himself as our father approached him in silence. As the two of them stood face to face, I took a few steps forward, not sure if I should intervene.
“I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you, boy, but you’re about three seconds away from getting the hell beat out of you,” our father growled as he poked PJ in the chest with his index finger.
My hopes of cooler heads prevailing were shattered as PJ shoved our father away. Upset, Phillip, Sr. pounced on PJ and tackled him to the floor. He proceeded to wail on his eldest son with all his might, seemingly not caring about the possibility of seriously injuring PJ.
PJ’s attempts to fight back were futile as our father was considerably larger and stronger than him. Mother rushed to PJ’s rescue, throwing herself between him and Phillip, Sr. It suddenly became clear that Phillip, Sr. had no intentions of halting his assault, even as my mother prepared to use her body to shield PJ from the imminent blows.
As his tightly balled fist headed for my mother’s unguarded flesh, I decided that I had seen enough. In that moment, what little respect I still had for that man dissipated, and I could no longer stand idly by, watching him hurt the ones that I loved.
I crossed the room in an instant and firmly gripped the hand that he had dared to raise against them. The rage that I had fought so desperately to bury had returned. I gladly welcomed its presence as it flowed through my veins and drove out all sense of compassion.
The dark side of me returned, as I once again became the inspiration of fear. The same brand of terror that I saw upon the faces of Bryan and Jimmy had now found its way to my father.
I felt not a single ounce of remorse as I glared into his eyes and prepared to rip his right arm off and beat him to death with it. He was shouting something at me, but I couldn’t hear a thing over the sound of my own heartbeat ringing in my ears.
A twist of his wrist brought him to his knees. As he fell, my mother stood. She was shouting, no doubt pleading with me to release the pitiful excuse of a man. I never understood her devotion to him. Her once promising future was all but decimated by the very man that she was pleading to save.
As my mother and I locked gazes, I couldn't hear her words over the sound of my own heartbeat, but her eyes spoke ever so clearly. I silently pled with her to allow me to end him but she was not to be persuaded. I could see within her eyes that she loved him more than anything. More than PJ or me…more than life itself.
I wanted him dead, but she could not live without him, and I could not live without her. I finally released him and turned my back on them all. Mother pleaded with me to stay as I exited the front door without a word.
Outside, I pulled the straps of my backpack tight and zoomed away into the darkness. I glanced at the running watch strapped to my left wrist as I galloped away. I was only thirty seconds into my run, and I had already reached 85 miles per hour.
As I stormed deeper in the night, the edges of my own darkness began to fade.
15. FROZEN SKY II