Author's Note: I apologize deeply for this, but I felt a need to rewrite this story from the beginning. ... That is all.
Chapter 1: Jack in a Box
He was pretending it wasn't happening. He was attempting to pretend that this could not be happening. He was seven years old and he still wet the bed at night when he awoke at 4 a.m. to their incessant screaming. It was one such night where he had been unlucky, and he knew when he found out that he would beat him. He would beat him and shove his face into his mess and tell him to lick his dirty sheets clean. It was 3:45 a.m. and he felt the wetness and started crying. Upstairs, the yelling of his parents could be heard. They were really going at each other, pounding on walls and cursing every curse word he had ever heard in his life. He just tried to pretend none of it was happening. Maybe if he just went back to bed his mess would dry up and his father wouldn't find out. Maybe both his parents would stop arguing and he could go back to bed again. Maybe he was seven years old and he just wanted to sleep forever…
No matter how much he tried to pretend, the yelling upstairs only grew louder, the smell in his bed lingered in his nose. When dad yelled, it was frightening. But when mom yelled, it made him feel sad, because mom was normally yelling through tears and screams of pain. His father beat her when he was drunk. Soon he would be downstairs next to his bed, and his father would beat him too. All the same, he felt he had to be thankful. He did have a room. And he had his momma-his momma would protect him. She did love him and made sure he was fed and that father didn't get to him too much. She tried to take as many beatings for him as she could. He loved his momma.
He was also thankful he had some toys. He had a poster too, of his favorite cartoon. Whenever he felt overly lonely he would go to his closet and bring out his toys and talk to them. He didn't have any friends because he wasn't allowed outside the house. School wasn't an option. His father controlled both his and his mother's life, and they both weren't allowed out of his sight. That night, amidst the screaming and pounding, Jack found himself creeping quietly to his closet to play with his toys. Silently he crawled across his room floor and found the closet handle. Inside were all three of the toys his mom had been able to scrounge for him. One in particular he was fascinated with-it was a Jack in the Box. He in particularly liked it because it had the same name as him. And it was a clown. Jack kind of liked clowns. He pulled it out of the closet and set in on the floor in front of him. Slowly and quietly he turned the handle, smiling as the familiar tune played along to his turning. Upstairs, the screaming was growing so loud. He could hear his mom's exasperated cries. They seemed to be growing more and more desperate. He kept turning the handle…turning the handle…turning the…POP! Jack the clown came out of his box and Jack the little boy jumped back slightly in surprise. It always scared him a little no matter how many times he turned the handle; he was never ready for the pop. Just like he wasn't ready for what happened next. He could hear his mom pleading, pleading for his father to just put it down. Put what down? Jack wondered and began to become very afraid. He grabbed his Jack in the Box and crawled into the corner of his room, cradling the toy for comfort. Then, one last strangled scream of pain came from his mother, followed by a hard thump on the ceiling. What had just happened? Why had his mom stopped screaming? What was father doing to her?
Jack waited in his room, terrified and shaking, unsure of what he should do. Tears started to stream relentlessly down his face. "Momma," he spoke aloud, hoping she could hear his quiet whispers. All the screaming and pounding had now stopped. There was silence in the house except for his crying. And then he heard his father yelling.
"See that you b***h! See what you made me do?"
Jack heard a hard kick against the wall.
"You got what you deserved! You got it!"
Jack began to cry harder.
"Don't you dare blame this on me! Don't! You! Dare!"
Another hard pound from upstairs and Jack couldn't take it anymore. Still cradling his Jack in the Box, he crept out of his room and looked up the stairs. It was bright up there, compared to his room. It looked as though all the light in the house were on. He quietly made his way up the stairs. His light brown hair was a mess on his head, and his pants were still damp from wetting the bed. He was shaking and crying, but he had to know what was going on. He had to make sure his momma was okay.
When he finally reached the top of the stairs, he cautiously peeked around the corner and looked down the hallway. What he saw would permanently scar him for the rest of his life. There, in the middle of the hallway, was his mother. She was motionless in a pool of blood. Tons and tons of blood. He had never seen so much blood in his entire life. He was scared to approach her, but he had too. Of course he had too. It was his momma. He had to save her. He had too.
"Momma?" His voice was hoarse and raspy, choked by his own tears. He slowly moved towards his mother lying on the floor. "Momma are you okay?" He knew she wasn't okay. He was seven, and despite his lack of schooling, he was really very intelligent. Still, there could be no way she wasn't okay. If she wasn't, what was he going to do? He needed his momma so much. He loved her so much…
As he made his way closer he began to hear footsteps somewhere in the house. His father was coming back. He heard a toilet flush, and the door at the very end of hallway opened. There was his father, bloodied and drunken, staring right at him. He dropped the Jack in the Box and froze, his hear racing. Now his father would kill him too. But that wasn't what happened. Something much, much worse happened. It started with his father taunting him.
"Why you look so down kid? Why you look so sad?"
Jack said nothing. He only cried and shook horribly. He tried to hold it in as best he could. He knew wailing like a baby would do him no good.
"Come on kid, why are you crying? What. You think I'm not going to be as much fun as your mother?"
He took a step forward. He was still holding the bloody knife. Jack knew he had to run. But he also knew he couldn't outrun his father.
"You think she loved you?" Another step forward, "You think she really cared for you?!" He was really yelling at him now. He swayed back and forth as he came even closer. The knife was shaking in his hands. "Do you think anyone cares for you?! Look at you son. You're a good for nothing f*** up that's what you are." His father had half the hallway cleared now. He was so close. Jack dared not move. He dared not speak. He was terrified.
"Come on, your mother's dead son. Why don't you smileee?! Huh?! She's GONE! You should be happy!" It was then that the gap between them closed, and his father had him by his chin. He shook him ruthlessly. He stared straight into his eyes. "No one is ever going to love you. No one is ever going to touch you again! You think you're going to have a good life? Find some pretty girl and screw her and have some kind of family? Is that what you think? Well you are dead wrong son." His father crouched down to his level and held his face so firmly that his fingers began to bite into his skin. Jack couldn't help it now, he began to wail. And his father began to laugh. "I could kill you, like yer momma. I could kill you. But I won't son. I won't. I just want to see you smileeee. Okay? Is that okay? Just smilleeeee….." Slowly, his father took the knife in his hand, the knife that had been used to murder his mother, and stuck it into his mouth. Jack screamed. What was his father doing? He writhed against his hold, doing his best to break free. But his father was much too strong for him. He cried and flailed and pushed at his father. But he only laughed harder. "You need to loosen up boy. Life is short. Why so damn…serious?" With that he dragged the knife up through his cheek. First the one, and then the other. Jack had never screamed so hard. He screamed and cried as blood began to pour out of his face. His father laughed harder and harder. When he had finished his work, he shoved his son to the floor and stood up.
"Let's see if anyone wants to touch that face now boy."
Somewhere up the road, the sound of sirens could be heard. Jack was screaming so loud he could hardly hear them. He felt his vision fading. He felt his heart racing. He trembled and cried and rolled back and forth on the floor. Blood was everywhere. His blood. Was he going to die? He almost hoped so.
Suddenly, the front door to their house burst open, and many footsteps rushed up the stairs. They were police men. Police men had somehow found them. Four of them crowded into the hallway with their guns raised and bodies tensed. They took in the scene with looks of shock and horror. One of them yelled into a walkie for back up while another yelled at Jack's father to put his hands in the air. He was still laughing, too drunk to listen. One of the officers cornered him against the wall and bashed his head with his gun. He slumped to the floor almost immediately and the office cuffed him. Another officer knelt next to Jack. Touching his face tears began to fill the policeman's eyes. "We need to get this kid to a hospital. Fast." He looked to one of the other men. "We need an ambulance." The other man shook his head. "No," he said, "it will take too long. He needs to go now. Nearest hospital is an hour away. He can't wait an hour for them to show up and then another hour back." He looked down at Jack, and then quickly reached down and picked him up. Jack screamed. "We'll take him to the hospital. Now." The other man nodded, and they began to make their way down the stairs. But Jack didn't want to leave. He couldn't leave. His momma was still on the floor. In spite of the pain, he had to stay with his momma. So what if he died? So what if it hurt so bad? He could not leave her. He began to scream her name as the officers pulled him away from the only life he had ever known. The officer behind him was letting go of tears now. He let them slide down his face. Jack screamed louder. "Momma! Momma! Don't take me…momma!" But they didn't listen. They took him flailing and screaming out of his house, placed him in the back of a car and before he knew it they were speeding along the highway towards the hospital. One of the officers sat in the back with him, holding him down and compressing some gauze from a First Aid kit into the sides of his mouth. "It's going to be okay kid. It's going to be okay." In his state of hysteria, of physical pain and emotional horror, Jack began to feel that nothing would ever be okay again.