Okay, basically all this is fluff. Pure fluff. But I just had the idea to write this one-shot after re-reading The Dark, when it says all that crap about Isabel's father.
Notice: I didn't put this as exact as Marianne Curley did, and I straggled the ending a little bit, just to fit my point.
Isabel
Two weeks now.
Its been two weeks since I'd first gotten a taste of my second power, of visions. And since then, I've received many. The ones about the storm, Ethan's mom, and of Arkarian in the Underworld have passed, and the effects are over. But the one about my father leaving has haunted me the most.
I'm not sure why, as I've hardly remembered anything about him. Maybe that's why I am interested so much. As of now, I've snuck into the attic to look at some of the old pictures of him. Mom nevers mentions them as they upset her, but I've noticed that she has often snuck into this sanctuary to look at the photographs.
I turn the ratted page of a black and white album, one of my father in his childhood. He is outside, playing some sport or whatever. His messy blond hair has dirt in it, but he is smiling all the same. He is in a weird position, as if posing specifically for the camera. Maybe this is where I got my sports craze from.
Blinking back the tears that have slowly crept into my eyes, I try to ignore the feelings of sadness that have suddenly appeared. I try to turn the page once more, but I never get the chance to fully do it. For as I try, a searing pain arrives in my temple, along with a flash of burning light. I am having another vision.
In a split second, I am out of the crowded attic, and into another room of the house, this one small. It doesn't take me long to realize that this was one of my past memories. My smaller, little self is standing directly in front of me, crouching behind a corner, as if spying. Her blond hair is pulled up into small pigtails on either side of her face, and in her sleepy hands, I see a ragged teddy bear.
Noticing that she was indeed spying on something, I creep forward to see exactly what was happening. The past couldn't see me, so I made no attempt to hide. Across the hallway from where little Isabel was standing, was my brother Matt's door. It was open just a crack, and you could hear voices inside.
Cautiously, I snuck beside the open door space. Reaching out to push the door open as to let me inside, it stayed where it was. No matter how hard I pushed, it would not go open. Maybe it was the rules of the past: none could alter anything. Or maybe this was something that I just was not meant to see.
I sneak a look back to my younger self. Her eyes are full of frighten and worry as she continues to cautiously watch my brother's door. I do not remember any of this, and so I wonder what exactly she is waiting for. It doesn't take long before I realize what is getting ready to happen.
A shrill voice shrieks from inside the bedroom. "DADDY! NO!"
My heart stops, and I draw in a quick breath. Was this really happening? A sound of something heavy being pushed onto the floor draws me back to reality. Of course it was. My brother was in trouble, and there was nothing I could do to help him.
Harsh crying starts from inside, and an older voice yells, "SHUT UP YOU LITTLE TYRANT! ACCEPT YOUR PUNISHMENT LIKE A MAN!" But he couldn't, as he is only still a child. Next from the room comes the sound of glass breaking. He must've thrown a bottle at him.
I cannot believe this. Half of the time, when I am told of these tragic times in Matt's life, I simply think that it was something simple, but not this rough and violent. Matt's screams become louder, and then he starts wailing. "IT HURTS DADDY! STOP IT!"
But he doesn't, I can tell. For an instant, I am worried that my father is going to kill him. Someone must have to interrupt this now, while they can. I can still hear the beatings taking place, of my father's belt and my brother's cries.
Another cry starts sounding, a softer quieter one. One so soft that I couldn't even hear it until she steps up to me. Its my younger self, and she is standing near to me; near enough that I can hear her soft whimpers. And then the strangest thing happens. She looks me directly in the eye, through sniffles, and gives me a pleading look. Its almost as though she can tell that I am here.
Through the harsh cries of Matt, my father's screaming, and my whimpering, another sound comes through: the sound of a closing door. It must be the police, I think. The neighbors would have heard the yelling and would have called them. My father would be taken to jail.
Whoever it is starts to frantically rush through the hall, and I am relieved when it is my own mother. Maybe she would be able to contain my father. She spots younger me, and gives a small gasp, also taking in the sounds coming from behind the door. She quickly brushes small Isabel into her own room, and I can hear voices inside, "It's all right sweetheart. Go back to sleep."
Meanwhile, the beating of Matt is still going on. I wonder why my mother didn't rush to the scene to stop any more damage, instead of rescuing her daughter first. She emerges from Isabel's room, and runs into Matt's.
As she runs in, the door swings right open, and I can see straight in. The room is a mess. A messy bad is splattered with colored glass, bookshelves were empty, the books scattered across the floor, and the carpet was stained with dark red blotches. Among all this commotion, sat two people, Matt and my father. Matt was laying on the floor, on top of some of the broken glass and books. He is in the worst shape ever. He has a black eye, and cuts and scratches all over him. From the position he was in, he had a broken leg.
And above this, his face angered out from drunkenness, was my father. His hands were clenched, and in one of them was his belt. He looks questioning at my mother. "I thought you were to be home around eleven."
His casual talk doesn't survey my mother. "I got off early. Good thing I did, too." Her blond hair raving, she stepped over bits of debris to her husband. "What are you doing, Shayn?"
Shayn Becket just laughs. "I was teaching your son a lesson, Coral." I wonder why he said 'your' and not 'our'. "He didn't do the dishes like he was told to. I had to give a suitable punishment." At this point, my mother cannot take it anymore, and she runs over to her beaten son, tears forming quickly in her eyes.
"Dish washing isn't appropriate for a child as small as he." She declares loudly through her tears. "And even so, why does beating a boy to death classify as a punishment?" She sniffles, and looks over her son once more, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "He needs to go to a hospital."
"He ain't goin' no' where," Shayn says, through the remains of his drinking effects. "I told him that he was going to get five whippin's. He's only gotten four." He sways slightly on the spot, and clutches the belt tighter in his hand.
I have the urge to look back at little Isabel's room, and as I do, I quickly notice a flash of blue enter the room. What the hell? A sharp cry draws my attention back to the traumatic scene. My father has the belt raised up now, ready to strike. His reddened eyes meet my mother's brown, and she lets out a small shriek. "NO SHAYN!"
"Daddy?"
A small voice comes from the doorway, which I had left to enter this commotion. Its Isabel, her eyes red from crying, teddy bear still in hand. "Daddy, what are you going?" I notice that at this statement, Shayn swings his head over to her, and his eyes briefly soften. He steps over to this small child, belt still handy.
"NO!"
This is the small outcry from my mother, and I realize, that in a second, I would witness my own abuse. I look away, to the floor, and get ready for the sounds of frantic crying. When I do hear it, it is not frantic. Its not harmful. And it is not from a child.
There, in my tiny one's arms, is my father. His head is on my shoulder, his own shaking as he weeps tremendous tears. The belt lay discarded on the floor next to him. Isabel is aroused, and hugs her daddy back confusingly. My mother starts to weep too, but over her injured son.
Hearing his wife's tears must have brought Shayn back to reality, for he suddenly stops his crying, and hugs Isabel briefly. Then, he enters the hallway, and stomps into his own room. We do not see him for a few minutes.
In those minutes, my mother picks up Matt, and takes him into the living room. He lay still for awhile, before reaching up and hugging his mom, her whispering reassurances. My own little self came out later with a wet washcloth in her tiny hands. "Make him better, Mommy."
These words make tears come to my eyes, and so to my mother. Such words spoken by such a little, innocent child can mean that there really is bad in the world. Even my mother knows that she may be able to nurse him physically, but as for his emotional scars, they will never heal.
My mother graciously takes the wash cloth out from her daughter's hands before trying to mop up some of the blood from my brother's various cuts, one in particular around his black eye. Little me sits down beside Matt, and holds his hand tightly. He looks away from his mother to his sister, and gives her a little smile.
Now, Shayn re-enters the family, a suitcase dragging with him. He looks at us pointedly, before addressing Coral. "I have to go. I can't take what I've done." He's obviously over his sickness, and is thinking clearly. "I'm sorry, love. I just have to go."
My mother rises from her position beside Matt. She reaches up to her husband, then kisses him madly. "No, you don't have to go. I love you. They love you." She enters him into a hug. "We can work this all out. I need you, Shayn."
"No, you don't Coral. You didn't need me before, and you don't need me now." He snarls, and pushes her away softly. "If you need someone, just call up Matt's real father. He would know how to raise a family." And with that, he exits the room, with his suitcase behind him.
I stand shocked, but then see that this is an extended part of the vision I originally saw. I stay inside, sitting on one of my family's armchairs, as my littler self goes outside, to see her father for the last time, after begging him not to go. And he would tell her about the deceit, but I am to forget it after that.
My mother and self enter back into the living room. Isa sits back on her brother's couch, beside him carefully, as to not cause him any more harm. "It'll be okay, Mattie." She whispers this softly. He can barely nod his agreement. My mom exits the room, probably to call an ambulance for Matt.
While she's gone, little Isabel gives Matt a small hug. "Why did he do it?" Matt wondered to her aloud. "What did he always hurt me but never you or Mommy?" He flinches as his sister hugs a tender spot.
"I don't know," is her reply, as soft and innocent as any little girl can.
Suddenly, I am taken out of the scene and land back into the crowded attic. The photo album in my hands has turned to its last page, one that was empty. I run my hand up to my mouth to cover my shock, and it comes back wet with fallen tears.
I break down right there, and start bawling my eyes out. How could someone do that to my precious brother? We may bicker, but I still feel love for him. I thank God that him and mom aren't here to see me crying, but at the same time, I feel like I need someone to hold onto.
As if answering my prayer, gentle arms entrance me from behind, and I realize that Arkarian must have heard my emotions projected. He lets me sob onto his shoulder, his hand pressuring my back slowly, assuring me that everything would be alright.
"How could he do that?" I ask him when I feel like I have cried enough. He had no answer for me, and I know why. No one will understand the mind of a madman. "Why was I to see that?" I ask, for he ought to know this answer.
Arkarian sighs, and looks at me shyly, his purple eyes straying with love. "Its better to know the hardships of a battle, than to never know and spend your life wondering on what had been."
Writing this made me cry. Its actually my first ever deal with something as big as child abuse, so please give me some constructive criticism! Please review!