Disclaimer: I don't own the plot of the movie or the story. The Movie was made by Paul Lovett and David Elliot and the story was written by my Little Sister Rachael
Extreme Language Youve Been Warned
The little boy crouched in the corner of his bedroom, breathing heavily. He could still hear the shouting coming from his parents bedroom across the small, run-down house. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine that he wasn't there. It was what he did when he got upset. Try to forget.
Almost every night they would do this. Screaming and shouting at each other until it got physical. His mother would cry and take each blow from his father bravely. Sometimes, when the boy got enough courage to come out of his room when it was quiet, she lay limp on the floor hardly breathing. The boy heard the hard footsteps of his father while he was still shouting at his mother.
"Damn Carol! You and your little goddamn friends always fucking around and you wonder why around. And you wonder why I fucking think you're fucking some other guy!" he shouted out of their bedroom now. They were in the small living room now and the boy could here his mother pleading.
"No! Jim, I swear! We just went to lunch! Just me and Hannah, I swear it. Honey, listen to me…"
"Fuck you, Carol! I'm not listing to you this time! Why was there a goddamn mans wallet in the car? Tell me that you fucking bitch!" Jim shouted above his wife's defense.
"It was Hannah's husbands ! She brought it with her so she could pay for lunch! She must have dropped it or..." Carol tried to explain.
The boy covered his ears and started to hum quietly to himself. This wasn't happening again. He wasn't here. He was far away, playing in the park or onver at a friends house playing the PlayStation eating the cookies their mother made. The boy rocked back and forth trying to block out the unbearable cries of his mother as the first blow came. He could hear the sound of impact and his mother fall to the ground. Punch after punch came. A tear spilled from the corner of his hazel eyes. If his mother could cry,then he could too.
He heard his father stomp loudly down the hallway, open the hall closet door and then shut it again. His mother whimpered softly and, from what the boy could tell, she was laying on the ground. His father was mumbling angrily as he walked heavily back into the living room where his mother lay.
"Stupid cunt! You'll never fucking cheat on me again!" Jim bellowed. The boy could hear a small click. He stood up slowly and walked over to his bedroom door. His heart was pounding in his ears, his breath was labored. Quietly, he opened his door and peeked out into the living room. He could see his mother sitting on the floor, using the couch for support. Her face was almost unrecognizable due to the bruising and it looked like her shirt was ripped. His father was standing over her with his shotgun in hand, loading it. What was the planning to do with it? The young boy did not understand. He whimpered. As soon as the quiet sob left his lips, he regretted it.
Terror swept over as his father turned to see him peeking through his bedroom door. The boy froze, the tears flowing down his cheek were the only movement. As his father stared menacingly at him, he tried to think of something to do. Should he run?
He slammed the door to his bedroom suddenly and ran over to his closet. The boy ducked into the corner of it, closing the closet doors behind him. He hugged his knees tightly while he rocked back and forth. His heart hammered as he started to hyperventilate. The boy tried to breath slowly, counting in his head but the terror was too much to control.
He heard his bedroom door open and his father walk over to his closet doors. The boy could see his fathers shadow from the crack under the door. He closed his ees as more tears escaped him.
"Jack! Come out of there!" his father yelled. "You've got three seconds boy! One...two...three!"
As soon as his father said three the closet doors were yanked from their hinges. Jim towered over the frightened boy, crouched in the corner of his small closet. The boy was yanked out of his place by his arm and thrown across the floor. He hit the wall on the opposite side of his room. The boy felt immense pain enter his back and arm that hit the wall. Before he had time to sit up on his own, his father snatched him up by his hair and dragged him out into the living room. The boy held onto his head as he was being hauled. He kicked his legs, thrashing his body to break from his fathers grip. Jim ignored it as he threw the boy onto the couch.
"You sit right fucking there! I don't want to hear a goddamn peep from you, got that kid?" Jim shouted. All the boy could do was stare into his fathers horrifying eyes. His mother stirred, trying to stand up but as she did his father delivered a sharp kick to her ribs and the little boy heard a low snap. He flinched.
"You fucking slut!" his father roared as he picked up the shotgun from the table. He cocked it and smiled malevolently down at his wife. Her hand twitched and she turned her head to face her husband, too tired and weak to be afraid.
"Not... Not in front of Jackie.. Please, Jim...Jackie..." she gasped. The boy stared at his mother, not understanding. Why had she said his name? Her once-beautiful voice was broken and cracked, her face was beaten and bruised, her body was weak and almost completely lifeless. The boy hated this. The tears flowed down his cheeks freely now. He wanted to close his eyes but he could not. He sat there, waiting for something to happen, looking back and forth between his mother and father. His father looked crazed, like he never had before.
"No.. No, you whore. He's going to watch. Isn't that right Jack?" his father said, surprisingly calm now. When the boy didn't respond, he continued. "He's going to watch your life slip away. He's going to know why I'm doing this."
The boy shook with fear, wondering what was going on. He didn't understand it at all as his father stood over his mother, gun in hand. What was he so angry about? Suddenly, his father turned to face him. He grabbed the boy's shoulder with one hand and shook him roughly once.
"Your mother is a fucking tramp! Do you hear that? A slut. A whore. Trash." he said and then he thundered, "She's not worth anything! She deserves to fucking die!!" The boy cried harder, closing his eyes and shaking his head, trying to block all of this out. He wasn't here. He was somewhere far away...
"Goodbye Carol." His father whispered as he shot his wife in the chest. The boy jumped at the sound of his father's shotgun and felt specks of warm liquid all over his body but he didn't dare open his eyes. He sat there, sobbing furiously and shaking uncontrollably.
The house got suddenly quiet and for a second, the boy thought his father had left. Slowly, he opened one of his eyes.
His father stood there, his eyes wide but blank. The shotgun fell from his hands as he staggered backward. He stared at his dead wife that now lay motionless on the floor. The boy looked down and saw his mothers body, exposed and grotesque. Blood covered her skin and clothes. The boy quivered, hurting from the pain he felt. His vision blurred by his many tears. His father turned and walked down the hallway to his bedroom, leaving the door open. The boy opened both eyes now and stared at his father. He heard his father rummaging, opening dresser drawers. The boy peered down the hallway but all he could see was his parents nightstand and his mother' full-length mirror by the door. He waited, fearfully.
Then he heard a loud gunshot and saw blood spatter all over the mirror and the wall behind it. The boy hurriedly closed his eyes tight again and hugged his knees, wailing hysterically. He felt his mothers blood flowing down the side of his face, covering his arms and legs. He began to shake and rock as he sat there, in the exact spot his father had thrown him. He wasn't here. He wasn't here...
Jack Mercer sat up suddenly in his bed. Sweat dripped down from his forehead as he breathed roughly. He frantically looked around the room and, once he recognized his surroundings, began to calm down. He was here, in his bedroom, safe. Evelyn was right down the hall, sleeping soundly and Bobby, Angel and Jerry were all there as well. Jack glanced over at his alarm clock. 6:32 am. He shoved his blankets away and sat on the end of the bed, his head in his hands. Trying to shake off his very recent dream (or rather, memory), he breathed very slowly and tried to stop himself from shaking like he was. He was here, he was safe.
His door suddenly burst open and his oldest brother, Bobby, walked in. He smiled smugly when he saw Jack sitting on the edge of his bed.
"Good, you're already up." Bobby said as he walked over to Jack's closet. He threw a pair of jeans at Jack. "Come on. We're going down to the rink to play a game. Get your ass dressed cuz you're gonna be on my team, Fairy."
Bobby walked out of Jack's room, not even bothering to close his door. Jack sighed as he pulled his jeans up over his legs. Yea, he was here alright. Safe. For now.
R&R