Chapter Seven

April 15, 1983

The water frothed and hissed as it met land, curling up into itself as if the sand had burned its groping fingers. Always moving, it retreated and pulled, thenmoved forth in a rushing push. It was as if it couldn't make up its mind, couldn't decide on which direction it should flow.

Sara found herself frustrated in the same manner, sitting there on the sand, just out of reach of the water. Her legs were crossed, and her face was tear-stained, from frustrations she couldn't hold in any longer. She felt like a traitor. She felt like a double-crosser. The secret was eating her. She could feel physical pain as the weight of what she had seen pulled on her, and she could do nothing but cry.

Max the dog laid his chocolate head on her knee, sighing through his nose. Sara had exhausted him earlier with a grueling game of ball. The mangled, slimy tennis ball now lay forgotten on the sand. Sara had broken down towards the end of their game, unable to keep the large tears from rolling down her face. So she had sat down on the sand and sobbed, long and hard.

It was funny, but she felt as if Max could almost understand her feelings. He wasn't barking, or howling, or even drooling on her pant leg, as he loved to do. Her sobs had ended a while ago, though the tears were stilling squeezing through occasionally. She rubbed Max's warm, slightly damp head. She was trying to press the memory from her mind. Trying to push Him from her mind. Why did he have to come into the picture? Why did he have to ruin everything? Why couldn't he just leave her mother alone?

Sara buried her face in her hands again. Trying not to think about it only brought everything closer to the surface. And there were more whys. Why couldn't she bring herself to tell somebody? Why was she breaking her promise? She was half-sure she had an answer to that. If her father found out, things would take a horrible turn for the worse. She couldn't bring herself to be the cause for whatever damage was done. And then, of course, there were her mother's words after he had left.

"Baby, you know your father's doing the exact same thing."

The idea that it wasn't only her mother having an affair was also painful. She hated hypocrites. She never said anything to her father when he was being one, because it was impossible to negotiate things with him, but when he told her it wasn't good to hurt people, she couldn't help but become slightly angered. And her father had been frightened of her mother having an affair, when it was perfectly plausible that he was having one too.

Sara pulled her head up and looked at the sun as it continued to set slowly. She needed to be getting home, before it was too dark, but she really didn't want to. She would give anything not to. With a deep breath, she wiped her face with the backs of her wet hands, trying to compose herself before the walk home. As she stood, Max perked up, but she soon realized it was not because she had moved.

She turned her head and saw Max Hall walking towards her. The chocolate lab barked, and before Sara could grip his collar, he had taken off, straight at the boy.

"Hey, buddy!" Max exclaimed, scratching the dog behind its ears as he leapt all over him.

"Hi, Max…" Sara said softly, now even more self-conscious about her wet face, red and puffy eyes, and stuffy nose.

"Hi," he replied, just as quietly. His smirk was softened as they stood there looking at each other. She could have sworn he had almost frowned, except for that one corner of his mouth.

"I was j-just going to head…home…"

"He's still there," Max nearly whispered.

Sara responded by looking at the ground.

"Have you been crying?" Max questioned.

She was surprised at the softness in his voice. Sara had always taken him for an immature little boy, who felt no compassion for other people. Never had she expected him to be concerned about what she did or didn't do.

"No," she sniffed, trying to rub the tears from her face again.

"You're not very good at lying," Max noted, the dog flopping to the ground at the boy's feet.

"It's nothing," Sara muttered, waving at him through another sniffle.

"It's not easy for me either, if that means anything. I don't like that my dad is doing something like that."

Sara held back a chuckle. Max would never know how badly it was affecting her, though she supposed what he said was true. It must be bothering him too.

"I'll walk home with you, if you want," Max offered. "I don't think your dog would want to leave if I stayed here anyway."

Sara agreed silently, walking forward and falling into stride with Max. The dog followed after them, his ball forgotten as the two kids walked away from the bay.

"Are your parents happy together?" Max inquired as they walked along the sidewalk, the sky becoming increasingly darker.

Sara shrugged. She knew they weren't, but their relationship together was so confusing, she couldn't quite put her finger on how they felt about each other. "They're still married, aren't they?" Sara answered.

They were quiet again, her dog plodding along behind her, panting faintly. "What ever happened to your mom?" Sara suddenly asked. For as long as she had known Max Hall, she had always wondered about his situation. She figured now was as good a time as any to bring up the subject. Their relationship had grown over the past year, almost as a parallel to Steve Hall and Laura's affair. There hadn't been any talks like this one; they mainly just went to the beach together.

Max stuffed his hands in his pockets and his pace sped up slightly. Sara could sense he was uncomfortable. "She died when I was little," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "I can't remember her, so it's alright, I guess."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? It wasn't your fault. And I don't miss her, because I barely knew her." Max kicked at a rock, and it landed in the storm drain as they passed.

They fell silent again. Sara could hardly believe she had such a conversation with Max Hall of all people. The boy her father had told her to stay away from. The son of the man who was at Sara's house as if he belonged there, whenever Allen wasn't around. It sickened her. She used to have respect for Mr. Hall. But now he was ruining her life, pulling it apart at the seams, and putting her in a situation where she was extremely uncomfortable.

"It looks like you're thinking hard," Max noted, coming to an abrupt halt on the street corner where they always separated.

Sara shrugged for the second time that night.

"No offense," she managed, fighting off more tears. "But I hate your dad for screwing up everything."

Max stared at her, his smirk now gone. She had never seen him like this, and for a moment, she was afraid that she had really hurt him. But she was surprised when he responded with, "I do too."

Screaming. Yelling. More screaming. Sara had her pillow pulled roughly over her ears, sobbing once more, into her mattress this time. It wasn't her fault this time, but she couldn't help but cry. She was sick of everything. Absolutely everything. Max the dog was curled up next to her, a paw over his snout. Sara reached out to him, clutching him around the shoulders and squeezing whenever an insult was fired.

Soon the insults and accusations turned to pleas. Pleas to escape the pain. Pleas for it all to stop, and Sara felt herself pleading with her mother, though not out loud. Never aloud.

Allen was supposed to be on a business trip. Wasn't supposed to be here. He had come back early. Why did he have to come home early? Sara wondered, Max's nose in her face. Why did he have to come and see Mr. Hall? Why? Why did he have to see them together in the kitchen?

She couldn't bear the noise anymore. It was pounding in her ears, every syllable of every word, and every sound of every blow her father made. She couldn't do this anymore, couldn't sit there and do nothing to stop it. Sara tried as best she could to compose herself, taking deep breaths as she swept over to her bedroom door, shutting it before Max could follow her out.

They were in the living room. Mr. Hall wasn't there to be seen as Sara crept down the stairs. Allen was pounding Laura, who lay crumpled on the floor. He was shouting curses at her with every punch, every kick. Sara could hardly watch. She had never seen it like this before.

"Dad, stop it!" she shouted at him, stomping her foot down. The tears had come again, and she couldn't stop them. It appeared he hadn't heard her, and he lifted the lamp off the end table, raising it above his head as Laura lay in a heap, blood pouring from her nose, her body curled in a fetal position.

Sara snapped. She leapt down the stairs, sprinting to Allen, grabbing the back of his shirt and punching him repeatedly with her fists, as best she could.

"Get off!" Allen bellowed, reaching behind him and gripping Sara's wrist, though she continued to strike him, this time on the hand that grabbed her. She struck out with her legs next, kicking him as hard as she could.

"Leave her alone," she sobbed. "Leave her alone, Dad, just leave her alone!"

He squeezed tighter on her arm, tighter and tighter until Sara winced, twisting in his grip, and suddenly, as if she were nothing but a rag doll, he threw her against the wall by the front door. The back of her head knocked into the wall, and she felt the pain immediately. She could barely register what had just happened, except that it had hurt, reaching up to the back of her head and feeling moisture among the . She brought her fingers to her face and saw blood.

Allen was standing stock-still, his breaths raspy and deep. His grip went slack on the lamp he was still holding, and he dropped it to the ground, where it clunked heavily. The noise of it echoed in the absolutely silent room. Time seemed to freeze as Sara stared into her father's eyes. She was shocked. Hurt. And most of all, betrayed. Her lip quivered and she made futile efforts to stop it from doing so.

Laura was still lying on the floor, unable to move, though her eyes were open, and she was watching Sara, breathing deeply.
"Sara—" Allen started, but Sara took off running, up the stairs and into her room, where she slammed the door. Then she opened it and slammed it again. And again. And again. After a fifth time of slamming the door, she left it closed, leaned her back against it, and slid to the floor, crying again.

Max had looked up from the bed as soon as she had entered, and with a wag of his tail, he trotted over to her, licking her face once before laying his head in her lap. Sara wasn't sure how long she simply sat there, doing nothing but cry into her hands. It wasn't the fact of the injury she had sustained; it was of how she acquired it. In fact, she only felt a dull ache where she had made contact with the wall.

An hour later, when Sara's sobs had settled to simply tears, she stood and stumbled over to her bed. Max followed her, leaping up on the bed and laying his head next to hers again. She sighed and stroked his fur, trying to hear if there was anymore going on downstairs. Nothing that she could tell.

Within minutes of lying on her bed, she fell asleep. Dreamless sleep, though she tossed and turned. She awoke to the feeling of something in her shoulder. When she opened her eyes, she saw her mother there, the blood cleaned from her face, though her eye and bottom lip were swollen. She was wearing a bathrobe, covered in stains of coffee, vomit, and blood.

"Sara, honey," she whispered. "Wake up."

"I'm awake," Sara replied, though she had a pounding headache.

"Honey, let me see your head." She gestured at it as Sara sat up slowly, wincing as she pushed up with her left hand, the arm her father had gripped. When she looked at it, she saw a large purple bruise on the lower part of her arm, the exact size of her father's hand. Laura was examining the injury, slowly parting Sara's hair and making 'tsking' sounds.

"We need to clean that, so I can get a better look. It doesn't look like you bled too much." She failed to notice the stain on the far side of Sara's pillow.

Sara set her head back down on the pillow, hiding the stain she hadn't seen either, and closed her eyes. "I'll do it in the morning."

"I'm sorry, Sara," Laura whispered, fiddling with her robe. "I will fix this for you."

One of Sara's eyes opened and she peeked out at her mother. Her voice was faint, as she was nearly asleep again. "Fix what, exactly?"

Laura's eyes watered and she reached out, stroking Sara's curly hair. Then she croaked, "He will never hurt you again."

Sara didn't hear her, because she had already fallen back asleep.

It was quiet when Sara woke up that morning. Her headache hadn't improved much, and she winced as it throbbed against her temples. The soreness on her arm and the back of her head hadn't improved much either, and Sara had difficulty getting out of bed, still feeling exhausted. Something felt wrong, but she couldn't figure out what it was. She looked at her bed and saw her pillow had a small area of blood on it where her head had been all night. She probably should have stopped to take care of it, but it didn't look like there was much.

She dragged herself to the closet and pulled her pajamas off, glumly noting that the back of her shirt had some blood on it as well. She tossed it in her hamper and pulled on a pale yellow t-shirt and denim shorts, sighing heavily. Yesterday's incident seemed to become fuzzier and fuzzier with each passing minute. The impact with the wall, and her father gripping her arm were what stuck out the most.

Suddenly, Sara realized what felt wrong with everything. Max wasn't in her room. She looked and saw that her door was open, and assumed that somehow, she had forgotten to close it, or maybe one of her parents had come in while she was sleeping. Sara left her room barefoot, stepping down the hallway and down the stairs, noting the eerie silence that hung over the house.

There hadn't been any guests in awhile. Business hadn't been very good as Laura's drinking problem persisted and the recommendations of the B&B went down. Sara had missed the business. The kids who had played with her were nice to be around.

Sara stepped into the living room, and noticed something else off. It was a Saturday, and Allen would be home. At this time, he should be sitting at the dining room table while Laura cooked breakfast for them all. Sara couldn't smell or hear breakfast, and she was suddenly extremely curious.

She finally found Max, sitting by her parents' bedroom door, whimpering. When he saw Sara, he stood up and barked.

"There you are," Sara greeted, walking over to him and scratching him behind the ears. "What's wrong?"

The dog whimpered some more, scratching at the bedroom door.

And suddenly Sara was filled with fear. Only one thing could mean the lack of activity in the house at this point. Something must have happened to Laura. Maybe Allen had managed to get his temper back. Maybe she had been—No…she couldn't think like that. Her mother was probably out getting groceries. Or maybe she had just gone out for a walk. Or maybe Allen had taken her to the hospital.

But why was Max upset?

It took almost all of her courage to reach out to the doorknob, and as her stomach squirmed, she turned it and pushed the door open. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight.

Allen was sleeping on the bed. But the bed was covered in blood. The walls were covered in blood. The rug, the dresser, the closet door—there was blood everywhere. And Allen was sleeping in the middle of it all. Where was Laura? Where was she? What had Allen done to her?

Then suddenly Sara realized there was too much blood for Allen to have beaten her. He hardly ever drew as much blood as was in this room. Why was he sleeping at this hour, anyway? She looked closer at him.

Then it hit her.

Sara let out a bloodcurdling scream, falling to the floor where uncontrollable, wracking sobs shook her entire body. Her world was spinning. Her vision was blurred with the unstoppable flow of tears. She could hardly make sense of what she had just seen.

Her stomach turned over and over with emotion. And the blood wasn't helping. The room smelled like nothing but blood, an overwhelming metallic smell. She could even taste it, the sour taste you got when putting a nickel in your mouth. Finally, she leaned to the side and heaved out what little of the previous night's dinner she hadn't digested. The action preceded more incessant crying.

Max hadn't entered the room. He was hanging back, his head hung and his tail between his legs. He shuffled over to Sara, who grabbed the fur around his neck and cried into it. When she began to hyperventilate, she tried to stop bawling, taking in breaths and holding them, only to have them burst out in another cry. On wobbly legs, she pushed herself up, using Max for support.

She let him go, staggering over to the bed, ignoring the blood she gathered on her feet, ignoring the blood she was placing her hands in as she leaned on the bed.

"Dad…Daddy, Daddy wake up…" she pleaded, reaching out to his arm and cringing as she touched the coolness of it. She knew her efforts were futile. He was long gone…

Where was Laura?

Sara pulled herself along the bed, to the other side, and she saw her mother lying on the floor, on her side. Her eyes were wide open as she stared at the wall. She was in her old bathrobe, which was covered in new red stains. Her hands were pure red. Red was entangled with her mass of hair. A knife lay on the floor beside her, stained red. Red was everywhere.

"Mom," Sara whimpered. "Wh-What did you do?"

And Laura burst into tears.