Chapter 6: Down the Stairs

So, hardly expecting it, I found myself stuck with the bitch. And now, there was no way around it; there was zero way, whatsoever of her leaving my home, and now that she was the 'lady of the house,' she had taken total control over everything, including my father-- although she had had taken total control of him beforehand-- but now that she was his 'bride,' she had decided to take control of my actions, and even the way the house looked as well. She deemed almost everything 'tacky;' saying "Jamesie, dear... I know you like the kitchen counters, but they're just too-- too; We simply must pick out some new ones when you're off work."

And of course, my father would instantly agree to her selfish demands; of course pleased that he would be able to run around like her slave, while she sat around the house, looking into her mirror, or painting her fingernails.

Yes. And if you can believe it, the second my back was turned, Jacqueline decided to hire a fancy decorator in order to give the house more of a 'woman's touch;' if I remember correctly, my father shelled out about five grand just to ensure that she could fix up the house in any way she wanted. Staring at the flowery curtains that now blocked out the rest of the world, I actually scoffed; I'm sure that you can imagine my utter horror when these had been delivered to our residence the previous month-- and I had been forced to sign for them to boot; I had wanted to lie and say that we hadn't ordered the atrocities, but I was not bold enough. Forcing every bit of pride I had, I had given the paper my signature, and had watched my father put them up the following evening. But this was not the worse she had done to us all; I still could not believe that Jacqueline had also decided to begin monitoring my phone calls; all the while telling me that I should no longer associate myself with 'riffraff' like Carla-- as soon as Jacqueline had put this plan into action, I had taken out to sneaking out at night to hang out with friends whom my stepmother had deemed 'unworthy;' defying her in secret was empowering-- one of the only things I could do to get back at her... She couldn't choose my friends-- well, she could think that she had, but as long as the blonde bitch basically left me alone for most of the day, I was fine. Yeah. Jacqueline really was a great judge of character, and my father-- he had not even realized that Jacqueline was such a total control freak-- not that he could, I mean. After all, my father was blinded with love for this vile creature, and simply could not be swayed into realizing what she truly was.

It was the worst situation that could have ever happened-- ever been imagined by the worst mind in the world-- however, I do have trouble believing that anyone could have foreseen it; if anyone had, and had alerted me to the horrors that would soon begin, I would have made sure that my father and me would leave town, and start a new life somewhere else after my mother's death-- but then again, if I could have been alerted to the coming of Jacqueline, maybe my mother could have been saved...

I bit back tears, and tried to concentrate on the ugly patterns that made up the swirling roses and tulips; Jacqueline sure had great taste...

I laughed, despite myself; but then a grim thought entered my mind. They were married now, though-- I wanted to accept it, but I just couldn't; it was a nightmare-- and a bad one at that; I needed out of everything, but there was no way out...

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Who does the whore bag think she is? I wondered, angrily, once again trying to blink the painful tears away... I was washing the dishes that night-- weren't many of course, because you see, my father had taken Jacqueline out for the third time that week-- and probably for the millionth time in their rather short time of being a 'loving couple;' it was a Saturday evening, and because Jacqueline would become quite suspicious if they returned home only to find the house empty, and it would be even more risky to have friends over, I was forced to remain all alone until she and my father at last decided to return from their 'outing,' and of course I couldn't call friends because the stupid bitch had conveniently forgotten to pay the phone bill. Stuck at home on the weekend, I realized, angrily, as a neighbor's dog barked loudly from outside, And stupid Jacqueline can't even have Dad call to tell me when they'll be back... Not that she would, anyway, I added, as an afterthought.

I was so angry because, you see, Jacqueline wasn't just my father's slutty girlfriend anymore. No. She was his wife, and from now on would be my stepmother. So, we were actually related in a way, and the very thought made me sick; the way they seemed to be so "in love..." I don't know how one could call what they had love...

When my mother had still been alive, my father had never had to take her out on extravagant shopping sprees simply to prove how much he 'adored her;' she had never asked him to take her out to dinner literally every other night. She had actually loved him...

Little did Jacqueline realize, however, that the money was quickly going away; my mother's Life Insurance-- or what little was left of it was nearly gone, and when I turned eighteen, I planned on taking my inheritance, and leaving town... for good. But that was nearly two years away, and in the meantime, I would have to endure the pain of being stuck with the worst people in the world. Although I hated to be planning it out, I knew that I would be living off of my mother's death-- but I had to accept it, for I was sure that my mother would have wanted me to continue living-- no matter what would happen to her widowed husband; my thoughts returned to Jacqueline, for as she rarely worked nowadays, soon she would simply be forced to get a full time-job. I snickered at the thought of Jacqueline running around some restaurant taking orders, and although they had only been married for little over three weeks, Jacqueline had already had some frivolous conversation with me concerning what I was now expected to call her.

For you see, I had taken on the attitude that I was going to call the bitch whatever I felt like, but no! Slut-Face had to ruin that too, "Oh, Bea," she had said, wearing that slinky black outfit, and smiling, "never call me Stepmother, I despise that name; please, aren't we friends? Just call me Mother."

At the time, I had actually gasped; the mere thought of calling this woman Mother was beyond me.I could never-- never call a woman Mother, except of course my own, who had passed away nearly half a decade before. This bitch was insane if she thought that I could ever respect her.

And Dad-- Dad! Dad was just as stupid and sickening as Jacqueline now, I scrubbed my bowl angrily, and then threw it back into the sudsy water; angry at my father as well for neglecting the house's repairs; the dishwasher had broken two years earlier, and he still hadn't fixed it; it was one of the few things that Jacqueline had not asked for him to have redone or replaced-- I was almost positive that she took pride in seeing me angrily scrubbing away at the filthy dishes that she tended to leave for me in the sink.

I wanted to scream-- to shout out my anger and frustration, but I knew it would do no good; I sighed, and then stared at the dishes that were still in the sink, "I'll just let Mom do it," I said, smiling at my own cleverness, and then shuddering at the name.

I went upstairs, and climbed into bed. By the time Midnight approached, I was fast asleep. I was not even awoken by the strange rolling lights of the approaching car that filled my bedroom-- although in the emptiness of my sleep, I somehow sensed them.

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They made way too much noise coming up the stairs; waking me up in the process. My eyelids snapped open, and I looked around my bedroom; it was pitch black, and the only sense of light was the eerie, quiet, green glowing of my alarm clock which read 2:30 AM. I groaned, and then rolled over on my side to attempt to drown out the sounds, but it was useless-- If they were going to act like such animals, why couldn't they have shown me at least some courtesy, and rented some cheap crappy motel room for the night? I wondered.

The pair of them were talking and laughing like complete maniacs from the local insane asylum; their door creaked open, and then slammed shut; their loud giggles penetrated the usual complete sereneness of the night... They probably had sex, which would not surprise me in the least, knowing the total slut that Jacqueline is.

Even when the giggling had at last subsided-- and trust me, it seemed to go on forever, I stayed up; much too restless and worried to allow my eyes to shut; something about the night was strange-- frightening-- there was something fowl in the air, and yet I could not place it, so I simply could not allow my body to fall asleep. I was intent; hearing every sound and movement in the household. An hour passed in this fashion; at around 3:30 AM, I heard Jacqueline's timid whisper of, "Can you get me a glass of water?"

"Of course baby," I heard my father coo, while I rolled my eyes-- they always seemed to act even more annoying directly after having had sex; I heard him opening his bedroom door, and climbing down the stairs. Suddenly, there was a loud commotion; the air was filled with my father's shouts and screams. And then, every few seconds, there was a loud THUMP!... a loud banging and crashing every few seconds as he tumbled down the stairs.

At first, I felt like I was inside a troubling dream; it simply couldn't be-- it could not have happened so suddenly, and without any warning... Only when I felt my hot face, and intense heart beats in my chest, did I realize the terrifying truth... THIS WAS NO DREAM! "Dad!" I screamed, jumping out of bed, and rushing towards my bedroom door; I wrenched it open, and rushed outside, into the hallway; feeling the same strange sense of foreboding which I had felt when I had been searching for my mother, only to find her dead-- No, I thought, This cannot be happening again-- Please don't let it be true, "Dad," I whispered. And there I stood, at the foot of the stairs; my eyes going down… down… down-- all the while, hoping against all hope that I would not find--and, there he was.

DEAD-- the words flashed dark and frightening through my mind for a moment, as I realized the terrible truth-- the fact that everything I had feared was true-- my father-- my father... There he lay on the bottom step, his body limp, and his head twisted at an odd angle. His forehead gashed open, blood pouring out like water from a water faucet. He lay in a puddle of his own, dark, ruby-red blood; his eyes were still open; their lifelessness pleading for help, his mouth closed. I screamed at the nightmarish sight of him.

This just didn't make sense; how could it have happened? How could such a terrible accident have taken place with me so nearby-- in the other room no less. But, had it been an accident? Had a murder just taken place in my own home right under my nose...? I felt my throat forming an unearthly scream; it couldn't-- couldn't be true! It was an accident-- a terrible accident, and suddenly, not even seconds later, Jacqueline too was at the foot of the stairs, staring at his corpse, "What's happened to him?" she asked, frightened, and then, she saw the puddle of blood, "Oh, my God!" she screamed, "He's dead!" and that somehow made it much more real and final.