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Rated: XGC · Chapter · Dark · #2218738
William's put to the test when his latest victim isn't what she appears. Reviews returned.
April 1978

William felt his heart pound to the sound of the beat-up truck heading up the driveway. The headlights beamed off the barred window, and danced across the wall, reminding him he was forever a prisoner in his own home.

He closed his eyes and kept telling himself that this time, David wasn't drunk, and they might get along, but the tears kept streaming down his face, regardless.

The front door slammed shut. Uncontrollable fear struck him like lightning. His body shook. He was so scared that his body released itself without warning. Urine trickled down each of his legs, smeared against his jogging pants, and soaked his socks.

He had to change. He couldn't let him see that he pissed himself. Not again. Not with what had happened last time. He barely got out alive. William scrambled to the dresser, droplets of wetness smeared behind him, and he dressed as fast as he could. But it wasn't fast enough.

David came stumbling into his room, drunk, see what he was doing, and looked like a madman at the end of a rope. William screamed, and tried to make a run for the door, but the pain on his earlobe stopped him.

“Where do you think you're going?” he said in a raspy voice. “You’re too damn old to be pissing in your pants. What’s wrong with you, huh?”

William panicked.

“You need to grow the fuck up and stop pissing yourself like you’re two-years-old.”

He pinched William’s ear and pushed him against the dresser. “You have a mess to clean up, boy.”

William winced at the pain that struck his back. His eyes stared down at the floor.

“You hear what I say?”

William nodded, “Yessis.”

“Then get to it!” David slammed him down on the floor and folded his hands to his chest to watch.

William covered his private parts with both hands as he walked, looking for something to wipe it up with.

“Now!” David yelled, kicking him down to the floor. The piss inches from his face.

“What am I supposed to use?” William mentally slapped himself in the back of the head for saying it. He knew better than to talk back. What an idiot, William thought to himself. Complete idiot.

“What did you say, you little bastard?”
David pulled him up by the back of his shirt and walked him to the wall. He pushed his elbow into William's throat.

Gasping for air, he mouthed, “Sorry. I'm sorry.”

“Sorry ain't gonna be good enough.” He scorned.

William screamed as David’s hand wrapped violently around his arm and even more so when he jerked him forward and down the staircase. But William knew better than to protest.

It only took a second and David's hard blows and quick slaps of a leather belt backed him into the corner of the living room. No matter how hard he held his breath, the stinging and the pain only inflamed the injuries.

David slurred his words with every hit, yelling over his son’s terrified screams. “You aint gonna amount to nothin’ boy. You hear me! You're just somebody’s pretty little bitch.”

Tears streamed down William's face. He hyperventilated, screaming for his mom to help him, to make his stepdad stop, but she just stood in the kitchen with her back turned, crying and telling herself it wasn’t happening. But it was. Her son, twelve years old, was being beaten to death and all she could do was pretend it wasn’t.

William screamed until his throat was sore...someone… anyone help him… just get him off him... But no one came. No one helped. No one heard his terrifying pleas. It had always been like that. Every night since he was six years old, the human version of garbage would come home after a few hours at the bar, clothes smelling like cigars, and his breath of alcohol and just beat him.

William often wondered if it was because Rebekah refused to give him up. How his mother thought it was a good idea to marry this man was beyond him. I mean, yeah, things were great in the beginning of the marriage and maybe a month or two after. But then he turned into something… something evil. Somehow, he felt he would have been better off with his real dad, even though he had drowned in a river one-night fishing. William wondered though so many nights that he had refused to go with him. If he had he would have died along with him. The irony in that.

William had tried so many times to run away. To get out. To get help. Find someone. Anyone. But each time he found a way to unlock the front door and walk out, there was nothing but an open field for miles and miles. A little two-story house in the middle of nowhere. No neighbors. No noise. No traffic. Not even a damn dirt road. Population: 3.

After a few months, when David had satisfied his anger and rage with both William and Rebekah each night, he would pass out drunk on the floor with the frayed belt still tied around his fist. William crawled away, whimpering in fear and pain by the dislocated bones of his attempt at dodging David’s fist.

His mother would try to comfort him, but he would push her away, holding a grudge. She could have saved him. She could have done something. Anything. Grab his key’s while he was passed out. Get them out of there and safe. Just do something.
Yet, the abuse went on for years. As William aged, David would pimp him out to his buddies for a bottle of alcohol, a night at the bar, a couple bucks or a pack of smokes. Whatever they had.

Grown men would hold him down and force themselves inside him. The pain was unbearable. The ripping. The laughter. The humiliation. The feeling when it came out. They would take the sexual acts too far and choke, beat, and do things to him that no one could ever imagine. And David didn’t care.

He sat in a chair across the room, each time with each one of them, he videotaped it. Like it was the best thing he had ever done with his life. “Make me rich, boy. Come on. Smile for the camera.”


He suffered broken bones. He encountered mental problems from the blows to the head that started the voices and eventually gave him Tim, but the physical abuse never stopped, but had gotten worse.
Tim would encourage him to kill the bastard. Sometimes he would turn his vision red with rage. Sometimes, he was his only escape.

He’d find new friends that wanted women and it would become Rebekah’s turn for a few years. William laid in bed, the pillow over his head to drown out the sounds of her screams. He had known exactly what it felt like for her. But he couldn’t help. He couldn’t do anything but lay there and cry. Somehow, the way his mother had stood in the kitchen with her back turned made sense to him. He was doing the same thing.

One night, David had gone too far and beat her to an inch of her life because she bit one of his friends when they raped her. That was the worst William had ever heard and she became bedridden from it. Two broken legs and a handful of eternal injuries that William couldn’t help her with. No matter how hard he tried. He just sat on the floor in front of the couch beside her, holding her hand and listening to her labored breathing.

He would wet a towel and press it against her forehead and feed her medicine to take away the pain. But it didn’t help. Nothing helped. She needed serious medical attention, but David made sure they couldn’t leave. That they had no one to call. He made sure no one knew they even existed.

His mother was fading fast, and there was nothing he could do but hold her hand as she took her last breath. Tears became a pain as he laid his head against her lifeless chest and kept repeating that he forgave her. It wasn't her fault. It was his. He was to blame for not doing something. For not helping her. For letting it go too far. He should have put a stop to it the moment it began to happen. He was old enough. He could have saved her.

But then again, how could he do something like that when he is ridden with nothing but complete fear? The only thing that made sense to him now was Tim, telling him the dead-beat son of a bitch deserved to die. And William agreed.

William spent hours at the door using a butter knife and whatever he could find to pry the lock open. Eventually, with a crowbar, a few hours and scratched hands, he had succeeded. He dragged his mother out of the house, around back, and buried her beneath the old oak tree that had once brought happiness. Maybe she'll be in peace now. Be happy.

He turned around, shovel in hand, and checked the time on his wrist. David would be coming back soon. He needed to get rid of the shovel. He needed to get back into the house. And he needed a plan to explain why his mother wasn't dead on the couch in the living room. Why his clothes were full of dirt and sweat. Why the lock was broken.

Walking into the old red shed, he placed the shovel in its exact place and turned to leave. A blue tarp caught his eye and upon further investigation, he discovered the edge of a weight bench. William looked to his watch. It would be a close call, but he was going to get it, either way, so he lifted the tarp. It was a weight bench alright, but on the seat was a twenty-gauge shotgun and a box of ammo.

The voices in his head pushed him no matter how many times his frightening childhood came back to haunt him with the whips of the belt or what he would get.

Tonight, William would find the courage to fight back.

Hell yeah, William. Tim laughed; you beat that bastard the same way he did you. No. Let’s kill the fucker.

“Yeah.” William agreed.

He was going to do it. He was going to fight back, and he wasn’t going to back out or be scared. The human version of trash was going to get his punishment.

I’ll be there with you. I got you. Tim encouraged.

William grabbed the shotgun and the ammo and took off inside the house. It was only a matter of time before David would be coming up the driveway. He had to act fast. Plan ahead. Get it right. No mistakes.

Remembering the exact way his real dad handled and loaded a shotgun when he was watching from the doorway of his room, and on trips they would take hunting, it had become as easy as a few clicks.

His real dad wouldn’t have put up with this shit. His real dad would have come and got him and blown David’s head off. He would have destroyed him piece by piece and call the coroner himself. He’d go to jail for it and he’d go with a smile on his face.

“What happened to the fucking door! You better be in your room you worthless cunt!” David yelled from downstairs.
William settled himself on the end of the bed in his mom’s room and waited.

You do it now, William. Don’t chicken out. Kill the bastard.

“Where’s Rebekah! What’d you do with the body, boy. Huh?” David’s voice got closer.

He was upstairs. His boots pounded against the floor with each step he took, every room he stopped at. Every door he opened.

Get your justice. Look at what he has done to you. Look at your past. He deserves it.

William held the gun with his left hand, the picture of Rebekah pressed hard against the barrel. His heart ached for her. Tears streamed down his face. Memories flooded his mind and time seemed to stop.

They were happy and content. He was in school and had friends. They didn’t have a worry in the world. Just the two of them. Happy and content. Until he came along.

Things were fine at first. He played ‘dad’ with going to the park, football games, and BBQ picnic’s outside. He played the part well. Until they got married and then the true beasts showed its ugly face. He talked Rebekah into moving with the whole ‘got a great opportunity’ it was a lie. It was a way to get her and William away from civilization. He never liked kids. And it showed.
William, come back. He’s getting closer. Tim snapped him back to reality.

William took a deep breath and anticipated the door opening. He held the gun exactly the way he remembered and pointed the barrel to the door.

He was ready. Seven years of being beaten was enough. It was time. He told himself he wouldn’t fear him anymore. He wouldn’t back out. He would not take the belt or be pinned down by the head and forced to take it like a man. No. Not anymore. William was going to take charge now. It was time to finally stand his ground. For his mother. For him.

You kill the bastard for what he’s done to your mom. You do it, William. Do it for us.

William smiled. Tim had always seemed to give him the adrenaline, the strength, and the courage he needed. He always felt comforted. No matter the case. Tim, in a sense was like a best friend.

His heart pounded when he heard David reach the door, and the knob turned. “You know your not supposed to be in here, boy.”

|Get ready.

As soon as the bedroom door opened David was stricken with surprise of seeing this twelve-year-old boy with the balls to hold a gun to his face.

David smiled. “I should’a just left you by the edge of the road, you ungrateful little fuck.”

William smiled back. “I probably would have had a better life.”


“Don’t come any closer.”

David stopped where he stood and raised his hands up in the air, waving them around in sarcasm. “you gonna kill me, boy?”

William, do it!

“Well do it, boy!”

William panicked, his hands shaking.

"That’s what I thought. Pussy. Now give, me the fucking gun before you hurt yourself.”

Now William! Now! Do it!

David staggered forward. William boldly pulled the trigger of the twenty-gauge shotgun. The sound reverberated. One-shot. William felt the kick of the gun. He missed. Two shots. The bullet penetrated his shoulder. The gun brought even more pain. Three shots. The bullet went straight through his chest. Blood spattered on his face.

David staggered back against the doorframe and slid down the wood with a thud.

Yeah, you did it. Tim praised him from the back of his mind.

Three shots and one severely bruised shoulder, but damn it was worth it.

See what you did? Aren't you so proud?

William cried. “We did it.”

He couldn’t believe at first that he pulled it off, but Tim wouldn’t let him forget. Tim had become his badass sidekick.
David lay between the door frame and the hallway. His eyes widened by the surprise. Mouth opened.

William stood, staring at the face of the man who got exactly what he deserved. And Tim fully agreed.

A sense of accomplishment lit the corners of William's mouth. He did it. He finally got rid of the dead-beat bastard.

He dropped the gun at David’s side. “Who’s the pussy now, huh?”

William kicked David’s lifeless body and spat on his face. “Useless cunt.”

Yeah, William. Hell Yeah!

William searched through the scum’s pockets, retrieving a set of keys to the truck, twenty-two dollars, a pack of smokes and a lighter.

What a fucking joke.

He took the cash, shoved it in the back of his pants pocket, and tossed the wallet on the ground. William slid the keys into his front pocket before turning around and walking out of the house, wishing he had done this before his mother had gotten too bad. Then she would still be alive to see what he did. He could have saved her.

He stopped at the bottom of the step and inhaled the cool, autumn breeze of a nearby storm. He took a cigarette from the pack, put it between his lips, and watched the tip of the paper catch fire with the flame. The release of nicotine, though the drug was unknown to his body, he felt calm and it was just what he needed.

Yeah, William deserves a cig. Tim’s voice sung in his head. He killed a man.

“Yeah, I do.” William smiled, exhaling the smoke into the air, “I’m not giving him the pleasure of being buried.”

No, let’s burn the mother fucker

William smiled and flicked the cigarette on the ground. “He’ll burn in hell.”

He walked down the steps to the side of the house to the old oak tree where he had buried his mother just a week ago.
He knelt with a hand on the grave and started to cry with a broken heart. William Retrieved a picture of them together from the front of his pants, scooped up some dirt, and covered it above her.

“I did it, Momma. I did it for you.”

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