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Author's Note
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Please note that violent abuse is a key part of this work. It is briefly described at the beginning of the story and discussed several times by its characters. If this is something that offends you or especially if this could cause you distress, please skip it.
Thank you, as always, for reading.
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Murder
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I remember very little of that night. My first memory is coming out of my room and seeing dad holding Marilyn's arm. He was dragging her down the hallway. She was crying and trying to resist him but he wouldn't stop. I didn't know where he was taking her or what he would do to her but I feared it instinctively. I had to do something and I found courage in my rage. I loved her. He could hit me if he wanted, but he wouldn't beat her anymore. Ever.
My next memory is standing between dad and her, shouting, telling him that I'd kill him before I'd let him hurt her. I remember being on the ground after that, and feeling more pain than I ever had before. He was over me, bringing his fist down again and again. His eyes were cold and dead. Like a rage-filled corpse. Then I heard mom's voice and he was gone.
The last memory that I have of that night is Marilyn kneeling next to me, holding my hand, telling me that I'd be ok. I tried to get her attention. Tried to get her to run but she wouldn't. She just sat there, crying and trying to make me feel better, telling me all the while that I would be all right. I was sure that I was dying, but in the moment I was amazed at her courage and kindness. I think I fell in love with her then, in an innocent, childish way.
That was the last time that I saw her for five years.
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Court
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He sat there, looking for all the world like a reformed citizen, ready to be released into the world. His hair slicked back, clean shaven. Even holding a bible and sitting with the chaplain.
Apparently, he was a model prisoner. He did all his work well and on time. He hadn't been involved in any violence in over a year.
It made me fucking sick. It was a farce. There was no force, supernatural or otherwise, that could reform that monster. The mere fact that he was up for parole after only five years was a result of the ridiculous plea bargain that the District Attorney took to avoid a costly and long trial. No one cared much about the death of a poor addict. Even if she was my mom.
"Samuel Barnes, you are invited to speak as both a victim of the parolee and a relative of another victim."
The room was smaller and less like a courtroom than I had expected. There was a table with five chairs for members of the Parole board, seating for the parolee to the side, and few short rows of chairs for people like me. I suppose if I hadn't been in rooms like this, I might be intimidated by the official nature of the proceedings. But I was not a good person, and I had been.
"I currently live quite far away. I took unpaid time off and drove seven hours to be here. It is a small price to pay to be able to speak to you about the man that you are considering releasing into the world.
"My father cannot be reformed. You could no reform him then you could reform a rabid dog. It is his nature to be violent and abuse those weaker than himself. He beat me starting when I was eight. He beat my sister, although less so because I tried to stand up to him. That was what started the fight between my parents.
"I stood up to him, so he beat me. Unlike previous times, he would not stop. He would like you ladies and gentlemen to believe that the drugs amplified his rage. I'm here to tell you that I remember little of that day as I was deeply concussed, but I remember his dead eyes as he hit me over and over. When our mother tried to stop him he got a knife from the kitchen and stabbed her. He didn't rush, but did all of it slowly and deliberately. I recommend that you look at the crime scene photo and ask yourself if you would feel comfortable with him being on the outside with your families.
"The plea he made was done so without consulting either myself or my sister. He murdered my mother. He would have come back to murder me except that he heard sirens and fled. Because of him I am without my mother. Because of him I have not seen my sister in five years. We were close. Now we are lost.
"Lastly, I'd like to add that while I do not have an adult criminal record, my now-sealed juvenile record contains many examples of fights and casual violence. These were my choices and my responsibility. I am forced to conclude, however, if I had a father who was not violent and abusive that I would most likely not have these defects in my character.
"Thank you for your time."
One of the parole board members, and older man in his Sunday best, spoke
"If I may, what is your reaction to the parolee finding Jesus as well as having the support of the prison chaplain, a man of demonstrated virtue and judgement."
I couldn't tell if he was supporting my father or genuinely wanted my opinion. Well, he would get it.
"I am not a religious person. I don't live in the world that God made. I live in the world that my father made, and its broken and awful. If he found Jesus here, good for him. They can share a cell. If he wants forgiveness in the next world then he can have it. After dying in prison in this one."
I sat back down, bile in my mouth. I stared at where my father sat, off to the side of the room. I didn't glare, but I wanted him to see I wasn't afraid of him. I knew, looking at him, that if he ever got out, I would kill him. He could have his martyrdom. Jesus would like that.
"Thank you, Mr. Barnes. We very much appreciate your time and opinion and it will factor in our deliberations. Our final verdict will be made known tomorrow by noon."
Well, that was it. The fucker would either get out or he would rot. I stood up and left, pulling my tie off. One more thing to do while I was in town. This part of the trip had made me sad and angry. I was glad to have it over with.
The next part I looked forward to, but I was terrified of it. Was it actually her? Would she even want to see me? Was I someone who she should see? I didn't know, but I had to find out. I had to know. Billy understood. He told me it was a good idea to look for my sister, but not to get my hopes up.
Too late, I thought. My hopes were slightly above ground, which made them far too high for my liking. Well, no sense in procrastinating. If I left now I'd probably arrive around the time she got back from school. I went to my fate.
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Reunited
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