Chapter Six

Mary whimpered in pain. She limped slowly to her room and slammed the door, despite her father’s cursing and swear words. She had just suffered another painful beating, one that happened at least twice a week. This time, he had forced her to be whipped all over her body. He had successfully hit her enormous bruise on her leg, where he had kicked her last beating. She cried while she lied on her bed. She was looking at the ceiling and examined it. There was a small hole just a little away from her bed that leaked in water every time it rained. She looked through the hole and saw dark, black clouds that covered the good, hot sun.

Mary was depressed. She often thought of just killing herself and getting her life over with, but never had the heart to do it. School (which her father could barely afford) was no better. Christian ignored her and hung out with that Christy-Ann girl. She still thought that Christy-Ann was the most stupid name in the whole wide world.

Mary took out her diary from beneath her bed. In her diary she kept the most exciting and depressing things that happened to her and looked at what she had last written:

Dear Diary,

Today was no better than the day before. Christian still ignores me, and I cannot go up to him just yet. I just do not have the strength, or will.

Please, if there is anyone who cares about me, or loves me, please God, make him or her known to me. I need someone to care for me. My father will kill me if I do not escape sooner or later. I hope sooner.

She started to bawl, a normal routine for her latter life. Her tears wet the diary page and soon made it unreadable. She rolled over, so that the tears could freely roll down her cheek. Her stomach felt empty and painful and at last, she could feel no more love.

It was time.

There was a knock on her front door of the house. Her father promptly walked up to it and looked through the peephole. He smiled and then frowned. “One minute,” he cried.

Mary was looking through a crack in the door and saw that her father was stomping over to her room. She gasped and pulled back, but not fast enough. He swung the door open and it hit her square in the nose.

“Augh!!!” she cried as blood dripped out of her nose.

“Get up and get out of here! I don’t want to see you for another hour! Get up and out! Now!” he yelled at her, threatening her with his hand. She flinched and scuttled out of her room and to the front door.

Suddenly, she her arm was yanked. She spun around and saw her father shaking his head and pulled her to the back doorway. She looked curiously at her father and then ran away.

She didn’t go far. In fact, she didn’t go anywhere at all. She just hid behind the trashcan that never got taken out. It smelled horrible; but she didn’t have the time to waste on trashcans, and listened to what was happening inside her home. I mean house.

She thought of that often. A home is where one could find peace and love. A house is just a building that one lives in. She lived in a house. She had no home.

She squatted down and listened:

Her father opened the front door and said, “Oh, Christian! What a nice surprise! Although I was suspecting you would return!”

No, Mary couldn’t have heard right. No, she couldn’t have. Her ears couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Christian was inside her house!

Christian replied in his oh, so loving voice, “I have come for more details, but I have to be fast. The cops are after me.”

No, the cops? After Christian? It couldn’t be possible! Christian wouldn’t commit a crime! What had he done?

Her father laughed and led him inside, out of Mary’s earshot. She stomped her right foot in anger, and slowly made her way around her house and into the backyard. Well, not a yard, more of a dump full of beer cans…

She oh, so quietly opened her back door, the one she had just come out from, and entered back in.

She hid in the kitchen, and waited. The two men were talking quietly, so quietly that Mary could only make out a few words:

“Christy-Ann? What do you mean?"

Her father’s response was hidden by Mary’s will to not sneeze. She suddenly had the urge to, but tried to hold it in. She felt it coming and knew if she did do it, she would surely be pounded again.

She heard Christian say, “Krobeth, do you think that I could really do this? I mean, it is not just every day I kill someone!”

Mary silently gasped. Kill someone? No, Christian would surely never! He is just not that type! Kill someone? Mary was amazed. She listened again. Her father’s words were not audible, but she could hear Christian perfectly. She guessed that she could hear love a mile away. She was about to snigger when she thought better.

“You know I can’t. She doesn’t even like me!” Christian said.

I do too like you Christian! Mary frowned when she realized that Christian wasn’t talking about her. “I have tried to go out with Christy-Ann, but she just wont let me! And I am not about to threaten her! Please, Krobeth, just let me kill the dude and give me the money!”

Money? All of this talk of killing made Mary’s heart turn cold. She suddenly understood it all. Her father had hired Christian to kill someone. Wait, she thought to herself, who does my father want to kill? Her next sentence chilled her to the bone: Me?

No, Christian couldn’t kill her. Maybe her father, but never Christian. She wouldn’t let him. Then she heard the next couple of words:

“George Turner. I mean, what is wrong with him? What is your grudge?”

Suddenly, Krobeth spoke louder: “I told you! He murdered my wife and children! I am a loner! I have no children of my own!”

WHAT? No children? Murdered? Mary never even had any brothers or sisters; or (as far as she could remember) a mother. It had always been her and her father living in this house. It had never been a home.