Jagged Sky

By D J French

Samantha's mother is killed in a car accident when she's three. She's being raised by her grandparents. Her disturbed father snatches her and takes her from Kentucky to Missouri, where he intends to raise her in the same house he was raised in. Dirk was abused as a child and he abuses and neglects his baby daughter. He makes her stay downstairs in a dirty cellar, threatening her not to come out. Dirk's an alcoholic and he rapes Sam in a whiskey induced fog when she's only ten years old. The abuse is repeated and she hangs on, hopeful that soon she can be safe and happy. Things get worse. Dirk brutally rapes her at 16, and she snaps, and takes his life. The cycle of abuse will end with Samantha, but now she will face a judge. Everyone, including the prosecuting attorney falls in love with Sam. She undergoes hypnosis and her torturous childhood is revealed to them all. She's diagnosed with split psychosis because Sam reverts back to a child in her grandmother's care while being molested by her deranged dad. She is sentenced to two years in a state run psychological facility and she finds her sanity there. Sam is 18 now, and she's on her way home to Kentucky. The story is a poignant portrayal of her survival and ultimate strength to fight through a horrendous childhood. She becomes a voice for other kids as an adult and even writes an article which is published. There's a clear blue sky at the end. She'll never be afraid or alone again. She buries the childhood stuffed cat she calls Kitty, and goes on to meet her future husband, Noah.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543903638

Book preview

Epilogue

INTRODUCTION

They were responding to a 911 call. The address, 14 Country Manor Lane, was way off of the beaten path. The road was rutted with graveled potholes and the fencing lay back in alternating places in the abandoned fields. As the road narrowed, a dilapidated old house sat in a weed infested clearing. The solitary figure of what appeared to be a female sat on the porch step. Her long stringy hair hung in disarray. The first EMT technician slowed as he approached her.

Are you alright, Miss? Are you hurt?

No. She lifted her head and forced herself to meet his gaze.

Miss, is there anyone in the house?

She groaned loudly saying, My dad, he’s in there. As remorse ran through her, she laid her head in her arms to cry.

They’d never seen such a horrific crime scene. What happened in this house that drove someone to do something so brutal? The answers lie buried in a box somewhere in the basement. Photos dating back decades before she graced the earth, tell a cold story of Army soldiers-half starved, wet, and weary. Generations of troubled men, there were many pictures of her grandfather, Clyde, as well as his father, Theodore, in the box.

When he came home from Viet Nam, Theodore was damaged. Something so normal as the ice dropping in the freezer, or a screen door carelessly released and allowed to bang shut, could trigger rage. He was driven insane by loud noises. Like a ticking time bomb he would sit and stare at his son, Clyde. He expected him to be a straight ‘A’ student. If not, he would get sent to a chair where Theodore would mentally berate him until he cried, then he would get whipped. Theodore was a sick man, who needed help, but would never admit it. He was a brutal father to his son, Clyde.

Clyde met Jacque while studying in the library. He wanted to be a lawyer. She was five years younger and at 20, was ready to settle down with him and start a family. The couple married and within a year, welcomed a bouncing baby boy. They named him Dirk.

Dirk Theodore Comings was raised in the house on Country Manor Lane, down a long gravel road obscured from neighbors.

The cellar became a place where Dirk spent a lot of time on the weekends. If his father Clyde got annoyed, he would rage at him to get out of his sight. At five years old, Dirk was made to stay downstairs for hours. He was afraid of his father.

Dirk’s mother, Jacque, learned long ago to get out of sight to avoid a fist. She was a coward who never knew how to stop the cycle, so it continued with her son, Dirk and then his daughter, Samantha.

This story is about Samantha, and why she was sitting on the step with blood on her hands. Her father Dirk was disturbed. He snatched her from a place of warmth to bring her to this house and raise her down this same dark road. She acts normal as she attends school, but her reality is an old pink quilt and a cot in the darkness below. She endures unimaginable abuse as well as severe neglect.

Samantha Comings is in possession of an indomitable spirit to hope for a better tomorrow. Chapter one takes you through her legacy. Chapter two brings you to the real beginning of her story; it is a story of a brave little girl and ultimately her survival, because Sam never gives up.

Her name was Jacque Stewart. She was Sam’s grandmother. I’d called her several times trying to interview her and finally she picked up. I told her my name was Dr. Margie Barnes and I was a psychologist assigned to Samantha. In order for therapy to progress, I needed answers. I needed to know about her son, Dirk Comings.

Now, she was here. I welcomed her into my office. After we got acquainted, I asked her about her childhood. She took a moment to recall, and then Jacque started to tell me her story.

I didn’t have a calm childhood myself. My dad was an angry person. I have a strong memory of standing in my mom’s bedroom doorway after the fighting was over. I think I was about eight. Something was wrong with her, she was crying. I went over to where she was all curled up on the bed.

What was her name? I asked.

Cora. Cora and Gary Stewart were my parents.

Please continue, Jacque. She began again.

I remember asking my mom what was wrong, she didn’t answer at first. My heart was beating with fear at the thought of my mother being hurt. I slowly crawled up on the bed, leaning over to peer into her face. Jacque was remembering the incident with clarity. She smiled briefly, before becoming serious again.

"There was a lot of friction in the house. There were several times we’d rush out with only a pair of socks and a jacket, which was too thin for the weather. Mom slept in an aware state, waiting to hear how drunken my father was when he came home. I’d wake up to them shouting as Mom screamed all the way to the front door for him to, Get out! He’d always come back home. Sometimes he had flowers for her and sometimes he’d cry, especially if he pushed or shoved her. I guess when I met Clyde, I wasn’t expecting too much different."

Tell me about that day, I prompted.

Oh that was a magical day. Clyde came waltzing up to the counter with his sparkling eyes and I was mesmerized. It was love at first sight. I was working in the library and I’d helped him find some law books he needed.

Was he studying law? I asked.

Yes. We dated awhile and he was so charming and attractive. I remember feeling very proud of him. The day he proposed, I felt like the happiest woman in the world.

So you two had Dirk, were there any other children?

No, just Dirk. He was my everything. She was smiling now with good memories of her baby boy. I couldn’t wait to have him.

So what happened then, Jacque?

Oh things changed. Clyde got frustrated because he wasn’t going to achieve his dreams of becoming a lawyer. He was diagnosed with depression. I made him get therapy and that’s when the abuse from his dad was revealed. Clyde’s father, Theodore was messed up after he came home from Viet Nam. Clyde wouldn’t tell me all of it, but from what he did say, there was some pretty severe punishment.

I could see she needed a break.

Listen, let’s go down for some coffee or something in the cafeteria. I have a lot more questions, but I could use a nice bowl of soup. How about you? Have you eaten?

Jacque shook her head. She was warming up to me finally. I knew it would take time, but I needed to hear where things went wrong. For Sam’s sake, I needed to understand.

Jacque didn’t want to remember the bad times. Those memories were long buried. Clyde was dead. It had turned sour after he went to work at the bar. He would come home drunk and ready to fight. She would be slapped and pushed around but he was always sorry.

She didn’t want to remember that. Clyde had become an alcoholic and she didn’t know how to make him better.

We were back in my office now.

Jacque, can you tell me more about Dirk and Clyde’s relationship?

Well, I worked a lot on the weekends, as a waitress. Clyde had continued to drink and his mood swings were worse than ever. He always seemed angry. I came home from work to find him getting rough with our son a few times. He said, ‘Dirk was smarting off to him.’ Dirk would get sent downstairs while he waited for his spanking. I couldn’t stop it. Dirk was only nine when he told me he was afraid of his dad. That broke my heart. I should have left Clyde, but I just couldn’t.

So, you knew your son was being abused by your husband? Jacque nodded her head.

Dirk told me he came into the kitchen for some milk and his dad jumped him for no reason. He said he smelled the whiskey first, before realizing his dad was behind him. He told me his dad wanted to start a fight. If I was there, I tried to stop Clyde, but he told me to get my ass in the other room, or I was next.

"Clyde beat Dirk the night before he died, and I didn’t stop it. I heard it all. He was out of control that night and I was hiding. I’ll never forget it, he was ranting and raving. ‘Get down there and clean up that friggin shit hole you sniveling little bastard!’

Dirk did as he was told and went on down, but it was not the end. I fell asleep not realizing Clyde was still drinking and Dirk was still downstairs. Jacque was shaking her head.

A few hours had gone by and I woke up to Dirk yelling, ‘Sorry, Dad, sorry!’ and then it was quiet, so I went back to sleep. My son said it was dark when he woke up. He said his side was aching and he thought he was going to throw up. He’d crawled up the stairs listening, but he didn’t hear anything, except the sound of the clock ticking and a few crickets chirping. He wondered what time it was. He said there was a sharp needling pain near his ribs.

That’s when he found the frozen figure of his father lying halfway on the floor, with his legs entangled in the chair. That’s when I heard him screaming. Jacque reached for a Kleenex, gently wiping her eyes and nose.

"I ran in from the other room and we both stood there shocked.

Clyde had suffered a massive heart attack during the night and died. We called the police and I grabbed Dirk to console him. He was pretty calm, but couldn’t stand to see me crying."

He was saying, ‘It’s okay, Momma. Please don’t cry, please, Momma, please.’ Tears were streaming down both of our faces and my son held me while I cried. I told him I was sorry. His dad was a good man somewhere underneath all of that meanness. I still loved him.

Keep talking Jacque, you’re doing fine. How did the funeral go? How was Dirk coping with his father’s death?

Well the funeral was sparse and quick. My mother came. She left my father years ago. He didn’t bother to show up.

There were about eight of Clyde’s family members there and a handful of town folk, mostly from the bar. I asked Dirk if he was all right. He nodded his head but I knew he was struggling. He was so stiff. Later he told me it felt like something cold and hard had wrapped around his heart. I recall him staring at the casket. He had tears flowing down his face, but he was angry. He said he was thinking about his dad lying there in the ground. Later we were talking and he told me he was relieved. His last memory was of getting whipped. That’s what he told me, he said he felt relief. Jacque swiped at a tear.

People came over to where we stood by the casket. They told Dirk his dad sure loved him. Dirk never responded to that remark. He stood so still with the wind ruffling his hair. He was so young to have been through so much. I was worried about him.

My mom was so sweet, she had her arms around both of us.

Listen Jacque, maybe you and Dirk should sell the house and move into town, she said. It’s awful hard on a boy to live so far out in the boonies.

I told her, ‘No, Dirk’s the man of the house now, we’ll get along.’ I wish we had moved. Things might have been different.

You had a lot on your plate. How was your son handling it?

"Well, the years flew by and Dirk was in high school when I realized he wasn’t doing too well. He was handsome, but he had a hard time in class because he had a quick temper and a smart mouth. We never had money for him to play sports, and out there on a country road he never had friends that cared to come out and get him. He’d ride his bicycle a mile and half just to get a coke and some chips.

It was a tough life I guess. I worked two jobs so he was alone a lot. I know he was collecting scraps of cigarettes he’d scrounged from ashtrays and curbs around town. He’d smoke out back, thinking I was asleep.

I took him to a therapist once so he could talk to someone about his feelings. I was told my son had a black stone on his heart from the treatment he’d received from Clyde. There was anger there, and eventually he would lash out if he didn’t get it under control.

He seemed better for a while after he got a girlfriend, and a part-time job. Debra Summer was a pretty girl. Everyone liked her. Dirk said she’d been watching him and finally she came up and asked him if he liked the chicken potpie. Jacque shook her head remembering her son’s story. He told her, ‘it filled up his belly.’ I was glad he was happy.

"They went skating one night and that’s when everything went haywire. The kids were all hanging out together and He and Debra were having a great time. A big guy in the crowd decided to mess with Dirk deliberately tripping him, breaking his nose. He got up seeing red, feeling a black rage come over him. He said Debra started laughing at him because he was spitting mad.

All she’d said was; ‘Oh my goodness, Dirk, that was so funny. Are you okay?’ when he smacked her across the face. She’d just stood there, shocked. Everything and everyone in the rink stopped, as they stared at Debra, and then at him. He got on his bike and rode like demons were chasing him all the way home. He came in with rage and blood all over his face.

Word spread fast about what he’d done to Debra. They treated him like a piranha. They told him he was worse than sewer. I made him go over and apologize, but it didn’t help. He was lonely and I guess he felt excluded. I couldn’t help him.

My son was an angry young man. I loved him, but as soon as he turned 18 and graduated, I moved out of that house and told him he could have it. Our relationship was pretty messed up. My son’s always been angry. That’s probably partly my fault. Women seemed to like him though. He’s had a ton of girlfriends over the years, but they never developed into a real relationship. He told me he heard voices in his head telling him women were no good, and they were all whores. I believe those voices came from the black soul of his father, my late husband, Clyde.

Listen, Jacque, I’m sorry I had to make you dredge all of that up. Thank you for having the courage to come here and tell me all of this. There’s always a chance to start fresh and make things right, maybe you can see Samantha periodically and form a new relationship. Jacque stood and shook my hand.

I just don’t know. Thank you, Dr. Barnes.

I gave her my card and hugged her, telling her I would be in touch.

As I