Shadows Of Death

By Laila M Ireland

The riveting and tormentous saga of Mary as revealed in Whisper Me Daughter continues in this sequel, Shadows Of Death wherein no longer buried beneath the forbidden home reigned by her insane father and sadistic mother, Mary's hopes abound when Jesus Christ of Nazareth exhumes her body from the hellacious concrete grave sealing her away from the world, and the siblings she loved. The wondrous encounter in the arms of God who breathed imperishable life into her young spirit commanding her to be strong, teaching her the mysteries of which would send her back into the world armed with His spirit of power, love, and soundness of mind and a heart bearing forgiveness. Now, resurrected and freed from the leashes of death, Mary's unexpected return to the dysfunctional family arrives during a salacious storm of betrayal, bereavement, and abandonment. Suddenly, Mary's mother, Ruby devises schemes forcing Mary into throws of pictorial perversions, a prisoner to provide for the family until she escapes into a world of drugs, gangs, and young love wherein the shadows of death, she hopes to belong at last...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laila M Ireland
• Release date: Jul 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005374556

Laila M Ireland

There You Are is a haunting memoir recounting the horrific years of her childhood wherein deprivation, abuse and evil reined in a household of madness. Desperate to be loved by the deranged parents whose torture banished her to the blackness beneath their forbidden home; it was there, buried alive in the darkness that she found comfort in the arms of her savior, Jesus Christ. Now, after some forty years and having been visited again by God who has healed her from stage 4 metastatic lung cancer which spread to the brain, Laila writes to unearth the sordid sins that banished her from the world while testifying of the miracle truth that Jesus Christ is very real.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Standing on the bottom step of that long-splintered staircase, blinking back tears of grief and gladness to have been returned to the world that neither wanted nor welcomed me, I knew it was time. The hour had come for me to climb those stairs ascending towards the home that harbored no kindness, nor love within its hoarded walls. There, beneath the moon's daunting glare I stood in the stillness of God's presence. My chest pounding at I looked up at the towering house and then back at the tiny door still latched, hinged shut for the hatred of father's angry heart.

It was not the devil who kept me warm, loved, and safe. It was Jesus who sat with me in the damning darkness of father's refuted rage. And as I marveled at the huge barren tree in our backyard, its leaves scattered beneath the twisted height of bent branches no longer billowing, I knew that in my captivity, a season had subsided. For all the joyous and cherished moments that I was cradled precious in the holy and loving embrace of Jesus, those instances had fallen into days transpiring into weeks. Many dawns had risen in my absence and while I could not recall the last time I'd seen the sunshine, it was then that I understood that no one had ever come searching to see me, to release me.

My eyes spilled with sorrows dripping into my mouth, the salt of my tears making me thirst. The sudden nudge on my back and the night's cold ambitious winds stung my ears. Stay with me Jesus, I whispered, reaching for the stairs to steady my balance. Up! Up! Up I climbed giddier with each step. I couldn't wait to see Sarah, Jimmy Junior, and Ann whom I was certain would readily tattle on me for having escaped my punishment. I imagined her gaping expression when I'd tell her that it was Jesus who had loosed me from that awful place under the ground.

My legs ached, my muscles burned with every thud of my bare feet banging the stairs as I pictured Ann's bulging eyes and chipped tooth gawking at me. She'd be jealous, she would. I thought, gasping as I grabbed each splintery ledge to hoist myself upward, onward. Maybe, she would want to comfort me in her lanky arms the way she once did whenever pretending to be my mother. I smiled.

There, beneath the purple canopy of her punishment bed, we'd laze together, and I could tell her what it was like being held in the strong arms of God who had always seen our death faces. 'He's been watching us the whole entire time,' I'd say, confiding all that she would suffer to know as she coddled me in the kindness that I had always yearned for, craved. I couldn't wait!

A loud rumbling from within the garage made me tremble. The shrill metal noise of the big door rolling to be raised made my chest pound harder as I pressed my ear to the wood, listening. Father might be angry to see me, but it was time for me to return. Slowly I pulled open the heavy door. There, in the distance beneath the bright light dangling, slumped father in his car. His black disheveled hair hung over his brow, and I could see his shoulders rise and drop with every breath. I felt a sudden pang of sadness staring at him; a childish urge to run and hug him, rubbing my hands on his stubbly cheeks in hopes to see the smile that had always beamed brighter than rays of sunshine during my nursery years. For It was that father that I suffered to find in our filthy garage that evening. The one whose arms once could dangle me between Heaven and earth all the while professing his love for me; the father who allowed me to curl around his boots like a feline digging my nails into his jeans so that he might never shake me off or send me away. Best of all, was the father whose sullen face and sedentary posture could spring up in an instant while transforming his face into grins bigger than those pouting portraits he painted of forlorn clowns.

And yet as I trembled in the shadows recognizing the miseries that had often afflicted his handsome face, I knew that the father I longed for was missing. Gone. His head hung bowed; he didn't look up when mother hollered with a shout. Get your little ass back here! You're not taking my stuff! she screamed, angrily.

Ann yelled at mother. Leave me alone! They're my things, Dad bought it all for me, they are mine! My stuff not yours! she squealed, and I knew that she would get a pounding for her audacity, surely she would.

Father's head bowed as though he were praying. Why wasn't he getting up to stop their bitter bickering? I wondered while listening to the shrill screams that got louder, closer. He don't love you anymore! Ann cried, You're FAT and MEAN! she hollered, accusing mother of what she always secretly thought and whispered into my ears.

Oh, but he loves YOU! mother's mocking rage grew louder, angrier. You little stealing BITCH! she yelled, chasing Ann down into the basement. I'm his wife, she seethed furiously, grabbing a fistful of Ann's long hair to emphasize her anguishing truth.

Ann squealed in pain as mother viciously ripped at her scalp, the mean momentum dragging her back and forth around the car. Ann's bags crashing to the ground. Perfume bottles big and small, books, bras, and everything else that she cherished scattered to be crushed under their brawling feet.

Dad! she shrieked, painfully persistently calling out to father who slumped silently inhaling and exhaling his cigarette while mother continued her raging rant of their indecent relationship.

I'm HIS WIFE! Your FATHER'S WIFE, dumb ass!! Mother spat the words into Ann's stricken face as though she were vomiting terrible truths to end the fight for his faltering, fondling affections.

I felt sad for Ann whose petite face twisted in misery of mother's madness. It was father she cried out for to spare her from mother's seething temper, but he did nothing to stop the bashing of her lanky body into the walls, the washing machine, and everything else that banged and clanked. Amused, he sat the big wheel of his car neither intervening nor flinching when mother slammed Ann's figure into the metal car door.

I'm your father's wife! she screamed, kicking Ann's perfumes and clothes across the basement floor. I AM! she raged, swiping the remaining trinkets with her bare feet kicking and her foul mouth cursing.

Ann shrieked, mother screamed, and I crouched down holding my hungry belly when suddenly, the deafening sound of father's engine roared. Revving and roaring like a beast stirred to an awful awakening in those vicious moments when the headlights beamed, revealing my crouching posture. It's Mary! Ann cried, her mouth gaping with slobber. Mary's out! she tattled frightfully, shaking her finger at me.

Mother spun around, her eyes stretched wide with shock as I stepped closer to her, to them. Ann quickly scurried into the car next wherein she scooted close to father whose wincing black stare beheld me for the first and final time since he'd locked me away.

He's leaving me, leaving US! mother squealed desperately, her swollen eyes beseeching, brimming with tears. She leaned closer to me in a panic of rash sobs that made me cry along with her as we stood staring incredulously at Ann and father. What am I going to do? mother's futile question unanswered as I wept, my soul wailing for the father and sister who drove out of our lives that cold awful night forever.

Chapter 2

What am I going to do now? mother cried, yanking the hair strands from her scalp in a tantrum of grief and anger. He left me, she wept, shaking her head in disbelief. That no good son of a bitch left his wife and KIDS! she roared, the hateful words blaring into my ears with an anguish bewildering as I stood staring at mother who suddenly crumbled to the floor.

Peering out at the street beyond the driveway it was hard to imagine that Ann would never sprint across the lawns, skip down the sidewalk or stand in doorways of neighbors we didn't know. She was often determinedly eager to hide from me whenever I shadowed those happier days. Now, that father had taken her somewhere far and away to keep her all to himself, I would be alone. His actions in stealing her away bruised my heart worse than any cold chills, hungry belly or beating could ever deliver. What now? I wondered anxiously, pulling the rope to close the garage door.

I don't know what to do... mother said, muffling her torturous moans into one of Ann's soiled shirts. Give me another one! she cried anxiously, blowing her bereavements into the dirty garments that scattered the floor. This one's got snot on it, DAMN IT! she scolded, throwing the filthy rag back at Jimmy Junior who huddled beside her collecting clothes to stifle mother's blubbering wails.

I marveled at Jimmy Junior who had grown taller than I remembered. It was dawn the last time I had spied him trailing after mother on that awful morning that I awoke to her stealing the children from their beds. It was her harsh whispers that made me hide as she hurried them down the black spiral to the bottom floor where Ann and father slept. Tears blurred my sights as I watched Jimmy Junior dragging a lumpy pillowcase spilling with clothes as he scampered down the stairs. I hadn't known then that she was taking them to father's bedroom to hide, somewhere safe away from me. My heart swelled with fear as Sarah and my baby brother dwindled into the darkness of that miserable day.

For it was in those long, lonesome hours while wandering the bedrooms, the kitchen, the living room, and even the bathroom that their twin shadows no longer huddled against the dirty walls grieved me the most. Surrounded by mother's big hoards I had climbed, rummaged, and cried trying to muse myself with all the junk that built rusty sharp dragons, crumbling castles, and smelly caves where chirping giggles once buried the little blackbirds I loved. They were gone...

Get it! chirped Jimmy Junior, quickly tossing a pair of pink underwear on mother's head.

My heart thumped! He's going to get it now, I fretted watching Mother shake her head vigorously. Oh! she groaned, trying to grab at the matted hair that stuck ratted above her grimacing face. I can't take THIS! she cried, pulling the panties from the tangled mane. I just CAN'T TAKE IT! she sobbed in a desperate howl burying her face into the unraveling seams.

My stomach lunged with fear, a peculiar fright unfamiliar to me as I watched mother weeping. What am I gonna do? What? Tell me! she wailed, her bulging stare dripping in my direction.

I knew then that the monster was wounded, maimed with a grief stronger than her fists could flail. And like the dogs that father use to punish; kicked beaten and bruised in our basement, mother's sore eyes implored me from the filthy floors that bore beasts nobody ever loved.

GET IT! GET IT! GET IT! Jimmy Junior chimed in a sudden sprint of glee tumbling shirts, socks, and underwear on mother's head, back, and breasts.

STOP IT! she screamed, kicking her big legs outward. Leave me alone! she hollered, trying to trip him as he sped around her in jeering circles.

J.J. Stop it! I said, grabbing his shoulder. Go upstairs! Play with Sarah, I chided, staring into his dark eyes.

OK, Mary! he giggled, his boyish grin filling me with a sudden pang of joy. He remembered me! My heart sang secretly as I watched him race out of the cold garage. There was no tallying of the time that I had been locked away beneath our home. Only that I was here now, unearthed and returned to those I had yearned to be with, where I suffered to belong. How I wanted to chase after him, running fast upstairs to find whatever cereals, tins, or treats that he, Sarah, and I could devour and gobble together. I ached to be with them; to crawl under some tower of trash and share the spoils of what made my belly grumble to imagine.

Hunger began to hurt me as I stood petting mother's disheveled head. The tips of my fingers timidly stroking her wiry hairs made my jaws ache, my teeth clench. This was the monster who haunted my nursery years with such hatred and cruelty that I trembled to touch her tangled tresses. The mother who forbade me to look at her and call upon her as my maker; the one who preyed on me in the darkness of most nights, stealing my breath away with the might of her single hand. And yet there, standing beside her, gagging on the stench of my own waste stuck to the hems of my dress, my legs, and feet, I remained. . .

Chapter 3

I don't know how long mother remained slumped, weeping in the dankness of that cold garage while I stood silently watching, waiting, and gingerly petting her mangled head. I couldn't wait to race upstairs and rummage for whatever food might fill the emptiness of my belly. Quiet! I whispered, hushing the growls that felt like punches to my stomach.

What am I going to do now? mother asked, suddenly turning her stricken face toward me. Tell me! she sniveled, her puffy brows pleading for an answer.

There was only one thing to do. Return to the darkness, to the dread without father, without Ann. I looked toward the door then back at mother whose sore, swollen eyes blinked barren of the paint that now bruised her face.

Go upstairs, I said, staring into her steely eyes dripping with grief and a strange gratitude that bewildered my young heart as she pulled my hand to stand up.

She asked me what to do! Me! An unfamiliar feeling filled my heart with happiness as I raced in front of her to clear the hoarded pathway. Pushing the light switch on, I stood at the bottom of the winding staircase, swiping at the mess with my feet as she followed me into the hall. Stopping outside of father's bedroom she breathed in and out, gasping heavy, strained.

'Don't fall! Don't stop!' My young mind screamed silently as I watched her struggling to shuffle her swollen feet through the filthy hoard that had scattered dormant, festering. I could smell the familiar putrid stench that filled my lungs since the days before father buried me beneath our home.

My heels hurt bad, mother sighed, steadying herself with one hand on the banister and the other against the wall. It's too hard to climb up these stairs. I'm too fat to get through all this crap! she howled, insisting that I let her remain at the bottom of the steps where she preferred to die.

You can do it, Ruby, I uttered, just as new tears rushed from my eyes.

Just let me die here! she groaned, clutching onto a pile of clothing and trash that she had gathered to burrow her face into, muffling her cries.

My sights blurred as I watched her writhing like a maimed creature suffering and wailing into the garbage that both consumed and comforted her. My chest hurt as I stood over her watching, waiting. Her bulging figure knelt on the stairs while shaking her head. URGH! she growled, skidding in the trash, reminding me of those frightful dogs she once loved.

How often I had stood in the bleak basement ridden of any hope or light that might have lent a cheerful glare on the black beasts that I beckoned after father's beatings. For there was nothing to lure the animal out from the shadows of those dreadful days, but that which was strewn from my childish heart to console. And so, it was with a posture astute for prayers, I leaned forward calling out, Come, Ruby! Come.

Mother looked up. I slapped my knees. Come on, Ruby! I jeered, my feet clearing the step-in front of her pushing all the heaps downward.

One hand, one knee, and then the other! My heart danced! Slowly, mother had begun the crawl, dragging herself into the tumbling ascent wherein the dread atop the stairs Sarah, Jimmy Junior, and I all cheered, kicking a pathway for her return.

Bring me something, she gasped, plopping in father's old chair. Anything, look on the stove! she said, instructing the three of us to scavenge the kitchen for something that would satisfy her hunger and our bellies.

How pretty Sarah was, I thought watching her bony fingers pluck through the remnants on plates, in cartons, and stuck to pots. She resembled mother whose pale white skin, dark curly hair, and petite features were everything depicted in the fairy tales that Ann liked to read to me whenever she pondered kissing boys.

Only princesses are ever kissed and taken away, she'd say, batting her long lashes my way. I'm a princess and one day I am going to be kissed, too! Her fate-filled words always made me sad to imagine. I didn't want anyone to ever take her away from our house, from me. For my young heart was captured in the balconies of those promises she'd whispered to me long before she began wanting slobbering kisses. It was there, in the shadows of a grand theater that I remained hidden to the world that cheered at Ann's performances. Twirling and bowing before audiences that paid real nickels to see the most famous dancer in all of San Francisco, Ann and I would never want for anything again.

You know what happens after the curtains close and everybody goes to their homes, she'd say, reminding me that I was not to be seen or leave those balconies until she fetched me.

We go to the greedy Arab store! I would chime, excited for the big goodie spree that always ended our plans in happily ever after tales of tomorrows.

Yep! We're gonna get pork rinds, cupcakes, bags full of everything we want. As much as we want! Our icebox is gonna be crammed! And you know what? We are going to have cokes for every day!

Often, happy tears spilled from my eyes during those late-night hours when I listened to Ann stock our imaginary cupboards with a hoard that made our bellies grumble to gather. How I longed for those far years to come true praying each time Ann walked across our filthy floorboards with books balanced on her head that she wouldn't fail the pirouettes inspiring the promises that I craved.

Get it out! Get it! Her painful squeals whenever a splinter stuck deep into her dirty soles always filled me with a rush of anxiety.

My teeth scraping against the bottom of her feet for anything prickly to pull on was what often made little Sarah giggle to see. I'm trying! I'd say, chewing on her smelly feet for whatever sliver caused her to stumble. A nip on her heel, a bite on her toes, and snorting licks to find the prickle were all the sights and sounds that had all three of us girls giggling, laughing, and shrieking.

I stood watching Sarah pick, pull and scrape crusty pieces of leftover food on plates. I studied the way her small fingers pecked one morsel, then another all the while frowning. How fragile she appeared to me as though her skinny bones might snap trying to pry food from dishes that hadn't been washed for the want of waste. Spit on 'em, Jimmy Junior said, hocking a spitball over a clump of yellow crusty food. Then it will come off like this! he bragged, sliding the goop in his hand to show us.

Sarah shook her head stubbornly. Don't spit on the plates, I said, using my fingernails to show them both how to scrape dishes clean by chipping under and away at our decaying plunder. This is goulash, I announced, flicking clean the rolled remnants of dinners and meals from beneath my dirty nails. In one huge pile of everything mushy, hard, stinky, and sweet was the dish mother always referred to as goop and lash, a poor man's stew. I explained, smiling at my brother and little sister who both stared up at me with curious grins. Then we each took turns pinching the ketchup bottle that made pooping sounds over the top before stretching our tongues out for giggling licks.

Give it a poop! I said, watching Jimmy Junior pound the plastic for more spurting sauce.

Poop! Poop! Sarah chimed, giggling.

Get your little asses in here before I make you all shit your pants! mother threatened, hollering from the living room.

Look at your filthy faces, you little pigs started without me, she accused, staring at the pan Jimmy Junior and I carried.

Potatoes, bread scraps, dried beans slathered with gobs of ketchup, chunks of butter, and slime of Jimmy Junior's spitballs all balanced on mother's lap. Big tears fled her swollen eyes as she fingered the unsightly pile. Come on, she sniveled, catching a teardrop with her tongue. What are you waiting for? she glared at J.J., Sarah, and then me. Dig in, dummies! she snapped and quickly we all jabbed our fingers into the spoils on her lap.

Mother never allowed us to eat from her portions. This was oddly different. Strange. She wanted to share with us, I thought, bravely scooping mouthfuls. My stomach rumbled with every bite as we all slurped from the slop pile that brought us closer than