A Passin’ On

By Jayme Alan Toomey

Author Jayme Alan Toomey Releases Another Disturbing Novel

New harrowing tale that obscures faith and reason grips horror fiction aficionados

VENTURA, Calif. Jayme Alan Toomey, author of the grand slam horror fiction stories Paging Dr. Kevorkian, Breakin Heads, and Written in Stupid, publishes another novel that will keep horror fiction fans at the edge of their seats. A Passin On is a blood-curling tale that obscures the borderline that delineates faith and delusion, reason and insanity, based on the queer life of a family headed by a self-proclaimed man of God.

Father Joseph Rueben Levi commands a powerful and wise appearance. He is a tall, trim, middle-aged, self-proclaimed preacher who claims to have God-given and rightful authority. Dressed in black with a shepherds staff, he looks like a god. Christian and his younger brother, Chester, lost their family at a young age. Father Joseph adopted both boys as his own sons immediately after they were left orphaned. He wastes no time instructing them with the ways of God and reads the bible to them regularly, feeling it is his prioritized obligation. Christian remembers nothing about his real family except for one thing: they were brutally murdered right before his eyes by no other than Father Joseph himself.

Told in a very gripping narrative, A Passin On will lead readers to a chain of violence, gore, disturbing preaching and shocking revelations. Readers will realize that sometimes, in the name of God and heaven, the thin line that divides morality and immorality can be blurred or erased altogether.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469193670

Jayme Alan Toomey

Jayme Alan Toomey is the author of Divine Inspiration, The Tag Along, A Passin’ On, Paging Dr. Kevorkian, Witchcraft, and Curses II. A native who “koondooned” his princess while living in Maine, he was put through The Wash in Ventura, before finding The Lookout in a concentration camp in Lompoc, CA..

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Jayme Alan Toomey.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012906031

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-9366-3

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4691-9365-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-9367-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

111542

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

AMEN?

Other Terrorizing Fiction by Jayme Alan Toomey

Chapter 1

Diggin’ the Hole

Section 1: The Beginnin’ of the End

I remember my daddy. He was a strong, strong man. More than a man. He was like principled . . . a true man of God. He loved his God, and he loved his Jesus. Prayed to ’em every day, askin’ for forgiveness and such for the likes of our sins and the sins of others. His Bible too. He always read to us—my younger brother, Chester, and me—from his Bible, quoting it word for word an’ enlightenin’ others. He was obligated to do it if you ask him. He was prioritized. Yes, sir, it was his prioritized obligation . . . his calling to a higher plane of righteous purpose. He told me that the good Lord came to him one night in a thunderstorm. Showed him the light and the good way. Daddy showed me the light too. Yes, he did. Changed my life for the better, I guess. Took me through hell and showed me a glimpse of God at the end of the long dark tunnel. I remember it like it was yesterday. The only glimpse of heaven I ever did see or choose to know. It was beautiful . . . the day I held a gun to the back of my daddy’s head and blew his motherfuckin’ brains out. Took me a while to get to that point though. Reflectin’ on meself . . . personal examination and revelation in the dark light of the good way. After time sets in, memories tend to fade. Not sure where they go, but they come back, they come back to stay. You start to see matters in a different light. And what you thought you knew, you find out you was dead wrong. Life . . . seems it’s all about the ride. Findin’ new meanin’. Findin’ your true self. Findin’ a callin’ to be a part of somethin’ greater than you are. Findin’ a definin’ moment that sets you apart shinin’ under God’s divine light like a mornin’ sunrise peekin’ out over hillside yonder. But we’ll get to that later.

I reckon that when you tell a story, it serves right to start at the beginnin’. But my beginnin’ . . . my true beginnin’ started the first time I ever laid eyes on my daddy. Me and my little brother, see we had another family once. We had another daddy and a momma. Can’t remember their names, and I don’t rightly know if they were good people or formed of the sins that beget the sinner. Had an older sister too. Don’t remember her much neither. To tell you God’s honest truth, I can only recall one fine memory of my other family. Just one. All the others . . . who knows where they went. Guess it really doesn’t matter much. Not now anyway. But a good story needs to be told. And I’m the only one left to tell it, so here it is . . . plain and simple so y’ all can understand it good.

A Wasted Days and Wasted Nights, that’s the song by Freddy Fender that I took on with me from the car. Other than that, I remember that it was a warm, sunny day. That’s all I recall. Nowhere. No when. See, we all—me and my other family, I mean—was hikin’ up in them deep woods. We was on a huntin’ trip . . . campin’ out, takin’ in the nature of our surroundings and such. Me and my little brother, see we was aimin’ on baggin’ our first buck. We was real excited about it. Neither of us had never killed no nuttin’ before, and we was eager to try. My younger brother, he was a pain in the ass, shit kickin’ little son of a bitch. Full of piss and vinegar. Always gettin’ himself into trouble. That’s why only me and my daddy carried our rifles; and my sister, well, she carried his soin’ my little brother wouldn’t shoot his self. I remember Chester’s hair was blond back then, cut close to his scalp. Momma used the small bowl on him. He was shorter than I was, but I was two years older, so that made sense. I think he wore like blue jean overalls or some shit like that. I can’t really remember much more. We had a dog too, but I can’t remember on ’em neither. My real father . . . all I remember was that he taller than I was. I recall that he wore a green pullover on that day, maybe because it was chilly under the cover of them trees. His face . . . it’s like a blur. No color. No texture. Just a blur. I think his hair might have been brown and kinda long, but that’s about it. My mother, well, she was a fine, fine woman. No sin stained her heart. No, sir! She was pure. A good momma. If I was gonna guess, I’d say she was of fair hair. She was a big woman, chunky through the ass and thighs. Her face was like an angel’s, though. To me, her features resembled a carved work of art that one might find in some museum in the big city. I remember her eyes most. They were blue . . . bluer than the bluest sky. Yes, sirry, my real father was a lucky man. I remember that I loved my mother. She was of innocent soul. My sister . . . she was perddy . . . real perddy. She was older than I was by a few years . . . in her early teens, maybe. She didn’t much agree with killin’ . . . animal or otherwise. I remember she had a filthy mouth too, speakin’ of the devil’s curses. But she had the lips of a saint. She looked like Momma, but skinny. A younger version of an old soul. Poor Momma, three children tend to widen the hips some.

The shed . . . I remember when I first saw the shed. Momma was the one who saw it first. She pointed to it comin’ upon a small clearin’. It was a tall shed, rotten and nearly fallen apart. I remember rays of sunshine highlighting its wooden beams like the calling that beckoned us to folla’. To me it was like a church, a rock amidst the light that highlighted my way to the threshold of salvation. Praise be to God.

See, we was so far up into them there woods that no one, not my real daddy nor my momma no how, expected to see any signs of civilization. My sister, she was the only one that didn’t wanna go. She was scared like kinda apprehensive. That didn’t matter much though ’cause we went goin’ any damn way. We had to check it out. Me, well, I was like a little kid, you know? Anything to break up the day was fair game as far as I was concerned.

So there we was walkin’ to this shed out in the middle of nowhere. My real dad wondered why in the hell someone would build a shed way out in the middle of nowhere. Momma didn’t know. I didn’t care. My brother, well, he ran ahead, found a door, and pushed the fucker open. And then he was gone. Momma yelled at him, but he didn’t listen. My older sister felt it best to run up ahead and corral the little son of a bitch. But she was two steps too slow. Therefore, she had to go inside the shed after him to get the little rat bastard.

Then there was a voice that rang out from the heavens above. It was the first and last voice that I recall rememberin’ in my entire life. Well, how y’ all doin’? a powerful and wise character who would show me the light proclaimed of solemn virtue. My daddy’s voice . . . the father that I would soon come to know and love was the voice I heard. It thundered like the clouds that spawned our souls to passin’. Momma and my real daddy were surprised, swinging around to see what was goin’ on. I saw the man first. He was like a god dressed in black . . . a shepherd holding a staff of a preacher’s reckonin’. He was a middle-aged man at the time, tall and trim, and larger-than-life, totally in control of our fates the moment he laid his enlightened brown eyes upon us. Don’t get visitors out here much. He was a smilin’. I remember his smile. Inviting it was. The man had a way. My real daddy thought he seemed harmless enough and cordially went on over there. The man held out his hand in friendship, and my real daddy returned favor. I can’t say for sure what my daddy said to the strange man. I can’t even remember if he said anything at all. All I can remembahh is the voice of the stranger. His eyes pierced holes as he pointed to his pristine white collar denoting a preacher of great faith. I remember that my mother came up beside me and put her hands on my shoulders. Momma was scared of him. Her hands shivered at his every word. Oh, what you wanna do is go on down in the valley over yonder a ways. He pointed to the edge of the tree line over yonda. Not too long. Not too long at all. Down there, they got fresh wata’. Fiddleheads too. And if I do remember correctly, I believe I did see a buck or two not long ago. Fresh tracks are everywhere. You can see ’em in the mud clear as day. My real daddy, well, he turned around. I can see his eyes emerging though the blur that lost the time as he came back on over. And then it happened.

THIS HERE’S PRIVATE PROPERTY! Then somethin’ hit me plumb in the face, blindin’ me fo’ a moment lastin’ not too long. Momma started screamin’ real good. I could hear her, but I could not see her or nuttin’ else one bit. No, sir . . . that is, until I wiped the shit off my face. I was sittin’ on my ass and right there in front of me was my daddy . . . my real daddy. He was laid out, lying on his belly at the tips of my boots. He was dead . . . plain and simple. Shot clear in the back of his head. The first dead man I ever saw was my real daddy. That’s pretty much all I can remember about him. The next thing I do recall was . . .

You bettahh drop that rifle, young lady, the voice of a divine prophet enlightened my mind to a new life. Or I swear to God, I will gut your momma like a fish without even thinkin’ twice. You hearin’ me, baby girl? Right here in front of you. I was on the ground flat on my backside, not knowin’ what was goin’ on. My head was hurtin’, and my rifle was gone.

Shoot him! Momma screamed from somewhere real close by. As my eyes began to focus, there he was standin’ only a few feet away. From behind, the strange man held his arms around my momma, holding her as tight as tight could be. He had a blade pressed against her throat. I remember that I didn’t like it much at the time.

My sister, she didn’t like it no neither. Christian, get his fuckin’ gun! There was a revolver lyin’ on the ground in between ’em, but right then, I could not move one muscle. As I wrenched my head backward I saw the only sister I ever had. She was holdin’ Chester’s rifle on that motherfucker, while my baby brother hid himself behind her, burying his head in the small of her back. Chester, he looked pretty scared, the little corn-fed momma boy that he was; but I couldn’t see his face, none to tell you fo’ sure. Stands to reason. Little kids tend to get scared when matters like this happen. My sister too. She had never fired a rifle before, and momma was in the damn way to make matters all the worse. She appeared to be strong, but she was more terrified than anyone. I remember the tip of the barrel widdlin’ in the wind. The preacher man saw the same. He didn’t seem to be backing down none, diggin’ the blade in his hand into the flesh below my momma’s chin. I think I might have been scared back then too. To be perfectly honest, I cannot entirely be sure whether I was or not, but with time and experience, you get used to such things. After a while, these types of matters become basic routine. That ain’t no shit neither.

I ain’t intendin’ on playin’ which yah much more, Missy, the preacher chanted, proclaimin’ the voice of the one true God with the power of life and death within his very hand. He seemed serious and sure of himself. I haven’t the time in the day.

Christian! she screamed, attempting to ignore her new father and self-proclaimed savior. Wake the fuck up!

Shoot him! Momma yelled at her. My sister, she was under enough stress as it was; but my momma, she was right. My sister should have pulled that goddamned trigger.

Shut your mouth, you skiving ass whore, the dark man of higher callin’ that I came to worship as my new father in another life whispered in my momma’s good ear, before I bite out your tongue and feed it to the dogs. He dug the tip of the blade into Momma’s chin, and I saw the blood tricklin’ down her throat to the pit of her neck. Then he focused his shinin’ black eyes back on my sister. Come on now. He laughed with the Lord guidin’ his divine light. You’ve got to think things through, Missy May. Leaning in, he gave my momma a big wet kiss right on her cheek. You know I love your momma as if she was my own. His eyes stared like the devil himself glarin’ hell at my poor sister. If you’re not careful—he nodded his approval—I might end up lovin’ on you too.

Let my mom go! My sister, she could barely hold the rifle perched in her hands up any longer. She started cryin’ and sobbin’ right then and there. Please just let my mother go.

You first, he called to the Lord our God, noddin’ at the rifle widdlin’ in the wind. Drop the rifle. The preacher man shook his head just to let her know he ain’t foolin’. No, sir. I ain’t gonna ask yah’ again.

Don’t you dare put down that gun, Momma ordered. Shoot . . .

That was enough out of her. Promptly, the dark father rested the blade on Momma’s right cheek. He covered her mouth with his opposite hand and slid the blade across the meat on her face. There was some bleedin’ as one might guess. Poor Momma, she screamed like the devil had tempted her to sin, her curses muffled by the hand of my infallible proclaimer of God’s good word. Repositionin’ the blade under her chin, he assured her, Don’t worry yourself, perddy Momma. The pain is only temporary. Whispering in her ear, he told the God’s honest truth. Once you get over the fear, who knows, you might just get off on it. My sister . . . the preacher wasn’t havin’ no more. ONE, he screamed. The harshness in his voice shocked the shit out of my sister and nearly caused her to pull that trigger by accident. Unfortunately, Momma wasn’t that lucky. TWO!

ALL RIGHT, my sister screamed, callin’ a halt to poor Momma’s last countdown. Even I knew there would not be a three. She bent over and placed the rifle on the ground. Little Chester had his eyes closed the whole time. He bent over with her and popped back up the same. I couldn’t rightly offer what was wrong with him.

Well, you ain’t as stupid as you look, my new father of the Lord’s faith attested. Now ain’t cha? Take your brother back inside the shed. Me and your momma, we comin’ too. Rest assured. My sister, well, she hurried my little brother right along. They made their way back to the shed. She directed disrespondent Chester through the doorway, and in they went. The preacher, well, he waited until they was inside before he focused on me. With his right arm wrapped around the head of his hostage, the Lord’s mortal instrument in a righteous hand, he made his due way looming above me in no time at all. I still couldn’t move. I think I was in shock but can’t tell you for sure. He didn’t seem to care. Get up, he commanded me to obey. I could do no such thing. Therefore, the one I came to know as my one and only true daddy took no mercy upon me, for no rest lies in the realm of the wicked. He kicked the livin’ shit out of me on that day for the first time, deliverin’ some heavy toes here and a heel there and again, but lucky for me, it was far from the last. GET UP! A heavy toe-impacted smack dabbed on the center my forehead. I never knew that I could endure such a beatin’. The pain gave me power and showed me the gates of heaven. ONE TIME! My new teacher grabbed me underneath my armpit and aggressively pulled me to my feet. I stumbled a bit but managed to steady myself by God’s good graces alone. The proclaimer of my faith then proceeded to forcefully drag me and my wailin’ mother along, headin’ to the open doorway that led me to the light. That’s all you get from me, boy. From now on, it’s one time and one time only. Then we crossed over into a dark room amid the shed of forever after’s new life. I can remember that I feared for my safety and the safety of my kindred souls. But the hand of God shows no favor to those who fail to disobey his letter. I had found my definin’ moment that sets one apart as a shepherd tendin’ to the flock shinin’ under God’s divine light like a mornin’ sunrise peakin’ out over hillside yonder.

It was a room like any other . . . no bigger than any room a family might do some livin’ in. There was not much furniture to speak of. I remembahh that I knocked over a wooden chair as the man spun me around and slammed the door closed behind him. There was a fixed table with some workin’ tools and such things at the far end, but I certainly cannot recall much else. The only light came in through a single window high above in them rafters up there, say fifteen feet or so, and the cracks in between them wooden beams that lined the walls. It was cold in that room out in the middle of nowhere . . . real cold. My sister was ballin’ her little eyes out, standin’ ova’ across the room by the table. Little Chester, well, he still wasn’t sayin’ or doin’ much. He kept his head tucked in the small of my sister’s back. He didn’t want to see shit. He looked like he was baby layin’ on a cot, suckin’ on his thumb and pullin’ them covers up over his head to protect his self. One might argue that the more you guess the less you repress, but sometimes the guessin’ leads to the worst. Six in one hand, half dozen in the other, if you ask me. Me, well, my eyes were wide open for the first time.

With a big heave, my daddy let me go, sendin’ me clear ’cross the room. My feet barely touched the floor as I fell flat on my face in front of my older sister and my younger brother. My sister bent ova’ and helped me to my feet once again. Little Chester bent over with her and popped back up the same. I don’t know how I was still standin’, but I was. I prayed to God right then and there. I asked him for his help. I asked him to intercede on behalf of my mother and my sister. I asked God to save their lives. My little brother, well, could go fuck his self far as I was concerned, cock-suckin’ little coward that he was. And then the Lord’s voice chose to answer my prayers.

You call yourself a momma, the preacher knew the sin that begets the sinner. As I focused myself on the voice that spawned the light, I could see my momma. She was scared. Yes, sir. He saw it in her eyes as he grabbed her by a full head of hair with his right hand and pulled her in close. You ain’t no momma I ever saw. The spit that washed the sinner’s soul clean fell upon my momma’s face as he pronounced prompt deliverance of her due confession. A trespassin’, breakin’ and enterin’, stickin’ your little nose where it don’t belong none. Who you think you is? Lettin’ these poor misguided souls run their little asses ’round my house with no supervision. They ain’t got no discipline. They need to learn how to listen up proper and respect my God-given and rightful authority. He pressed his blade against her throat. And you ain’t no bettahh. No, sir. All me and my sister could do was stand there and listen. You ain’t no momma, no how.

Please, she cried for mercy. But there was no answer for her prayers on that sunny day amid the dark room that showed me the light. Don’t hurt my babies. She cried and wailed some mo’. Please don’t hurt my children.

Well, lucky you, I do believe you came to the right place after all. He smiled. I think I can help yah. Then the preacher man became all so gentle, lowerin’ the blade from her throat. He released hold of Momma’s hair and pet the back of her head as if she was a dog. Ain’t gonna be no trouble, never, neither, no nuttin’ at all. And then his voice became calm as if he was ’bout to say somthin’ that someone, somewhere should write down some time or another. I think I can . . . His voice lowered, and his eyes spoke of death. I read his lips. Relieve you of your burden. That’s what he said. My new father’s voice raised some. I do believe I think I can do that for yah. Yes, sirry. I do think that it’s high time for me to do just that. His smile . . . that’s what I remember next. It was so wide and pearly white . . . like inviting me to step to the threshold that etched the true name of our one true Father. But you mustn’t speak the name for his name hides the key to revelation’s cruel joke that God had placed upon the green earth. The dark father spoke forth like his true soul could neva’ cause us no harm. Would you like that? My mother did not know what to do or say. She just stood there breathin’ heavy like hyperventilating, maybe. She kept on lookin’ back at us and then back on him. Would you like me to relieve you of your burden? he asked again of my momma so me and brother and sister could hear it good enough. He stepped backward, and fo’ a moment not lastin’ too long, I thought that he might just let us all go. But that was wishful thinkin’. I need an ansahh! His black eyes told us that he did. Our lives depended on that answer.

She looked back once mo’ and caught my eye. Then she turned to him. Yes, that was what she said. Momma said yes clear as day. Now what I wanna believe in my heart was that my momma thought by her submission that she was givin’ herself up fo’ us. She would die so that we could live. But there ain’t no truth to that. The truth . . . well, if I was gonna say knowin’ what I know now ’bout life and sinner’s nature, I’d say that she was condemning us to our death’s soin’ she could see the mornin’ sunrise come to folla’. I ain’t coating the lily with some bullshit neither. I never lied to myself once, and I ain’t ’bout to start now. It was what it was.

Down came a right hand, the man’s fist a slammin’ my momma dead in the middle of her face. I can remembahh it was like an explosion of blood erupted from her twisted nose. She collapsed right then and there, fallin’ to the floor like a ton of bricks fallen ova’ itself. Poor Momma; she had a glass jaw. She conked out like a light when yah flick the switch off. My sister let out a yelp like she was the one who took the wallop. I think she was realizin’ that she could be the next in line for a hard lesson on life.

Respect. The preacher man stared at me and my sister from across the room. You may not like me, but you will respect me. I knew he had something up his sleeve but couldn’t tell you what it was at the time. He walked on ova’ to us, brandishin’ the shiny blade in his hand. I focused on it. My sister did too, I think. Captivating. It was sparkling with a luster that I dare not describe for I have not the words within meself. I thought I was gonna die. He walked right on up to us, showin’ us the blade that held his eternal salvation. I remembahh that there was a red stain on it runnin’ from the very tip on down to the hilt. It was my momma’s blood. I don’t know if my sister saw it . . . Momma’s blood, I mean, but she was scared enough for both of us. Yes, sir, shiverin’ and twitchin’ every so often. I had hope for her sake that she didn’t see it, but I know that she did. If any of you a thinkin’ that you got the hair on your balls . . . With a quick backward and downward movement of his left hand, the blade fell to the floor. The tip sunk into the wooden beams at our feet. My sister flinched a bit. Please . . . by all means . . . feel free to go ahead and give it a try. I could swear that he was lookin’ directly at me. Then he leaned ova’ and whispered so that only I could hear his words. I want you to try. That was what he said to me.

A thinkin’ my new daddy was only tryin’ to teach me a lesson that I did not wish to learn at the time, I refrained from any action. My sister, she didn’t move neither. I’d like to tell yah that I was just waiting fo’ my moment, but that be some bullshit. The tall stranger we had come across was in control. At least for the moment, he was. He knew it and so did we. There ain’t no mistaken that as nuttin’ but fact. I watched him as he casually strolled on ova’ to the table off to our side with the tools of a workin’ man scattered ’cross top. He knew what he was lookin’ for. He grabbed a length of rope all wound up in a spool up off the table and turned around. His eyes were wide and black, dissecting us with every breath of every moment that we took in. Then he stared in my sister’s direction. He wasn’t lookin’ at her, but beyond her. He walked on ova’ there and bent down to one knee in front of her. With his free hand, he pushed her aside and focused on my little brother. Well, how yah doin’, he spoke, gently grabbing him by his shoulders and standin’ him up straight so he could look on him like a man. He spoke slow and easy. And who might you claim to be?

Ch-es-ter. My shit-stinkin’ little brother’s teeth chattered just like his knees.

Only a coward of a man buries his trade in the sand when the storm is a comin’. He let go of my little brother and tapped the spool of rope on his chest. Now I’m only gonna tell you this one time . . . one time and one time only. So you had better listen and listen good. He stopped with the rope and looked him square. You keep your eyes open ifin’ you want to see tomorrow. Now I don’t know fo’ sure if my brother knew what the man was sayin to him’. I mean when someone tells you theyin’ gonna kill you if you shut your eyes and you just a kid who no know better, how could you understand the finality of it all? But he nodded his head yes any damn way. From then on though, he kept his eyes wide open. Rest assured. The teacher of many a lesson rose to his feet, starin’ Chester in the eyes the whole way. Then his buck-shot eyes fired at my sister. And you, young lady, you don’t coddle him none neither! You hearin’ me, Missy May? My sister, well, she flinched backward at the harshness in his voice. She nodded soon thereafter. I remembahh that I felt bad for my sister bein’ that she was a female and all. To me seems all she wanted was for this all to end one way or another.

The man a walked back on ova’ to my mother. As he unraveled the rope before her unconscious soul, he thought out loud, not really specifyin’ who he was talkin’ tah’. I ain’t got time to be fussin’ with no noose. No, sir. He bent ova’, grabbed her by a fistful of hair, and yanked her head up off the ground. With his other hand, he wrapped the rope ’round her neck. He slipped one end of the rope ’round its length and pulled it tight. Then he did it again, knottin’ the rope a second time. I could see that my momma was still breathin’, but the tightness of the knot constricted her windpipe some. Then he wrapped the rope around her neck again just to be sure. He slipped the end of the rope ’round its length and pulled it tight. Two more knots came to folla’. WAKE UP, the man screamed letting Momma’s head crash to the floor. He kicked her in the ribs once or twice as she came to, gaspin’ for the God-given air. With a swing of his arm, he threw the rest of the spool ova’ a wooden rafter hangin’ high above. Unravelin’ some, the opposite end of the spool fell to floor at his feet. He grabbed the length of rope and took up the slack. Then he gave a two-handed heave that jerked my poor momma up on her feet. She threw her hands around her neck, tryin’ to find some place to fit her fingers in between the rope and her skin, but the knot had tightened even more and she could do no such thing.

Oh my god, my sister screamed, coverin’ her mouth. She could not believe her eyes. Neither could my little catatonic brother. He fell on his ass and watched all wide-eyed as the man gave another downward thrust on the rope, contortin’ Momma’s neck in such a way that I dare not describe for reasons pertainin’ to my own personal sanity. The preacher, well, he checked to see if we was all lookin’. And we was. Therefore, he pulled the rope in tight to his chest, drapin’ it ova’ his right shoulder. Then my new daddy, who I would come to know and love as my very own, hunched ova’, jerkin’ the rope along with him. My momma, well, I watched as her feet left the floor. As he straightened out, he quickly moved both hands up the length of the rope and hunched on ova’ yet again. I heard the rope slidin’ ova’ the wooden beam as my momma’s earthly vessel jacked up another foot or two. I remembahh she was a kickin’ and a strugglin’ somethin’ awful. PLEASE, my sister did scream some more, bendin’ at the waist as she let it all out. SHE CAN’T BREATH!

The man, he looked at us square. The he smiled and went back, tendin’ to his business. He gave another heave and hunched ova’. Straightenin’ up, he quickly moved his hands up the length of the rope and hunched ova’ again. Momma went skyward another foot or two. Then my daddy started walkin’ toward us, pullin’ and tuggin’ on the rope as he made his way a foot here and another there. My sister moved out of the way as he wrapped the opposite end of the rope ’round the leg of the table. He slipped the end of the rope ’round its length and made a knot and then another. I watched as my momma just dangled in air in the mid center of the room, kickin’ her feet like there was no tomorrow. I remember her face was highlighted, all lit up by the solitary window above her head and to side like. I can remembahh it like it was yesterday, her eyes closed, her cheeks red and bulgin’ out like they was ’bout to explode.

As I looked back at the man makin’ his knots ’round the table’s leg, I saw that he had given me his back. Then I did recall the blade at my feet. From the very beginnin’, my new daddy was so sure that I was under his control. I could never raise my hand to him. He thought he knew me that well. Well, he was wrong on that day. I was fixin’ to do him harm. I don’t rightly recall pickin’ up the weapon. I only remembahh the blade in my hand as I ran on ova’ there, ready to slice him up real nice.

He must have felt the vibrations of my feet thunderin’ ’cross the wooden floor or maybe he read my sister’s eyes, but he swung ’round before I got there and belted me clear ’cross the face. I collapsed on floor in a pile of shit. The blade went somewhere. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man kick something out of the way. I think it was the knife, but I can’t rightly say. Flat on my back, I heard it slide across the floor to the opposite end of the room. Didn’t matter none ’cause I could not move my body one inch. No, sir.

Footsteps . . . I heard his footsteps walk ova’ the back of my head. As I tilted my head backward, I could see the preacher standin’ behind facin’ me and my kin. My mother was still kickin’ and strugglin’ some. The preacher looked up at my momma, wavin’ his finger in her direction in a scoldin’ manner. He began a quotin’ and paraphrasin’ the Bible, Romans 9-12, to offer her soul some relief in her new life there after next. May death no longer have any power over you. Jesus died to defeat sin and now he lives on for the glory of God. Then not too long thereafter, Momma stopped a strugglin’ all together. Her arms dropped to her sides limp like a strung-up pig. So you should consider yourself dead to sin and able to live through the glory of God though Jesus Christ. Amen. The man looked on ova’ at us. He was a-smilin’, and his eyes a fire. Patience and a touch of sweet oil and you can make love on a feline ’til she’s deaf, dumb, and blind. That’s what my daddy used to say to me when I was a youngster much like your selves. He whistled. Whooweee! Then my self-appointed teacher tapped the bottom of Momma’s shoes, maybe to see ifin’ she was a really dead. She was. I relieve you from your burden. He made the sign of the cross, wavin’ his hand in the air. May you rest in peace.

I remembahh lookin’ on up from my back at my momma’s body a swinging side to side from them rafters up above while my sister shrieked somethin’ awful. It was the last memory I eva’ had of my momma. Did I love my momma? Me . . . today, here as I tell you the God’s honest truth, the memory of her death does not bother me one bit. However, I guess I must have at the time. Even a lowly dog has a momma that he loves. I mean, I must have loved my momma. I must have.

The next thing that sticks out was . . . You shut your dirty mouth! The preacher pointed at my sister, I think. I pushed me self up a ways and just sat there, tryin’ to regain my balance some. And then the footsteps came again, stampedin’ straight past me. The preacher, well, he was mad at my sister or some damn thing ’cause he went on ova’ there and grabbed her by a full head of hair. He wrenched her head back some and screamed in her face. I can’ recall what he said exactly, but when he was done, he was on to me soon enough, draggin’ my sister with him as he came. Get up, the stern tone of his voice commanded immediate obedience. So I got up as fast as I could, getting my feet up under me first. My balance was all fucked up, and I knew it too. My head was throbbin’ pretty bad. Be it so, I pushed myself to my feet for I feared another vicious drubbin’ a comin’. You’re comin’ with me. My only daddy, ’cause I had no other daddy breathin’ at the time, shuffled me to the door. He reached ’round me and slid the door open. I did not wait for him to tell me to go on outside, so I went. And my daddy did choose to folla’. As he crossed the threshold, he looked back at my baby brother. I see him as clear as day. He was sittin’ on his ass, not movin’ or makin’ a sound, starin’ up at our mother. He didn’t have no expression. It was blank, like his soul had parted away with his physical body and left the grassy plain alongside my momma. And you, my daddy pointed at him, you bettahh stay put tillin’ I get back! Chester didn’t move. He just sat there comatosed. Then the preacher reached in and slid the door closed. For a moment lastin’ not too long, I wondered whether I’d ever see the little shit again. But then I realized that I had bigger problems at the time.

Communion, the commandin’ voice of my guiding light led me to salvation, pointin’ to his revolver a lyin’ on the ground ova’ yonda’ a ways not too far. You a guessin’, you a doin’. Promptly, I walked on ova’ to the weapon. And there it was . . . Communion he called it. Now pick it up and give it here. I picked it up and fo’ a moment holding Holy Communion in my very hands. A short time thereafter, I wondered if I should disobey him. It was like he read my thoughts, ’cause he yanked back on my sisters head, archin’ her neck backward in a displeasure-some manner. He looked me dead in the eye and did have to say one word. So I dare not try my luck again fo’ her sake. Slowly, I walked on up to him and presented his Holy Communion to him upon open palms. He reached out with his free left hand and took it from my palms. He placed the revolver on my sister’s throat and told me to . . . Go on ahead. His head nodded in a certain direction, and I did as such walkin’ that general way. I could hear them wrestlin’ some behind me. There’s a path up there not too far. Follow it down to the river. I must have been walkin’ too fast or somethin’, ’cause he yelled, Slow your britches! I like to take my time. I looked back at him. He was a holdin’ my sister tight with his Communion pressed to her throat. She was still cryin’ pretty bad. Eyes forward, Daddy shouted. So I did and whipped my head ’round so I could see where I was goin’.

And my daddy was right. There was a path between them trees up ahead not too far, not too far at all. As I came upon it, I could see that it traveled downward to a bend. I could not see ’round the bend, but I could hear the wata’. I could hear my father talkin’ some to my older sister as well. He didn’t like her none, I don’t think. I didn’t like much what he said to her neither. I know you ain’t no daisy. Yes, sir, the cold winter months have stolen your flower. I walked down the path a listenin’. You ain’t no virgin peppahh. I came to the bend. And I don’t see no ring on your finger so you ain’t married none neither. . . . And there was the river on up ahead at the very end of the path. It was a runnin’ from right to left. What was it fo’ yah? Momentary weakness . . . simple pleasure . . . a sinful loss of God? There was a pause with no response forthcomin’. Did you ask fo’ it, or did he force it on yah? The river was a comin’ closer. My feet must have picked up steam on their own ’cause . . . Slow your britches, you! We’ll get there soon enough . . . rest assured. So I slowed up and started takin’ shorter steps to make sure that I did not travel too fast fo’ his likin’. My daddy, he continued on a teachin’ and showin’ my sister the error of her ways. You asked fo’ it, didn’t yah? Yesin’, you asked fo’ it. I can tell. I can smell the sin between your thighs like the freshest spring a blowin’ in the wind.

Then I came to the end of the path comin’ upon the river. It was a medium-sized river, not too big, but not too small. The wata’ was movin’ pretty fast though. Bein’ that we was on a kind of an incline, that made sense. There were trees on the other side, and I wondered if I could make it across. You want me to take you swimmin’, boy? I rightly stopped with my toes not far from the edge of the river. I did not turn ’round though, awaitin’ his command. Then my sister fell to the ground on my left side and slightly behind. As my eyes scanned back and to my left, she looked up at me from her knees, and our eyes met. She didn’t look too good. No, she did not. In fact, she looked tired, embarrassed, mortified, and terrified all at once. Her eyes were bloodshot