This Should Never Have Happened: The Release of a Tortured Mind

By Laura Vivian

This Should Never Have Happened is the true-life experiences of Laura, a child whose mother is present in body only while her father emotionally, physically, and sexually imposes horrific terror upon his seven children. Nightmarish memories are locked away in her mind until shortly following the elderly mans death, when shocking recollections erupt like a violent volcano, spewing years of unspeakable pain and torment.
Journey with Laura as she recalls graphic details and images from turbulent days and brutal nights at the hands of her sadistic father. Witness, through the frightened eyes of a small girl as she grows into a young woman, the escalating intensity of one mans savage treatment of the children he was supposed to cherish and protect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504969543

Laura Vivian

Laura Vivian lives in the same small town that she describes in This Should Never Have Happened. Laura was employed at a large pharmaceutical company for nearly thirty years. During that time, she also created a successful event planning business which allowed her to specialize in her passion, wedding coordination. Now enjoying her retirement, Laura’s favorite activity is cooking Sunday dinners to share with the loves of her life - her husband of forty-two years, two grown children, son-in-law and two young grandchildren.

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2016 Laura Vivian. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/06/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6938-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6937-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6954-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015920992

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgement

Prologue

Part I—Growing Up Lewis

Part II—Age Three

Part III—Age Four

Part IV—Age Five

Part V—Age Six

Part VI—Age Seven

Part VII—Age Eight

Part VIII—Age Nine

Part IX—Age Ten

Part X—Age Eleven

Part XI—Age Twelve

Part XII—Age Thirteen

Part XIII—Age Fourteen

Part XIV—Age Fifteen

Part XV—Age Sixteen

Part XVI—Age Seventeen

Part XVII—Age Eighteen

Part XVIII—Cause and Effect

About the Author

Dedication

Dedicated to the love of my life - my husband.

Thank you, Babe, for being my stronghold, my rock. You are my soulmate sent from God, my best friend, and the one person who can always make me laugh no matter what is going on around us.

Your never-failing love has brought more joy into my life than you could ever know.

Acknowledgement

Thank you to my amazing therapist, J.B., for your gentle and compassionate guidance throughout this difficult, often maddening process. You are my safety net, providing resources that allow me to stay in the here-and-now, thus relegating my nightmarish recollections to the past where they belong.

More importantly, you helped me to finally know that what our sinister father did to my siblings and myself was in no way our fault, a learning that was in direct contrast to the lessons he had ingrained from the moment each of us was born.

Here, I call you Angela, because you are certainly one of my guardian angels.

Prologue

The death of a parent saddens most children. When my father, Abaddon Lewis died, I was relieved. Since infancy my father had explicitly made sure I knew he was in total control of my every breath. I had been taught, without a moment’s hesitation, he could—and would—ruin and even extinguish my life if I fought against him or revealed to anyone our family’s terrible secrets.

Although I remembered a lot of what my father had done to us, my mind blocked the worst, most painful memories through a coping mechanism called dissociation. When Abaddon came to me with his vulgar intentions, my mind went numb. I was emotionally dead. Dissociation began as soon as I saw the evil look in his eyes or when he uttered his sadistically hypnotic words, Come on, Laura or Let’s go. Although my body felt the pain, my mind was outside my body, watching the ugly scene. Once the monster finished with me, he’d often say, this never happened. With those words my mind expunged the gut-wrenching event from my memory, as though it had indeed never happened.

Shortly following his death, the torturous chambers deep within my mind were unlocked. With the cremation of his evil body, I finally received assurance that he could no longer hurt me or those I loved. After nearly sixty years, I was no longer his prisoner.

The rattling clang of the chains being dismantled link by link was painful beyond words, but with that agony came an exhalation of relief beyond measure. I was free, and I knew the time had come to tell the world about the unthinkable acts he had bestowed upon those he was supposed to protect, his children.

Most of the language throughout my story is from my viewpoint and voice at ages three through eighteen. I have occasionally inserted relative thoughts from my current age. In order to differentiate among recollections I had not severed and those my mind had repressed, I have typed in italics the memories I did not recall until after Abaddon’s death.

For the protection of those of us who have suffered enough because of one man’s senseless cruelty, all names have been changed. My intent is not to cause additional pain. It is to finally give a voice to all of us, albeit anonymous.

This is my story.

Part I—Growing Up Lewis

Unsafe

Our five-bedroom home is eloquently positioned on a hill overlooking a beautiful lake. On the outskirts of a small Midwestern town, the scene is picture-perfect, complete with swans and a bridge that leads to a shelter house where children often fish and play. All appears very serene and very safe. But as is often the case, what appears is not in actuality what is.

Like the other custom-built homes in this prestigious neighborhood, my father, designer and builder Abaddon Lewis, built our house. He lives here with my reserved, often despondent mother Lana and us, his seven children. A few of us are quiet, the others are rambunctious, but we are all miserably unhappy.

Sisters Penny and Nancy have hitchhiked to our house, hoping to hide out for a few hours. As teenage girls do, they’d had a heated argument with their dad this morning. They’d quietly slipped out, seeking refuge in this home where they have spent a lot of time with Penny’s best friend, my younger sister Alicia.

Penny knocks, but no one comes to let her in. As is the norm in the 1970s, we seldom lock our doors. Why bother? There’s no need to be concerned for safety in such an upscale neighborhood.

Penny opens the door and asks, Hello?

There’s no answer. It’s strange to find a vacant house. With nine people under one roof, someone is usually home. But this is Sunday. We always go to church on Sunday morning.

The girls enter and slowly ascend the steps to the main living area. They’re hungry. They cringe as they watch a roach scamper across the sticky floor in the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, Nancy shrieks as two more roaches fall into the sink piled high with dirty dishes. As she reaches for a jar of peanut butter, they hear the garage door opening below.

They’re home! Penny shrieks.

They run to Lance’s bedroom down the hall. They hide in the storage area with a sliding door above the closet, where they’ve hung out with Alicia on previous visits.

Lance, Penny whispers as he walks into the room.

He’s startled to see the girls.

Nancy whispers, Shhhh. Don’t tell anyone we’re here.

What are you doing here? he asks.

We ran away from home. We’re starving. Can you get us something to eat? asks Penny.

As Lance turns to go to the kitchen, Dad’s angry voice booms from somewhere in the house. Lance, come here!

Lance freezes.

Lance, I said come here NOW! the man demands.

You’d better go! He sounds really mad! urges Penny.

No, Lance responds timidly, obviously frozen with fear.

They hear loud footsteps. The girls quickly hide just as Dad slams open the bedroom door, hitting the wall. They watch in horror through a small crack as the angry five-foot-eleven man weighing 190 pounds grabs my ten-year-old brother’s head.

Dad slaps Lance’s weeping face with such force that the child falls backward. His father unzips and pulls down the child’s pants and underwear as he quickly flips him facedown onto the bed. The monster unzips his own pants, revealing his genitals. Although the girls are horrified, Penny can no longer keep quiet as she witnesses what is about to take place.

Stop it! she screams.

Dad, instantly enraged to find them in his house, turns and stomps out of the room.

Are you okay? asks Nancy.

Lance doesn’t reply. He has a distant, vacant stare as tears stream from his bright blue, terrified eyes.

Shortly someone yells, "The police are