Tattletale Heart

By Raymond D. Schweitzer

This book is an adult book relating a marriage of domestic violence concerning two people who were never suitable for each other. It relates a reprehensible story of male dominance, wife beatings domestic violence, child molestation, and eventually, death by an internal moral conscience too late.

It is written with brief details of the life of a small family where they deal with abysmal attempts internally to have an outward appearance of congeniality. This is, of course, fiction; however, many particulars are actually occurring in ordinary lives. This is just one of many books I have written. I do hope the readers understand that they are fictional stories but could actually occur in homes all over the world. Maybe even your neighbors?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543466133

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by Raymond D. Schweitzer.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2017917602

ISBN:      Hardcover         978-1-5434-6615-7

                Softcover          978-1-5434-6614-0

                eBook               978-1-5434-6613-3

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. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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.

Rev. date: 12/27/2017

Xlibris

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Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1 The Beating

Chapter 2 Assaulted

Chapter 3 Close Call

Chapter 4 Lawyers

Chapter 5 New Plans

Chapter 6 New Beginning

Chapter 7 The Beatings Renewed

Chapter 8 Finally Enough!

Chapter 9 Reconciliation

Chapter 10 Change of Lifestyle

Chapter 11 The Haunting Continues

Chapter 12 The Apology

FOREWORD

This book is an Adult Book relating a marriage of Domestic violence! Concerning two people who were never suitable for one another. It relates a reprehensible story of male dominance, wife beatings domestic violence, child molestation, and eventually death by an internal moral Conscience too late.

It is written with brief details of the life of a small family where internally abysmally attempts outwardly an appearance of congeniality. This is, of course, fiction; however many particulars are actually occurring in ordinary lives. This is just one of many books I have written. I do hope the readers understand that they are fictional stories but could actually occur in homes all over the world. –– Maybe even your neighbors?

Like all my 5 books, I am dedicating them to my late beautiful wife of 50 years

Jean Barker Schweitzer (8/14/1927 –– 3/12/2017)

From who I received all my inspirations and her contended encouragement!

✳   ✳   ✳

CHAPTER ONE

THE BEATING

Norma Nichols frantically flung the basement door open consequentially causing the knob to smash a hole in the plasterboard dislodging a piece of dry plaster falling through the rickety wooden stairs to the dirt floor below. Nearing hysterics, she clawed her trembling fingernails blindly on the wall searching for a light switch. Eventually locating it she flipped on the dim forty-watt stair-well light before descending the dangerously narrow steps two at a time. Afraid of splinters she kept her hands away from the rickety 2x2 unvarnished wooden hand-railing. At the bottom she headed into the old coal bin. With a small sliver of light from the lone window, formerly a coal chute, she instantly spotted the still body of her only son lying unconscious in the middle of the cold filthy sawdust covered dirt where his father had left him.

She placed her head to his bruised chest listening for any sign of life before feeling his jugular for a heartbeat. Both were barely detectable. She hurriedly slipped his pants, she located in a dark corner, on his badly battered nude body and yanked his little t-shirt over his head without brushing off any of the coaldust, sawdust or oily soil. She hurriedly shoved his shoes on his bare feet and carefully laid him on the bottom step.

Chust wha’da hell do yah think yew doin’? Boomed Bud Nichols’ slurring loud voice echoing in the small stairwell.

Norma glanced up to see him standing unsteadily hanging on the basement rickety door at the top of the stairs. Her adrenalin pumped wildly, frightened by the sudden unexpected appearance of Bud’s imposing figure now leaning on the door jamb.

Sounded like yah shot sumbody, he laughed, quickly stepping back and slamming the basement door before she heard him securely latching it

Bu-ah-d! … Bowser’s hurt –– real bad! She screamed with tears streaming down her face, He needs a Doctor!

Like hell he does! Bud’s voice blared through the closed door, Nefer did ’afore!

Bud, this time I’m not givin’ in. …You’re gonna have to kill me! –– I’m takin’ ‘im to the Hospital." She was halfway up the stairs when he slammed the door.

A sinister chuckle betrayed another of his all-too-frequent appetite for liquor. Yur killin’ could easily be ’ranged, his slurring-voice faded, indistinguishable as he vanished into the safety of the Den, his vinyl couch, and console TV.

Bud, she pleaded, slamming both fists into the door demonstrating her strong determination. "This time I can’t give in! … I’m going to the Hospital. … Bud please, Bowser’s your son too! … Let us out! … Bud? … PLEASE! … But her pleas never penetrated the slow-trenchant snores of Bud’s liquor-induced slumber.

She frantically searched her meager surroundings in the yellowish illumination for anything to break through the door, and if necessary, Bud’s head. She located an old-dull-rusty hatchet nearly covered by dried wood chips lying in the corner of the coalbin.

"Thank GOD, Bud never picks up his tools when he’s finished," she muttered.

The stair-well light was of little help as she chopped at one of the thin door panels as close to the knob as possible. After several hard determined blows she broke through the thin wood. She stooped to peek through the puncture for any trace of Bud before shoving her arm through the splintered hole. Her fingers quickly found and unhooked the latch.

In the Kitchen she stood silently listening to Bud’s deep-loud contented snoring with the hatchet poised menacingly near her right ear. She quietly tiptoed to the Den door where she saw his immobilized body in his recliner wearing a peaceful insidious smile, apparently secure in the knowledge she would be unable to get out of the Basement until he let her out in the morning.

She grabbed Bud’s set of Pickup keys off the end=table beside him and ran down the stairs to retrieve her small frail son’s body. She quietly entered the garage, laid him on the hood of the Pickup until she opened the door. She placed him on the front passenger seat and then re-entered the house. She crept silently past Bud to the children’s bedroom to wake her youngest child, Penelope, who she was afraid to leave alone with Bud in his present mental condition.

She quietly awoke the small girl and held her forefinger to her mouth, shush … Daddy’s asleep. She picked her up and carried her to the Pickup and placed her in the middle seat belt leaving Bowser lying next to the door.

Can’t ch’u put Bowser in the back seat? … He likes back there.

Not now. I want you both up here with me.

Where’re we going Momma?

Bowser’s sick –– real sick!

Did Daddy make Bowser sick?

Norma closed her eyes on the tears she was fighting to ignored her question. She pressed hard on the button of the automatic garage door opener. Once open she placed the Pickup in neutral, and hurriedly shoved it into the sloping driveway into the street. It wasn’t easy for a ninety pound female to shove a several thousand pound vehicle, but her anxiety seemed to give her an extra dose of adrenalin-strength. Her taunt nerves and physical activity caused her brow to bead in the intense humidity of the uncommon California weather.

She held her breath waiting in the street until the noisy garage door motor slowly grinded closed. Thoughts flashed through her mind before it started sprinkling just before she attempted to start the motor. She thought ‘this rain’s gonna bring the winter-dried Bermuda grass to life as Bowser’s life ebbs away.’ Again her tears begin welling.

She thought about the time she met Bud when she was once an attractive blonde, now she bore the scars and recent bruises of 7 years of physical abuse. Her eyes were a fine liquid blue, widely spaced with thin lids and short lashes. Her mouth was still prim, despite several broken teeth. Her upper lip was slightly fuller than its twin as a result of a painful smash to her mouth. … She had always been quiet, basically shy, but living with Bud she picked up his course aphorisms and spit them out when she was provoked.

She was considered uneducated and having no social skills. But she was a dutiful housewife, remaining in the house all day causing her to neglect her appearance. She was seldom out in public. She glanced at her face in the rearview mirror noticing she had forgot her once glossy-yellow hair was drawn away from her forehead and gathered with a rubber band into a girth oval bun displaying her skinny bare nape. She shrugged her shoulders, muttering … "I look like ‘Olive Oyl’.

Penny looked at her. Huh!

Nothing, just nothing, Mommy’s just thinking outloud.

At the entrance to their small subdivision she wasn’t exactly sure of the direction to the nearest Hospital Emergency Room. She through she remembered one located within a few blocks, but forgot the exact direction. She turned right and hoped. She sobbed aloud pondering in her mind: ‘what am I gonna tell the Doctor happened to Bowser?’

Penny intently watched her mother and asked, What’s the matter?

We’re alright, I know where I am. Her eyes were slits of concentration, but her sweat was causing them to burn as the tears blurred them.

She thought back over the earlier evening’s catastrophe preceding the current circumstances of transporting her small son to an Emergency Room: ‘Bowser was born within seven and one-half months of our marriage. Because Bud’s Dad was a Preacher we had to say Bowser was pre-mature. … Bud wasn’t ready for kids and became tyrannical with them. Bowser’s only seven and ought to be in School … But Bud wouldn’t let him go anywhere. He’d be in Second Grade’.

Norma took her eyes off the street for a second to glance at Penny who was staring at her. She turned her eyes on the road and finished her thoughts: ‘School authorities were completely unaware of Bowser’s existence. The American Education System operates on an honor system and Bud’s personal philosophy about everything was: ‘If I ain’t caught, I didn’t do it and it ain’t illegal’.

✳   ✳   ✳

The Previous Evening

Bud, typically came home late, bounced into the Kitchen greeting her with: Hi Norm, do you know where my Bourbon is?

She was aware Bud’s company gave the first two beers to its employees and Bud stopped every night in the company’s taproom. She answered, Suppose you’ve been with some of the boys?

Sure, they’re my best boosters.

And, of course, you only had two beers?

Ignoring her remark, Bud continued, You know I feel a loyal obligation to socialize with them as much as possible to bolster my chances of a promotion. It’s part of my public relations strategy.

Norma suspected he disregarded her remarks. She noticed the more he drank, the more he craved. He was unable to stop at just one and once he begins drinking seriously, he is unable to stop until he passes out. His capacity for drink seemed limitless, only serving to stimulate his thirst buds. He never remembered most of what he said or did during these occasions.

Yeah, you left the bottle behind the couch in the Den. … Please, before you start drinking, I want to talk with you! Her tone took on a begging quality.

He took a step into the Den before suddenly twirling on his heals his face beet-red. You suggestin’ you can’t talk to me when I’m drinkin’ …? His personality instantly altered preparatory to fight. His manner could change from warmth and affection to cold fury, from tenderness to hostility in a heartbeat. She immediately senses it and kept calm.

No, but I’ve got something to talk over with you and we both need clear heads, she diplomatically replied to what she perceived could be an inevitable knock-down-drag-out argument.

Hurry up, I need a drink. Didn’t get to go to the Bar with the… He quickly turned his head from her face. I had a bad day on the Forklift. He was leaning over the couch anxiously reaching for his half-filled fifth of Bourbon.

Please sit down.

Okay! He came back into the Kitchen and placed his left buttock on table edge.

She took a deep breath and quickly blurted, wanting to confront him before he reached coma stage. "I’ve decided to enroll Penny into Kindergarten this Fall. … I’ve made my mind up that Penny isn’t going to be relegated to the same life as Bowser

Is that all you’ve got to say? … What’s so damned important about that … couldn’t it wait until I got me a drink?

What happens if the school authorities ask me if Penny has any brothers or sisters?

Just flat tell ’em she doesn’t! His voice boomed louder and he slammed his flat palm on the table for emphasis.

She blinked. But, what if an adult ever asked her? … Or she talks to a playmate and tells them about Bowser? … You know she won’t lie to an adult, you taught her not to!

Shit, then don’t enroll her! He walked towards the Den and turned around at the doorway.

But, we have to … besides, it’s the law!

Piss on the law! I don’t want her in school, that’s final. You’ll keep her here with Bowser!

Bud, she whined. … Whack … He quickly sensed her defenses were down and swung his open hand. She failed to back away quick enough. The stinging slap threw her off balance. He quickly stepped forward. Her arm was raised in front of her and she exhibited a complete childlike fear in her face knowing, he would strike her again. His whole face twitched in faint spasms, his lips quivered his intent of hitting her again … written on brutal lines of his mouth.

Her ear was ringing. She grasps the back of a chair, her stamina was weak from years of abuse. She dug her fingernails into the wood to maintain her balance as her knees buckled. She gasped an apology, I’m sorry!

You heard me, woman! He yelled. She sucked in her breath as he took a wild swing. She felt the breeze. She ran behind the table out of his reach. By the way, where’s the Kid? His voice immediately dropped to its normal customary level.

They’re both in the back yard … swinging, she quickly positioned herself between him and the back door worrying it would be another long night of misery and pain for her and perhaps even Bowser. Why don’t you go watch TV? She hoped he’d fall asleep.

Bring ’em in here, while I get my drink.

They haven’t done anything.

You heard me! He yelled, I want to talk to Penny.

Norma obeyed, to do otherwise would be futile. She tapped on the window. Bowser, bring your Sister in and you both wash up for Supper.

Do you have any ice? Bud asked, swishing his cheap bourbon.

Yes, but it’s still in the tray.

I told you to keep it loose for me, didn’t I?

I’m sorry; I never had time today. She ducked his quick closed-fisted half-swing.

What the hell do you do around here all day?

I have my hands full with the kids, washing, house cleaning, dishes --

Yeah, I’ve heard it all, what about watching Oprah’s, ‘trash’ TV?

She ignored his last remark when the children skipped into the Kitchen. She begins breaking the ice from the tray and filling an empty cottage cheese carton.

Bud sat down at the Kitchen-table, Penny come over here and see your ol’Daddy. He motioned to his tiny frail daughter, who was nearly a spitting image of a youthful Norma.

Penny obediently complied. Do you want to go to school? Bud’s voice sounded menacing as he positioned her in his lap, placing her legs between his.

Yes Daddy, his tone always frightened her, she answered timidly, nodding her head. She attempted to climb out of his grip.

He tightened his grip on her legs. Do you have any brothers or sisters? He screamed into her ear. She looked at Norma and started trembling.

Norma motioned at Bowser to instantly leave the room. He obediently went to the Bathroom, washed, and returned to the Den to view whatever program Bud left flickering on TV since neither child was allowed to change channels.

Yes Daddy. Penny’s tear-filled-eyes fluttered displaying her fear.

No you don’t … and I don’t want to hear you say you do! Do you understand? He was still gripping her tightly.

No Daddy. … Why?

Because I said so … that’s why!

But—

You know better than to Butt me … go to your room! He poised his fist and then thought better of it. He loosened his legs and allowed her to leave the room.

Bowser get in here! He screamed. Bowser slowly stood and shuffled, half-limping like an old man with a severe arthritic condition, into the Kitchen toward his father.

SLAP! Bowser staggered backward nearly falling against the door-jamb.

What’s that for? Norma screamed, grabbing Bud’s arm.

She normally was able to predict when these outbreaks were about to occur and nearly missed this one! Bud yanked his hand loose, flinging her off balance. He poised it quickly as if to strike Bowser again. His pupils were dilated in his heightened state of excitement. That’s just for starters!

Bud, please … he hasn’t done anything to you!

Yeah, and I’m gonna see to it, he don’t!

She attempted to grab Bowser before Bud could hit him again, but Bud was already on his feet. He hit her in the ribs sending her reeling across the room into the old gas stove popping the oven door open. She slid to the floor with her back to the stove. She slowly rolled to her side onto her stomach before clamoring to her knees. He kicked her in the stomach, and then stepped over her, carrying Bowser toward the Basement steps. She realized what came next. It seemed incredible that only a half-snort of Bourbon could put him in such a dreadful mood.

Bud, please! She was back on her knees attempting to rip Bowser from his grip.

Outta of my way! … I’m gonna whip this Bastard to a pulp! He shoved her with his foot, causing him to twirl and trip over the open Oven door landing on Bowser. Damn you, you little sonuvabitch, that hurt, now you’re really gonna get it!

Bowser laid still, pinned beneath him.

He’s not a Bastard; he’s your own flesh and blood!

He ignored her as he grabbed Bowser around the middle with one arm, and bounded down the stairs. He stood Bowser on his feet in the middle of the former Coal-bin. The windowless basement was virtually soundproof. The only opening to the outside was a small opening used as a Coal-chute covered with plastic.

Stay here, he ordered the silently staring lad, and take off all your clothes. I’m comin’ back to whip you good, boy!

Bowser appeared pathetic standing alone in the dark. Without as much as a whimper he knew from previous experience that if he did his Daddy would hit him harder. He had been whipped so frequently he had lost his capacity to cry. He slowly peeled his clothes off discarding them in a dark corner. He quietly watched his Daddy creep up the stairs.

In the kitchen Bud grabbed a tea glass filled with water and Bourbon off the table.

Bud, Geraldo Rivera’s show’s on now.

Piss on Geraldo, he took a long gulp. It’s all the same every night, blood and violence, blood and violence … I’m fixin’ to make some of my own blood and violence! He laughed.

Bud, he hasn’t had a bite to eat since Breakfast!

I’m not going to forget what I need to do, he spoke sternly in a calm, rational, normal voice. That little sonuvabitch made me trip on the Oven-door! … Give me some more ice; I may be down there longer than this ice’ll last.

Bud, please don’t do it! She returned his glass. He grabbed it with his right hand and backhanded her with his opened left hand.

Ha, ha … did’cha see that? … I didn’t even spill a drop!

Please! … I beg you, not tonight!

Get out of the way … I’ve told you … or you’re next!

Bud, if it will stop you from beating Bowser, let me be first! She sobbed.

Don’t wiseass me woman, your time’s a’commin’.

She heard him ask Bowser before closing the door, You ready for a beatin’?

She screamed from the top of the stairs, Please beat me!

Get the Hell out of here and close the door! He shouted setting the Bourbon on the dirt floor. He cruelly smiled at a stoic boy. I said, are you ready? … Can’t you hear?

Bowser stood looking at him with dark brown puppy eyes without uttering a sound.

Bud, unable to look directly at his son, walked to a corner of the small room stepped on and then kicked Bowser’s clothes deeply into the corner before picking up an old wire-handled flyswatter leaning against an old paint-droplet-covered Saw-horse. Bowser quietly stood naked in his shoes, in the center of the room and rolled his eyes following each movement of his Sire.

You don’t mind very well, do you? I told you to take off all your clothes and you left your shoes on –– come here! Bowser stood like a statue. Bud sat on the saw-horse motioning to the boy. I said come here! He screamed.

The brittle, weak and sickly boy limped slowly toward his Dad to an inescapable devastation. WHACK! … SLAP! … CRACK! … POP! Bud utilized both his open hands, fists, as well as the wire flyswatter. Bowser’s calloused skin was able to sustain the first few blows without flinching, however, as they continued to mount, he begin careening, first stumbling into the dirt wall before collapsing on the cold ground floor.

Get up you little Asshole! … Get up! … He kicked him in his tender ribs. I’m not through with you yet! The wretched small boy’s welted body was failing fast as he futilely attempted to gain his footing. Bud reached for his Bourbon watching the skeletal creature struggling to its knees. He swished the drink in his mouth before swallowing.

Come on, get some more. He laughed, cavalierly balancing the flyswatter on his forefinger. I told you to get undressed and here you are still with your shoes on.

Meanwhile Norma was debating whether or not to call the Police but realizing her priority was to quickly feed, bathe, and tuck Penny safely into bed before Bud returned.

In the darken Coal-bin the dim yellowish light immerse Bowser in eerie shadows. Now he was barely able to crawl after being struck in the head rendering him extremely dizzy, temporarily losing his senses. His naked body was covered with dirt and sawdust. His sensitive ribs were giving him severe pain due to several attempts by Bud at Karate chops; but still, he managed, like a loyal Dog obeying his Master, to regain his feet. He drug one leg, as if it were broken. ZING! ZAP! … WHACK! … CRUNCH! … SNAP! … Blows from the fist of a twenty-five year old two hundred pound Warehouseman with the power to knock out a Heavyweight Boxer were reigning on a weak shelled forty-six pound child.

The results were fully expected. The sickly boy’s hollowed-yellowish eyes begin swelling; his upper lip became twice as large as he slowly lost consciousness. He fell directly onto the back of his head lying motionless with blood flowing freely from his left ear, mouth, and nose.

ZING! -- The still atmosphere of the quiet was broken by the sound of the flyswatter just before striking a final blow … SPLAT! Bud took one last kick at the lad’s ribs to make sure he would stay still. THUD! That’s better! – Now stay here!

New body welts appeared on Bowser over and through the older yellowish-green bruises which had been beginning to heal from the last fatherly-onslaught. He was unconscious, without the ability to feel the final swift kick to his broken back.

Bud sauntered upstairs to the refrigerator, casually renewing his Bourbon. Geraldo still on? He was somewhat out of breath, but his voice exhibited neither emotion nor remorse.

Where’s Bowser?

Guess he’s still in the basement, He shrugged.

I’m gonna see if he’s alright!

No, you’re not! He swung at her, missing on purpose. He’s fine, just resting! … He’s been a little busy … He’s … he-he (He forced a laugh) … Where’s Penny?

Don’t you remember? She’s in bed where you sent her! … She never got to eat!

We need to wean them … they eat too much the way it is. … Speaking of food, let’s have some now, I’m really hungry. I just worked up an appetite. He laughed.

Norma’s worries tormented her. Let me get Bowser something to eat?

No … He never minded me!

After a few minutes of TV he moved to the Couch and started snoring. Norma made several attempts to sneak past him to the Basement, but each time he threatened her.

Damn it, you stay right here in the Den and watch TV or go on to bed! Stay out of the Basement! … Do you understand?

She became extremely nervous, upset, and apprehensive about Bowser. He had never stayed down there as long! Usually he would sneak to the Bathroom where she could nurse him before tucking him in bed. On this last try, she suddenly became nauseated, I’ve got to go to the Bathroom … I feel I’m about to throw-up?

Uhhh alright … go on. He turned his head to the wall and instantly started snoring.

✳   ✳   ✳

Ambulance Ride

Suddenly the sky opened and the rain rushed the windshield slowing the wipers as if pouring from a bucket triggering Norma to focus her concentration on driving while slanting sheets driven by a thirty mph wind lashed the earth in torrents. The lighting flashed constantly. Norma counted up to five wiper beats during each spectacular strike. It tapped in time, a rhythm as reliable as a heartbeat, provoking her to suddenly burst into tears, wondering if Bowser’s heart still beat. The traffic was unusually heavy. She shook violently nearly losing control, terror-stricken with a panic that he might already be dead!

She wasn’t a good night driver under the best of conditions and now she was experiencing double vision causing her to drive erratically. There was a twin dazzle of blinding brightness; her brain registered it too late. Wait! –– stop Norma! –– Too late! The signal was RED! … Screech! In her turbulent state of mind she accidentally hit the accelerator instead of the brake … unable to stop. There was shrieking of brakes, a sickening impact and then the crashing of steel and glass. Her vehicle was hit broadside on the passenger side. Norma, though woozy, gathered enough composure to acquire an adequate description of a Van with a very large steel bumper before losing consciousness.

The collision twirled her Pickup in a tight circular spiral to the curb. The Van driver quickly