Escape to Happiness

By George Park

Im sitting on the couch again when it happens. The nightmare vision of that night plays like a movie in my head.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543448122

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Drunk Driving

I’m sitting on the couch when it happens again. The nightmare vision of that night plays like a movie in my head, over and over, day after day, week after week, month after month.

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The doorbell rings several times, jarring me from a deep sleep. Stumbling from the couch over to the door, I fumble with the lock. With the door finally open I see two police officers standing on my porch, looking at me nervously.

Mr. Rhodes? One officer asks.

I can barely keep my eyes open. What’d he say?

"HUH?" I grunt.

Duncan Rhodes? The other officer questions me again.

Yes. Yes. What is it? It’s late — I’m tired, I yawn, holding my hand over my mouth.

That was the moment when all sleepiness was to vanish. The night when sleep left from my life forever.

It was my fault; I alone was to blame.

Your wife, sir. Your wife and daughter, sir. There was a drunk driver and… he paused.

And what? My mind’s muddled, I don’t quite understand what he’s saying.

Perhaps I don’t want to know.

They’re gone, sir. The first officer spoke again. The tone of his voice expresses sympathy.

Gone? Gone where?

I didn’t want to know, not really. I was hoping that the officer would say they’ve gone shopping, or over to her sister’s home.

I knew why officers came by people’s homes, but this is different. Helen will be here any minute.

They’re dead, sir. There was a terrible car accident. A drunk driver struck them with such force — it tore their car in half. They were both killed instantly. I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.

I snorted. Bullshit, — you’re joking! — You must be joking. …Not my wife. She’ll be here any minute. She called from the babysitters not long ago. What time is it, anyway?

I blocked out any thought that these officers are talking about my wife. Not Helen.

Surely not Helen. It must be a joke that Ben’s playing on me.

It’s nearly one a.m., sir.

No, you’re wrong, officer. I was watching TV. I may have dozed for a minute, but it can’t have been that long.

I turned, looked at the hall clock; twelve-fifty-five. God, have I slept for four hours? How is that even possible?

I shake my head, trying to throw off the grogginess of sleep. If I succeed — staving off the truth for one more minute, …maybe one more hour, …maybe forever, it won’t come true.

The first officer’s voice is insistent. Sir, may we come inside? You need to sit down.

I look around, trying to think of a place they can sit. Should I offer them coffee? No, we’re out of coffee. Helen’s going to the store in the morning to pick some up. Tea? Shit, there isn’t any made. I’ll have to boil some water.

Can’t they please just go away?

Why did they say they’re here?

Do you have some family that you can call? The second officer’s voice seems insistent.

Family? Why do I need my family? Helen will be here any minute.

Someone who can stay with you this evening? the officer persists.

Why won’t they just go away?

Would you like some tea? I’m afraid we’re out of coffee. Helen’s going to pick some up tomorrow if you’d like to come back.

What did he ask? Oh, yes. Did I have family living nearby?

Why?

Sir, you’re in shock. We can’t leave you alone like this. Do you have family or a friend who can stay with you tonight?

The second officer’s calm manner convinced me that the only way I could get rid of these two is to let them inside. I give up; these idiots are going to pester me until doomsday.

Yes, my brother Ben lives on the next street over, I offered the relationship as an excuse to get the officers to disappear. Instead, they follow me to the den. I don’t want to talk to them. Please, …just go away. Perhaps then my wife and daughter will show up; then I can get back to sleep.

Please, may I have his address? I’ll drive over and see if he would be willing to come, the first officer insists as they both stand over me.

I search both of their faces, waiting for one of them to laugh and tell me it’s all a silly joke.

I sink into the couch and stare into space. The officers are obviously lying.

But…

Helen? …Dead?

Mary? …Dead?

How was that possible?

No — it can’t be true.

Could it…?

Sir… Please… Your brother’s address?

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The movie ends; I look around the room. My necktie is on the floor, one of my shoes is on top. There’s a half-eaten pizza next to my shoe, one of my socks is on top of the pizza. The pizza box is standing on its side under the windowsill; the receipt is hanging by a piece of tape on the top of the box. What’s wrong with this picture? I scrub my eyes with one hand trying to get them to focus. I realize I have a liquor bottle in my hand. It’s empty; I toss the empty bottle toward the open trash can, but miss; the bottle spins and slides against the baseboard.

SHIT! I cry out in desperation.

It’s been almost eighteen months since that night; I’m tired. Bone tired. Weekends are always the worst time. Alone at home; my eyelids keep closing, yet sleep never comes. It’s the middle of the day, I feel as if it’s midnight. I’ve been unable to sleep for many long nights, gaining only an hour or so here and there. What troubles my sleep is the recurring nightmare of that terrible night and the dreadful visit by the two policemen.

God, how I miss my beautiful wife and daughter. Why hadn’t I gone with Helen that night to pick our daughter up? It was all my fault; everything was my fault. I should have gone with Helen. It was only a short five-minute trip to the babysitters home. I should have driven there and back.

If the drunk had struck the car while I was driving, I could have died along with them. That would have been a happier choice than to remain behind in this living hell. Tortured by memories of what might have been. Suffering the kind words and pats on the back that well-meaning people offer.

You’ll be ok.

We’re so sorry for your loss.

You’ll find someone who will help you forget and move on.

Dammit! I shout. I don’t want to ‘move on.’

I want Helen and Mary back in my arms…

…No one can ever take their place.

There isn’t another woman in the entire world who can fill the empty place in my heart.

I slide off the couch, pick up the empty liquor bottle, drop it in the trash; opening the pantry I retrieve a fresh replacement.

Hello, old friend.

My life is spiraling downward; there’s nothing that I can do to save myself. Jack’s my best friend. I twist his cap off and settle down for another blissful evening of oblivion.

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Hours later I hear a loud banging on the window beside me. I look over groggily and see that It’s Henry Winston. He’s shouting at me.

WAKE UP! DUNCAN, WAKE UP! IT’S EIGHT-THIRTY MONDAY MORNING. YOU’VE GOT TO GO TO WORK, SIR.

I turn over on the couch and struggle to regain sleep, but Henry is insistent. The banging continues until I can stand it no more. Finally, I stagger to the door and let him inside.

Duncan, …please. Here’s some hot coffee, he lifts my head from the pillow and holds the cup to my lips. It’s black …just like you like it, sir. Please, drink it… he pushes the small cup into my hands. Yes, that’s it. You’re going to be fine. Yes, drink it all. I have another one here when you finish that one. After that, I’ll help you to the shower. Your suit, sir. Do you have a clean one? The one you’re wearing is wrinkled.

What the hell do I care? Helen… Helen, I need a fresh shirt… I need my wife.

Sir… Your wife, sir. She’s dead. Please, sir….

CHAPTER 2

Escape

"Mommie…" Jennie’s terrified scream rings in my ears as John’s fist slams into my face for the third time.

No, John, pleaz…not in fron of the chil’ren, I beg my husband, my voice, garbled from a hard slap on my jaw.

"No Daddy, please stop," Tammy screams.

Get out of here, Tammy, or I’ll give you the same as your mommy! John shouts.

Tammy scurries out of the room as fast as she can, terrified to death.

John turns his face back to me; his eyes darken, his breath reeks of liquor.

You bitch; I told you that I wanted dinner at five-thirty. The anger showing on his face is reflected in the strength of his fist as it smashes my left eye.

I know, I know, John, but the girlz… I whimper. Blood runs from my nose as he strikes me hard again. I fall to the floor, slamming my back against the bed. He stands over me with a look of anger that frightens me. He lifts his leg back as if to kick me in the stomach.

I brace myself for the blow, but at the last second, he turns and steps back.

I know then that I must escape. Somehow, someway; escape is my only option.

I watch in fear as John turns and walks to the bedroom door. This is the second time this week that his anger and depression at not being able to find work had ended in violence against me.

He has yet to strike the children — but his threat against Tammy awakens me at last to the truth.

It’s only a matter of time.

I have no time left.

Turning back again, John shouts at me. "I’ll be back in an hour, bitch. Everything had better be done, or else you’ll be sorry. You hear me? You’ll be really, really sorry. — And don’t you dare think of running to your family or anywhere else for that matter, like you did the last time. You hear me? I’ll find you – I’ll find you, even if I have to track you down to the ends of the earth.

You better be here, dinner better be ready, or else…"

John’s voice echoes off the walls as he opens the garage door, the door bangs shut behind him. I hear the slam of his truck door; the engine roars to life, then the sound of his truck fading into the distance. My body is shaking violently. As soon as I’m certain he has gone, I struggle to my feet and flee to the bathroom, grabbing a towel to stop the blood flowing from my mouth and nose. I lean against the counter, my knees shake. Looking up, glancing in the mirror, I see that my left eye is already turning dark, swelling from the blows of his fist, my teeth feel wobbly from slaps to my jaw. My head’s pounding from the pain; I feel dizzy, near faint.

The girls sneak in behind me. Mommy…, they both sob, tears streaming down their precious little faces.

Jenny, Tammy, go back to your room, take all of your clothes out of your drawers, pile them on top of the bed. Hurry, please hurry. I beg the children amidst my tears and pain. Jenny turns and runs to her room.

But why, mommy? Tamara cries, sobbing horribly from watching my husband, her father, beat me to a bloody pulp. Why’s daddy so mean to you?

He’s sick, Tammy. Hurry back to your room and help Jenny. We’re going to go out somewhere. Maybe to the park.

My mind spins, struggling to find an answer. I know that we can’t go to the park. I can’t go to my parents either; those would be the first places he would look; my father’s old and sick; my mother -crippled from a car injury. Out of the question. But where? My mind races on, struggling to think of someplace that I can run.

I jam everything that fits into the suitcase, starting with five fresh pairs of panties and bras. Shuffling through my clothes and dresses in the closet, I pick out several of my better dresses, two pantsuits, some jeans and four of my best tops. The suitcase is now so over full I have trouble getting it closed. Finally, I sit on it and struggle to get the zippers to close together.

After that, I grab a laundry bag and stuff several pairs of shoes and belts inside, then sweep the bathroom counter, pushing makeup and soaps into the bag, pull the cord tight, grab my cell phone and dial the first number that comes to mind.

Jo, this is Stella. Can you come over right now? My voice chokes as I beg for her help.

Uh…, yeah, okay. What’s up, Stell? Her voice contains concern for my safety.

I don’t have time to talk. Just get here as fast as you can, and please, bring your SUV. I sob into the cell.

Okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes. Bye. The line goes dead, the tone — lifeless as my heart.

Driven by fear, I look around the room trying to make sure that I haven’t forgotten anything.

I notice my phone charger next to the bed, beside my purse. I jam my cell and charger into the purse, turn and run down the hall to my children’s room, nearly tripping on the hall rug. Adrenaline’s the only thing driving me now. As well as the fear that I’ll be too slow; fear that John will return early, catch me at the beginning of my disorganized plan. I rush into the girl’s room and am happy to see that both girls are tossing their belongings onto the bed.

Shoes, girls. Don’t forget your shoes. Hurry! Hurry as fast as you can. I grab their bathroom supplies, toothbrushes, hairbrushes and combs and toss them onto the expanding pile.

Think, Stella. Think. Where can we hide? Where can we go that he won’t think of, or worse, know where to find us? John and I have been married now for just over four years. He knows everyone that I know. I need someone that he doesn’t know, or can easily surmise a place that I would run.

But who? Where? I have to think fast.

Perhaps my friend Jo might think of someone, somewhere.

Just then I hear Jo’s car drive up and the honk of her car horn. Running out the front door, rushing up to her car door, I sob like a baby. Jo, I have to get away. Please, can you help me? I must look like a zombie, my face and nose bruised, blood still dripping from a gash over the bridge of my nose.

Jo has a look of horror in her eyes as she sees the ruin of my face.

Stella… what the hell has happened? she cries.

Jo…, Please help us. John’s on a rampage. I can’t settle him down. He’s become so violent over the past weeks; I’m afraid that the next time he’ll take his anger out on the girls. Please, I need your help. I need to find someplace that he doesn’t know. We must get away before he returns. —We need to disappear as if we never existed. Tears flow down my face, turning my face into that of a blood-soaked zombie.

Sure, Stella, sure. What can I do? She tries to comfort me, patting my hand on the door.

I point at the house. The girls, …they’re packing their clothes right now. My suitcase and bag are at my bedroom door. Can you get those while I help the girls?

Sure, sure. Jo opens her car door and jumps out, running into the house.

Hurry, we’ve got to be gone before John comes back, he’ll kill us both, I call after her, urging her as forcefully as I can, my nose starts to drip blood again.

Once inside Jo rushes down the hall to my bedroom to retrieve my stuff. I follow her in, running to the girl’s bedroom, I grab the bedcover, on which are piled all the girl’s clothes and shoes, tie the sheet into a knot. The girls are sitting beside the bed sobbing in terror.

I try to calm my voice, Tammy, Jen… Jo has come to give us a ride. Please, run to her car, get into the back seat. Hurry as fast as you can.

I bunch up the covers with all the clothing inside and drag it down the hall, over the step and out to the car. Jo returns with my suitcase, bag, and purse. She’s putting it in the back of the SUV. I haul the girl’s clothes over to the car. It’s too heavy for me to lift, so Jo gives me a hand pushing it in on top of everything else. After that, we both work on getting my girls buckled into the back seat safely. I grab a bath cloth from the laundry bag and hold it against my nose to stop the bleeding. The sound of the girls’ sobs tears my heart in half.

Why did he have to hit me in front of the girls? I can bear the pain of his violence, but my girls… They don’t deserve to see anything like that. It’s going to injure them for life.

We’ve got to go, Jo I beg, my voice shaking. Please, just drive as fast as you can. Take us to the freeway.

Mommy, that’s not the way to the park. Jennie cries.

We’re not going to the park, sweetie, I turn in my seat as Jo starts the car and backs out of the driveway, her tires screech as she floors the gas pedal.

Where’re we going, mommy? Tammy begs, her eyes full of tears.

I’m scared, mommy, Jenny bawls.

I don’t know yet, precious. Give mommy time to think.

But where can we go? Someplace, anyplace. My mind’s racing, but nothing suggests itself.

Turning to Jo, I plead for help. Jo, it’s bad, really bad. I can’t go back there. John is just too violent. I’ve put up with his antics for too long. I can’t take it any longer. Can you help?

Sure, hon. But what do you want me to do? Jo replied.

We need a place. Someplace …any place that John won’t find us. He knows everyone that I know; all my relatives and friends, so we can’t go to any of them for safety. I’m desperate; we need a place.

CHAPTER 3

Hour by Hour

That horrible nightmare is now three years in the past. Still, those memories haunt me every night. Any knock on my door sends terrible chills up my spine. I just know it’s those officers come again with some other horrific, terrible news that will tear my world apart even more; like a terrorist has blown up my office building with a car bomb.

My parents had been so supportive; well — let me rephrase that last bit. My Dad had been very supportive. My Mother, not so much. Mom had always been against my marriage to Helen from the get-go. She felt that Helen was beneath me, not equal to my talents and future. She had almost come around after Mary was born. My precious little Mary. God, how I miss that little tyke. She’s always getting into mischief, especially now that she’s learning to walk.

…No, that’s wrong. There ‘is’ no present tense for her; she’s gone. The mere thought brings me to tears again. She had just been learning to walk on her stubby little feet; now it’s over. She would never really walk, except in my nightmares. Poor, sweet Mary… Another part of my heart ripped to pieces. I want them both back so badly. God can be so cruel; I used to pray every day, thanking him for his precious gift of my two girls. Now…. I’ve stopped attending church, I stopped praying. I want to stop living.

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Still, my life goes on, hour by hour, day by day. My business has become a success in spite of my efforts; or should I say, lack thereof. Somehow, I struck a gold mine when I formed my first office supply store. I came up with the idea through my frustration when I tried to find office supplies. I had to go to one store to buy pens, another store to get printer ink, another store to find mailing envelopes. I realized that companies, both large and small were probably having the same issues. People and companies had to go to various places to obtain their office supplies.

I had an idea to start a store which contained everything a business might need; from a pencil or eraser to the most complex supplies for printers, computers, and general office equipment. After obtaining several large bank loans, it became a reality. Not only that, the business had taken off from nearly the first day. Large businesses had gotten word of my store and sent their office supply people to check it out. And then, just as I became a success in business, I lost my reason for living.

For me, I just exist from day to day in a constant fog. My nights, filled with the agony of loneliness; my days have a missing hole, missing the part in my life that no one can fill. People smile and have happy faces. Sadness rules my days and torments my nights.

My business became successful. Large orders were soon being faxed in by the truckload. I branched out to the Internet. At first, I had trouble keeping up with the orders. I hired more and more staff to help. That led to obtaining new locations around town. That was followed shortly by new locations around the state. My stores, now located in forty-two states, and three foreign countries, are booming. I’m constantly involved in plans to expand even more.

I don’t think I could have done this without Henry Winston. He’s my rock, propping me up when I need help, standing in for me when I can only cry. He’s helped me turn my life around; given me hope for the future. I’ve come to rely on his suggestions and input. Ringing my doorbell on Monday mornings, forcing me to shower and clean up. Feeding me more coffee than I could stand until my head cleared. I owe him everything.

I had been poor when I was young. Now my checking account and savings total with more zeroes than I can count and grows rapidly every day. It matters little to me; I’m alone; I live alone with my nightmares every night. Occasionally, I date one woman or another, none please or interest me. They’re all stale, dull, humdrum; many seem to be interested only in the size of my bank account.

The business has grown beyond my wildest dreams. Scores of