Contrapose

By Sloane Swinton

Publisher's Note: This story contains vignettes of abuse against a minor. Reader discretion is advised.

 

For the vast majority—their dreams will prove to be elusive. Regardless of how hard they work to keep them alive.

 

Which brings us to the curious case of Emma Avancena. A woman, who for all intents and purposes, has never believed in the power of her dreams; having had hers cut short by personal tragedy during her adolescence.

 

That tragedy turning her from a precocious Texas cowgirl with a fondness for all things "ladybugs" into a detached killing machine, whose entire existence could best be described as indifferent. Regardless of who her targets are or what they've done, Avancena excels at doing what she does best:

 

WHAT SHE'S TOLD!

 

To her handler, she's a dream come true. Someone who never asks questions and who always gets the job done. She's the trigger you're never afraid to pull. The Provocador.

 

While similarities between a firearm and Avancena certainly do exist, one stark difference remains the fact that she isn't an object that is totally devoid of emotions to be used as others see fit. The trigger you're never afraid to pull. That is until the trigger decides she no longer wants to be.

 

And she comes without a warning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darn Pretty Books
• Release date: Mar 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781955476188

Sloane Swinton

A native New Yorker, writing has been a passion for Sloane Swinton since pubescence. Instructors in high school and college alike noticed the raw talent and creative enthusiasm Sloane displayed, encouraging the author to pursue fiction as a trade. Little did the author know that a bohemian lifestyle of low wages and even lesser praise awaited. Swinton is an avid basketball fan and lover of mathematics, classical music, sweatpants, Black Cherry soda, Fruit Punch Snapple, fried plantains, the New York Mets, and the occasional ham, egg and cheese on a French roll for breakfast. For the latest information regarding this author and more, please be sure to follow @darnprettybooks on Instagram and X.

Book preview

CONTRAPOSEby Sloane SwintonA killer reflection...

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

Copyright © 2022 by Sloane Swinton

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

First Edition: March 2022

Cover Design by Mad Wlad

Library of Congress: 2022902669

ISBN: 978-1-955476-18-8 (e-book)

ISBN: 978-1-955476-17-1 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-955476-19-5 (hardcover)

Published by Darn Pretty Books

Instagram: @darnprettybooks

Publisher’s Note:

This story contains vignettes of abuse against a minor. Reader discretion is advised.

PREFACE

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A father holds his daughter’s hand for a short while, but he holds her heart forever.

APPRECIATIONS

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A special thank you to all of the caring, patient and attentive men out there who understand that being a good father can make all of the difference in a child’s life. While recognition tends to be elusive save for commercialistic holidays, please know that this author appreciates those of you who take pride in rearing the next generation of human beings.

Any bloke off the street can make a baby. But it takes a real man to be a dad. Therefore, I tip my cap and raise a glass in gratitude to every good man who revels in their paternalistic obligations.

Here’s to you all.

-SS-

Ladybug.

CHAPTER 1

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T

he vapor from inside the chiller caressed Frank’s face as he stood motionless—escaping into the soothing void of the frigid air. He had an unpreventable habit of lingering within his preferred aisle at the Walmart Supercenter—the one stocked full of alcoholic-beverages. So many delicious brands. Never quite enough money. The quintessential working man’s dilemma. With the weekend set to begin once his items were fully paid for, this was his definition of pre-gaming. It was going to be another scorcher in the Sun Valley, so Frank would have been wise to stock his coffers to avoid having to make another unnecessary beer run.

He wasted little time on any of the major distributors like Coors, Modelo and Budweiser, settling instead on six cases of Leon—a malty Mexican dark lager, that was probably best known for being easily recyclable. What Leon lacked in name recognition, it more than made up for in its cost effectiveness. He loaded the cases into his creaky shopping cart and headed for the checkout.

The lines were ridiculous. Even the express ones. Only in Texas was it not weird to see a wireless headset in one ear and a holstered Sig Sauer P226 on that same person’s hip. Even the yuppie-transplants living in El Paso were armed to the teeth. Frank scoffed and shook his head. He pushed his cart towards the newly-installed self-checkout area. The majority of the store’s clientele seemed to have a strong aversion to scanning and bagging their own shit. They’d still rather stand in line for fifteen minutes than partake in something they felt was beneath them.

Beyond the kiosks, before the exit, was a behemoth of a black man working security, Mitch. He was pushing three bills at a minimum, while standing over six-foot-six. However, make no mistake, Mitch wasn’t fat. Not by a longshot. This was a guy who had been an all-conference performer for the Miners back in the day. And now he was doing his part to keep miscreants from shoplifting for not much more than whatever was the current minimum wage.

Even still, Frank would never be able to judge him. That was an honest man making an honest wage the best way he knew how. The big man had rebuffed each and every overture Frank had made to put his physicality to good use and make some real money—citing a genuine aversion to manual labor. American Football must have taken a serious toll on his body over the years.

The next self-checkout kiosk opened up as Frank pushed his cart towards it. He scanned one of the cases six times to speed along the process and hit the payment button once he was done. Six cases of beer for just a smidge under fifty bucks. God bless Leon for making a beverage cheap enough to get him shitfaced. Frank swiped his card and took his receipt. He headed for the exit as he noticed Mitch smirking at him.

Please tell me you’re having a party and that’s not all for you. The big man said.

Rattlesnakes gotta stay hydrated too, mi amigo.

Then you should probably go back and get some agua.

Frank held back a chuckle as Mitch revealed a toothy grin. The big man must have never missed a dental appointment in his entire life, because his teeth were whiter than a fresh pair of Jockeys outta the pack. They bumped fists as Frank headed for the exit. The automatic doors parted, hitting him with a gust of scorching desert air. He hadn’t exited the store yet and Frank was already desperate to return to his brand-new Ford Super Duty—which came fortified with an extended cab.

The second automatic doors opened revealing the wavy air of the outside world. Umbrellas were opened all around him, even though there wasn’t a single cloud in the bright, blue sky. The seniors of this quaint bordertown had zero intention of marinating in that hot sun.

He pushed the cart towards his truck and hit his alarm to unlock the doors. F.A. Builders and Construction was plastered along the carriage on both sides. Frank opened the driver’s side door and began loading the cases on the floor behind the driver’s seat. He was beginning to perspire around his neck and pits. The sun was unrelenting.

Perdona, señor.

He immediately froze and sighed. It didn’t take a genius to know what type of person was creeping up behind him. He turned around to discover that his suspicions were confirmed. It was the dustiest-looking bum he had seen in weeks. The man revealed his craggy smile as if that was supposed to make him endearing.

¿Qué? Frank asked.

Sorry to bother you, but would it be too much trouble to get one of your cans? The man said in Spanish. I could really use a cold one.

Frank gave the man a once-over. He looked able-bodied enough to work at the store, yet he was still in the parking lot begging for table scraps.

Hold on.

Frank turned around and cracked open the perforation from one of the cases. He removed two cans and passed them to the homeless man.

Gracias, señor. God bless you.

The man smiled. He was missing several teeth. Perhaps, he wasn’t as able-bodied as Frank thought.

No problem.

The homeless man scurried away as Frank pushed the cart into the next open space. He got into the truck and looked around for the man. As quickly as the vagabond had appeared from the shadows, he had disappeared.

Unbelievable.

Frank closed the door and started the truck, cranking the air conditioning up to the maximum. Now that the beverages were obtained—the only thing left was dinner.

Bicho.

Frank entered his two-story home carrying a big to-go bag from Bold Burgers and Tacos. He noticed his nine-year-old daughter’s black and red sneakers neatly resting on the floor to his left. During the weeks when he had primary custody of Emma, he occasionally let her ride the school bus home. Their arrangement proved helpful on the days when he was needed on site. He walked to the kitchen and set the food on the counter.

Bicho.

His bug. His lovely, little ladybug. She rarely responded to her birth name. He had originally wanted to call her Eliana, but he was overruled by his ex. She saw their daughter as an Emma, not an Eliana. Whatever that meant. Frank re-entered the hallway and listened carefully. It was so quiet. He trudged up the stairs and walked to her bedroom door. He tapped on it.

Bicho.

He turned the doorknob and peeked inside. There she was sitting on her fully made bed wearing huge headphones, while writing in her little lady bug diary. On the guidance of her former therapist, he had purchased it for Emma, so that she would have her own special place where she could escape and write down her feelings.

His divorce from her mother, Robyn, was anything but amicable. Nearly five years ago, she had left him for a mutual friend, who also happened to be the principal of the local high school where she worked. It wouldn’t have stung Frank quite so much if she didn’t end up having twins less than a year after their separation was made official. It was obvious that Robyn had been having an affair. Once Emma came into the picture, no matter how hard he tried, he simply could never make her happy. At least not like Kyle.

He cracked the door open a little wider and snapped his fingers. His daughter didn’t respond—lost in whatever music she was listening to. Her bedroom was immaculate. A far cry from his own. Frank pushed the door open wide and began hopping around like a monkey.

Emma.

She turned to him with a confused look. She lowered the headphones to her neck.

What are you doing? She said in Spanish.

Trying to get your attention, bicho. You hungry? I went to BBT. What do you say? He smiled. Seasoned fries, blazin’ habanero burger or—you can have the mushroom and Swiss burger if you want instead.

Blazin’ habanero.

That’s my girl. He rubbed his hands together. Anyway, wash your hands and meet me downstairs, okay?

Okay.

He closed the door and went back downstairs to prepare the food. He pulled two plates from the cupboard and divvied up the fries so they could share them. He loaded her plate into the microwave first and set the timer to a minute. He moved to the fridge and listened. He still didn’t hear her.

Bicho, come on. I’m heating it up.

Frank opened the fridge and looked inside. Aside from the condiment drawer and a few Mexican cokes, it was nearly as barren as the Permian Basin itself. Unfortunately, every meal they had eaten this week was of the take-out variety. He took two of the cokes and set them on the counter. The microwave pinged. Her food was ready. He swapped his plate with hers and reset the microwave for another minute. He brought her food to the table.

Emma, come on. Your food’s gonna get cold.

He crossed back to the counter to grab the cokes when he noticed her shuffling feet enter. She walked straight to the table and sat down.

You want any ketchup for your fries?

She didn’t answer. The microwave pinged for the second time. He removed his plate and grabbed the two cokes to join her at the table. He sat adjacent to her. She was eating some of her seasoned fries.

You mind saying grace before eating please?

Emma clasped her hands.

Thank you for the hands that prepared this food—that we are about to receive—for the nourishment of our bodies. Amen.

Amen. All right. Bon Appétit.

He ate a fry before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his car keys. There was a can opener attached to it. He reached for one of the cokes and popped the top. He set the bottle in front of his daughter. She wasted no time getting her sip on. Frank smirked and popped his bottle top next. They ate their food in relative silence for the next fifteen minutes until the house phone rang. He checked the time on the microwave. It wasn’t even five-thirty in the afternoon. He silently sighed and rose out of his seat. He walked to the phone and picked it up.

Hello.

Frank, are you on your way?

Well, hello to you too.

It was his ex-wife. It was like she had a sixth-sense for when he and his daughter were having a nice time. God forbid she let that continue without an interruption.

Please don’t start. Robyn said. I just wanted to know if you were bringing her soon, cause I’m about to start cooking.

Frank rubbed his brow. He was trying his damnedest to keep things cordial. He turned to the table. Emma was still eating her dinner.

Yeah. Yeah. She’s just finishing up her homework. We’ll be on the road soon enough.

Okay. Hope so.

Yup. Bye.

He hung up the phone and tapped it against his forehead twice before putting it back on the cradle. He walked back to the table and stood over it. He had only a handful of fries left while she still had half-a-burger.

You almost done? He asked.

She nodded.

All right. I’m gonna use the bathroom for a bit. Gather up your stuff so we can go once I’m out. Okay?

She continued taking her sweet time. He leaned over her and kissed her on the top of her head. Frank could feel her stop chewing while he did it. Emma had become so mercurial in the last six or seven months. Hot one day, cold the next. He was trying his best to be a good dad and give her space. Shuffling her back and forth between homes couldn’t have been positive for her emotional well-being. But all Frank could do at this point was do what the therapist had suggested and let the phase take its natural course. Emma would eventually open up to him once she felt comfortable. Until then, Frank was just another struggling divorcee trying to keep his head above water.

I swear being a dad is a thankless job. God give me strength.

CHAPTER 2

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F

rank stood at the base of the stairs waiting for Emma to join him. Sadly, another two weeks was in the history books. Where did the time go? Fourteen days and they had barely done anything at all. His relationship with his daughter seemed like it was stuck in neutral. Like they were on a never-ending loop of stops and starts for the past six months.

Bicho, vamos. I need to get you there before it gets dark.

Lest I wanna hear your mother’s fuckin’ mouth.

She finally came trampling down the stairs. As per usual, she was in character—wearing her ladybug sunglasses and backpack to boot. While Frank may not have understood where her affinity for all things ladybugs had come from—the fact that both items just so happened to be things he had purchased for her made his heart sing. She hurried to the front door, slipped into her matching shoes and away they went.

The El Paso streets were flush with traffic. Frank noticed many of the cars headed the opposite direction—towards the Mexican border. Ten plus years ago, he would’ve been one of those people looking for a weekend fix. But now Frank was a boring family man. Middle-aged and broken. He spied a pair of unopened cans of Leon that sat in the cupholders between them. The more he drove, the more his throat was feeling extra-parched. Nevertheless, he had sworn to her mother that he would never drink with her in the car with him. That was one promise Frank was determined not to break. He wouldn’t have put it past Robyn to have his parental privileges revoked if it came down to it. He would never give her the satisfaction.

A convertible cut in front of them forcing him to slam on the brakes. He resisted the urge to honk his horn like a madman. The impetuousness, not to mention the ineptitude, of the other drivers was triggering his road rage. Frank gripped the steering wheel with both hands, just trying to keep his wits about him. He turned on the radio, hoping the top-40 station would soothe the beast within that was aching to be unleashed. Tracy Chapman was the perfect remedy. And he just so happened to be driving a car that could go fast if the occasion called for it.

Dusk had crept up on them. Emma was staring out the passenger window—lost in her own little world. Their rides to her mother’s house had become fairly predictable. Frank drove and she wandered. On an upside, the traffic was starting to lessen—the further west they drove towards New Mexico. Robyn and her husband had recently moved to the exclusive neighborhood of Willow Bend One—where crime was over fifty-percent less-likely to occur than the rest of El Paso.

These homes were incredibly pricey for this part of the country. Some of the contractors he knew that worked in these growing subdivisions were telling him that a lot of these homes were easily going for over a quarter of a million, which was insane. This wasn’t either of the coasts, nor a big city like Dallas or Houston.

The Super Duty veered into the upper-class subdivision. Nothing but single-family homes on both sides. There were American flags prominently displayed in many of the yards. Some had Texas state flags right below them. Texans were a different breed. Proud would be an understatement. He made a left turn into a cul-de-sac and came to a stop in front of his ex-wife’s home.

There were two Dodge Durango’s parked beside one another. Ironically, they were red and black. He rolled his eyes. The vehicles had matching vanity plates:

RC LUVS KC. KC LUVS RC.

It was almost sappy enough to make him throw up. He shifted the Super Duty into park and turned to see Emma was still off in dream world. He tapped on the dash to break the silence and get her attention.

Hey bug, I was thinking about your tenth birthday.

She sighed and turned back to him.

What about a trip to Dallas? We could go to the Mesquite Rodeo championships. Horses, steers, cowboys. The best of the best. What do you think?

She glared at him for a brief moment or two with narrow eyes. It felt like an eternity to him. She just knew how to break his heart with a look. She had gotten that from her mother. She began unbuckling her seatbelt as he rubbed his face.

Come on bug, I’m trying over here. Throw me a bone. I promise I’ll bring it back—like a good boy.

She glanced back towards him and gave him a half-smile. She opened the passenger door and got out. He followed her lead and hurried around the front of his truck to greet her. He noticed the mailbox just before the grass and scoffed again. It was shaped like a bird house. Shoddy would have been the best descriptor for it. The name ‘Cravens’ was carved into it in big bold letters.

Unbelievable. This is what she left me for.

I’ll be back to get you in two weeks. Then we’ll figure it out, okay?

She began walking towards the front door without saying goodbye.

Don’t I get a kiss?

That stopped her in her tracks. She turned around. Frank spread his arms as far as he could. Emma ran back to him. He devoured her in a hug. He noticed her squeezing him tighter than he could ever remember. It was almost enough to bring him to tears.

I know this has been hard for you and I’m truly sorry about that. But we’re gonna get through this. I promise. I love you Emma.

He kissed her on top of her head before releasing his embrace.

Don’t you worry. This two weeks is gonna fly by and we’re gonna be eating blazin’ habanero burgers again. Okay?

She nodded and turned her attention back to the Cravens’ residence. She approached the front door as he leaned back against his truck and folded his arms. A few moments later, the door opened, revealing a smiling Kyle Cravens, the home-wrecker himself.

Look who’s home.

He swept Emma up in a hug of his own and kissed her on top of the head, the same way Frank had done just a moment before. If Frank didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed that Kyle had been watching them the entire time from behind the door. His fists clenched while observing them. She always denied it, but it was apparent that Robyn was doing everything in her power to try and phase him out of Emma’s life. She really thought this goofy moron could replace him. His daughter pulled away from Kyle and ran into the house.

Lizzie, Janie, guess who’s here. Kyle said into the home before turning back to him. Hey Frank.

Kyle waved. He responded with a casual nod.

We were about to have dinner, wanna join us?

This cocky son of a bitch. He knew good and damn well that Robyn would never go for them all sitting around a table breaking bread together. This was the sorriest excuse for an empty gesture he had ever seen.

No, I’m good. Thanks.

Anytime. All right man, you drive safe out there. We’ll see you soon.

The homewrecker disappeared behind the front door. The night was here and he was all alone again. He hocked a loogie into their grass and walked back to the driver’s side of his truck. He got inside and looked back at the front door. His eyes were beginning to water. Kyle Cravens had legally stolen his family right out from under him and there was nothing he could do about it.

He reached for one of the cans and cracked the top open. He guzzled about half of it, before putting it back in its cup holder. He started the truck up again and put it in drive. He whipped a U-turn and headed back home. It was gametime. He was free and his garage was full of alcohol.

CHAPTER 3

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Emma! Emma, you get your butt back down here right now. Emma!

Kyle entered the hallway from the family room to see his wife at the bottom of the staircase.

Hey, hey, hey. What’s all the hubbub?

Robyn turned to him. Her face was as red as a tomato.

It hasn’t even been ten minutes and your step-daughter’s already driving me crazy.

What happened?

I asked her what she had for dinner and she said burgers. So I said, did you have any vegetables? And she said seasoned fries.

Kyle smirked, while holding back laughter.

Oh you think that’s funny?

No, not at all. Is that it?

I said, okay, but I’d also like you to have some broccoli as well. And she just ran upstairs.

Maybe she’s full.

Bullshit.

Kyle gestured for her to lower her voice. Their little girls were still within earshot.

This is exactly why I tell Frank not to feed her before he brings her here. She whispered. It’s like I have to re-train her every two weeks. He’s not giving her balanced meals. It’s all junk.

Do you want me to talk to him?

No, I don’t. And it’s not like he’s going to listen to you any-way. He hates your guts.

Kyle scoffed.

That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? After all, he’s still the father of one of your children.

Why do you think I said it? The fact is, he’s a very angry man and talking to him isn’t gonna change a goddamn thing.

Kyle rubbed his forehead. The last thing he wanted to do was get her worked up during their downtime.

Okay. I get it. Well, why don’t the four of us have dinner right now? And then—tomorrow, you can make sure that Emma has a little extra vegetables to make up for what she didn’t have today. How’s that sound?

Sounds like bullshit. I’m her parent and she’s supposed to do what I say.

I agree. I’m just wondering if yelling at her is going to get you the results you desire.

Robyn rolled her eyes at him. She probably didn’t enjoy him always taking the diplomatic approach, but he preferred to keep their homelife serene. He dealt with irritable parents all day, every day. He didn’t need to deal with one here as well. As long as she was co-parenting Emma with Frank, she was going to have to learn how to keep her emotions in check. If not for herself, than for the good of their children.

Fine. She said. Lizzie. Janie. Go wash your hands and come on. We’re having chicken tenders.

You heard your mother, girls. Let’s go.

She gave him such a glare on her way to the kitchen. This would not be the last he heard about this before bed tonight—that he was certain of.

The four-year-old munchkins were tucked under the covers awaiting their nightly lullaby. Although they had separate beds, Lizzie and Janie preferred to sleep with one another on non-school nights. It had to be a twin thing. He would’ve killed for one night without Robyn cramping his style.

Their bedroom was a little girl’s dream. Filled with stuffed animals, books, dolls and toys. His parents were spoiling them rotten. Once a month they would drive up from Midland just to drop off gifts for their grands. Kyle tried to tell them that it was unnecessary, but his parents would always rebuff him.

What’s the good in having money if I can’t use it to spoil my grandchildren?

His dad was incorrigible. An oilman through and through. Old and rich with nothing to do. He never understood why Kyle had chosen to become an educator. A waste of his son’s talents—unlike his three siblings, who all stayed somewhere in the vicinity of the family trade. They were all motivated by those greenbacks—while he was only interested in helping the next generation reach their potential. Being a mentor to those less fortunate was his passion.

He sat on the edge of the empty bed with a nursery rhyme book in his lap under the nightstand lamp. He had