In The Dead of Night Book 1 & 2

Chapter Two

                                                               Chapter Two

That night I had very vivid dreams, recounting time spent in grade school with Jacob Owens, he was a lot like Tyler in the aspect that he craved attention and he always got it through the exploits of others. One time in particular after P.E he had two friends hold me down in the locker room while he proceeded to urinate on me, while laughing in front of everyone, then at my lowest moment would follow up by kicking me repeatedly in the ribs. Then while I laid there covered in his urine and holding my bruised ribs, he threatened that if I told who was responsible he would slit my throat.

I also recall his two best friends that held me down and cheered young Jacob Owens; their names were Brad Chandler and Tyson Mickelson. When I awoke, my body was covered in sweat and I was filled with rage. Stacey was still asleep, I quietly retrieved my laptop from the truck and sat down at the dining room table researching more creative ways to return the kindness that Jacob, Brad, and Tyson felt compelled to show me in grade school, I studied for hours taking notes.

I heard Stacey wake up so I entered the bedroom to check on her, I wanted to continue my experiment with Stockholm syndrome, which involved being cruel to extremes then following with what would be seen as an act of kindness to the victim; forcing them to grow an unhealthy bond with their captor. The mind can be bent and molded into believing anything you want with a little time, I didn't say a word to her but I did give her some water and half of a sandwich as usual, then I closed the shutters to the cabin window making it dark in the room. She began to cry and beg me to open the shutters again; she couldn't see and was afraid. I ignored her and closed the door, packed up my things loaded them into the truck and headed back home.

Everything seemed quiet when I arrived home. I walked inside and found dad in the floor of the living room, passed out drunk again. I took my foot and shook him lightly, no response, so I shook him harder, still nothing, he was out hard. I checked the rest of the house with no sign of mom, this was my chance, and she must be at yet another guy’s house. Dad has abused her for as long as I can remember, he gets drunk and aggressive towards us, especially mom. Dad would always beat her worst, but she never left through all of his abuse, in ways she was as bad as him. Dad was physically abusive whereas mom abused you emotionally, after many years of getting whipped with a leather strap, broom handle or anything my father could grab at the time I learned how to stay out of his sight when he drank.

Mom viewed this as a weakness, unbecoming a man as she sneered the words at me, she believed I should take the beatings that were given to her but honestly I felt she deserved them with the way she treated me and she made a choice to stay and take it. I however had no choice and what I didn't get at home I seemed to receive tenfold at school, when dad would really tie one on and pass out like this you could usually count on him to be out for the day and mom would go to the bar and go home with the first guy she could climb on.

I decided that my father's abusive past and severe drunkenness was finally going to catch up to him; I grabbed his feet dragging him through the house to the garage. I grabbed the construction stapler from his tool box and stapled the sleeves of his shirt to the wall, every inch or so to secure him without causing any restrictive bruises to his wrists or body at all, for that matter I had to make this look like a natural accident there would be no acid bath for dear old dad. If I were going continue my hobby, I certainly didn't want an investigation into my father's death.

I found some silicone tubing in the garage as well as an oil funnel; I washed them both thoroughly and reentered the garage kneeling by my father's side. I tipped his head back and taking the end of the thin silicone tubing, I slowly and carefully ran it down his throat, he began to stir. I leaned down quickly and carefully pinching the main artery in his throat cutting off oxygen to his brain, praying it did not bruise his throat as soon as he passed back out I continued running the tube down his throat till I was satisfied.