Resurrecting Ghosts (Kings of Chaos 4)

“Think so,” Skull says.

“Head home and take care of your woman, brother. We’ll handle the situation and keep you in the loop.”

“Alright, thanks Pres.”

His easy acceptance stuns me. He hates being left out of shit.

“Come on, let’s go home.”

“I can walk.”

“But you don’t have to. I got you now.”

I bite my lower lip. We’ve done this before. I place my trust in him and then he flips his script.

“Hey. Stop thinking and listen to your old man.”

I don’t want to set back our progress. I swallow my doubt and trust the process.

***

Skull

I see the familiar off white walls. My heart jumps into my throat. Sweat coats my forehead and my palms. I wipe them on my jeans.

“You’re worthless! I’m tired of this bullshit relationship. I’m leaving you, Tommy. For good this time.”

I close my eyes and cover my ears with my hands as I rock back and forth. I’m back in my five-year-old body. Powerless and unable to get myself out of the situation, I back into the corner.

“You’re not going anywhere,” my father yells.

My mother rushes forward, clawing at his face.

A streak of red appears on his left cheek. He grabs her wrists and shakes her. Her brown spirals fly around her face. “Calm down, Kim.” His nostrils flare and he shoves her away.

She stumbles and slams into the wall. “You crazy bastard!” She rushes him again.

My stomach clenches. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to see.

He shoves her again and she falls, arms flailing as she tried to keep her balance. She lands with a sickening crunch as her head meets the corner of the table.

“K-Kimmy?” My father gets to his knees.

I can’t speak or move, only watch the sick scene play itself out for the millionth time in my mind. The broken sobs that spill from my father’s lips. He cups her head and lifts her to him. “Please wake up? Please.” He rocks back and forth. Blood stains his hands.

My stomach rolls.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he babbles to himself for a while before he goes still. He lays her body down and stands then walks out of the room to get the .45 in his bedroom.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

He returns with the gun in his hand. His eyes are glazed over and unfocused. He lowers himself to the floor and pulls my mom into his arms. He lifts his right hand puts the muzzle to his head and pulls the trigger.

“No!” I jerk awake in bed and roll over, falling to the floor.

“Skull, what’s wrong?”

I suck air in my lungs. The dreams are back. “Bad dream,” I croak. I place my hand over my heart. They usually flare up when I dig back into the past. No one knows for sure what happened in that home. But over the years, my mind filled in the blanks. I coped the last time with women and booze. I can’t do that now. Ruthie needs me.