Dominic felt Lucifer’s presence before he even opened the back door. It was another thing his father had trained him in, even though it wasn’t intentional. It was a survival instinct the six-year-old ingrained in himself to keep from getting beaten for the silly reasons Lucifer declared.
He felt sorry for his twin brothers, who were just now starting to walk. The beatings were coming for them, and they were coming soon. Their size was the only thing that had saved them so far. That was another thing Lucifer complained about—how small they were for their age. Dominic might’ve had something to do with that.
He didn’t let his brothers over eat, only giving them just enough milk and baby food to keep them from going hungry. He did everything to try to hold off the inevitable, even if it kept his twin brothers from being hurt—even for a month—then it was worth it.
He hadn’t been as lucky as Angel and Matthias. Having been born a hefty baby, he’d looked about “six months old out the womb,” as his father liked to brag, proud of his firstborn’s stature. So,when Dominic was six months old, he had already been smacked.
Seeing his father standing in front of him, blocking his view of the soda can, he continued his dance, never stopping until his father gave him the order to do so. Lucifer reached behind his back and pulled out the gun.
“You’re ready.”
This time, Dominic didn’t ask why, and didn’t hesitate to take the unloaded weapon.
The last thing Lucifer held out to him was the magazine, fully loaded.
Dominic took it in his free hand, but it wasn’t until Lucifer moved out of the way, giving him the go-ahead, did he snap in the mag in one swift motion and rack the gun before bullets flew out, each one nailing the soda can until the only thing that remained was the little piece of aluminum attached to the nail. Dominic then released the empty magazine, holding it and the hot gun out for his father to take back. It all happened in under a minute.
That was the first time he had seen a slight smile touch his father’s lips, and it almost scared him. Lucifer was a scary-looking man, but his smile made him look terrifying.
“Wait here,” Lucifer told him, taking back the gun and magazine before going back inside.
He waited outside for about ten minutes before his father finally returned, this time with a much different gun in his hand. It was a matte black revolver, requiring the five bullets to be loaded one by one, just like the ones they used in the westerns he loved to watch.
Lucifer showed him how to properly use it. He first loaded the five bullets, flicked it shut with the flick of his wrist, then cocked it and shot it, hitting the stump right in the middle. This gun sounded fuller with a heftier boom. Dominic also noticed how his father’s hand flew farther back than it had with the Glock, meaning a much bigger recoil.
Lucifer took out the bullets, then handed the empty gun over to his son before giving him the remaining bullets. “I want you to feel it, memorize how it feels in your hands, and load it. I’ll give you one hour with it, but I better have four bullets when I get back.”
The fear of his father was enough to keep those four bullets from firing.
Dominic did as his father asked, cherishing those sixty minutes like it was the last time he would hold the revolver. He began a new dance all over again, beautifully moving and ingraining the weight and feel into his mind. The hour seemed infinite … until it wasn’t.
“That’s all you get,” his father said, taking the gun from his hands.
Little did Dominic know that it would feel like forever before his hands would touch that revolver, as the cycle began all over again … sans gun.
The next day when he went outside to practice, a new soda can had been nailed to the stump. Thankfully he didn’t have to look at it for a year, only three months.
When Lucifer gave him the revolver to shoot his first shot, he had blown the remaining bits of the Coca-Cola can back a foot. After that, he was able to practice shooting every day, with a gun.
Over the next few years, he was given different guns, mastering them all, one by one. The targets got harder, farther, and smaller. Dominic had become so proficient that he outshot the cowboys in his favorite movies, and it was all because of patience.
That was the one and only good thing his father taught him.
Coincidentally, those were the last three months of peace for Angel and Matthias, before they were smacked across the room.
Three
A Big Ol’ Meanie