Terror Road: Part II

A testimony to how divorce can ruin your kids’ lives.

Click here for Terror Road: Part I. Together with Terror Road, Chapter One, published in Illumination Book Chapters and which comes after this Part II, these stories make up the first chapter of my memoir, with most names changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty).

Matthew watched his father casting away his mother’s belongings out of the house. Matthew said nothing, his shoulders slumped and his eyes cast downward, watching it all from the top of the stairs which led down to the front door. His father moved like a man driven by misbegotten purpose. He took his mother’s portraits, her paintings, except for a few, and the knick-knacks she had purchased to enrich the house with culture. He took most of what remained of her and threw it into boxes to be stored in the garage. His intention was to dispose of all of it eventually, all to be forgotten and put in the past.

Then Matthew listened as his father made phone calls to his school to drop Matthew from violin class, something his mother had wanted and Matthew had loved, and Matthew didn’t understand why his dad had told his teacher he wasn’t coming anymore. He had been the best in his class and had performed solo during concerts put on by the elementary school, but that hadn’t been good enough for his father.

The most difficult thing to watch, however, was the removal of his mother’s console organ, the one which Matthew had played for her many hours after school and during the summer. He had been getting the knack of it from the tutorial booklet and had especially enjoyed learning her favorite tunes — Silent Night and Clair de lune. She had praised his skills even as his brother and his father had begrudged his attempts as being unmanly. Now, all that was left of Matthew’s equipment were the baseball bats leaning against the garage wall, along with the football and football helmet resting on the ground beside them.

As the days passed without his mother, his father stopped taking him and his brother to church, or to any of the other places his mother had enjoyed going. As far as organized activity, only baseball practice remained, and Matthew loved his coach, but hated having to deal with the other kids’ bullying. All he would rather do all day was play with Stevie, but his best friend’s family had many organized activities planned almost each day of the summer.

Without his mother’s presence at home, all of Matthew’s summer days were filled primarily with white hot sunlight, loneliness, sweat, and his father’s lengthy, daylong absence. Occasionally, their father’s angry voice would at least fill the void and he could always count on Lance to knock him down and slap him repeatedly.

One day as he climbed the apple tree in the backyard and took his customary perch between the thick trunk of the tree and two wide branches which reached up towards the blue sky, Matthew heard it as plain as day. He looked around but there was nobody there anywhere in sight. He could not understand where the voice was coming from and he played it over in his mind in order to recall the exact words he had just heard: “I will give you my power.”

Lance Devroe didn’t understand why his wuss of a brother was always such a pain in his side. Life would have been much better without him around and he had known that from day one. Now he had proof that his brother’s life itself gave testimony to his parent’s relationship suffering and then falling apart completely. Standing by himself in the woods behind their house, when he hit a home run, the cheers he heard echoing throughout the stands silenced his father’s yelling and his mother’s screams, which were gone now anyway except for the haunted memories they had left behind.

Lance practiced his baseball swing yet again as he stood alone on the widest path in the woods, imagining the ball flying out of the baseball stadium and into the hands of his adoring fans, who were now standing and cheering him on as he rounded the bases. He thought he was alone, but the spinning of bicycle tires and the echoes of voices soon reached his ears and so he stopped what he was doing. Sure enough, coming from just around the nearest bend of the path was Glen and his gang.

Glen was in Matthew’s class and known in school as the tough kid who picked fights, not out of malice, but to prove to everyone that he was the strongest. Three years senior to his brother’s grade, Lance had a similar vibe in his class: he looked for the chance to prove his athleticism and strength, and he simply loved upstaging other kids in front of their parents and friends. Lance watched in secret as Glen was pushing a shiny new dirt bike down the path with his friends beside him. He listened in on their babble, but one sentence, in particular, caught his attention. One of the kids was looking up into Glen’s eyes and said, “I can’t believe that Matthew kid. Just because he’s one of the fastest runners doesn’t make him cool. He’s a nerd and afraid of his own shadow!”

“Yeah,” Glen said. “Next time I see him, remind me I’ve gotta toughen him up.” He smiled a wicked grin and looked at his gang. “Hey — we gotta remind the kids in town who’s running the streets around here anyway, so it will be good all around for everyone!” Lance stepped out from behind the wide oak tree and frowned as the approaching group of kids noticed him. Glen was the first to say something. “Hey swinger! What are you doing out here? Getting away from that snot-nosed brother of yours?”

Lance stepped forward, and they stepped back. “I overheard you,” he said. “If ya wanna settle things with Matthew, I can arrange a fight at my house if you want.”

Glen looked at his friends, and then snorted. Looking back at Lance, he said, “Well, alright, if you’re offering. Pick the time.”

Lance nodded, “Right now,” and motioned for them to follow. They weren’t that far away from his house, which only made Lance smile brighter. On the way there, they talked baseball and who was going to make it on the wrestling team come fall. As they reached his house, they found Matthew sitting in the front yard, throwing stones into the dirt.

Glen said, “Well, if it isn’t Matthew, speak of the devil.” They began walking into the yard, Lance beside them, and Matthew stood as Glen continued, “You don’t wanna be known as a pussy forever, do you? Tell ya what, put up a good fight right now and — ” That was as far as Glen got before Matthew turned and ran back inside his house. Lance’s spirits sank as Glen let out a snort. “Pussy of a brother!”

Lance growled, and stormed away. He would make Matthew pay for this, shaming the family name and honor, embarrassing him so blatantly. The other kids took off and Stevie headed for the front door.

He heard the doorbell ring from outside the door, and waited patiently for Matthew, but no one answered. Stevie’s worry grew as he tried once more and still received no answer.

Inside his bedroom closet, Matthew heard the doorbell and closed his eyes as the ringing echoed in his ears. He couldn’t answer the door to those who chose to use violence as a means to settle scores. He wondered if Stevie had seen any of it, and that’s when the shame which swelled within Matthew rooted him in his place.

He could fight — he just didn’t want to fight. He didn’t even want to be in this family anymore — at all! He spewed Irish and Italian curses under his breath as frustration built up within him. But he never wanted to fight — that was for lesser humans. Yet, fighting is what a man would have done, and what his family had expected, and all he had done was hide, like a coward. Matthew hid in the closet, the same one he had used frequently when his parents had fought, or when his brother was in the mood to draw blood. He waited for the ringing to end.

Soon enough, it did, but then it was replaced with thunderous footsteps which grew louder with each passing second until finally, the closet door was thrown open. Lance took Matthew by the collar and dragged him to the living room floor.

“You sissy!” he yelled, and despite Matthew’s best attempts to break free, Lance threw him to the ground, pinning him to the floor with his knees. Before Matthew could plead, before he could beg his older brother to get off of him, his cheeks erupted with pain as Lance’s hands slapped him hard enough to leave red imprints upon his face. He then felt a punch to his nose right before his brother continued yelling, “You coward! Can’t you do anything right, sissy?!”

When the punishment received from his brother’s hands seemed to be over, he felt a final knee crashing into his gut, knocking the wind out of him completely. He took in sore gasps of stale air but then was free once Lance lifted his knees off his shoulders and stood.

With his chest collapsing, and cringing and moaning with aches, Matthew shot to his feet and ran to his room, locking the door behind him. Next came Lance’s fists pounding on the door and rattling it, “Good, stay in there you sissy — never come out!” It was all Matthew could do to keep himself from crying. The pounding ceased, and hours passed as Matthew laid huddled beneath his bed.

Until another voice spoke. “Matthew?” It was their father. “Can you open the door?” With pain in his cheeks and bones, Matthew reluctantly stood, then opened the door and came upon his father’s angry face. His father looked him over and frowned. His eyes held no sympathy, only anger. “What happened?” His father asked, and with nothing left to lose, Matthew let out a choked sob, disclosing to his father what Lance had done. Upon hearing this, his father said nothing. He only turned around and headed for the last place he had seen Lance.

Screams echoed throughout the house and they weren’t Matthew’s. Lance ran, scampering and sprinting away like a mouse. Matthew watched from his bedroom window as his older brother ran from their father until they broke out into the front lawn.

Matthew retreated to the master bedroom, and looked on as Lance ran from his father. He glanced across the street at the opposing lane of houses, wondering if Stevie and his family were watching. Finally, Lance tripped over his own two legs, falling to the ground as his father’s belt was raised into the air. Matthew tore his eyes away, and made for the front door. The moment he got out of the house, a sharp ‘crack’ echoed in the air, the crack of leather hitting skin. Lance’s voice cried out, “Dad, stop! Please!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me!” Their father yelled even louder.

As the whipping continued, Lance’s screams grew louder. His crying continued and Lance again pleaded for his father to stop hurting him, only to be met with another strike of the belt. Matthew turned away and closed his eyes as the belt cracked in the air yet again.

A moment later, he heard that voice once again. He closed his eyes to hear it clearly, trying to figure out who it was, and played it in his mind over and over: “This power will be yours to use however you deem necessary.”

Thank you for reading and for your time, which I know is valuable. If you enjoyed this, please share and applaud (up to 50 times!). Click here for Terror Road: Part I. And here for the follow-up to these first two parts: Terror Road, Chapter One, published in Illumination Book Chapters.

Also, please follow me to see more of my new articles and stories. If you are not already a member, join Medium for other extremely insightful articles and stories. Use this link below to support me and other great writers when you join:

Here is another of my short stories:

And one of my articles and commentaries about writing:

Blessings of peace to you! Remember, our world is depending upon clear voices of reason.