Hell, Fire & Freedom (Fighting for Freedom) Read online

  Hell, Fire & Freedom

  by

  Shannon Callahan

  Digital Edition

  Copyright © 2013 by Shannon Callahan

  All Rights Reserved.

  Acknowledgements

  First of all I’d like to send the biggest hugs I can to my aunt Sherry. Her son Terry passed away while I was writing this novel. They were my inspiration for the characters, Sherry and Terry. Love you!

  I would like to thank Jill and Tanya, 2/3 of Maegan Lynn Moores, for all of their help and guidance while I wrote and published this book. Their knowledge and support has been invaluable to me. maeganlynnmoores.com

  Huge thanks to my husband Matthew as well, who made sure our children weren’t neglected, and also let me bounce ideas off of him regularly. Thank you for showing me what a real man is, I love you bub.

  I’d like to thank my mom, and all of my wonderful friends who stood by me while I wrote this novel. Your support has been incredible, and kept me motivated.

  And last, but certainly not least, thank you to my editor Madison Seidler, who gave birth during the editing process and still managed to meet all of her deadlines. You’ve been wonderful to work with.

  Chapter 1

  I look around the sunny yellow dining room that would make most feel cheery, but nothing in this house could ever put a smile on my face. I bring my eyes back to the solid oak dining room set I’m sitting at, the table expertly set for a formal supper for two.

  “Darling, would you pass the asparagus? This lamb looks better than usual, too,” Carl says in a condescending tone, examining the food on his plate.

  “Thank you, Carl, I followed your mother’s recipe,” I say, passing him the roasted asparagus.

  His dark brown eyes stare back at mine, and I give him as big of a smile as I can manage. His light blonde hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, falling just past his shoulders. He isn’t a tall man, probably five foot eight or so, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in size. His shoulders are as wide as a linebacker’s, and his arms are sculpted with muscles. He’s absolutely intimidating, and that’s just the look he craves. I look down at my own plate, wondering what I can eat that will manage to stay down.

  “Darling, why aren’t you eating? Is it because you’ve put on weight, or do you not like my mother’s recipe?” Carl asks in a skeptical voice. I know he’s goading me, hoping to get a reaction so he can dole out a proper punishment. I think my words through carefully before speaking them aloud.

  “Your mother’s recipes are always delicious, Carl. I’m merely wondering where I should start first,” I say, scooping up a few peas. I begin chewing slowly, mentally preparing myself for the next verbal blow.

  “I see how you ignored the weight issue there,” he says, bringing a fork full of lamb to his mouth greedily. “What are you up—two, three pounds—now? You never did have much self-control, Brynn.”

  That hurt, but I make sure my face doesn’t let it show. I tell him exactly what he wants to hear. “I’m sorry, Carl, I’m working on it.”

  “No need to apologize, Darling. I knew what I was getting into when I married you, now didn’t I? I wanted to save you from that squalor, though, and give you a chance at a better life. Your beauty used to shine past all of your flaws,” he says almost wistfully.

  I should be immune to that statement, he says it often enough, but somehow being equated to garbage always seems to hit a sore spot. I nod my head and look down at my plate, dragging my fork through the garlic mashed potatoes.

  I look up and watch as Carl finishes his meal in silence. I don’t eat another bite; I can’t. Instead, I lose myself in my head as I so often find myself doing. I remember the first time I met Carl. I was a scrawny teen who probably weighed about seventy-five pounds soaking wet. Carl started bringing me to the diner I worked at, and making sure I had enough food to eat through the week for school. He used to love watching me eat then. He said nothing brought him greater joy.

  I was naive, and I missed a lot of signs. I would never take it back, though, I couldn’t. There was too much at stake, and I had to trust in myself that I made the right decision.

  I notice he’s finished, so I gather our hideous green stoneware and bring it into the kitchen, placing it in the sink. I grab the caramel apple cheesecake I put in the fridge to cool earlier and some small plates and utensils. I carry it into the dining room and serve Carl, as he remains silent. I know he’s wondering if I’ll cave and eat a slice. I want to, I really do, but it’s just not worth the verbal assault. I sit back in my chair and watch as he apprehensively takes a bite.

  “Fuck, Brynn. What is this shit? This tastes nothing like Mother’s!” he shouts, spitting his chewed up cake back on his plate. I prepare myself for the onslaught of physical abuse, but nothing transpires. “I think I’m going to have Mother come and give you another cooking lesson. It’s been five long years, Brynn, and it’s a simple recipe. A common whore could probably bake better than you could,” Carl says, scolding me like a child.

  “I’m so sorry, Carl,” I apologize as I stand up and attempt to grab the plate in front of him, but he grabs me by the waist and jerks me down into his lap instead. I swallow the bile rising in my throat, as he begins kissing down the side of my neck.

  “Speaking of common whores ...” he whispers in my ear. I feel my stomach start to churn and attempt to put my mind as far away as possible while still giving him the attention he demands. It’s not an easy feat.

  I feel his hand slide up my shirt and his stiffness grow beneath me. I need to think of something, anything else, or I’ll cry, and I know better than to cry in front of Carl.

  I think of Marie, the reason why I put up with all of this. She’ll be turning sixteen next week, and I wonder how she’s doing now. If only I could reach out to her and convince her to run away with me. I think of all the reasons why it would be a bad idea, though, and ultimately, it comes down to the fact that if Carl found out, he would kill us both without a second thought.

  What would we even do if she agreed to leave anyway? I have no money and no college education. I couldn’t provide for her if I tried. At least this way she’s being taken care of, as much as possible anyway. I hope Ma is treating her better than she treated us five years ago. I pray she’s getting the food that I send her every week, and most of all, I hope she’s happy. Nobody deserves happiness more than Marie does.

  “Let’s go to bed, Darling,” I hear Carl breathe, and just like that, I’m brought back to reality. I move silently into our bedroom and lay face down on the bed, knowing what’s coming.

  I always know what’s coming.

  I remove myself completely from my body now. I swear, I don’t feel a thing as I push into my mind and away from his touch. It’s the only way I’ve learned how to cope.

  I thank the Lord it’s Friday because I do the grocery shopping on Saturdays. Carl has learned over the years not to leave any visible marks on me too close to grocery day—not since Miss Wilson stopped and asked me about my busted lip and black eye one day. I told her I’d fallen down the stairs while carrying the laundry basket. She looked at me skeptically, but ultimately accepted it. That night she brought over a casserole and a baked apple pie, and said I shouldn’t be cooking while I was trying to recover from such a nasty fall. Bless her, but that woman got me the beating of a lifetime. I wasn’t able to do the shopping for the next month while I recovered.

  Carl doesn’t permit me to work, and the only time I’m allowed to leave the house is to do the grocery shopping. I guess that’s why it’s a big deal for me to lose that privilege. It’s the only time I get to feel sl
ightly normal. Things weren’t always this bad, though.

  The first time he hit me, I went straight to the doctor and had an IUD inserted. I wasn’t bringing a child into this world when there was a chance that he would abuse him or her, too. I dealt with that my entire life, and it isn’t something I would allow to happen to any child of mine. Fortunately, he’s never found out about the IUD because I’m certain he would kill me if he knew. Carl is obsessed with having a baby. He believes that once I have a child with him, I’ll be tied to him forever. He wants more leverage since Marie is older and won’t need to depend on him any longer. She’s almost legal working age now.

  Our ma is an unemployed alcoholic. She spent every last penny we had growing up on cheap whiskey and cigarettes. I suppose I should be thankful we at least had a roof over our heads. My nanny left us that trailer when she died. Without her, we would have grown up homeless, too.

  I was seventeen when I met Carl, my baby sister was only ten. She was my world, the only person that could ever bring a smile to my face. I worked hard from the time I turned sixteen, so I could put food on the table and try to keep the lights and heat turned on. It was never enough, though, because I could only work part time. I had to stay in school so that Child Protective Services wouldn’t come and investigate. I couldn’t risk Marie and me being separated; it was my job to protect her.

  Carl came along one day, and suddenly we had food; he never let us go hungry. I saw my sister’s cheekbones filling out, and I was elated. She was a healthier, happier version of herself, and so was I. He kept up the façade for almost two months before I met the real Carl. He was twenty-three when he told me he was leaving me. I was just a filthy piece of trailer trash, and he couldn’t stand to support us any longer. I don’t think I’ve ever wept so hard in my life. Marie started to lose the weight she had put on, and I would have to rub her back at night as she’d cry herself to sleep from the hunger pains. I had never felt like more of a failure in my life.

  Carl returned two weeks later and said if I left and married him, he would allow me to send Marie groceries every week, and he would pay their electric bill. I said yes without a second thought, until he added that I wasn’t permitted to see Ma or Marie again. I admit, I wasn’t sure what to do then. Marie was my life—I needed to protect her from our Ma—but I couldn’t very well let her waste away again.

  I thought long and hard, but with tears in my eyes, I accepted my fate. Carl and I were married a week later, and I doubt my mother even noticed I left. I’m sure Marie did, though. I’m sure she thinks I abandoned her, and she undoubtedly hates me more than she hates Ma.

  I should have seen Carl trying to control me from the beginning as an ominous sign, but I just couldn’t see past the fact that this marriage was going to help keep Marie warm and fed. That was all that mattered in the end, wasn’t it?

  I feel Carl’s weight lift off me, and I know he’s finished. He stares at me expectantly, so I grab a pillow and place it under my butt. He’ll make me sleep with the pillow under myself for the entire night because he read it’s supposed to help me conceive. My body doesn’t even feel like my own anymore, it just obeys Carls every command.

  I pray my IUD never fails.

  I watch as he turns and walks into the bathroom to clean up. I grab the blanket and pull it up over my naked body. I’m ashamed that I allow him to treat me this way and angry that I have no control over my life.

  Most of all, though, I just feel lonely.

  I feel him climb back into bed a few minutes later. “Good night, Darling,” he says with a kiss to my cheek as he settles in behind me. I hate when he calls me darling. It’s supposed to be a term of endearment, but to Carl, it’s a form of ownership.

  I feel his clammy breath against my neck, and I can’t help but feel trapped. I wish I was stronger. I wish I could magically grow enough courage to leave, taking Marie with me. How could I do that without him finding me, though? She’s almost sixteen, so she could legally leave with me now, but would she even want to? Does she even remember me? I do the same thing I do every night and fall asleep promising myself that I will leave someday. I’m only twenty-two. This can’t be all there is to my life. I won’t let it be, even if I have to kill Carl myself.

  Chapter 2

  My eyes open before the alarm goes off—force of habit, I guess. I need to get out of bed and make Carl’s breakfast before he wakes so I roll out of his grip and watch as his eyes crack open to check the time. He seems satisfied that I’m not trying to escape in the middle of the night and rolls over, wrapping the blankets around himself.

  I grab a yellow flannel nightgown and slip it over my head. I use the bathroom quickly, wiping away Carl’s attempt at creating a child. I brush my teeth before making my way to the kitchen to cook his breakfast. I work swiftly, having done this every morning since we were married. I start plating the sausages, eggs, and bacon. I butter the toast, and add a layer of blueberry jam on top. I grab his mug, making sure it’s clean before pouring his coffee inside. I put it all on the silver serving tray and turn to carry it into the dining room.

  Instead, I turn into Carl and everything goes crashing. I feel the hot coffee spill down my nightgown and onto my toes, scalding me. I gasp in pain. The floor is littered with glass, and his breakfast is scattered everywhere.

  “You stupid, clumsy bitch! Can’t you do anything right?” Carl screams, wiping the food from his pants.

  I know what’s coming next, and I attempt to prepare myself, but there’s little I can do. Carl smashes his fist into my mouth, and I feel my lip burst open. I taste the blood as it trickles into my mouth, and by some miracle, I manage to not fall down. I hastily take a few steps backward so when I do fall, because I will, I won’t cut myself on the broken glass on the floor. I’ve made that mistake before.

  “Don’t you dare run from me, you little bitch. You’re going to pay for that,” he hollers, striking me again. This time I fall back, but manage to catch myself on the edge of the counter. I open my mouth to apologize, but it’s filled with blood, and I gag. He grabs ahold of my shoulders and knees me in the stomach, inflicting what I pray is his final blow. I double over onto my knees before curling into the fetal position on the floor.

  “Clean up this fucking shit, fast!” he shouts, as he storms off into the bathroom. I hear the shower turn on, and breathe a small sigh of relief. It’s over, for now anyway.

  I do a quick catalog of my injuries, trying to decipher which is the most urgent. I attempt to stand, but the pain is unbearable. I manage to pull myself high enough off the tile to grab some paper towel off of the counter. I wipe my lip so that the bleeding will stop and spit into the paper towel, clearing the blood that’s filled my mouth. I crawl over to the broom closet, careful to avoid the glass, and grab my slippers. I slip them on so I don’t cut my feet while I finish cleaning. I take the broom and try to sweep what I can from a seated position.

  I don’t cry, I can’t. Not for years now. I wish I could say I was numb to this, but that part I’m still working on.

  I manage to get the mess swept into the garbage can before I hear the shower turn off. I know I’m going to have to try and stand up, so I take a deep breath and grip the edge of the counter top. I stumble upward, clenching my stomach in pain. I can’t stand completely upright, but it’s the best I can do. I grab the mop and just get a start on the floors, when I hear the bathroom door open. I shudder in fear.

  Carl comes bursting into the kitchen, still harboring a nasty temper. “I wish I’d married someone competent, someone who could cook, and who didn’t trip over herself constantly! Jesus, Brynn, do you think I want this? Do you think I want to punish you? You force me into this God damned position. How else is your senseless ass ever going to learn?” he shouts.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be taking the cost of the dishes out of your sister’s grocery money, too. Maybe that’ll teach you, you ungrateful bitch,” he finishes with venom on his tongue. He’s absolutely furious, and
I’m scared he’s going to come at me again. I know I’m going to have to do something to diffuse the situation.

  “I’m so sorry, Carl, it was all my fault; it will never happen again,” I plead. The thought of Marie going hungry hurts worse than any physical punishment he can dole out. I can’t say anything about it, though, or he will stop the groceries altogether.

  “Shut the fuck up. I’m going out for breakfast, and I’ll get the groceries today. I’ll let that nosy bitch Miss Wilson know you’re feeling ill.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He storms out of the room, and I hear him grab his wallet and keys from the table beside the front door before the door slams. I let myself fall to the floor and curl back into the fetal position. My ribs hurt, and I can only imagine what my face looks like. I run my fingers over the open skin on my lip.

  I can’t keep living like this. I wish I were smarter so I knew what to do. I’ve thought about calling the numbers they keep on the bathroom stalls in the grocery mart, but I know Carl would go ballistic if I left him. It would be Marie he went after then, and that’s just a risk I’m never willing to take. Her safety and happiness will always be my number one priority.

  God, I miss her. I miss her sense of humor, her bright smile, and just having someone there to hold—someone who would never hurt you. Someone who truly loves you. If I didn’t have Marie, I would have never known those things were possible.

  I hold my ribs and lift myself up off the floor. I stumble into the shower and let the hot water wash over my face. It’s painful, but it feels good emotionally to wash it all away—wash away his touch and his smell—to feel as clean as I can, living with Carl anyway.

  I wash my hair and run the soap lightly over my body. I can hardly stand to touch the bruising that’s already appeared on my stomach, but I need to erase him. I know Carl won’t be gone much longer, so I force myself to turn off the water and step out of the shower. I pull on a loose fitting cotton dress that doesn’t hurt my stomach much and brush my hair. I steel my nerves and start on my makeup. It stings, but he hates seeing the damage he’s inflicted after he’s cooled off. It can cause his anger to resurface, and he’ll start with the violence all over again. Applying makeup is the lesser of two evils, so I force myself to finish.