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  DADDY’S BOY

  MAJANKA VERSTRAETE

  Seattle, WA 2015

  COPYRIGHT 2015 MAJANKA VERSTRAETE

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

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  Edited by Suzanne Robb

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-5137-0103-5

  Table of Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DADDY’S BOY

  MORE GREAT READS FROM FORSAKEN

  BOBBY NEVER SAW IT COMING. Of course, that had been my intention, but it was surprising all the same. I mean, I hadn’t dragged the shovel around for three miles for nothing.

  He babbled on about a bunch of nonsense while I lifted the spade and smacked him on the head. He half-turned while he fell forward, eyes widened in shock, mouth locked in a silent scream. Then he tumbled to the ground and his face disappeared into the dirt.

  I hadn’t wanted to kill him. He was a nice guy. But my Dad had always said: “Leave no witnesses.” And although dad was a stupid man, little more than a brawling, drunken idiot, he knew things about the nastier side of life. I wished I’d listened to him more. Usually, I settled for hating his guts, and I hadn’t cared much when he died, not shed a single tear. But tonight, I’d wanted him around, wanted him to say “Jakey boy,” in that low, droning voice of his, “let me fix this for you.” I wanted to hand him the reins and then he’d go ahead and fix it, because fixing things he could do. Never right, of course. Always wrong and twisted and making things worse than before.

  I lit a cigarette while I watched the blood form a pool underneath Bobby’s head. Poor Bobby. He’d been a good friend. Too good of a friend, really. Much better than I'd deserved.

  I wondered why I’d wanted Dad to be around while I took a drag from my cigarette. I usually didn’t miss him, not even on the holidays. Mom did though, although he'd beaten her on a regular basis, until she had bruises all over and cried like a pig ready for slaughter. But when he died, she'd put on black clothes and arranged a funeral and cried honest tears for a man who didn’t love her, at least not the way he should’ve.

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I had a situation at hand. No time to get lost in the past – had to focus on the present.

  Grabbing the shovel, I dug in the shallow, wet dirt. It had been raining for days and only stopped this afternoon, so I was lucky in a way. I shot a glance at Bobby. The poor sod. He’d only wanted to help me, and I’d killed him.

  But, when I was five years old and saw my dad and his friend Stewart dragging the bag down the stairs and heard the thumps and moaning from inside, Dad had leaned over me and said, “You always have to hide your tracks, Jakey boy. Yes, you do. Remember that, son.” And then he’d patted me on the head and left into a curtain of rain, along with Stewart and the bag.

  ***

  The whole ordeal started three hours ago. I was fine then, minding my own business, watching television and smoking cigs and drinking beers, like most nights. My girlfriend, Melanie, was there too, moaning and bitching like usual, about how I drank too much and did too little, and how working some overtime wouldn’t hurt me. I blocked her out, like I did every other night, and downed another cold one.

  She seemed more pissed off than usual, and after a while of me not responding to her complaints, she got in my face, blocking the television. That annoyed me, but I tried my best to remain calm. “What’ya doin’?” I asked.

  “I need to talk to you.” She had her hands on her hips, and her face betrayed no hint of a smile. Melanie and serious didn’t match. She was a stupid girl with a pretty face and a plump figure. She’d been dumb when I started dating her and over the years, it seemed her IQ had only decreased. Couldn’t keep a job, couldn’t pay the bills on time, she couldn’t even cook without letting the food burn half the time. I’d met her in a bar (where else?), and taken her home the same day. For some reason I never got rid of her. When she was docile, she was like a deer, Bambi. I liked her in those moments. When she complained and nagged like an old hag, I didn’t like her quite so much.

  “We’re running out of cash.” She shot a glance at my stash of cigs and beer. “I work my ass off every day, and you just sit around and do nothing. Except drink and smoke our money away.”

  I wanted to point out that I did do stuff. I hung around with Bobby, and I worked a part-time job. But when she got like this, there was no point arguing.

  “You need to find a full-time job.” She made it sound like a command. The tone didn’t suit her at all.

  “What’s this, Mel?” I asked, still trying to stay calm. “You been talking to your mom again? I have work, goddammit. And I’ll buy what I like with my money.”

  “Our money.” She seemed ready for a fight this time, although she trembled like a leaf in the wind. Her brown hair, cut in a not-so-stylish bob, made her look too old for her age. A loose strand fell in front of her eyes, and she pushed it back. “I work too, you know. The house doesn’t clean itself. And we need to pay the car, this apartment, the bills…We’re barely scraping by.”

  I shrugged. Scraping by sounded good to me. “Where’s this coming from? We’re happy, right?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t do this anymore, Jake. You used to be…different. Now you come home every day, drop in the couch, barely speak to me. You just smoke and drink and watch TV until you pass out.”

  “So, that’s it? You want more attention?” I gave her a sleazy grin and pulled her closer. “I can do that, baby.”

  She pushed me away. “That’s not what I meant. I’m… Jake, I’m pregnant.”

  That made me almost spit out my beer. “Pregnant?” I let the word sink in for a moment, but no matter how much I tried, it wouldn’t register.

  Melanie’s face was twisted, unrecognizable. She looked… happy, a stupid grin plastered on her face, and she nodded like a crazy person. “Yes, Jake. We’re going to have a baby.”

  I got up at once, almost pushing her backward. A baby. Pregnant. I was going to be a father.

  “Is it mine?”

  “Of course it’s yours.” This wiped the stupid grin off her face. “Who else’s would it be? Why would you even ask such a thing?”

  “It can’t be mine.” But at the same time, I realized it was. Melanie wouldn’t cheat on me. Our relationship was absurd and twisted and maybe slightly abusive, but she’d grown used to that. She could nag and complain, but she never left. Stayed as faithful as a puppy.

  She inched a step away from me. “Why do you say that?” Her lower lip quivered, as if she was on the verge of tears.

  “Because it can’t.” My voice barely rose above a whisper. “It can’t,” I repeated, louder this time. “I’d be no good at being a dad. You knew my dad; you knew the kind of man he was.” I shook my head. “I can’t. You have to get rid of it.”

  The prospect of being a mommy must’ve changed Melanie’s personality, because the little girl without a backbone suddenly grew one. She straightened and put her arms around her belly, like that
would help protect the baby. “I’m not getting rid of it, Jake. If you don’t want it, that’s fine. I’ll take care of our child on my own.”

  She stressed “our child,” as if that would somehow change everything. It only made me more furious. Our child. The thought alone made my blood boil.

  “Listen,” she said, trying to calm me down. “I know your father was… well, he sucked. But, you’re not like him, Jake. You’re different. We can do this, together.” She smiled at me, hopeful, a hope that crushed me.

  In her eyes, I saw a movie running back in time, playing all the things my dad had done. Slapping my mom around whenever she did something he didn’t like – which ran from burning dinner to not cleaning out all his empty beer bottles, or maybe throwing away a half-empty one and slapping me around whenever he felt like it. The scars on my skin from where his cigarette butts burned me. The name-calling, telling me I couldn’t do anything, that I was a no-good loser who didn’t deserve to live.

  I broke free from Mel’s gaze and looked around at the shell of an apartment. Well, maybe my dad, that drunken nobody, had been right all along. The place was nothing to be proud of. Cramped and dirty, and even when Melanie cleaned it, it still managed to look dusty and old. Empty beer cans littered the floor, an almost exact replica of my parents’ home when I was a kid. The scarce furniture, all secondhand, filled with germs and bacteria and God knew what else. Could we even afford a crib? Milk? Diapers? Baby food?

  Every Saturday I invited the guys for a round of poker. Bobby, Leslie and Rick. Poker with a baby around – my dad had done it when I was a newborn. I cried in my crib like the stupid babe I was, and when I became too loud, he slapped me across the face, or emptied a beer bottle over me. My mom would find me hours later, soaking wet, my mattress and blankets covered in beer. Dad even tried to set me on fire once, if I was to believe Leslie’s account. He was dad’s best friend, a man with no teeth or family, who liked to mumble nonsense to himself and drank like a beast. He’d grinned when he told me. I must’ve been twelve or something. “Didn’t work though. A shame,” he’d concluded, patting me on the back and laughing at his own joke.

  I could see the future spreading out in front of me, and it could go two ways. I could straighten up, drop the booze, drop the poker nights, and the hanging out at bars, and the hooking up with whores, which thank God, Melanie didn’t seem to know or care about, and become a real dad. The kind you saw in commercials and on television. But, it seemed impossible. How could I be a dad if I had no example? What did real dads do? Play football with their kid? Teach him to be a man? Be kind when they cried? Take care of them when they're ill? Shit, I had no patience for that.

  Or it could go the other way. The familiar road, the one I knew through and through. I’d start out with good intentions, clean up a little, ditch my old habits. But the moment the shit hit the fan, I’d turn into my dad – a drinking, brawling maniac who liked to hurt women and children. I’d scar that kid for life, the way Dad’s actions had scarred me.

  Melanie put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

  I should let her go. Tell her to get out of there, and never come back. Go raise my son, or daughter, on her own, because I couldn’t do it. But then I’d always have that nagging feeling in the back of my mind that maybe, just maybe, it could’ve worked out. Maybe I could’ve been there for the little one. Maybe growing up without a dad was worse than growing up with a fucked-up one.

  “You need to get an abortion.” The words sounded heavy, even to me. “I can’t have a kid of mine running around anywhere, Mel.”

  “You’re scared,” she said, and I guessed it was the truth. “You don’t have to be. You’re not alone, Jake.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “We can do this together. You, me and the baby.”

  The baby. It had grown from an object into a person in a matter of seconds.

  I stood brusquely, shoving her backward. “I said I can’t.”

  My father’s face appeared in front of me, as clear as day, a ghost reaching out from the beyond to warn me. Then the rest of his body materialized. He wore the clothes we’d buried him in, a slightly worn and cheap brown suit. “You’re right, you can’t,” he said. “My son. Always up to no good, always a good-for-nothing. Couldn’t do anything. Tried to join the marines, but failed. Tried to get a degree, but failed. You’re just like me. Never could do anything, except drink a lot.” He nodded toward the beer bottles.

  “I’m not like you,” I spat at the hallucination. “Not yet. I’m not a father. So at least I won’t hurt some kid with all this crap.”

  “Jake, who are you talking to?” Melanie’s voice trembled.

  “My dad,” I replied, like it was the most common thing in the world to be talking to a dead man. I didn’t find it weird in that moment. In fact, it felt like I’d known all along that he’d show up. Dad never missed an opportunity to taunt me.

  “There’s no one here.” Poor dumb Melanie, stating the obvious.

  “She won’t have the abortion, you know.” Dad shrugged. “She wants to have this kid. Your kid. And we both know how that’ll end.”

  “I can be a good father.” The argument sounded hollow, and dad must’ve heard it because he raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes, yes,” Melanie said. “You can.” She backed away from me though, her eyes jerking back and forth. “Just calm down, love. It’s probably the booze.”

  “That’s how it starts.” Dad sat on the couch. “She’ll take away your booze first. Try to make a real man out of you. She’ll get you a job, a full-time one, so that you’re dead exhausted by the time you get home, so tired you can’t even complain about her hanging around the house lazy all day, not cooking or cleaning or anything of the sort.”

  I gave him a questioning look. “What?” he asked, leaning back in the couch. “You think your mom didn’t try that to me? It worked… for about two weeks.” He sighed. “It’s a pity. Really, it is. But you and me, son, we’re not cut out for that. Being a father, that’s something for other people, not us.”

  I didn’t reply, because he’d hit a nerve. I agreed with him. I’d seen the events play out in my mind, and knew what would happen, what path I’d pick for Melanie, me, and my unborn kid if I went down that road. I’d either end up raising another screwed-up generation, or I’d walk out before it got that far, abandoning them.

  I looked at Melanie, tried to uncover her strength and weaknesses. She was a pushover, a dumb, lazy slob, and a gossip. She reminded me of my mother. She didn’t have what it took to raise a child. Hell, I knew I didn’t have it, but she sure as hell didn’t have it either. If I left, she’d find another low-life scumbag just like me, and ask him to help raise a kid that wasn’t even his. I knew what happened to kids raised by men who weren’t their father. I’d seen it happen to Leslie. They turned out like me, except maybe even angrier, because they'd spent their entire childhood hoping and praying their real dad would turn up and kick their stepdad’s ass, but that never happened. Not in the real world.

  “What is it?” Melanie asked. For the first time, while my gaze travelled over her, taking her in, she sounded genuinely afraid. I’d never heard Melanie afraid before. Not even when I hit her. Granted, I didn’t do it often, and by then, I was so wasted I wouldn’t know if she was terrified or not. The fear reminded me of my mom’s face right before Dad gave her a beating.

  “You know what you have to do,” Dad said. “Only one way. Your choice.” He raised a beer can and took a sip. “Argh.” A content smile spread across his face and he licked his lips. “I miss this, Jake. Miss it more than I miss you. So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna man up? Be a dad? Or you man enough now to admit that it’ll never work? That you and I… we’re two sides of the same coin.”

  I wanted to lie, wanted to tell him he was wrong, but I knew he was right. Either path I chose, it was going to end badly.

  “Mel…” I dragged out her name. “You have to get an abortion. It’s the o
nly way.”

  “How can you decide that?” she screamed, like a volcano that had been waiting to explode for far too long, and now erupted, like Mount Vesuvius over Pompeii. She threw her arms up and glared at me. “You didn’t even think this through. You can’t decide a baby’s life in minutes.”

  I could, and I had. I looked at my dad, and he shrugged. “She’s never gonna get rid of it, Son. You know that as well as I do. If you want it gone, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

  I grimaced, tried to brush down his words. “I can change her mind,” I told him. “She always listens to me, like a good woman. Does as I tell her to.”

  “No.” Melanie shook her head. “I won’t, Jake. I won’t get rid of it. You can’t make do this. I’ll go away. I’ll leave, move to another town, but I won’t kill my baby.” She cowered, a strange mix of the Melanie I knew and the protective mother she’d become. The change had taken place so suddenly. I might’ve admired her if I didn’t loathe her so much for it.

  I wanted her to shut up. Couldn’t she see I was bargaining for her life? The stupid bitch wouldn’t shut her mouth. She moved away from me while I reached for her, but she was too slow and I grabbed her waist and pulled her close.

  “No, Mel. No. You’ll do what I tell you to,” I whispered. She squirmed in my grip, like a dying butterfly. Her eyes went wide with fear. I wondered what she saw now when she looked at me. The man she loved? A brute? My father?

  “Abortions are nasty,” Dad said from the couch. “And expensive. Have you even got the cash? Besides, if you bring her in like this, they won’t operate on her. She’ll need to be calm, like a little lamb. Silent. Think she can do that?”

  I looked down at the girl hitting me and wriggling in my arms trying to break free. “Maybe if we give her drugs? Or booze?”