The Wounded Are Healed

Preface: Six Years Ago

The room stank of her father's beer cans scattered around the room. Her eyes watered as his minty breath overpowered all of her senses. The old living room was barely furnished and filthy. A blonde strand fell over her softly featured face, nearly blocking out one of her huge, amber eyes. In her arms lay a limp puppy, not moving or breathing. She fought to keep her tears in as her angry father paced about the area.

"You're a sympathetic piece of shit, just like your mother." Each word was given a rougher tone as he spoke.

She looked down at the lifeless pup, "Yes, father."

Sounding more like a robot than a human with her monotone voice, she nodded with him. It's better not to argue with him, she thought as she cradled the animal close to her chest. It's best to agree.

"Clean this room up," he said sternly. "I have company coming over in an hour and this house is a pigsty!" His steel eyes stared icily at her "And for God's sake, bury that monster."

His calloused fingers ran against the bandaged wound on his arm. A wound from the dog when he tried to hit her. A wound that cost the dog his life.

Her father left the room with a disgusted huff. Getting off the grimy carpet, she went to the backyard that held as much hope as the house. Patches of dead grass infected and killed the living grass. Trees hung on one another for support, all either dead or dying. Only one stood tall and healthy with life. It was her mother's old maple tree that she planted herself. Gently, she placed the puppy underneath the grand tree.

"I'll give you a proper ceremony tonight, Bruno," she whispered, allowing tears to fall. "I promise." She bent down and kissed the muzzle of the year-old chocolate lab. "I promise..."

Slowly, she got back up and trudged back inside the small, one story house. She walked away from her dog and possibly her freedom, to go clean for the abusive father and his disturbing guests. There were no trace of crying on her face as she closed and locked the door behind her. He despised crying and would beat her if he saw anything close to it. She grabbed the mop bucket that stood solemnly by the back door and headed to the kitchen.

Filling the bucket with warm water and soap in the sinik, her eyes wandered to her little brother. His eight-year-old eyes held curiosity as he played on the kitchen floor with brand new toys. She leaned on the counter and studied him. Their father undoubtedly favored Michael far more than herself. Yet, she couldn't hate her little brother; instead, she loved him dearly. While their amber eyes matched, their hair did not. His was a light brown and silken soft.

She smiled at him as she heaved the bucket out of the sink. Michael followed her as she struggled to carry the bucket into the livingroom. She set it down by the small windows looking out onto the front yard. He sat on the beaten couch clutching a toy monster truck. His eyes followed her as she left the room and were back on her when she returned with a washcloth.

"Hey, Lindsay?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Mikey?"

"Why are you washing the windows?"

"So dad's friends can see them sparkle."

"Oh," he said hopping off the couch. His truck stayed as he stood next to her. "Can I help?"

Lindsay smiled, "Sure, do you want to do the windows while I pick up the trash?"

Michael nodded eagerly as she handed him the washrag. "Be careful not to spill the bucket and make sure to wring out the rag before washing the window, okay?"

"I got this," he said with a determined face.

Lindsay, going back into the kitchen, chuckled as she grabbed trash bags. Michael was happily washing the window when she came back into the room. The light coming through the window revealed the space to be far more dirtier than she imagined.

"Oh boy," she muttered.

"What's wrong," Michael asked, cocking his head slightly.

"Nothing, kiddo," she smiled. " I just have a lot of work to do."

"I want to help, too!" he exclaimed, giggling.

"You are, Mikey. You are."

He smiled up at her brightly and went back to cleaning the windows. Lindsay began the task of putting beer cans and fast food wrappers in the trash bags. Bag after bag were piled by the hallway entrance as she cleaned heavily with her brother's help. Soon, they were moving on to the next task of vacuuming and dusting. Michael pushed the vacuum to make different patterns in the carpet as Lindsay went around the room with a dust rag.
"What the hell is going on here," their father bellowed.

Michael turned off the vacuum. "We're cleaning, Dad!" he said, cheerily.

Lindsay shrank back in fear as their father narrowed his eyes. She could feel her hands shake as he turned towards her.

"Did you make him do this?" he screamed, lunging at Lindsay. "Did you force him to do your chores?"

"No, no! He asked to help," She held back a sob. "He asked."

His anger dropped quickly as he turned to Michael.

"You asked?"

Michael nodded slowly, eyes wide and terrified. His little body tremored and his eyes were full of tears. Don't do it, Lindsay thought helplessly. A single tear fell out of his right eye. Forgetting Lindsay, he ran to Michael. Lindsay watched as her father picked Michael up with one swoop and hugged him.

"Shh shh, Michael. It's alright, son. There's nothing to cry about," he soothed.

Lindsay's mouth opened in shock as she watched her father comfort her scared, crying brother. Tears of her own hit the smooth flesh of her cheeks. A gasp choked itself in her throat as she watched the touching moment between father and son. Lindsay let herself fall to the grubby carpet. Her knees sank and she felt small pieces of sharp objects cut through her skin. Feeling like a spy as she drank in the scene, her eyelids collapsed.

Michael's sobs were too much to bear for Lindsay. Her eyes watered and she gasped for air. Blindly, she lifted her herself off of the ground and slipped out of the room. She stumbled into the hall and went to her bedroom. She threw clothes in a backpack quickly, not seeing what she packed. Groaning as she shoved aside her heavy dresser, she took the emergency money that was saved in its hiding place. With the backpack on her shoulders, she peaked back in on the father and son who were still embracing. Lindsay cringed and made her way out the back door.

She passed the dog lying under the maple tree. Her feet stopped and she hesitated. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as she pushed back her feelings. She went to the edge of the backyard. Cars could be heard from the streets and children's laughter was shrill and happy. Lindsay shook her head to clear the warning bells going off in her mind. She didn't look back at the house as she began to sprint towards the cheery noises.