THE INFLUENCED

Chapter One

  The door slams shut. Wham! And the force of the door sends chills down her spine. Tara closes her eyes. That's all she can do. She has absolutely no control now. As if the slamming of the bathroom door isn't enough, she hears the lock turn. Click. Shutting her out of the room that she is so close to, yet feels so far away from.

"Lord, please!" she prays. "Please don't let him kill my son."

Wh-tsh!

With the first crack of the belt, she gasps for air, ears glued to the wooden door.  

"Didn't I!" 

Wh-tsh!

"Tell you to..."

Wh-tsh! Wh-tsh! Wh-tsh! Wh-tsh!

Tears stream down her cheeks, her head shaking with disbelief.

Wh-tsh! Wh-tsh! Wh-tsh!

The sporadic cries of pain escaping her son's mouth weaken her body. She clings to the door as if it's holding her up. What have I done? I should do something. I'm his mother.

Wh-tsh! Wh-tsh!

Tara's heart drops. She clenches her fingers into a fist.

Wh-tsh! Wh-tsh! Wh-tsh! Wh-tsh!

"Stop moving!" he yells with a deep growl.

Wh-tsh!

There is a change in the young boy's cry. Before, Tara could count on a yelp after each slash. Now there is only the hiss of the belt whipping through the air, across his skin, the shallow breaths seeping from his tiny lungs, no screams, just air. She waits and prays. She holds on to his last cry. It is her only proof that he is still alive.

Wh-tsh! Wh-tsh!

"Thomas, stop!" Tara screams, banging on the door as if it'll budge.

"Stop!" Panic takes over. She drops, knees crashing to the white tiled floor. She crouches down, clasps her hands together and prays, "Stop him. Please stop him."

Wh-tsh!

Tara presses her fingers into her temples, rubbing off the sharp pain in her head. Just the thought of the kindness and the joys of childhood being stripped from her son and being replaced with hate, anger, and resentment force more tears to trickle down her face. She knows all too well the everlasting affects of being beaten until you give up, beaten until you conform to whatever it is your mother, father or "man" wants you to become.

"Now, I bet you won't do it again!" Thomas warns one last time as he lands the last whip across David's back.

Tara hears a loud thump inside the bathroom, her son's body dropping to the floor. She gasps, her body rigid and stricken with fear.

Suddenly, she too falls into the bathroom as Thomas yanks the door open. She glances up at his broad shoulders and thick build. He is hovering over her trembling body. "What are you looking at?" he says. He stares at her, until her eyes fall to the cold bathroom floor. He steps over her, making sure his foot bumps into her shoulder.

Tara watches him grab a glass of lemonade out of the refrigerator, lie down on the couch in the living room, prop his legs on the ottoman and form a sick smirk. The only thing missing in Thomas's world is the jewel encrusted crown and beautiful half-naked women around him dangling fresh grapes over his lips.

As she stares at him, more chills surge through her body. She doesn't know if it's from the sudden draft sweeping cold air through the house or from the hate she feels toward him. She crawls to her son. David's legs are stretched across the floor, head resting on the blue rug that's nestled in front of the toilet. She lifts his head and examines his body. He is naked with only a damp, brown bath towel covering his thigh. Droplets of soapy water and sweat cover him, his tiny chest jumps, his lungs struggling to return to their natural rhythm.