Darker Side of Happiness

Prolouge

It seemed that she was sinking rapidly into the fissure of her sanity. The only light, like a small flicker of a candle, was that of the remembrance of her father, her real dad. There he lay repenting, realizing he was about to reach his earthly demise. Death, the trap that grips us all neared his ravaged body. In his final moments, he thought about Janie. He regretted more than anything that he had given his life to the pilfering of drugs. Yes, it was a historic drug bust that destroyed and cost him his life. Janie was only nine then, and she was immediately auctioned off to the nearest bidder. None of the family had any interest in her; they were all too calloused and self-involved to care for the frail Janie. At least that was what it had appeared.

One man took an interest in her, and he filed for custody. In six months, Janie had a new dad, and she did not know what to feel about him. Soon his true, savage colours came to the surface. He was a beast! He locked her in a windowless basement, feeding her gruel three times a day. He abused her to the point of horror. No child should ever have to deal with such unspeakable abominations. Each time he performed such unthinkable acts, Janie recluse further into madness. She became a girl of many personalities, and to cope, she talked with them for hours. All this occurred in the dark, dank basement.

There were characters. Characters that she had created manifested themselves in her body. She was searching the room for the brandy smelling odour of Wrinkly Smith, the Wazzie. One of her dear companions. She struck disappointment as Wrinkly Smith would not be back until tea-time. Usually, that meant one thing, another beating.

Preparing herself for the worst, another of her characters, the mother protector, overtook her feeble body. She assumed her role of assuaging Janie's torment. Janie feared the inevitable. She braced herself with a song.

She knew she needed strength, and the voice of her mother protector soothed her anguish. Her mind shut the door on that villainous monster, the monster that attempted to drive her to absolute convulsions.

A thunderous clamour came smashing down the stairway!

A large and muscular brute, boozed and intoxicated, forced himself upon her, and what could she do? She did not fight; she did not complain; she prayed, "Lord, if you are real, please!" The Lord never answered in the way she expected, but He did answer! How? Janie dissociated into a pleasant memory. A memory of picking flowers with her late mother. All the pain he was causing her was cast into the sea of forgetfulness; this went on for ten years! Until one fateful day, her stepfather suffered arrest due to a sex trafficking warrant.

What was going on? Janie heard shooting! Oh no!

She need not worry, even though it horrified her. Was violence occurring in the upper rooms? She was shaking with compulsive anxiety, fear and repression. Who was up there?

"Hello? Is anybody up there?" She shouted with vigour.

Gerald Smit discerned Janie's call for help, and he shouted out to Constable Walter, a six-foot-tall and built man. Somebody was down there; he was positive. He descended the creaking stairway into absolute darkness. For all he knew, he was risking his life. He came upon a padlocked door, behind which he heard contrite whimpering. Gerald Smit began to smash the hell out of the door, but he needed some backup. Constable Walter descended the squeaky staircase with a flashlight ready for danger at any moment.

The basement's ambience felt like a haunting and miserable atmosphere of wretched sin. It was evident now that someone was down there, but the door would not budge. With all their combined effort, they damaged and dismantled the door hinges. Crash! In rushed the bright rays of the sun! Janie was this petite malnourished girl huddled in the corner. She shook with tremors; she was not accustomed to such brilliance. She shut her eyes. In her beautiful heart, she saw her father. She wanted to speak to her real dad. She wondered why he had gone mute. Why had daddy gone silent when she needed him the most? He is coming again, that baseman! Over and over, the pain unbearable, the guilt, the shame! Janie begged, "Why God do You let him? Please, God! Let me forget".

"You are safe now." Walter pledged. For the first time in ten years, ten brutal years of provocative sexual wickedness, Janie could finally believe the promise of a man. Janie shuddered, frozen. She stepped out of the dreadful darkness into the warm compassion of the summer sun. Her voices and characters, for once in very distant memory, had finally agreed.

Walter was a compassionate gentleman; he led her outside towards his squad car by the hand. Alongside him was his partner Gerald Smit.

It seemed that everything would work out for the good. As Walter gently led her, a masked assailant leaped out of the shrubbery and opened fire at Walter, attempting to wound him, not to kill. Nevertheless, the attempt was more damaging than he had expected. Cussing, he forced the young Janie to his old abandoned hideout. There he hummed, waiting for her to get over the shock. Janie came to, and she beheld a man, fifty-three, handsome and middle-aged. Who was this, and how did she get there?

Was this man a new friend, or character either in or out of her head? Sometimes it was difficult to discern. In deep irony, he turned out to be her Uncle, Yonsen Crowder, who could not stand the current democratic, fascist system. As for the policemen, they were as corrupt as the government.

Janie blushed. She recalled that daddy had spoken of her Uncle Crowder fondly. He was always close to daddy's heart, never missing a beat of his radical brother's unique stance on the world. However, daddy died. It was a shame how he died; the soft nuance of a voice brushed her face with the wind. She knew daddy was with her, alive, if only in the spirit.

Yonsen softly wiped his tears. He did not presume to know what would happen after death. He had to have hope. Janie could sense her father's character overtaking her.

She peered at Yonsen. "Care for the frail Janie, whatever you do, my brother, just as I have been a father, so must you be." Yonsen glared at her for a moment, as Janie grinned.

"Did you know that I am a brilliant Scholar?"

Yonsen chuckled. He could see his brother coming alive from within Janie, "A scholar in what? In proposing, in poetry, in persevering?". "Yes, and even more so, a scholar in kindness." He was so gentle and warm; he could help fill the void in her restless heart. Janie had not comprehended that her father no longer belonged to this side of the veil. Yonsen started to worry. Janie needed some time to grieve, but she did not relate to the world in that way. She characterized people in her mind, so they remained near to her, and with her. Janie had no idea at this point that her father had died. Things were getting rather peculiar. In her world, the world before the demons had come, she was a nine-year-old child, and in this world, Daddy was still alive, and he was so proud of his little girl. One of her altars, the Mother Protector, would not allow her to suffer her pain, shame, and rejection. Yonsen had triggered her. Why did he have to trigger her? Now she must suffer! Yonsen was clueless. Why should she have to suffer?

In Janie's mind, there appeared a bloody dull axe, and it was slicing through the ceiling. It was about to strike! Janie emitted a terrifying scream! For in her vision was a haggard, horrific and terrifying face. It cackled repeatedly; it spilled blood, disfigured, distorted and demonic.

"Do not touch me! I promise I'll be a good girl! Leave me alone!

Please leave me alone!" Janie belted at the wretched voices stored up in her memory.

Yonsen attempted to comfort her, but it was to no avail.

Returning to the mind of a nine-year-old child, Janie inquired of Protector, about daddy. She received no answer until he showed up in her body. Yonsen was desperately attempting to bring her back to reality, yet his attempts were futile. Janie was smiling. Her father character boasted of many mischiefs Yonsen had undertaken as a child. "Oh, Yonsen, such a troublemaker..." Janie yawned with gratitude towards daddy.

Yonsen blushed, a flash of red. "Yes, we did get ourselves into some great adventures. Although, dad was always ready with the belt at any sign of insubordination."

Mother Protector pulled the plug on that conversation. Janie knew that it was soon time to rest her young eyes for the bright and beauty of tomorrow. Yes, there was still hope.

Yonsen could not understand why Janie had suddenly gone quiet, but soon the truth emerged. The Mother Protector bellowed,

"Because you didn't want me! Nobody wanted me except that savage!" Janie bore her heart.

It was at that moment that Yonsen did understand. He remembered the secret, oh yes, the secret that must never unravel. Could she trust him?