Daniel took a deep breath as he opened the front door to his home. He walked into the dark vestibule, each step like a bare toe searching for glass shards. His blood hammered in his ears. The ground floor was dark, and for a moment, Daniel thought it might be empty, too. Maybe Clyde passed out on the floor of O’Leary’s pub. He left his jacket on as he climbed the staircase. At the top, he heard a creak and froze.
Penny Knoffler, clutching a stuffed bear, stuck her head from around the corner and gave her older brother a big smile.
“Hi,” Daniel whispered.
“Are we playing peek-a-boo?” she asked.
“No. Where’s Pa?”
“Pa was mad. Mommy put me in my room.”
“Where’s Mommy?”
Penny waddled into their parents’ room and pointed to the bed. Rita was asleep. An open bottle of Valium lay on its side on the nightstand. It was typical of Rita-evading conflict through chemistry.
Daniel picked up his sister and carried Penny to her bedroom.
“I’m not tired,” she said as he put her on the bed.
“I know. But Mommy’s sleeping and we don’t know where Pa is.”
“Pa’s mad,” she said again.
“I know. Did he go outside?”
Penny nodded. A trickle of snot ran down her nose and she used her bear to wipe it.
“Mr. Biggles is not a tissue.” Daniel pulled out a Kleenex and wiped the toy. Then he put the paper up to Penny’s nose. “Blow,” he said. “Did you eat?”
Penny blew, then nodded.
“Stay in here tonight. Play with your dollies. Don’t come out if you hear Pa come home.”
Daniel went to the door and listened for any movement. When he thought it was safe he moved and shut the door behind him.
He crept down the dark hallway, entered his room, shut the door and locked it. Sweat trickled from his armpits, and he was breathing hard. He heard no one in the hall. A few seconds passed before he flipped the light switch.
On his bed, staring at him, was Clyde with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s in his hand. His stained, white tank top showed off the semper fi tattoo on his deltoid. His stubble had dark lines where the drink ran down his chin.
A lump caught in Daniel’s throat. From the look in Clyde’s eye it was apparent that Conklin had called him. Clyde was in the zone, a domain of pure instinct beyond reason. He just sat on the bed glaring at the boy, daring him to try and make a run for it, but Daniel’s legs felt like lead posts. Clyde stood up.
“You know who called me today, boy?” Clyde said in a deep growl. He took a step forward.
“I–I’ll p-pay it out of my work money, promise,” Daniel whimpered. “I swear, Clyde, it won’t cost you anything,” he pleaded. They both knew it for a lie, because most of what Daniel earned already went to Clyde. Daniel put his hands forward to ward off the impending strike. The hands fluttered about, not sure whether to protect his face, groin, or stomach. Clyde grabbed Daniel’s right hand with his left, crushing his fingers.
“Clyde! Please. I swear it was an accident. It won’t happen again.” Daniel started to cry.
Clyde pulled the boy’s fingers back until they crunched and popped. “Think you’re so fuckin’ talented, boy,” Clyde grunted. “Think you’re some fuckin’ arteest! Try ’n’ draw now, you good for nothin’ piece of shit. You ungrateful piece of shit! I put a roof over your head!”
Clyde brought his knee up full force into Daniel’s gut. The shock drove the air from the boy’s lungs and made it impossible for him to draw another breath. While still exerting crushing force to Daniel’s right hand, Clyde brought the bottle around into the side of his stepson’s head. Tennessee whiskey splashed over the boy. He hit him again on the same spot. Daniel could feel his legs go from under him. As he went down Clyde would not relinquish his grip on Daniel’s hand. There were more crunch and pop sounds as bones and ligaments stretched beyond their limits. The boy still could not catch his breath. Spots appeared before him, and he started to turn white.
Clyde let go of the hand and kicked him multiple times all over his body. It lasted an eternity.
“Draw now, you fuckin’ piece of shit,” Clyde muttered as he staggered out of the room.
Daniel could still hear Clyde muttering as he walked down the hall. Sobbing, he tenderly held his injured fingers in his good hand. He took stock of his condition, checking for broken ribs. There was a cut on his head. He had to hide it. No one at school could know. He didn’t want people to look at him that way. Daniel sat on the floor of his room with his back against the wall. He thought of his life and asked the ceiling why this was happening to him. He remembered happier times when his mother was still coherent and married to a better man. He sat against the wall and sobbed.