Read Online A Guardian of Innocents by Jeff Orton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeff Orton
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sinking feeling in his stomach it will be much much worse than a mere spanking.
Galen let go of his wife’s hair and used the same hand to squeeze her throat, not enough to suffocate, just enough to get the message across.
He appraised his wife with a curious joviality. “Divorce me, huh? Yeah, you’ll get a divorce. . . but first, you’re gonna be my bitch for a little while longer.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his son standing in front of the chair, not sitting.
“Better siddown, Isaac,” warns the big tough man.
Isaac, who can hardly breathe through his sobs, slowly sits down as though the cushion of the recliner was made of razor blades.
Galen whispers to his wife, “Fight me, and he dies,” then uses his free hand to rip her skirt open and pull her panties off.
More horrified than she has ever been in her life, a breathless No escapes Kimber’s lips.
* * *
I can’t talk anymore about what I witnessed in that weird, waking psychic nightmare. I’m sure it is already painfully obvious the son of a bitch raped his own wife in front of their own son, and forced him to watch. He did it to prove to his wife, his son and himself that he was not gay.
* * *
I don’t really remember moving from the table and into the bathroom, or how I found the bathroom in a strange house so quickly. But I do recall that the decision to murder Galen, and the basis for the plan in which I would execute that decision, seemed to form in my head all at once as though instructions were being typed into my brain from an outside source. All this while my stomach heaved its contents into the lemon-scented, freshly-cleaned toilet I was kneeling in front of.
My cousin had followed me down the hall, and stood just outside the door, “Ah, man I’m sorry, Phil. God, I hope it wasn’t anything in the food.”
After a series of coughs and a stomach cramp passed, I lied and said, “Nah, I’ve actually been a little nauseous today. I think I probably just caught a bug. Still flu season.”
Pete apologized once more and left to give me some privacy. I got both the commode and myself cleaned up and returned to the kitchen/dining room where I observed my cousin and his fiancée clearing off the table from dinner. Pete was working busily, eyes concentrated on the task at hand. Kimber seemed to be staring at some invisible object two feet in front of her face as her hands and arms went through the motions of washing dishes.
She was obviously in shock from the whole experience but didn’t know what the hell to make of it. I could feel the tension, the apprehension and the confusion coming off of her in pulsating waves. I walked towards them cautiously, approaching Kimber from her right, thereby making sure she could see me in her peripheral vision. There was still more information that I needed from her.
Pete excused himself and headed to the bathroom once he confirmed I was okay again, turning on the living room television as he left. I had gone to the restroom on Isaac’s side of the trailer and Pete wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything left in or around the toilet that might cause his stepson to become sick. Pete, of course, was the kind of guy who would never say this out loud.
Kimber was standing in front of the stainless steel sink, getting the dishes pre-soaked before throwing them in the washer. I stood in front of the white refrigerator doors next to her. As she reached for one of the sudsy plates, I gently placed my hand upon her wrist. It wasn’t even something I planned to do. It seemed but a mere reflex. I hardly knew her, but it felt natural.
She wouldn’t look me in the eyes. Her chin quivered and I was close enough to see the tears building up on her bottom eyelids, threatening to spill over.
“I need his last name,” I said, my voice a stern whisper.
She looked at me with an incredulous expression, “You saw
Galen let go of his wife’s hair and used the same hand to squeeze her throat, not enough to suffocate, just enough to get the message across.
He appraised his wife with a curious joviality. “Divorce me, huh? Yeah, you’ll get a divorce. . . but first, you’re gonna be my bitch for a little while longer.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his son standing in front of the chair, not sitting.
“Better siddown, Isaac,” warns the big tough man.
Isaac, who can hardly breathe through his sobs, slowly sits down as though the cushion of the recliner was made of razor blades.
Galen whispers to his wife, “Fight me, and he dies,” then uses his free hand to rip her skirt open and pull her panties off.
More horrified than she has ever been in her life, a breathless No escapes Kimber’s lips.
* * *
I can’t talk anymore about what I witnessed in that weird, waking psychic nightmare. I’m sure it is already painfully obvious the son of a bitch raped his own wife in front of their own son, and forced him to watch. He did it to prove to his wife, his son and himself that he was not gay.
* * *
I don’t really remember moving from the table and into the bathroom, or how I found the bathroom in a strange house so quickly. But I do recall that the decision to murder Galen, and the basis for the plan in which I would execute that decision, seemed to form in my head all at once as though instructions were being typed into my brain from an outside source. All this while my stomach heaved its contents into the lemon-scented, freshly-cleaned toilet I was kneeling in front of.
My cousin had followed me down the hall, and stood just outside the door, “Ah, man I’m sorry, Phil. God, I hope it wasn’t anything in the food.”
After a series of coughs and a stomach cramp passed, I lied and said, “Nah, I’ve actually been a little nauseous today. I think I probably just caught a bug. Still flu season.”
Pete apologized once more and left to give me some privacy. I got both the commode and myself cleaned up and returned to the kitchen/dining room where I observed my cousin and his fiancée clearing off the table from dinner. Pete was working busily, eyes concentrated on the task at hand. Kimber seemed to be staring at some invisible object two feet in front of her face as her hands and arms went through the motions of washing dishes.
She was obviously in shock from the whole experience but didn’t know what the hell to make of it. I could feel the tension, the apprehension and the confusion coming off of her in pulsating waves. I walked towards them cautiously, approaching Kimber from her right, thereby making sure she could see me in her peripheral vision. There was still more information that I needed from her.
Pete excused himself and headed to the bathroom once he confirmed I was okay again, turning on the living room television as he left. I had gone to the restroom on Isaac’s side of the trailer and Pete wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything left in or around the toilet that might cause his stepson to become sick. Pete, of course, was the kind of guy who would never say this out loud.
Kimber was standing in front of the stainless steel sink, getting the dishes pre-soaked before throwing them in the washer. I stood in front of the white refrigerator doors next to her. As she reached for one of the sudsy plates, I gently placed my hand upon her wrist. It wasn’t even something I planned to do. It seemed but a mere reflex. I hardly knew her, but it felt natural.
She wouldn’t look me in the eyes. Her chin quivered and I was close enough to see the tears building up on her bottom eyelids, threatening to spill over.
“I need his last name,” I said, my voice a stern whisper.
She looked at me with an incredulous expression, “You saw
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