bills and funerals.”
The Websters had been living in a nice
little house until one night three men had broken into the home and
held the family hostage for a week before anyone knew what was
going on. If it hadn’t been for the children not going to school,
he’d often wondered how much longer they would have been caught up
in that mess if no one had gone and checked on them. His son had
been on the scene first and had told Howie about it.
“ The mother was dead. Been
gone for a few days, tied to the bed. She’d been raped so many
times that it was hard to tell she’d been female after those
animals had finished with her.” Howie remembered the sound of his
son’s voice, the hardness of it, his hatred of what had happened
coming through his pain. “The husband had been hung from the pot
hanger in the kitchen; his body had knives still stuck in it all
over him. There were burns on his skin like they’d tried to light
him up too. Most of his face had been cut off. We found his eyes in
the refrigerator right next to the spoiled milk. Just floating in a
glass of water.”
“ And the kids? What did
they do to them?” Howie had known that was what had bothered his
son the most. Micah had six wonderful children of his own that he
loved more than life itself, and he hated more than anything to
have them hurt…or anyone else’s kids to hurt. “Micah?”
“ I thought the boy was
dead. And to be honest with you, I had kind of hoped that he was.
The things they’d done to him. There was a ball bat—his, I’m
thinking—laying on the bed with him, all bloodied and covered in
brain matter. They’d been beating him with it, mostly to the head.
But the rest of his body had been abused as well. There were burns
on him too. At one point…at one point it looked as if they tried to
burn his penis off. Just set it afire like it was a candle. And
there was that too. Candle wax all over him. His head, all bashed
in and brain showing, was covered in the stuff, smelling like
apples and cinnamon. Never will be able to smell that without
thinking of that boy.” Micah was quiet for a time; Howie let him
remember. Sometimes it was better to get things like this out, but
for some reason he thought neither of them would be the same for
hearing it. “They had raped the girl too. Not as bad or as often as
they had the mom. Probably saved her for last for some reason.
She’d been chained to the wall, her little body beaten and burned.
Her hair had been shaved from her head, all those curls laying on
the floor just covered in her blood and urine. The poor thing was
in the same room as her brother, and got to see what they did to
him every day they had them. I nearly…I didn’t even see her until
someone came in the room and she whimpered. Her eyes never left her
brother’s face the entire time we were cutting her down. Then with
broken legs and an arm, she crawled to him and curled around him,
screaming at the medics to leave him be. It was all we could do to
hold her down while they drugged her up to care for
them.”
The papers had had a month of it.
Someone had leaked some pictures of the parents’ bodies. Some of
them had pictures of the bodies as they were taken from the house,
the dark body bags telling a grim tale of what might have happened
inside that house. Then a few of the boy had come out, his broken
body lying on the gurney, bloody sheets and all.
The girl’s picture had never been in
the paper, and neither of the children’s names had been
mentioned…not in the paper nor in the court rooms where the dead
men had been tried. The police had killed all three of the
murdering pieces of shit, but the men had been found guilty. Most
didn’t think it was doing anyone a bit of good to know
that.
There had even been talk about the
young girl inviting the men into the house. That she’d been the
leader of them the entire time. Howie thought that most of the
world was sick, and that hadn’t changed his mind. The
The Websters had been living in a nice
little house until one night three men had broken into the home and
held the family hostage for a week before anyone knew what was
going on. If it hadn’t been for the children not going to school,
he’d often wondered how much longer they would have been caught up
in that mess if no one had gone and checked on them. His son had
been on the scene first and had told Howie about it.
“ The mother was dead. Been
gone for a few days, tied to the bed. She’d been raped so many
times that it was hard to tell she’d been female after those
animals had finished with her.” Howie remembered the sound of his
son’s voice, the hardness of it, his hatred of what had happened
coming through his pain. “The husband had been hung from the pot
hanger in the kitchen; his body had knives still stuck in it all
over him. There were burns on his skin like they’d tried to light
him up too. Most of his face had been cut off. We found his eyes in
the refrigerator right next to the spoiled milk. Just floating in a
glass of water.”
“ And the kids? What did
they do to them?” Howie had known that was what had bothered his
son the most. Micah had six wonderful children of his own that he
loved more than life itself, and he hated more than anything to
have them hurt…or anyone else’s kids to hurt. “Micah?”
“ I thought the boy was
dead. And to be honest with you, I had kind of hoped that he was.
The things they’d done to him. There was a ball bat—his, I’m
thinking—laying on the bed with him, all bloodied and covered in
brain matter. They’d been beating him with it, mostly to the head.
But the rest of his body had been abused as well. There were burns
on him too. At one point…at one point it looked as if they tried to
burn his penis off. Just set it afire like it was a candle. And
there was that too. Candle wax all over him. His head, all bashed
in and brain showing, was covered in the stuff, smelling like
apples and cinnamon. Never will be able to smell that without
thinking of that boy.” Micah was quiet for a time; Howie let him
remember. Sometimes it was better to get things like this out, but
for some reason he thought neither of them would be the same for
hearing it. “They had raped the girl too. Not as bad or as often as
they had the mom. Probably saved her for last for some reason.
She’d been chained to the wall, her little body beaten and burned.
Her hair had been shaved from her head, all those curls laying on
the floor just covered in her blood and urine. The poor thing was
in the same room as her brother, and got to see what they did to
him every day they had them. I nearly…I didn’t even see her until
someone came in the room and she whimpered. Her eyes never left her
brother’s face the entire time we were cutting her down. Then with
broken legs and an arm, she crawled to him and curled around him,
screaming at the medics to leave him be. It was all we could do to
hold her down while they drugged her up to care for
them.”
The papers had had a month of it.
Someone had leaked some pictures of the parents’ bodies. Some of
them had pictures of the bodies as they were taken from the house,
the dark body bags telling a grim tale of what might have happened
inside that house. Then a few of the boy had come out, his broken
body lying on the gurney, bloody sheets and all.
The girl’s picture had never been in
the paper, and neither of the children’s names had been
mentioned…not in the paper nor in the court rooms where the dead
men had been tried. The police had killed all three of the
murdering pieces of shit, but the men had been found guilty. Most
didn’t think it was doing anyone a bit of good to know
that.
There had even been talk about the
young girl inviting the men into the house. That she’d been the
leader of them the entire time. Howie thought that most of the
world was sick, and that hadn’t changed his mind. The
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