Faden Read online

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  Fictionwise

  www.gate-way-publishers.com

  Copyright ©2003 by Johnny Stewart

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER I

  Faden sat crouched in the corner of the dark closet trying hard to fight the icy fingers of fear that clutched so unmercifully at his heart. He found it extremely difficult to do even that most basic of all things in life ... to breathe! Tears of shame coursed through the dust on his cheeks, pooling on the front of his shirt, as the stain spread from the crotch of his pants onto the linoleum between his legs. He had tried valiantly to hold, and then stem the flow of hot urine, but it was just not to be. The furry thing that had scampered across his foot, taking the time to nibble at the nail of his little toe had caused him to void his bladder.

  There was an audible clicking noise and the odor of burnt ozone coming from the circuit breaker box located on the wall behind his left shoulder. The clicking would occur whenever one of the major appliances of the household was turned on. Although Faden was mature for a boy of ten years of age, he was also cursed with an overactive imagination, and therefore a scenario began to take shape in his mind.

  If he were to plunge his fingers into the electrical box while sitting in a pool of piss, would it not electrocute him? And wouldn't this release him from abusive bonds of his evil stepfather forever. Wouldn't his mother grieve for him, and in her grief not come to realize how vile and cruel this man was that she had married?

  Perhaps it would be all for naught and he would have died in vain. His mother had always been so wise in the past, so why couldn't she realize the mistake she was making now?

  These were just a few of the thoughts that ran through his mind as he sat there. Faden wasn't worried so much about his own welfare, but fretted endlessly over his mother. She had had to endure the loss of his father to a freak drowning accident, which was rather suspicious in nature. Rumor had it that the very man, to whom she was now married, had been instrumental in the death. Supposedly, it had been because of a “Dare” on his part, which led to his father attempting to run the trotline stretched across the flood-ravaged water of the Red River.

  True, as many had witnessed, he had made a futile attempt to rescue the man after he had become ensnared on one of the several fishhooks. Many were to wonder later why he hadn't simply cut loose one end of the line, thereby allowing the current of the river to swing hook, line, and man to the safety of the shore, but then hindsight is 20-20. Faden didn't accept the excuse of ignorance on Ben's part, but felt then as he did now, that there had been a deeper motive behind the doomed rescue.

  His mother had then lost her father in an automobile accident six months later, and she and Faden had made do on their own. It had saddened Faden to no end to watch his mother's suffering. He had done all he could do to ease his sole surviving parent's pain, but there is a limit to what an eight-year-old boy can accomplish. Finally, friends, family, and well-wishers had convinced her to marry Ben, after a respectable amount of time had elapsed. After all, didn't Faden need a role model, and was he not the Minister of the Church of Higher Power?

  The first few months of the marriage had been somewhat bearable for Faden, but then the abuse had begun. The actual physical mistreatment had come to a halt when Faden's mother had threatened a scandal if the abuse didn't stop. What would his parishioners think if they knew their Minister didn't practice what he preached? Ben had promised to stop hitting the boy, and had been true to his word. The mental abuse that ensued was far worse as Faden was to learn. Faden just couldn't do anything to suit him. For such an intelligent boy his ego was at an all time low and therefore his school grades began to suffer. It was after his mother started back to work that all hell broke loose in their tentative household. Ben had discovered Faden's one major weakness...

  CLAUSTROPHOBIA...

  For a man who dealt in fear this was simply too good to be left unexploited. Faden's closet episodes had taken form, and had surpassed all Ben's expectations. He would lock Faden up for some trumped-up imaginary wrongdoing, and keep him there until shortly before his mothers return from work.

  "Trick or treat,

  Smell my feet,

  Little kids are good to eat!"

  Faden endured these atrocities because he believed that the real reason his mother had returned to work was to earn enough money so that they may be allowed to leave this monster.

  There was very little light filtering in through the one-inch crack at the bottom of the closet door, but it was enough for Faden to catch and reflect propagating waves of illumination onto the walls of his imposed prison. The pocket watch that his grandfather bequeathed him, which he was never without, was his salvation during these trying times. The shiny brass back of the watch was the source of his light refraction, and he cherished it above all his worldly possessions. He kept it on a chain around his neck, and it was the one thing that absolutely no one was ever going to take away from him. He would valiantly fight to the death before surrendering this object of his youthful obsession.

  He didn't know how long he had been in the closet on this particular occasion. Time had a way of dragging its feet during these ordeals, but then it really didn't matter anyway. He would be in here until shortly before his mother got off work. Ben always made sure Faden was bathed and involved with his homework when she walked through the door.

  It wasn't only the darkness that bothered him so much, but the moving walls were something else entirely. He knew that walls secured to the floor with #16 penny nails weren't suppose to move, but his imagination told him different. He could sense the walls closing in on him, putting additional pressure on his shoulders and back. The walls had to be shifting inwardly because he sure-as-heck wasn't growing any larger sitting there pissing and crying all over the place. One day, he didn't know exactly when, but one day, never-the-less, they were going to find him crushed as flat as one of those cartoon characters that run into the rock bluffs on the television set. Whose ass was going to be the blackest then?

  Faden was jarred from his musings by the sound of his mother's angry voice. By the tone he knew she was really giving Ben what-for. This was one time that he wasn't going to be able to lie his way out. Faden hadn't told his mother about these latest treks into Hell because he didn't want to cause her additional grief. She didn't need that sort of thing heaped on her shoulders right now. He planned to tell her eventually, once they were free of Ben, but from all the signs the cat was out of the bag. Yes siree, Bob, he was damned glad that the jig was up. Now he and his mother could make a new life for themselves somewhere far away from this monster. Things were certainly looking up! No siree, nothing could rain on his parade now. Nothing could goooooooo...


  WRONG!!!!!!!

  Faden heard the all too familiar meaty thuds of a fist striking flesh. An involuntary shudder ran up and down his spine. The physical abuse had ended for him, but not for his mother. In this day and time, in Small-Town, Oklahoma, a woman being “reprimanded” by her husband (while not well thought of) was still socially accepted and considered a problem for the family to solve. As long as it didn't go to extremes, outsiders would generally look the other way and mind their own business.

  Faden heard his mother scream, and felt the floor tremble, as what he imagined was her body, fell. There was a crashing sound as some sort of furniture, or perhaps an appliance toppled, then the shattering of glass.

  Faden's hands encountered a sticky substance flowing in through the crack at the bottom of the door. He absent-mindedly squished it around between his thumb and forefinger. He brought his fingers tentatively to his mouth, and with a flick of his tongue his sense of taste registered saltiness and something else that eluded him. He somehow intuitively knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was sampling the blood of the woman who had given him life.

  It was the year of our Lord, 1964. The Ford Mustang was on the assembly line, and the Beatles had yet to make their British Invasion of the United States. President Kennedy had been assassinated the year before and the world was still reeling in shock. But in Beaver Point, the county seat of Jefferson County, Oklahoma ... the most scandalous trial in the history of this small peaceful town was about to begin.

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  The defense attorney asked, “You didn't actually see the defendant strike the deceased with the lamp, did you?"

  "No."

  "As a matter of fact, by your own admission, you didn't see anything that transpired, did you?"

  "No, but..."

  "Just answer the question, yes, or, no!"

  Faden squirmed in the witness stand. The district attorney had forewarned him that this very thing was likely to happen. Faden had pleaded to be heard at the trial. The Judge had finally relented, and had overruled the objections of the attorney for the defense. He had allowed the testimony of the boy.

  On re-cross by the D.A., Faden was given the opportunity to relate what he knew to be factual and true. He was asked to describe the events leading up to that fateful day. He told what it was like to live in the same household with the cruel monster. In his own words, and without interruption, he stated, “At first, it wasn't all that bad. True, you had to forget everything you had ever been taught in life and accept his teachings as the ONE TRUE WAY! If you failed to do this, then there would be hell to pay. Severe punishment is his cup of tea. I believe he enjoys watching other's suffering. No pain, no gain is his motto; he lives to cause a lot of it. Every breath taken and everything you do has to be for the good of the church, which is the same thing as being for him. All the money earned by my mother, or me had to be immediately turned over to this devil known as Ben. I failed to do so once and he held the tip of my finger to the stone of an electric grinder.” Faden then held up his hand, displaying for the Jury, his amputated fingertip. The jury gasped, the defense objected, but the judge instructed Faden to continue.

  "I never told anyone until just now what had really happened to my finger. He said he would do my mom bodily harm if I so much as hinted to the truth of the matter, so I told everyone that it had been an accident. I guess my mother must have had her suspicions because that was when they had their first really big fight. I don't know exactly what she said to the monstrous bastard, nor he to her, but I do know that he never touched me again. That ungodly snake beat my mother ... though ... she would claim to have fallen, or some such excuse, but anyone who knows my mom knows that she isssss...” Tears welled and flowed shamelessly from his eyes, “was ... very graceful, and didn't have a clumsy bone in her body. I am the clumsy one of the family.

  "Neither my mother nor I were ever allowed to have any friends over, nor could I ever go anywhere except on church business. I was often sent to bed without supper so that my soul might be cleansed of its vileness and filth. Ben then became aware of my fear of closed-in places, and therefore he started locking me in the closet where I was found on the day of my mother's death.

  I heard him and my mother arguing, and then I believe I heard hit her. He then struck her with the glass lamp. I do not honestly know whether he actually meant to kill her, or not, but I do know that he did! It was when I saw the closet doorknob turning that I began to scream. I believed at the time that it was just plain good luck that brought Sheriff McClure to our door at that precise moment. He heard my screams of terror and it was he who saved my life, for I know in my heart that, the demented son of a bitch, was a-fixin’ to kill me, also. I am saddened that no one in this town stopped him before it was too late, but I don't blame anyone because he also fooled the one person I respected and admired above all others ... my mother!"

  The defense won out over Faden's testimony and it was stricken from the record (they claimed he had been coached by the DA), but the damage was already done. The jury took less than an hour to return with a verdict of guilty on the charge of first-degree manslaughter.

  The judge declared, “Mr. Roachman, it saddens me to no end that I can only sentence you to five years in the penitentiary, when what I really would like to see is you a-swingin’ from the end of a frayed rope. I would also like to say that I, like many other of the local Red River fishermen, believe you to be responsible for the death of Ted Casteel. In my opinion, you're lower than a diamondbacks belly, and a conniving sum-bitch.

  And as for any of you bleeding-heart liberals out there in those seats, I'd like to announce that this is the last case I will ever officiate over, as I am retiring. I won't be able to sleep so good at night knowing that a scum bucket like Roachman will soon be walking the streets with decent people. He has killed, and he has duped so many of you out of your meager savings. He has shaken to the very core, my belief in men of the cloth. Bailiff, get that low-life turd out of my sight afore I shoot him with my .44!"

  The judge made a movement to reach inside his robe to where the bailiff knew him to keep a .44 caliber pistol, and he hastened Ben Roachman out of the courtroom. Ben allowed himself to be led out, all the while proclaiming his innocence in one breath and threatening vengeance against Faden in the next.

  Faden was turned over to the McClure family, and for all intents and purposes was raised as their very own. He and their natural born son, Dewayne, were like brothers. Faden became somewhat of a loner, despite all their efforts. They could only figure it came from having to deal with so much tragedy at such an early age. He never gave them any trouble, and would later comment on how well they treated him. It was against their wishes when he enlisted in the U.S. Army at the age of seventeen, but due to his urgings they signed for him anyway.

  The date of his mother's death would haunt him for the rest of his life. June sixteenth, 1964, would always be a black day, but for some reason or the other, he couldn't help but feel that some good had happened somewhere.

  Upon returning home, via Vietnam, Faden did indeed become a loner. With what money he had saved in the army, and a trust fund that had been set up by his mother's insurance company he was able to purchase one hundred and forty acres of not so good land on the Red River plain. His property was surrounded on three sides by a loop of the river. It fronted on some land that was owned by a holding company based in Dallas. It was at the furthermost West end of his land that he chose to erect his cabin. This had him situated in the least accessible spot of his one hundred forty acres. Folks would wonder about him as folks are wont to do, but the few who did approach him, knew his history and understood his desire to be left alone. He was never outwardly rude, and was deemed unsociable, but harmless.

  There were three striking peculiarities about Faden that anyone who paid him any mind noticed right off the bat—his fondness for the pocket watch given to him by his grandfather; his penchant for sitting on the front porch, hours on end, staring to
the southeast as if watching for a sign; and his obsession with the entertainment sensation of 1975.

  She was an eleven-year-old Rock and Roll singer from Oscar, Oklahoma—a small community some thirty-five miles to the Southeast of his place. He would buy every single article about her the minute it came out. He would as soon gnaw off his own arm as not to be at Zimmerman's Drugstore the very moment one of her new albums came in.

  Sheriff Dewayne McClure was once heard making the remark that he wouldn't be spending any more time with Faden, as he was sick to death of hearing that girl's records over and over. It was all that Faden ever listened to.

  So Faden very rarely came to town, needing only the bare essentials. He had an excellent garden behind his cabin, and raised his own poultry, beef and pork. Deer, turkey, squirrel, quail, dove, rabbit and wild boars ran wild on his place. There were also fish of many species his for the taking out of the river. All in all, for Faden at least, life was good.

  CHAPTER II

  Ben Roachman was born on the fourth day of June, 1935, in Fort Worth, Texas. He was the son of a stump-jumping backwoods evangelist. Religious fanaticism ran rampant throughout the Roachman clan, reaching back to their roots in Tennessee. Sins against God (and even more importantly, against Old Man Roachman) were punishable by various parts of the anatomy being subjected to the moral healing powers of scalding hot water. By the time little Ben was six years old, his feet were roughly the color and texture of a boiled lobster.

  This malady was always being administered to young Ben due to the fact that a meaner, nastier, more belligerent child had never been born of mortal parents. A lot of bleeding hearts believe, and rightly so, that a child's behavior and development is dependent on said child's environment and conditioning.

  Not so in Ben's case!

  He was rotten to the core. A bad seed by birth, the boy was pure evil incarnate, plain and simple. He stood absolutely no chance of recovering from this affliction, nor did he desire to. Not to be confused with a mere problem child, Ben was sadistic! From the time he was old enough to get his hands, with their chubby little fingers, around the throats of frogs, snakes and small birds, he became an incurable strangler. When he grew older and his hands became larger he graduated to cats and dogs. Anytime the traveling Roachman Revival came to town, you could bet your bottom dollar there would be local children, minus household pets, crying their eyes out when they left.