Things were great for the first six years of her life. Paige and her parents lived in a modest two-story colonial in a modest neighborhood. Her father was up for partner and both her and her mom were excited for him. They had met his opponent, Humphrey Jinsberg, and decided that even though he was very charismatic, her dad was the better candidate. In less than a week after they met him, Mr. Jinsberg was shot point blank in the garage as he left work late one night. Allegations were that his death was revenge by a convict he had helped put away, but perhaps it had more to do with the conversation Paige had overheard between her father and Pete Thornbury, an ex-con who her dad helped set free.
“How soon do you think you can get this done?” her father asked, tensely.
He must have responded unfavorably because she heard her father growl in a voice she could not identify with, “Pete, I need Jinsberg dead and the sooner the better. Need I remind you that you owe me a favor?” With that he slammed the phone down and muttered under his breath, “Son of a bitch.”
Needless to say, Carl Pendergast made partner. In that same week his second daughter, Shana, was born.
Her sister was only a few days old when her father’s aggression started to surface. She knew he was a large man but the fear he was driving into their lives made him seem more monstrous. It was like their home had been transformed into a courtroom where he intimated and threatened except he was also slapping his wife around. His wife took a blow for everything, even things that had nothing to do with her.
“’Cilla, where are my keys?”
“You left them on the kitchen counter, hon.”
“Well, they aren’t there anymore! And I’m running late! I need my damn keys!”
He glanced over at her rocking the baby to sleep and for no apparent reason grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her up from the sofa.
“Woman, you need to get your ass up and help me look for my keys!” he said between clenched teeth.
Paige started to cry. She had never seen him like this. Who was this man? Her father would never hurt her mother. He loved her. He loved his family.
“Paige, go to your room.” He seemed ashamed, contrite even, that she had seen him treat her mother this way. Obediently, but quite confused she went to her room and closed her door. She heard her mother yelp but she dared not look to see why. She was too frightened.
“Paige, let’s go!”
It was as though what he had done was the norm. Carl was his old self again as he drove his daughter to school. Paige did notice the bruise on her mother’s arm and the sadness in her eyes as she waved goodbye. She was silent during the ride to school. She had so many questions but this man who had replaced her dad was unpredictable.
Her father’s temper grew wilder over the years. The girls were spared his wrath but their mother felt his full fury. Had it not been for the black eyes and the bruises, one would never suspect that she was abused. Priscilla was the most kind-hearted and forgiving person one would ever meet. She tried unsuccessfully to hide her sadness from her kids. Paige’s intuition was way too keen and over the years her inability to help her mother forced her into withdrawal. She had never actually witnessed an episode of the abuse until one Friday night when her father came home with an unfounded accusation.
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Well done--I thought you weren't writing this story any more? It's up to you, but it does seem quite complex thus far. I also suspect it's going to be tricky getting all these flashbacks to work (starting with finding the body, then back to the scene we read last week, now this one), though perhaps I just haven't yet a clear sense of the plot. Hopefully you do--flashbacks can be tricky because of the way that they can deflate a readers sense of urgency. That is, the reader feels like they're moving away from, rather than toward, the action. That said, I think they're great and see that this could work quite well.
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