Memories of Blood (eBook)

TEN YEARS PAST

CHAPTER 1

First the snap in the air and then the crack of the thin piece of leather which sliced open another ribbon of flesh as if it were a tender piece of beef. Blood dripped from the tattered flesh and mingled with dirt, cloth and leaking fluids all across the boy’s back. He did not cry out, did not whimper, did not even flinch as the whistle of air foretold another excruciating bite of the bullwhip. His fingers were gradually slipping from the splintered post. Only his broken nails, still embedded in the wood, revealed the strength of his grip.

The whip flicked upwards in a graceful dance before it twisted like an angry serpent and screamed downward again, biting into the ragged flesh. The sound of it hitting the boy’s body was like the pop of a firecracker followed by the soft plunk of wetness as skin parted. A heavy smell of urine filled the air as he lost bladder control. The only movement from the prone and bloodied boy was his arms slipping off the post to the ground.

The man releasing this violence on the boy stood heaving, his uncut, matted beard speckled with the child’s blood. His eyes were wild, slate grey orbs and were bloodshot, lost in deep wrinkles. His bulbous nose, red and veined from the alcohol he ingested almost intravenously, ran freely into the hair on his upper lip. He wiped his dusty arm across his snotty nose and then raised the whip again.

“I’m just going to have to kill you to get her out of my head, you murderer,” he mumbled, spit dribbling off his lip. He raised the whip and snapped a quick release, his arm too tired to draw it above his head. Another strip of skin was filleted off the boy’s back.

He turned as he heard the barn door slide open. In the shadows, he knew his daughter had arrived to try and save the day. He listened as she approached cautiously, and callously lifted the whip to strike again so she could see his dedication to killing this demon in his life. Just as he snapped it forward, she caught his wrist and the piece of leather was deflected from the child.

“No!” The girl held the handle to the bullwhip. “No more, Dad! You will kill him!”

“That’s my aim. So just get out of my way Meadow, before I start putting this horse leather to your backside.” He shook off her grip as if it was just a circling, pesky fly.

Meadow braced herself over her prostrate brother, and in front of her drunk father. She crossed her slim arms just below her ample breasts and shook her straight brown hair. “No Dad! No more!”

Her father growled like a bear and charged at his daughter, shoving her hard toward the dirt floor. “Get out of my way you little dick magnet, or I’m going to whip you next for coming on to that Simmons boy.”

Meadow slowly sat up, shaking the straw and dust from her hair. How had her dad found out about Pete Simmons? She brushed her arm across her eyes to refocus her thoughts on her brother. He had not moved since she had entered the barn and blood was pooling all around his inert body. His back looked like a meat cutter had started making slices of ham stopping only as it reached each vertebrae. She could not even tell if he was alive, so still he lay. Meadow looked up as her father raised the whip again. Her eyes scattered in all directions in search of something to take him down. Just put him out, until he wasn’t drunk. In the back corner of the barn she saw a grain shovel and scooted back toward it like a crab racing across a dry sandy beach. Grabbing the handle, Meadow stood and walked directly at her father. She raised it like a baseball bat and just as the whip was at it’s highest arc, she brought down the shovel with all her strength. The scoop landed hard on his upper shoulder blade and back of his head, bouncing upward with the force of the strike. The reverberations sent shock waves through Meadow’s arms and she staggered backwards, the shovel slipping from her numb fingers.

Her father dropped forward like a tree felled in the forest. He didn’t move. Hitching an anxious breath, Meadow knelt down next to him and placed her hand over his nose and mouth. He was still breathing. She squatted back and turned to look at her brother. Now what ...?

Tangled hair was swiped back with her shaking arm as she stared at her brother. Her father had hurt him bad this time. She couldn’t even count the strips of tattered flesh that lay open and weeping blood.

For the last several months Meadow had realized that her dad’s anger was exploding outward as he drank harder and harder. It was all directed at her brother, Chase, for killing their mom. It had been an accident but no matter, Chase had become Dad’s demon. And if she did not do something, he would kill her 9 year old brother. She had to get her brother away...tonight.

Meadow leaned forward and gently pushed a lock of black hair from Chase’s face. Her brother’s breathing was short and shallow and his color was very pale. She only knew one person who could help her and he was three hours away. It was going to be a long, long night.

Chase felt nothing. The pain had long ago disappeared into a fog of emptiness. His hands had fallen off the beam he had been told to hold on to and he lay prone on the dirt floor, his face smashed into the musty hay and dust. Clenching fists of dirt, Chase pressed his face deeper into the dirt, as if he was becoming part of the earth itself.

Breathe in...dust entered his nose and mouth...breathe out...dust blew out in little whirls. He felt soft, free, floating. There was no pain, no light...nothing. He pushed his face harder into the dirt, his breathing slowing even more. More dirt into his nose and mouth...musty...loamy...it smelled ancient.

Staring forward through his closed eyes, he wondered about the flickering light in the middle of his screen of sight. Pushing deeper into the ancient earth, the light became brighter. Flickering, crackling, moving light. A fire...and a man.

“Who are you?” Chase asks in his mind. His mouth was filled with dirt and hay and could not move or speak, but he knew the elderly man had heard him. The ancient’s head lifted upwards and nodded at him in the firelight.

“You do not belong here.”

“Who are you?” he questioned again. The garb of this ancient man is old and outdated. His regalia, that of a chieftain of a tribe of Native Americans long since extinct from the plains of America. He wears a full war bonnet, that drapes feathers and bones across his shoulders and chest. His face is painted with whorls and lines of red and yellow ochre. He looks exactly like a full-blooded chieftain readying for war. And yet, Chase does not fear him for some reason, he is only curious.

“It is not your time to be in this spirit world, young wolf.”

“I’m just dreaming and escaping my father’s whip,” the boy’s mind speaks.

“No Chasing Wolf, you are nearing the edge of my world, not yours. You must go back now, it is not your time. You are of your mother’s spirit and have her sight. You must learn to use this gift of seeing. It will help you, hurt you, drown you at times, but you can also use it to help others, too. You must be molded and your grandfather in the mountains can teach you how to use and accept this gift. Go! Go back! Meadow will help you.”

“What are you talking about?“ the boy questioned the elder. “I like it here...it’s quiet, safe...so safe.”

“NO!” the man shouted and whipped his wild mane of grey hair forward causing the fire to billow high into the air.

Chase jumped back and suddenly feared this man’s anger. He felt tugging on his arm and then his name being called. Slowly he started to turn and head back into the darkness, but before he disappeared, he heard the ancient Indian speak

“Sight is how people live and die...it is what will destroy you if you do not learn to use it...a gift of power that can hurt...be careful my son of many colored hearts. They can reach into yours and love you or destroy you.”

Chase looked back toward the voice, but it was completely dark. It was as if a black hole had evolved and then just as quickly become extinct. What had the Indian been talking about? How had his mother given him sight? Was it all just a hallucination and part of the nightmare that was his life? He shivered violently and felt himself traveling back toward life, toward the searing pain that wracked his body. The trip from peace to pain was so quick, he could only moan and cry out as the dirt, the barn, the whip, his sister, all came back into focus.

“I thought I had lost you, Chase,” his sister cried, tears streaking her face.

“I met an Indian chief,” he whispered quietly, his voice subdued by dryness and dirt. He didn’t try to spit out the dirt, though. It was caught in his teeth, under his tongue, around his gums, and it had brought a peace and a serenity to his soul, that he had not felt in a very long time. He gradually wet it with his spit and let it plaster the inside of his mouth, like the first coat of paint to a masterpiece.

Meadow frowned at her brother’s statement and then gently shook her head. “We have to get you out of here, Chase. Dad is going to kill you, if you stay here.”

“Take me to Grandfather, “ he whispered

Meadow frowned in confusion. She took a damp bandana and squeezed drops of water into her brother’s mouth as she spoke. “Why’d you say that, Chase? You don’t even know Grandfather. I think he would be good for you, though. I know he can heal your wounds and teach you not only book learning, but hunting skills...