Читать книгу Journey of a Cotton Blossom - Jennifer Crocker-Villegas - Страница 16

9

The Great Escape

It had been about an hour since Mr. Kingsley had brutally beaten Joseph, who was still experiencing the unpleasant sensation of stinging and burning throughout his body. His clothes were ripped and stained with blood from the thrashing. He was leaving this shell of a home; it was time for him to fly. He was going to wait until Mr. Kingsley passed out from all the whiskey he had been knocking back all afternoon. After the immense amount of energy he had expended beating Joseph, he was surely due for a nap.

Joseph snuck into the living room, where Mr. Kingsley lay. He had finally passed out on the couch. Joseph was positive Mr. Kingsley was fast asleep because of the obnoxiously loud snoring coming from his gaping mouth. His fat, whiskey-filled belly was sucking in and swelling out, resembling that of a hippopotamus. Everyone knew this was not an animal to piss off.

Mr. Kingsley had gifted the couch pillow with a small puddle under his gaping mouth from his incessant drooling. He tended to drool a lot when he took alcohol-induced naps. Mrs. Kingsley would have had a fit because these were the nice pillows, not fit for him to lay his drooling, sweaty face on. Everyone knew that would ruin silk.

Joseph looked around to ensure Mrs. Kingsley was nowhere to be found. Earlier in the day, she had gone out with the church ladies for lunch. She would surely be gone a while because there was a whole lot of gossip to catch up on around town. Good gossip was hard to resist.

This was the perfect opportunity for Joseph to make his escape. All the excitement and fear of the unknown nauseated him. His rough hands were shaking, and everything looked a little hazy—surreal, even. He tried to stay in the present and keep it together. He rushed to his closet and grabbed a brown duffel bag that he had packed months before. He had been waiting for the right moment. Each night before bed, he would add and remove things from the bag, keeping it current and always changing his mind about what to take. He had a few summer clothes, a few winter clothes, the first aid kit he had cobbled together, an old canteen filled with water, and his cash, safely secured in the cigar box. The time was coming soon, so that week, he had collected some rolls from the dinner table along with several apples and two handfuls of dehydrated deer meat. That should do just fine for his journey.

Joseph had also packed a small teddy bear Berta had given him when he was a baby. It was a little worn and missing an eye, but it made him feel comforted and safe. He still slept with this bear even though he was fourteen, but he would not dare tell a soul that.

Joseph threw his brown duffel bag over his shoulder and crept his way down the stairs, his heart beating immensely faster with each step. If he were caught, the beating he’d receive would be like nothing he had ever experienced. He might not ever have another opportunity to escape this place. It was easy to get trapped but hard as hell to escape.

He could still hear Mr. Kingsley sucking in the walls with his snoring. The stairs creaking sounded like an orchestra striking up. Each creak sent chills up his spine. Once he finally made it to the end of the stairs, which seemed like an eternity to him, he peered around the corner, looking for Mrs. Kingsley. He did not see her, and he had not heard her car pull up. With their rocky driveway, he could hear a car slinging rocks the second it turned into the drive.

Joseph crept past the living room, where he could see the couch Mr. Kingsley was consuming. Joseph ever so gently slipped past him and into the foyer. The front door was within a few feet. He was trying with all his might not break into a full run, which was what his mind was screaming at him: “Run!” He knew that if he ran, it would surely wake the sleeping drunk. So tiptoe he did.

He finally reached the door. With his hand shaking uncontrollably, he reached up and turned the knob. When he started to pull the door open, it let out a loud, piercing scream. He froze, waiting for a reaction. His face flushed, and his heart felt like it was about to explode. There was nothing. No movement.

“Oh, thank God,” he whispered to himself.

He slipped out the door, made his way down the porch steps, and then stopped and looked around, ensuring the coast was clear. It was, so Joseph took off running down the gravel driveway. Freedom! he screamed inside. He was not yet far enough away from the house to be completely safe, but, boy, it sure felt good. He was finally off to find his real mother.

Joseph had been walking several miles on this old dirt road to freedom when he heard the most awful sound he could think of.

“Joseph Kingsley, what in the hell do you think you are doing?”

He was frozen in fear; he knew that voice even better than his own. He slowly turned his head to reveal the nightmare he knew to be true. It was Mrs. Kingsley, finally returning from her lunch. A thousand things flew through his head too fast for him to process.

All of a sudden, Joseph felt a warm sensation over his body: a courage; an anger. It was an adrenaline he had never felt before. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs: “Joseph Dove! My name is Joseph Dove!”

He turned and continued to walk away down the dirt road. Mrs. Kingsley was dumbfounded and had no response. She had seen the fire in his eyes and was a bit scared of the anger she saw in him. Last time she saw this kind of rebellion and anger had been with Berta—dear, sweet Berta.

When Joseph turned to walk off, he felt shock and pride. Mrs. Kingsley watched him walk away in her rearview mirror, and the strangest thing happened. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. It fell down her face, leaving a streak of white where it washed away the makeup. It had all happened so suddenly, before she could stop it. Somewhere along the way, through all the hate and mistreatment she had forced upon him for fourteen years, she had grown fond of having him in the house. Now she feared she would be in the house all alone. She knew Mr. Kingsley was never there, even when he was physically in the house.

Mrs. Kingsley quickly swiped her hand across her cheek, wiping away the only sign of humanity within her. She then drove off, never looking back. Somewhere deep down, she actually felt some sense of care and love for the boy. Or maybe it was just sheer self-loathing.