Anger and Death: Tormented Souls Series Book 2

203 pages

Chapter 3:

Lindsey Cunningham often dreamed her children were in danger. It was a harsh reality of being a mother. More nights than she cared to remember were marked by her climbing out of the comfort of her bed to tread softly into the children's rooms to make certain they were well.

The first scream she heard snapped her out of sleep, leaving her lying on her back and staring at the ceiling while her heart was thrust into overdrive. She listened, wondering if she had dreamed the scream or if one of the kids was having a nightmare. Her ears were tuned for the horrific sound of vomiting or the slightly less disturbing cacophony of a child in the throes of a bad dream.

The terrified shriek and the loud slam which followed launched Lindsey out of bed. Despite her generally poor physical condition and the fact that she had been deep in REM sleep moments before, Lindsey sprinted from the side of her bed to the first bedroom, where Ben, the eldest boy, slept.

Except he wasn't asleep when she entered the room.

He was crawling toward her, his shirt torn in two and, as Lindsey watched, horrified, black welts rose up on his back. His eyes were wide as he screamed for her.

Lindsey ripped herself out of her state of shock, stepped into the room and froze as Ben was lifted from the floor and thrown at her. She managed to get her hands up to catch him, and the two of them collapsed onto the floor. A bitter breeze blew past them and a heartbeat later, Luke squealed in pure terror.

Lindsey heard Larry's sleep-drunk voice call out for quiet, then the noise finally registered and the entire second floor shook as he got out of bed. Larry exited the master bedroom a moment later, and he paused when he saw her on the floor with Ben, who lay weeping in her arms.

"Luke!" she screamed at Larry, and her husband lumbered down the hall, turning into the child's room. At the end of the hallway, their daughters, Pamela and Leia, peered out of their rooms, fear stamped on their faces.

A moment later, Larry was hurled out of the bedroom, his massive body slamming into the hallway's wall and knocking a pair of framed photographs down. Larry shook his head, regained his balance, and the door to Luke's room slammed shut.

The click of the lock was as loud and as frightening as a gunshot.

"No!" Larry roared, and he threw himself at the door. From Luke's room came a long, drawn-out howl, so filled with fear that Lindsey felt her flesh go cold.

Larry pounded on the door with both fists, then slammed his shoulder against it repeatedly. Lindsey got to her feet, pulled Ben to his and yelled, "Pamela!"

Her daughter looked at her with wide, shocked eyes.

"Pamela Melody Cunningham!" Lindsey bellowed. "Bring your sister here now!"

Pamela reacted instantly, snatching up Leia's hand and skirting around their father while Luke wept and pleaded for mercy from his room. A woman's laugh sang out, and Luke went silent beneath an onslaught of what sounded like vicious slaps. Pamela reached her, and Lindsey ordered, "Take your brother and sister downstairs to the kitchen. I want you to count to one hundred, if we aren't down by then, you get to Mrs. Labonte's house and you bang on that door until she lets you in. Do you understand?"

Pamela nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

"Go," Lindsey commanded and forced herself to release her children. Without looking back at them, she joined Larry. His face was red and glistening with sweat. Blood flecked his shoulders and his fists, and it had sprayed across the door as well, where splinters of wood had broken free and gouged his flesh. He was panting, a vein in his temple throbbing.

Lindsey put a hand on his arm and pushed him gently to one side. Her throat was dry, and her eyes were focused on the door to Luke's room as her heart continued to race. The sound of slapping continued, and for the first time, she heard Luke's young, innocent voice whispering and begging the unknown assailant to stop.

Lindsey reached out, grasped the doorknob and twisted it until she felt the metal fight her. With a snarl of rage and the strength of a mother fighting for her children, she broke the doorknob completely to the left and felt the lock fall away. The door swung open, and the sound of slapping stopped.

Luke lay on the floor, his pajamas torn from him and lying in a heap near the bed. The boy was curled in a fetal position, shaking. Black welts, identical to those she had seen on Ben's body, covered her youngest son.

As she approached him, Luke looked up at her with wide, pain-filled eyes and whispered, "Why, Mommy?"

Lindsey sobbed and had no answer to give.

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