Chapter 11

Shana was a shy country girl from Pensacola and my roommate at Creep Home. If we hadn’t been forced together, I’d probably never have known her. She wore her blond hair in pigtails, watched Hee Haw, and had never even heard of Talking Heads. We were from different planets, but she was a nice kid and nice was hard to come by so we ignored the differences and ended up friends. I liked knowing at least one other sane person in that place.

Shana and I had one thing in common, abusive fathers. After a lifetime of bruises and broken bones, Shana decided suicide was her only way out. When her parents discovered their fragile little girl lying in the tub with wrists slashed, they called the doctor and had her admitted.

Shana and I hung out for two years. Six months older, she got out before I did and headed back home. Her parents were dead, so she inherited the farm, met a man, and was married within a few months. Shana sounded happy, but I was skeptical. When I got out, I decided to check in on her before moving on. To my surprise, Frank seemed like the perfect husband. He had charm and southern hospitality, I was happy for my friend. Then one night, while we were drinking and playing cards, Frank hit Shana for overcooking his dinner.

I sat there for a while before slowly walking up to my room. Shana followed and apologized for him, making excuses, sounding just like Sally. Finally, she broke down, begged me to help her escape and start over again.

I packed her bags and we took a taxi to the bus stop. Within five minutes, Frank pulled up. He grabbed Shana and told me not to come near them again. As he dragged her out of there, kicking and screaming, not one person stepped up to help; no one even called the police.

Sitting in an all-night diner alone, I felt useless and weak. Shana had been my confidant, my closest friend for almost two years and I felt powerless to help her. I stayed away for a few days and made sure Frank was at his regular bowling night before going back.

Shana looked horrible.

She was beaten worse than anything I’d ever seen. It looked like a wild dog had attacked her. Frank had gotten her home from the bus station and almost killed her. He burned her breasts with cigarettes and whipped her entire body, including her face. Afterwards, he raped her so brutally that she could barely walk around the house. He told her that if she ever tried to leave him again, he would pump her full of bullets and then kill himself. Shana was petrified and almost hysterical, trying to get me out of the house in case Frank came home early.

After she calmed down, I held her hand and let her cry it out. Neither of us knew what to do. She didn’t want to see a doctor and had been cleaning her wounds with nothing more than Neosporin and rubbing alcohol, sitting on an ice pack to lessen the swelling. While helping her to the bathroom, I saw thick welts all up her legs and freaked out. Shana assured me that she’d be fine and I realized she was an old pro. Frank had done this to her dozens of times, she finally admitted, and she always healed within a few weeks.

As I listened to the details of her life, especially the rapes that tore at her vagina and spirit, I came up with a plan.

I ordered Shana to stay in bed for a few weeks. Frank was predictable, she told me. He’d nurse her back to health, apologize, and stay away from booze for a while. Then Shana would leave for Bingo one night and when she came home, Frank would be drunk and passed out. After that, things always returned to normal.

Frank’s consistency made things easy. After a few weeks, Shana looked like her old self and only walked with a slight limp. The afternoon of the big day, Shana and I took care of everything while Frank was at work. Shana gathered all of her jewelry and silverware while I gathered tools from Frank’s shed and finalized arrangements in my head.

“Tomorrow night I want you to go to Bingo like everything’s normal,” I said. “Put your valuables in a bag under your bed and leave this gin out where Frank can see it. Don’t think about anything except your game. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“No matter who comes around asking questions, don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me since you left Creep Home. You don’t know where the hell I am; do you understand me? Don’t ever tell anyone that Frank was beating you. Be ashamed of this whole situation, Shana. It’s not something you should ever talk about. Besides, the cops will paint you as some crazy wife who was out to get her beatin’, cheatin’ husband and you’ll be locked up forever.

“Don’t try to contact me after tomorrow. Forget about me and forget about Frank. Start over and make something out of yourself or I’ll come back and get you. Am I making myself clear? Never betray my trust or our friendship will be over. Do you know what that means?”
Shana nodded.

“What I’m about to do to Frank and what I did to Bernard will pale in comparison to what I’ll do to you if you ever sell me out.”

“You’re the only sister I ever had." Tears fell down her cheeks.

I left without saying another word.

The following evening I went over to the house and could hear The Oak Ridge Boys from Frank’s stereo at least a half-mile from their front porch. Frank’s eyes popped out of his head when he saw me. He took one look at my shorts and tight t-shirt and forgot everything else. The gin bottle was empty so we started drinking beer. By that time, I knew beer had little effect on me and it didn’t take long to out-drink him. After an hour, maybe not even that long, he passed out on the table and started to snore.

I pushed him off the chair and onto the floor. I thought about slitting his throat, but stopped myself. I went over to the stereo and punched the off button with my fist. I couldn’t hear myself think with Frank’s country music blasting through the house.

I ran upstairs and retrieved the bag of goodies that Shana left under her bed. It was meant to look like a fumbled robbery; so I threw some furniture around in case the authorities made it there before the whole house was wasted. I grabbed the tools and went back downstairs.

Frank was still out cold. I dragged him to the beam in the foyer and cut off his clothes with a pair of scissors from my bag. All of his clothes came off, even his underwear, and I struggled to tie both his legs and arms to the beam with twine. As I finished another can of beer, I noticed Shana’s tape collection and Heart’s Little Queen caught my eye. I popped it in. The first song, Barracuda, came on and filled the house with energy and excitement.

I’ve always loved a soundtrack.

As Frank hung there looking ridiculous, I soaked the house with gasoline. Upstairs and down, I didn’t miss a room. Afterward, there was a trail of gas through the house leading to the bottom of Frank’s feet. I threw the duffel and jewelry bags outside on the front lawn and walked back inside, lighting another cigarette and feeling the fire that wanted to begin around me.

Frank stirred when I touched his penis. I fondled him for a moment and smiled. Then I pierced his penis with a nail and hammered him into the beam.

He screamed like a bitch in a horror film.

I thought about the way he raped Shana and nailed that sucker in tight. I wanted to make his pain and suffering last for weeks. The screaming excited me more than the music.

Snot came out of nose, tears poured from his eyes and he sweat profusely. While Frank squirmed from what must have been excruciating pain, I cut the rope around his arms and legs. I grabbed his head and made him pay attention. “Cut off your cock and walk away. Or stay here and burn.”

I kissed his forehead, put the knife in his hand and flung my cigarette into the gasoline-soaked living room.

The fire started as I shut the screen door and walked outside. Frank’s screams were louder than the music, yet I could still hear Ann Wilson singing and hummed along as I climbed the tree in their front yard. Frank’s gun came out of my pocket and I aimed it at the front door in case he ran out with a severed dick in his hands. My plan was to shoot him in the head and drag him back to the fire.

Maybe he never heard me, maybe he dropped the knife or maybe he couldn’t part with his penis. Either way he stayed and burned beyond all recognition.

After his screams stopped, I hopped down from the tree and looked up at the flames circling the sky. The black smoke and dancing red sparks put on a beautiful show.

Shana was free.