"Hush, Baby"
by W. Emily Harris Cover Art by author and artist, Jacqueline Druga-Marchetti
Copyright ©2003
ISBN: 0-87714-824-4 eBook edition
ISBN: 0-87714-311-0 PB edition
All rights reserved by Denlinger's Publishers, including the right to reproduce this electronic book, or portions thereof, in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
DEDICATION
Dedicated to the memory of Wilma E, my mentor, my support, my mother.
THE AUTHOR
W. Emily Harris is a 43-year-old author and mother. She has been writing since she was twelve, but spinning tales verbally long before that to captive audiences of toads, Barbie dolls, and grade school friends. She writes in most genres and is published in the freelance market. This is her first novel to be published.
THE BOOK
Lara Hughes makes a major life change; breaks her engagement to the boy next door, and moves from The Big Apple to bucolic Traverse City. She wants to change her hectic life, but runs afoul of demented rock star Cage Carter and the psychopathic killer he sends after her. Her storybook home and life in the country become a nightmare, but a nightmare, which is laced with romance, sympathy and pathos. Lara is a 21st century woman, battling her horrific situation with courage, intelligence, love; and a little help from a good self defense course. Hush, Baby puts the reader inside the minds and lives of several people. Some are mostly good, some are mostly evil, and some seem normal, whatever that is. But all of them could be real.
Prologue
Hush, little baby, don't say a word,
Mama's
going to buy you a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird don't
sing,
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring
turns brass,
Mama's going to buy you a looking glass.
And if that
looking glass gets broke,
Mama's going to buy you a billy goat.
And if
that billy goat won't pull,
Mama's going to buy you a cart and
bull.
And if that cart and bull turn over,
Mama's going to buy you a
dog named Rover.
And if that dog named Rover won't bark,
Mama's going
to buy you a horse and cart.
And if that horse and cart fall
down,
You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town.
Her eyes flashed with hatred. "You did it on purpose, didn't you? You little bastard!"
The boy sat huddled in the corner of the bathroom and cringed as the spittle flew from her mouth. He'd tried to make it to the toilet. There was a wet spot on the front of his jeans, but most of it had run down his leg and was lying in a puddle on the floor. "I didn't mean to, Mummy,” he whimpered. "I'll clean it up."
"Damn right, you will. I'm gonna teach you a lesson you won't forget.
Come here.” The woman flicked off a piece of peeling paint from the wall with a long red fingernail.
"No, Mummy. I promise. I'll be good.” He reached over and swiped at the puddle with his sleeve, trying to make it disappear, desperately wishing he could disappear--or, better yet, her.
"I said, get over here. Now!"
She screeched the last word, and the boy felt prickles of fear stab his heart. He stood slowly. His legs wobbled as he walked, like a toddler taking his first steps. He wondered if these might be his last steps. He covered the distance between them slowly; he wished one of the super heroes in the comic books he relished would appear to save him.
"People say you're slow, touched in the head. Do you think you're stupid?"
He paused, thankful for a reason to. He wanted to be whatever his mother wanted him to be, to avoid a beating; but he couldn't decide how to answer her, so as he often did when she questioned him, he remained silent. She glared at him and he continued on, but stopped moving again when she spoke.
"Wait. What did you forget?"
Confused, he thought hard. Hoping to make her happy at last, he remembered. His voice sounded hoarse for one so young. "Mother, may I?"
"Yes. You may come and take your punishment.” She took a long drag off her cigarette.
Mesmerized, the boy watched the tip glow as she sucked.
"You men are all alike, waving that thing around like it was some big trophy or something. Always expecting me to clean up after you and pleasure you. What you see with your eyes gets you into trouble, because we want what we see with our eyes."
While she ranted, she grabbed the waistband of his jeans, yanking on them hard, and brought his Superman underwear down with them. The stiff seam of the pants scraped his hips, and he flinched.
"What you say with your mouth gets you beat sometimes. Doesn't it?"
The boy stood mute.
"Doesn't it?” she said softly.
"Yes.” The boy began to cry.
"Hush baby.” She began to sing. "Don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mocking bird don't sing, mama's going buy you a diamond ring...."
As an adult, the man remembered the welts the cigarette had left, the intense burning each time he had peed, until it had healed. He remembered....
"Hush, baby. Let Mummy put some aloe on your boo-boo. Oooh, that looks sore. Mummy loves you. You know that, don't you?"
And as a man, he again felt the triangle of guilt, pleasure, and love for his mother that he had felt as a child when she had tenderly applied the cold gel to his hot skin.
He shook the memory from his mind and used his shirtsleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Stumbling to the kitchen, he reached for the bottle of pills and swore as the opened bottle fell to the floor, scattering pills. He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, groping for one of the little white tablets. Finding two, he placed them on his tongue, letting them dissolve in his mouth, needing the bitter taste. He crossed his arms over his head and rested for an hour until the pills took affect and life once again took on a blessed haze. Thankfully, he slipped into unawareness. When he woke up, he felt a pill under his cheek and lifted his hand to feel the impression the pill had left there.
Standing, he walked across the room, crunching pills underfoot. He looked down and trod cautiously, careful not to step on any more. He would sweep them up later. Right now he had something more pressing to do.
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