The Hungry House (27 page)

"I was always afraid that Frank couldn't handle the responsibility of taking care of Paul,"
I said, stroking his hair. "I had hoped that he would rise to the occasion."

The doorbell rang
. It was John. Once inside, he rushed over to Paul and me and knelt. He examined Paul's face for a few moments in silence.

"When did this happen?"

"He just got home a few minutes ago. He says a man staying at Frank's tripped him on purpose."

"That right kiddo?
" Paul nodded.

John stood
. "You know, I, you're going to have to take Paul to the emergency room," John said.

"I can't
. He needs to rest. He's been through too much already."

"He needs to be checked out for a possible concussion and for his emotional state
. Everything that has happened needs to be documented in a very public way. It might as well be at the hospital."

Listening to these words,
I felt her thoughts finally begin to center. "You mean for legal documentation."

"Yes
. There's that, and he really does need to be checked out. Right away. I'll call 911. You can ride with him, and I'll follow."

Margaret stood
. "I'd better go home and see what's happening there. I'll check in on you at the hospital in a couple of hours."

Paul vomited in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. After his arrival, accompanied by his mother, things moved very fast. A CT scan revealed that Paul had suffered a brain concussion, and I was told he would be kept overnight for observation. A social worker asked Paul a few quick questions and then interviewed I outside the room. He approached I with barely concealed suspicion, and she felt terrible shame that, as a mother, she had allowed her son to be injured in such a way.

Shortly, after the social worker had left, two police officers arrived
. They were an oddly matched pair. The man was young, beefy, and well over six feet tall. He could easily have been a lineman on a professional football team. His partner was a petite, middle-aged blond woman.

The man took the lead
. "I'm Officer Chumsky--this is Officer Brown." The blond tipped her hat and nodded. They both looked extremely serious.

Officer Chumsky opened a
notebook, glanced at it, and began. "We've interviewed Mr. Armstrong, the boy's father. He and his friend were quite inebriated. Armstrong thought his son was still in his bedroom. On questioning, he admitted that his son had injuries but said he did not think they were serious. And, my partner went into the kitchen to get a glass of water, with his permission, and found drugs."

The blond clarified
. "A gram of cocaine in a baggie on the floor. One of them must have dropped it."

Chumsky continued
. "He's being charged with Child Neglect and Endangering the Welfare of a Minor."

"He won't be allowed to see Paul again, will he?"

"That's up to the Family Court to decide. But, just between you and me and the wall--he may get supervised visitation. Don't quote me on that. I'll deny it."

Office Brown took over
. "We're not lawyers, and we don't give legal advice. Talk to the Family Court and your attorney. I can definitely tell you that his dad and his friend have been arrested and booked at the Multnomah County Jail. It's out of our hands now."

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Frank had secured the services of Mark Bainbridge, one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the Northwest. Bainbridge had managed to have the cocaine discovery thrown out on a technicality and sentencing for all charges reduced to 180 hours of community service. Morgan had been required to spend two weeks in the county jail. Both of them were mandated to inpatient substance abuse treatment. Nevertheless, the police report of drug seizure at Frank's home had already been placed into the Adult and Family Services records given to Judge Ruth Hathaway. Also included was the police narrative detailing that Frank and his male companion had been too drunk to provide Paul with needed medical care or even to realize that Paul had been removed from the home until the police arrived during the night.

At the pronouncement of the final visitation decision, the judge
was merciless in her condemnation.

"Mr. Armstrong, in another era, you would have been stripped of all your visitation rights
, and how I wish I could accomplish that now. At this time, we operate within a system of federal laws and guidelines that seeks to maintain parent-child relationships, in almost all circumstances."

"I must give you the opportunity to repair the damage you have done to your son, but this opportunity comes with
stringent conditions. You will attend an inpatient substance abuse treatment facility, approved in advance by the court, for a minimum of 30 days. In addition, you must continue with outpatient substance abuse treatment until one year from today, and attend weekly mental health counseling sessions for an indefinite term."

"
In return, upon receipt of a report of satisfactory participation in the program at the approved inpatient facility, and if you continue your court mandated counseling and outpatient treatment, you will be allowed the privilege of supervised visits with the child Paul Howell for two hours, once every two weeks, at the Department of Human Services facility set aside for that purpose. Unlike the vast majority of the parents who stand before me, you have received every possible financial and social advantage. You were able to attend private schools and live in the best neighborhoods. Your father is known in this community for his of extensive service to this city. Therefore, we find no excuse for your behavior. If, at any point, you do not follow the policies set by this court, your visits will be suspended." She looked at Frank's lawyer. "
Now
, do you have any questions?"

Mr. Bainbridge
stood. "No Your Honor, We have no questions at this time." He sat.

"Then, that is all.
" She looked down at her clerk. When can we reconvene, in approximately 40 days?"

The clerk sitting at his desk below the judge looked t
hrough the computer. "On March 25th, at 2:00 p.m. Your Honor."

"Will
that work for you Mr. Bainbridge?" Frank's attorney rapidly scrolled through the calendar on his Blackberry. "Yes, Your Honor."

"Unless, Mr. Armstrong is
still undergoing inpatient treatment, you will return on Mrch 25th, at 2:00 p.m."

It was over.

Frank turned on his heels, completely ignoring his attorney. All he heard were the words, "Frank, this isn't the end. This is a good start --" and then he was out of the courtroom.

He charged
home, almost running down two pedestrians foolish enough to be attempting to use crosswalks along the route to his house. He pulled into the circular drive in front of his home loudly screeching his brakes and stormed into the front door, banging it loudly behind him.

"Morgan!" he yelled.

Hearing no immediate answer, he exploded into the kitchen with such force that Margaret knocked her mixing bowl onto the floor, where it shattered with a resounding crash.

"Frank, what on earth is the matter
--why --." He was already gone.

"Morgan!" he screamed as he entered the library, his impatience and irritability growing by the second.

"Hey, man. I heard ya' all the way here." When Morgan saw Frank's furious expression, he clicked off the television with the remote.

He walked over and closed the armoire doors and then turned to Frank
. "Chill, chill." Morgan gestured with both hands, palms down, as if trying to reason with an unruly force of nature.

"Don't tell me to chill
. Who do you think you are anyway?  This is
my
house.
My
house!  You understand?" He poured himself two fingers of whiskey and drank it down in one gulp then repeated the process.

"
Sure. You're the boss. What's wrong?"

"
The fucking court won't let Paul come here anymore. That's what's wrong. My own son, and they're telling me what to do."

"That sucks, man
. The government has no right to interfere like that between a dad and his boy.
No
right. What can
I
do?"

"First, let's go out and get pissed."

###

Hours late
r, Morgan managed to drive Frank to I's house, even though both were so drunk they were seeing double. Her driveway and the street were lined with cars.

"Our little princess must be
having people over. Let's join the party," Frank said.

He and Morgan sauntered through the unlocked
front door. Cecelia had arranged a catered party to try to raise I's spirits after Paul's injury. Out back, Paul was happily participating in a children's party. Frank and Morgan each grabbed champagne from a uniformed waiter's tray. Morgan had his own bottle in hand and drank from that as well.

Cecelia went over to them
. "Hello. Is there anything I can get you?"

"No bitch
. Why don't you mind your own business. This is my girlfriend's house," Frank said.

She found that very unlikely
. "I'm Cecelia." She extended her hand. "May I know your name?"

Frank ignored her outstretched hand
. He and Morgan burst into laughter. "'May I know your name?'" Morgan mimicked in a high-pitched voice. In the middle of their laughter, Frank backed into a waiter, knocking his tray onto the floor.

Cecelia left and returned a few moments later with two coffee cups on a tray
. "Would you two like to sit down and have coffee?"

Frank answered by knocking the tray out
of her hands onto the floor. She cried out in surprise, and the room became very still. I came out of the kitchen, where she had been visiting with some of Cecelia's friends, to find the source of the noise.

"Frank
--for heaven's sake. What's going on in here?" Two wait staff were trying to clean up the mess to prevent the hardwood floor and area rug from being permanently stained.

"Nothing's going on
. I just thought I'd come over and have a little chat." He was obviously so inebriated he could not see straight.

"Frank, I think you should go home
. You're not feeling well."

"Yeah
. You think I should do a lot of things, don't you. Because of you, I can't even have my own son at my house."

"No, Frank
. Because of
you
he can't go to your house. Don't try to shift the blame to me."

Frank moved closer to her and turned to Morgan
. "You see what I'm talking about?  She's impossible, and she's ruining my life."

He turned back to
me, and as he moved, he slapped me with the back of his right hand. Knocking me across the floor. For a minute, I felt too dizzy and stunned to get up.

Cecelia and Betts came into the living room followed by two male police officers
.

"That's him.
" Betts pointed at Frank. "He and his friend were not invited to the party, and now he's hit her. Look!" The policemen's gazes went from Frank to me as I tried to push myself up from the floor.

"Do you need an ambulance, ma'am?"

"No, I don't think so. I just need to rest."

"Will you press charges?"

"You better believe it."

"
You're under arrest. Hands behind your back. Now!" Frank was cuffed. As they walked out the door, one of the officers was giving Frank his rights. Morgan had disappeared.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

             
The next morning, I woke up feeling great. I opened my eyes to a pale blue ceiling surrounded by gold-edged crown moldings. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Oh, yes, John's house. She had spent the night in his guest room, feeling completely safe. She found a note on her pillow. "Paul and I out for brunch. Back in a couple of hours."

             
She stepped into the shower and closed her eyes to enjoy the sensual thrill of the hot water on her skin. The bath soap smelled lovely, like fresh pears. She dried herself in the shower, pushed out the steamy glass doors, and stepped out onto the bath mat. Then, she screamed.

             
Frank stood in the bathroom doorway holding a revolver in his right hand, his face a mask of hatred and fury. "You thought I was still in jail, didn't you Princess. But, I made bail hours ago. It's great what money can buy."

             
She trembled as his fingers brushed a strand of wet hair back from her forehead. "I love to do that."

             
I wrapped the bath towel more closely around her body, gripping it tightly in front.

             
"Oh, come now," he sneered. There's no need for such modesty. You simply can't stand the thought of letting
me
sample your lovely charms. Isn't that right, Princess?  Even the thought of me touching you just gags you doesn't it?"

             
He ripped the towel away from her and tossed it aside. Grabbing her by the hair, he pulled her across the bathroom. The pain was excruciating, causing tears to run down her cheeks, but she gritted her teeth. She would not give him the satisfaction of whimpering or crying.

             
"Get on your knees!" He shoved her down to the floor in front of him. At that moment, they heard the door downstairs open and close.

             
"Hey, I, it's just me!  Can you believe it, I forgot my wallet." There was a long silence.

             
"I, honey, are you still here?  I'm taking off again here in a minute."

             
Frank whispered, "'I, honey,' answer him or else you first and then him." He pressed barrel of the gun into her forehead.

             
Forcing herself to sound cheerful, I shouted, "I'm up here. In the bathroom."

             
The feel of the cold steel filled her with rage. The front door closed. The sound of John's car could be heard leaving the driveway and entering the roadway. Then, an eerie silence filled the air. I felt utterly alone.

             
"Now, I'm going to make you pay for humiliating me." The stench of whiskey and cigarettes, along with something rotten reached her nostrils. At least John and Paul were safe, I thought.

             
Frank unzipped his jeans and removed his erect penis. "Okay, bitch; you know what to do."

             
Actually, she had only the vaguest notion of what to do; however, she was struck by an inspiration. Opening her mouth as wide as she could, I crunched through the muscle of one of Frank's testicles with her front teeth. Frank howled in pain and jumped back away from her. Bloodstains spattered the nearby floor, the bed, and the wall. The pain caused him to flail his arms tossing the gun onto the bedroom floor. I coughed and chocked, her mouth full of the iron taste of Frank's blood.

             
She crawled across the floor to the gun and picked it up.

             
"Put your hands up, or as God is my witness I'll shoot you dead." Her eyes were hard and fearless. The blue irises had changed to a dark gray. In that moment, Frank made his final error in judgment. He had always taken her kind nature as a sign of weakness.

             
"You wouldn't hurt a fly, and I'm not going anywhere except the hospital." He gasped in pain. "Now. I'm taking that away from you before you hurt yourself with it."

             
He started moving toward me. I lifted the gun, held it in front of me with both hands, and pulled the trigger, hitting Frank in the upper chest. His face registered complete shock just before he fell backward with a resounding thud. He groaned and struggled to get up. She fired off one more shot into his neck. Finally, he was still.

             
I called 911 and dressed. Soon sirens were heard in the distance.