This is a rough draft of chapter 2 of my upcoming novel "Tether."
Every now and then I will be posting rough chapters. Please feel free to comment on the story, character or anything you would like. If you would like more, please leave a comment! I appreciate it!
Enjoy the read!
CHAPTER TWO
DELILAH
October 1983
A minute ago, the phone rang.
Unfortunately, I am washing dishes and my six-year-old answered it.
Before I could dry off my hands and run towards the living room, Azael had already hanged up.
“Who was that?” I say from under the arch that divides the rooms.
He shrugs.
“I told you many times, I hate it when you shrug and say nothing.”
With his head down he replies, “But you hate everything I do.”
“I don’t, it’s just…” my fingers fidget and I clasp my apron. “So, who was it.” Eyebrows raised and my tone intensified.
“It was a man.”
“Okay, what did he say?” One hand on hip, and the other one fluttering.
“He said, he would be here shortly.”
“Azael, look at me.”
He doesn’t.
I scream. “I said, look at me!”
He looks up. “He told me not to tell you.”
“So, a random man is heading towards our home, and you are okay with that?”
“He said you know him.”
“Oh, and that makes it much better.”
“Good.” He says.
“Azael, I’m being sarcastic.”
The doorbell rings.
I look up towards the door. My heart skips a bit. And time stops and rewinds. Bad memories that lurked in corners of my mind for years, start to peek.
It can’t be him.
“Azael, go to your room.”
“But mom.”
“I, freaking, said, go to your room. Would you for once do as I say when I ask the first time?”
“I hate you.”
“I don’t care.”
He runs away.
I see him run upstairs and hear the door shut close as hard as a six-year-old can. I can't let him see this asshole.
I look at the door once more and the bell rings again. I calm myself down. Fidgeting fingers and all.
I arrive to the door, grab the knob, and plant the other hand on the door.
“Who is it?”
“I’m surprise he didn’t tell you.”
The bad memories invade every single space in my mind. That voice. It’s fucking Lance. I inhale deeply. Azael looks so much like him. His eyes, his face structure. God even his expressions. How can he act so much as someone he has never been around before. The coward left me as soon as he knew I was pregnant.
“What do fuck you want after all these years, Lance?”
“What do you mean, isn’t it obvious?
“Not, at all, please enlighten me.”
He hits the door and I feel it tremble. “You think you’re funny? I’m here to see my fucking son.”
“There he is. The Lance I so vividly remember.”
“Open the god damn door, Delilah, I just wanna see my son and I don’t know, maybe take him for a ride.”
I can picture his ridiculous expressions as he talks. His macho manners and his idiotic ego always taking over his tiny brain.
“If you thought that was a possibility after these many years, you are mistaken.”
“Okay, so this is how is gonna be.”
“You never care for him or me. And now you just wanna come back into our damn lives.”
I hear him walk away.
I take a deep breath. Fucking asshole.
“Mom, what is happening? Why you won’t let daddy come in.”
“Azael, what did I tell you.”
“I am not going back into…”
I hear yelling and then the door shakes. “I am gonna come in and see my son one way or another, Delilah.”
“Mom, let him in. I want to see him.”
“Azael, shut up, you don’t know who this man is.”
“I know he is my father. And that you are a liar. You said he was dead. Why Delilah, why did you lie?”
“Open that god damn door.” Lance keeps pounding on it.
“I am gonna call the cops Lance. Leave now!”
“Azael, call the cops and tell them there is a man trying to break into our home. I promise I will explain everything to you.”
Azael just stands there and stares at me. A stare that to be honest, it scares me at times.
“Azael, dam it call the cops. As you can see, he is not a good man. Do you wanna see him beat me up so you can confirm?”
He keeps staring at me, hesitating for a few seconds and then rushes towards the phone.
“Let me in, you bitch.”
“What do I dial?” Azael asks.
“911!”
“The cops are on the way, you bastard.”
The pounding stops and I hear a motor ignite. I dash towards the window next to the door and see him leaving on a motorcycle.
He hasn’t changed at all. Same old Lance. A macho-madman when around women and children. And a coward when confronted by someone with similar or greater strength.
I take a deep breath and turn around.
“The cops are on their way.” Azael says from the phone.
I walk towards him and he towards me. We stand right in front of each other.
“Now, tell me about my fa…” he tries to demand. But before he could finish, I slap his face. “You put us in danger, Azael. That man isn’t a good man. His is a sinner. A scum. Human waste. And you, you.” I raise my hand and hit him again. “Go to your damn room.”
He doesn’t shed a tear. But his face frowns in anger. “I hate you, Delilah. Lying is a sin. You are also going to burn in hell.”
It won’t matter how much I do or will do for Azael, at the end, I will always be the demon in his story. He is a good kid. He does have a good heart. But every time I look at him, I see Lance and I can’t help it. It bothers that he looks so much like that asshole.
I get back to washing dishes while Azael stays in his room. I should ground him for a whole month. He is starting to rebel more and more as the days pass. Perhaps, I haven’t been strict enough. It has been hard to discipline him since I have to work so much, and I have absolutely no-one to help me. My parents disowned me for being such a fool, getting pregnant and running away with Lance. My older sister, Jolinda, run away herself to another state and have never heard of her since. There is definitely a vicious cycle here.
I use warm water to wash dishes and in an instant the water gets cold. Iceberg cold. I pull my hand away and use my apron to dry them.
What the hell?
I move the water handle from cold to warm and vice-versa. The water gets colder.
On the spur of the moment, a loud clocking sound coming from upstairs grabs my heart and squeezes it.
“For fuck sakes Azael, what are you doing now!” I scream.
Silence.
And more silence.
Then, like rain drops of a heavy storm, thudding sounds spread all over the ceiling. This cannot be something Azael is provoking.
I look up and the only sound I can heart is my heart beating uncontrollably. I am not sure if it is from fear or anger.
I run upstairs fighting the fear the embraces my senses. And all I can think about is if my son is safe.
I am running as fast as I can, but it feels as if someone was pulling me back. All the doors in the house start to open and close violently. And the thudding gets louder and faster. I make it upstairs and I can see Azael’s room directly across. In between Azael’s door opening and closing fiercely, I see him sitting on the bed, in trance and his body starts to levitate slowly. His legs begin to unfold, and his feet finally float above the bed.
Deja vu.
I am frozen. I am so scared. I am do not know what to do.
In the mist of this chaos, a warm thought invades my mind. Azael’s cry when he was born helps me snap out of it and I run towards him so desperately that nothing else matters but him. “Azael!” I scream.
The door stops toggling and it shuts abruptly in my face in synchronization with the thudding noises ceasing.
“Azael?” I murmur.
No answer.
I start pounding the door with my fists. “Azael!” I scream. “Please, answer.” I try to tear the door down putting all my weight on my shoulder and pushing with my legs. “Son!” I should have never put locks in these doors.
After a few moments of screaming and pounding on the door. It finally opens.
“Mom, what is wrong, why are you screaming?”
I push Azael aside; I enter the room and scan it thoroughly. I look in his closet. Behind the curtains. Under the bed and even in his drawers.
“Delilah, what is wrong?”
“I am your mother, stop calling me by my name.” I turn around and look at him. “Don’t you remember anything that just happened?”
“Yes, we call the cops on dad, you slapped me and sent me upstairs.”
“That’s all you remember?”
“Yes.”
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