LatinosUSA

The deliberate blow was intense and crippling. Hot spaghetti sauce spewed everywhere across the clean, shiny linoleum. Her stricken body fell heavily to the floor. Pain surged through her head, then down her shaky spine. She tried desperately to catch her breath. Karen Bradley closed her wet eyes. How many more times would she allow this to happen? For the past five years, her husband, Ned, vowed to get help. Yet, day after day, he seemed to find anything, anything at all, to give him an excuse to vent his uncontrollable anger directly upon her. Maybe next time, she wouldn’t be able to stand. Maybe next time, she wouldn’t be able to catch her breath. Maybe next time, it would be too late.

“Clean up this mess!” he shouted. Ned’s massive body loomed over her thin, bruised frame. The enormous headache grew with leaps and bounds until her vision became blurred. Concussion? Karen knew the emergency room or a doctor’s visit was definitely out of the question. Ned would never allow such openness to her beatings. He was a man of political stature. His unsavory climb to the top would not be tainted by his personal venomous secrets. Even if it meant keeping his wife prisoner—locked within the white walls of his million-dollar mansion.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she cried. She looked at the serrated knife that fell onto the floor. Could she do it? Was she strong enough to grab hold of the weapon and plunge it deep into his muscled chest? No. Karen moved slow and mechanical, on hands and knees, towards the oozing marinara sauce splattered upon the white kitchen cabinets. He tossed a huge roll of paper towels down in the middle of the mess.

“I don’t know why you like to antagonize me, my love.” He knelt down on one knee beside her. His voice softened just a bit. He trailed his fingers slowly down her moist face until they reached her breasts. A wicked smile shot across his stubbly face.

“Why would any man want to touch you?” he said through gritted teeth. Then suddenly he gripped her throat with his enormous hand and squeezed.

Karen couldn’t breathe. Her brain tried to focus. A moment later, he released her bruised neck. She gasped for air. Ned quickly stood up and left Karen alone—alone to mope in self-pity. How many times did she have the chance to leave such a vile man, yet chose to stay? Karen wept while cleaning up the mess.

Minutes later, a door slammed shut and a key locked it in place. Relief filled her soul. He was gone. Probably to see his mistress. But at this point, Karen didn’t care. She hated him with her entire being. She hated that she was a victim of his wrath. But most of all, she hated herself for being so weak. If only people knew the truth about Ned. Who would believe the stories she had to tell? She had no family or friends. She was all alone in this mockery called life.

Karen finished in the kitchen. She dragged herself into the study room and plopped onto the brown, leathered sofa. Karen rubbed her black-and-blue neck. She stared at the tropical scene curtains trailing over the open sliding doors. Her heart raced. He forgot to lock them.

Karen bought the unique thin-laced shears through a mail-order catalog. Despite Ned’s strong opposition, she hung them anyway. A picturesque view of open doors that led onto a sandy beach filled with beautiful palm trees. A hammock entwined by rope swung lazily in the warm ocean breeze. How she wished so badly she could walk through those doors and be there—be anywhere, for that matter. Away from the horrors of her pitiful life, but most importantly, away from Ned. Far, far away, where the inviting sands of time beckoned the spirit to become free.

Karen stood up and touched the softness of the fabric. She closed her eyes and prayed—prayed with all her might–then took a step forward through the unlocked doors. Suddenly, she could smell the salt in the rustling ocean air. Her eyes flew open wide. She could hear the playful slap of tiny rolling waves upon the golden shore. Without hesitation, she gathered her senses to realize the hopefulness and serenity nature had to offer–freedom.

The warmth of the sand covered her bare feet. It was then she noticed the difference in her clothes—a loosely fit white tank top and faded cut-off jeans. No—it can’t be! Was she really here, or did she fallen asleep inside the house of hell?

A tiny shack sat to the side, just a few feet away. An older woman stepped out onto the rickety porch, her skin darkened by the suns of time. A colorful tunic draped across her lean body rippled against the taunting sea air. She waved at Karen with a wide smile radiating across her lovely face.

Instantly, a surge of tranquility rushed through Karen’s veins. She felt safe—she felt free. Karen moved swiftly towards the strange, mysterious lady, then abruptly stopped when she reached the sea-weathered porch.

“Welcome, Karen. We’ve been waiting for you,” she said. “My name is Hope. Please come inside and join the others.”

Karen’s forehead scrunched in confusion. “You’ve…been waiting for me? Where am I? Is this a dream? Or am I…dead?”

Hope shook her head from side-to-side. “No, Karen, this is not a dream, and I can assure you, you are indeed alive. You’re here because you want to be. Only you could make that decision when you were ready. And here you are!” Hope gestured with her hand. “It’s all yours…and more!”

Suddenly, Karen heard a familiar, yet disturbing voice calling her name over and over. A slight chill dashed down her sweating spine. The rolling waves of paradise beckoned her.

“It’s okay…his voice will eventually disappear, and so will your memories of the horrible life you were forced to live. You are free now, Karen. Come join the others…they are waiting.”

Hope held out her long, slender hand. Karen glanced back over her shoulder as the calls of the past faded away into the warm, promising summery winds.