Daddy's Angel (Weeping Willow Book 1) Read online

  I had thought about many ways to kill myself, stepping in front of a bus, hanging from a rafter, jumping into a deep river with concrete blocks tied to my ankles, and even shooting myself in the head… But, all those methods were too quick and easy. My family had had no choice! Their lives taken in a moment, they had no time to think of life or death. No time to scream! At least their suffering was short lived. Neither my beautiful wife nor my sweet daughter, Daddy’s Angel, drew many breaths after the impact. Their innocence was lost forever and their perfect light was doused for all time.

  I didn’t deserve the same quick and easy fate that crashed into them. No, my agony needed to be epic, a slow and drawn out process, something never to be forgotten. I couldn’t forgive myself and I couldn’t forget them. So my solution, Drunken Bliss, is what I chose to do and I was ready to start.

  I can still remember the burning in my throat from that first drink, how I nearly coughed up a lung as it slid its way to my stomach. The heat it spawned in my face was enough to singe my fingers with a touch. The burning seemed to linger forever and was there when I took a drink the next morning. It was an illicit sacrament that would lead to my demise…Oh, how I loved it!

  Every day, when I woke up, it was the same old routine. At first, I really had to force myself to reach for the bottle. Before my eyes opened fully, before my head left the pillow, and even before the covers were unsettled over my body, I was reaching for the bottle. It didn’t take quite as long as I thought it would, not to have to hold my nose during the first drink of the morning. But still, trying to wash down eggs over easy with vodka took a lot of will power and bargaining with myself.

  In the first few weeks, without fail, the initial drink that hit my lips and burned a path down my throat would make me gag. As soon as it hit my stomach, I was running to the bathroom to revisit what little dinner I had the night before. There was no need for mouth wash, the whiskey would sanitize any leftover remnants.

  I only ate regularly for a short while. I figured that solids would just interfere with the potency of the toxic elixir flowing through my veins. The dry heaving and convulsions were almost too much to bear but I was either going to get used to them or find some way around them. Nothing was going to stop me from completing my plan.

  From morning - I guess it was morning, I couldn’t tell with all the blinds drawn shut like Dracula’s lair, or whatever time I woke up - until I drank myself into a stupor, there was always a drink in my mouth and a bottle in my hand. Time held no meaning, the days and nights were all the same. Soon the vomiting stopped, the dry heaving ceased, and my profound dislike of its taste disappeared.

  I no longer shook when reaching for a drink or trying to open a new bottle. The headaches were all but gone because the poison was never out of my system long enough to let any real amount of oxygen in. I had now entered into my DRUNKEN BLISS…

  CHAPTER 3

  LITTLE DISAPPOINTMENTS

  MY PLAN WAS PROGRESSING EVEN BETTER than I had hoped. Though the dreams still visited me nightly, they only added to my resolve and made it that much easier to savor the end.

  For a long while, the whiskey blinded me from the memories and dreams. I was able to ignore them and not ball up into the fetal position when slapped in the face with their laughing. The visions of them dancing around the living room only served to bring a brief smile to my face. The bed I shared with my wife became a lonely emotional attachment, but I still felt her beside me. The dreams were kept at bay, for a while. They still came to me each night but they were diluted by the alcohol in my system and weren’t as vivid. I became desensitized to them, and to my fear. For a while, I was happily involved in my Drunken Bliss. Living in a fog and just mindlessly roaming through life seemed a great escape. Though, that new found blind happiness was never meant to last.

  The dreams mostly stayed the same with only subtle changes. They came like clockwork, night after night!

  Now, instead of not reaching them in time, I always get there as soon as the cars merge into one. I watch helplessly as they are beaten and battered, flying around inside the car. No matter how loudly I scream, the cars continue to mingle violently. When they finally come to a rest, the smoke and broken cars littering the road make it hard to see. I rush to my wife, her eyes are frozen open, and a single tear flows down her cheek. She tries to speak, but no words can be heard. I bend down to kiss her and tell her, “I love you.” As my lips touch her face and my eyes close tightly, she suddenly reaches up and grabs my face. I struggle to ease her grip but it’s no use, she has unnatural strength. She twists my head and pulls my ear to her lips. I can’t break free, can’t move or run. Her words are strong and clear.

  She whispers, “Look what you have done. Where were you? Why did you let this happen? We counted on you! You weren’t there for us! I lay here dying, on my last breath. You promised forever!”

  With her last breath, she speaks her most damning remark.

  She moans. “What of your daughter? Did she die alone as well? What of Daddy’s Angel? Her death is on your soul!”

  With that, her eyes close, her lungs empty, and the dream ends.

  ***

  This dream occurred for months and caused my drinking to escalate to a new level. I began passing out. I guess that’s what it’s called, but I never really knew if I was awake anyway. The most confusing part was the blackouts, not knowing how or when I got where I was now sleeping or having any clue what might have happened in the time I can’t remember. I always woke up with a bottle still pressed to my lips and that sweet nectar trickling past my tonsils. There was no way to tell how long I was out, how long I slept, or the last time I had eaten anything solid.

  Yet the dreams came! Now, even when my eyes were open. They were more intense. Sometimes, it was as though I was in the car as it was shredded by the other vehicle. I was riding along with them, a front row seat to their final moments of anguish. A lifetime of torture spent in a few brief seconds.

  My wife’s words were always ringing in my ears… “What of our daughter? What of Daddy’s Angel? Her death is on your soul!”

  I was back to the nightmares. They came at all times of the day and night, asleep or awake. There was no escaping them. Please! I needed something to make them stop!

  “What of your daughter, Daddy’s Angel, did she die alone? Did you let her die alone? You should’ve been with us. Her death is on your soul!” Her words were constantly filling my head.

  The whiskey, my cure all, was no longer working. It no longer eased the pain, numbed the agony, or kept the dreams at bay. No! The whiskey had let life creep back in and I was left to fend for myself.

  There was never any remorse or regret for what I was doing. There were no second thoughts or rethinking anything, just a strong determination to follow through with my plan. I had convinced myself there was no other way to prove my love. They were my life. With them gone that life became void. I should’ve been with them. Why wasn’t I with them? I let them die alone! To make things right, I had to complete my mission and join them in death.

  During my daily exercise of strolling into the kitchen to mark off yet another day from my countdown calendar, I realized there were only two weeks left until the last day, until I reached the big red X. Briefly, I found myself wondering if I would make it, if the poison coursing through my veins would be sufficient enough to get the job done and hold up its end of the bargain. I had let them down so many times before and now my conscience wouldn’t allow me to forget it. I should’ve been with them. Maybe, somehow, I could’ve prevented their end. Maybe I could’ve avoided the wreck and saved them and myself from this horrible nonexistence. Maybe, we could still be happy and they would still be alive. But, none of that was real, they did crash, and they did die, and now I’m tormented everyday by their memories, so this is one last venture that I could not fail at accomplishing! I couldn’t let them down, again. How they must’ve felt all alone as the cars danced a deadly tango, as their bodies were be
ing gashed and ripped open, and I wasn’t there. How the blood raining inside the car as their bodies expelled it freely… There was no excuse for me to have not been there. My plan had to go on, I just couldn’t let them down again!

  It’s funny, in times of despair, when you’re eaten up with grief, the tricks your mind plays on you. Suddenly, all the little disappointments and the many let downs that happened in your life, as a husband and father, come rushing back to you like a tidal wave.

  Like, when we had just started dating and I couldn’t even afford a happy meal to share. I knew she had wanted the fancy restaurant with the gourmet meal and expensive wine but she never complained. She just smiled that amazing smile, took my hand, and without saying a word, told me it didn’t matter, she was happy just being with me. I remembered when she really wanted to go dancing or at least out on the town, but I was barely able to pay the bills. When we desperately needed a new vehicle, yet, I could only scrape together enough to keep my old piece of shit running. When we would watch our friends buying new furniture and dishes and clothes while all we owned had come from the Salvation Army or family hand-me-downs. Still, she just smiled and kissed me tenderly to let me know those things weren’t important. I, however, always tasted the bitter sweet tears that were still freshly laid upon her lips. The tears she always tried to wipe away and hide before I was aware of them. She always thought of me first and did her best to save me any embarrassment or feelings of shame. She was my best friend and I let her down. When she needed me the most… I wasn’t there.

  Thinking about it now, there were so many times I had broken my promises, it didn’t matter if they were spoken or just implied. I can’t believe she actually stayed with me. I recalled my proposal, down on one knee, so nervous I couldn’t spit out the words and fumbling around in my pocket to find that tiny little box. I don’t know how many times I dropped it before that shamefully thin band finally made its way onto her finger. I wasn’t completely sure if the smile covering her face was from happiness or from her attempt at over compensating for the sheer disappointment of not receiving a real diamond ring. I knew her heart had been set on a gorgeous wedding ring set, yet, that’s not what she got. Carrying her across the threshold of that run-down duplex, my larger than life smile also hid my shame. That place with the roaches and with walls so thin we were afraid the neighbors could hear every spring squeaking in that worn out mattress, made for an extremely calm wedding night. She had described so vividly the house of her dreams, so many times, even though she knew I might never be able to give it to her. If I couldn’t give her the new Kathy Ireland collection, then the thought of a honeymoon was absurd and never crossed her mind, just as a vacation was totally out of the question.

  They were fantasies we just couldn’t afford. Despite her best efforts to hide it, somewhere behind the timeless sparkle in her beautiful eyes, I always found her disappointment. It reflected like a million mirrors aimed directly at my soul. Through all the promises I made, but could never keep, she still just smiled that sweet smile, took my hand in hers, and did her best to make me feel better, to soothe my fears and ease my worries. Yet, somehow, that smile and those eyes that displayed her love and compassion also reflected my failures. Those were the times as a man, as a husband, that brought me to my knees.

  Children never ask for much, but, then, they ask for everything. I never wanted to see my daughter do without, but there were times I had to say no. Times I had to tell my little angel that she couldn’t have something. Watching the tears build up in her pretty eyes until they eventually overflowed and streaked down her puffy red cheeks, those were the moments that killed my pride. Her wants were miniscule in the grand scheme of things. Things every little kid asks for, designer clothes, cell phone, and a second pet - of course it had to be a horse - the list goes on and on. She deserved so much more, she deserved the world, but I couldn’t give those things to her. I’d had to say no. To this day those memories still fill me with shame and bring me to my knees.

  Although she always recovered quickly from her disappointments, when she saw I was about to break down and let my tears go, she would wrap her little arms around my neck and squeeze with all her might.

  She’d say, “Daddy, this is to force the tears back and bring out your smile. We can’t have you sad and feeling blue.”

  Then she would kiss me and smile. When I was supposed to be the adult, the parent, she always knew when I needed a hug and she happily gave them to me. She was more mature than most and, in ways, more in tune with the emotions of those around her. As her Daddy, I was awarded her affection and her unconditional love. I was so proud of her and blessed to have the opportunity to be her father.

  I missed her hugs the most! What kind of man would allow their angel to die in such a horrific way? I wasn’t there and she died alone. The terror she must’ve felt. I couldn’t accept the fact that she was gone and it was my fault. I could really use a hug right now.

  In times like those, all those shame filled memories are what you use to fuel your guilt ridden ignorance. You use them as your weapons of mass destruction, to justify your demeaning actions. They become your cross to bear, even when your irrational thinking has shattered that cross into a million splinters.

  I began to live out the dream constantly, the noise of the wreck, piercing sirens, the crowd’s stagnant murmurs, and the stench of engine fluids mixed with blood, and the realization that it was my family laying there in the carnage. Then, holding my daughter, and seeing the bags zipped up. As soon as one dream ended, the next began. The dreams afforded me no rest or comfort. They were tearing down the walls of defense the alcohol had built.

  Their memories began to torment me and my tears knew no end! The effect of the booze was losing its potency. It didn’t seem as lethal as it once had and I couldn’t help but wonder if it would get the job done at all or if I would have to resort to more drastic measures.

  CHAPTER 4

  FOREVER’S PROMISE

  STILL, THE DREAMS CAME! I was given no peace. Even in my complete state of intoxication, the dreams were vibrant and full of energy – a dark energy. Each one increased its shocking dose of reality and drew me back into my misery. I was no longer able to hide in the bottle and drown away their memories.

  I’m running down the street. The air is filled with smoke and lights and noise. I know what I’m running toward, but every time it seems brand new, like the first time. I can hear my wife’s voice.

  “Where were you? Why are you showing up now? You’re too late, you can’t stop it!”

  I just keep running. I reach my daughter and hold her in my arms. No signs of life, she’s limp, still, and no warmth is left in her body. As I’m holding her, staring at the blank expression on her tiny face, suddenly, I feel a burning sensation on my back right by my shoulder. I turn to look up and my wife is standing there, her eyes are black as the night with tears of blood caked to her cheeks. Her skin is barely hanging on enough to cover her bones and there’s a hatred radiating from her and directed at me.

  She speaks. “Why so sad? You didn’t care in life…so, her death should be meaningless!”

  I snap back at her. “I loved you both, I will always love you both!”

  Her mouth never moves. “And yet, your love couldn’t prevent our death! So is your love really worth the breath it takes to speak of it?”

  Through my tears I ask. “How can you be so cold, so uncaring and heartless? You know I lived for you and would gladly take your place.”

  She smirks. “Because I’m dead, that’s how! You didn’t take my place and, being dead, my heart is useless.”

  The burning in my shoulder intensifies. It feels like I’m being branded. I can feel her claws burrowing deeper into my skin. I jerk away from her grasp and she scowls at me. Her eyes seem to shift from me to our daughter.

  “I once gave you my heart in life, filled with the promise of love and forever.”

  She slowly rips her shirt open. Her razor sha
rp fingernails dig into her chest, peeling skin back. The sound of the bones snapping in two is more than I can handle and I try to hide my face, but she quickly stops me. She forces my head around and makes me watch as she pulls out her heart. “Now, I give it to you again, this time in death! Given as a reminder of your broken promises, your weak pathetic love that couldn’t save us and your useless attempts to join us. Daddy’s Angel, her Daddy’s final failure, and now she pays the price and is lost forever.”

  “You’re wrong! It’s not my fault. If I was in the car with you then I would also be dead!”

  She laughs “It’s where you should’ve been. Then, maybe, I would still be here instead of you. You don’t deserve to live! You’re a waste of a soul, a waste of air…”

  She shoves her bloody hand in my face, still holding her heart, and I can see it beating soundly as if it were still in her body, not missing a single beat.

  “Just stop, damn it! I didn’t run the red light and try to play chicken with a suburban. That was your fault, trying to text.”

  I don’t know why I was arguing, I couldn’t change her mind and I couldn’t stop myself from being here. She had her own logic she was following, her own plan.

  “Doesn’t matter, it’s neither here nor there and won’t stop your punishment. If you can’t accept my loss, maybe you can accept your part in your precious angel’s death. You let her die alone. Her death is on your hands! Your soul has been marked with her blood! Accept it!”

  “She was your life as well!” I scream. “You loved her too and lived for her just as I did. Where is your concern and compassion for our daughter?”

  In the blink of an eye, she’s gone and I’m left kneeling in the road, holding my little angel’s body and crying.