(Below is an excerpt from the novel I wrote, called "Piggy." It's chapter one, though it does feel like a prologue. The story itself will take place 8-10 years after the events portrayed below. If you'd like to purchase it, you can do so
here!)
Chapter One
The
James family walked along the beach, young Emma James between her parents, her
hands each held in one of theirs.
Emma
rushed ahead, letting go of her parents' hands and laughing. Barefoot, she took
a big jump, letting her little feet plop into the water. This made her giggle.
She enjoyed the feel of her feet hitting the soft, wet sand. She loved the
sound of the water rolling up the beach. She could feel the wet sand push up
between her toes. She wiggled her toes because it felt like the only thing to
do at that exact moment.
She
looked back at her parents who both watched her with approving eyes. She gave
them a big smile. Emma was only just old enough to understand the concept of a
family vacation, but she was enjoying every minute of it.
She
couldn't imagine being sad right then. She wanted to live on the beach, even
though she knew she couldn't. If she could, she would have a big house, so huge
that she could have a gazillion parties in it, not just her birthday party, but
a birthday celebration for everyone that she knew, and hopefully they could
have a party every day. They would just fill the empty days when there weren’t
enough birthdays to go around. They could all go to the beach and run around
after cake and presents. It would be amazing.
Oh,
well, she thought. She would enjoy the beach while it lasted. She would
enjoy being in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Or at least that
she'd seen for all of her six years. Nothing could go wrong on a perfect family
vacation.
* * *
“Please
don't cry,” he says to the young girl. He moves to sit next to her on the bed,
but she sits absolutely still. She tries to go to find a happy place in her
mind. She tries to remember what the beach sounded like. She loves the sound of
waves and water. She likes the size of the ocean, how much space it had.
Drip.
Drip.
She
wishes he would turn the faucet off completely. The sound makes her fear worse.
He puts
his hand on her shoulder and she wants to throw up. She wants to scream, but
doesn't. She wants to call for mommy and daddy but they aren't close enough to
her to save her. No one can save her.
Drip.
She’s
confused because she knows all of this is wrong. But she doesn’t know how to
act.
Drip.
* * *
His name
was Piggy. His actual name was Paul Peterson, but no one remembered where the
name Piggy came from. The thought was that, in high school, someone started
calling him Piggy and it stuck. His only memory of this was that it might have
had something to do with Lord of the Flies. Piggy was overweight like
his namesake in the book, so he figured for the better part of his adult life
there might have been a connection.
* * *
“I
brought you this book. It'll make you feel better. It'll make you feel much
better.” But she doesn't believe him. She just wants to leave.
Drip.
He
decides he's going to read it to her. He realizes she's not listening.
Drip.
* * *
Of
course, he had a hard time imagining any of his high school class actually
reading any of the assigned books in English. Most of them engaged in the sort
of activity and behavior that he himself was never able to do during that stage
of his life, even if he'd wanted to. But Piggy never watched his fellow
students with any need or desire to join in their youthful depravities. He'd
save his own problems for later in life.
* * *
“We
can be friends. Good friends. Don't you trust me?” She shakes her head.
He looks
angry for a moment, but he doesn't yell. Instead, in this small room that seems
too small for a man as fat as him, he gets up and walks to a different wall. He
puts his hand on the wall and looks down at the floor.
Is he
crying?
She
still doesn't look at him. She doesn't want to. Because she knows everything
that has happened was horrible.
* * *
Piggy
had a daughter named Justice. There were pictures of he and baby Justice, along
with his wife, and from all accounts they must have been a happy family. He and
his first wife, Annabelle, were married only a short time before he'd commit a
horrible act that led to their divorce, when Justice was still very young.
Much
later, he'd start seeing a woman named Suzanne. There was a point, while with
Suzanne, that Piggy would work hard to try and fix his life. But it never
worked. His life would end when he put the barrel of a gun in his mouth and
pulled the trigger.
* * *
“You're
such a pretty, little girl.”
He keeps
saying it like he’s he trying to remind her to make her feel better.
“You
didn't do anything wrong, you know? You're so full of life and so amazing. So
you shouldn't cry. You should be happy.” He keeps talking, but she doesn't stop
crying. She is scared of him and hurt and scared of what just happened. She
wants to leave so very badly.
* * *
Piggy
was once convicted of child molestation, an act that far outweighed the moral
failings of any of the sins of his peers when they attended high school. But he
was convicted in a state where the state legislator was eager to try out more compassionate
laws, laws that would try to rehabilitate the damaged criminal mind. Piggy was
amongst the first test “subjects” for this little program. In lieu of jail
time, he was able to undergo therapy.
He
immediately opted for the therapy, hoping that one day he would be able to see
his daughter again and legitimately become a better person. He spent long
nights during the course of therapy dreaming of the day when he could become a
good father, someone to raise Justice without fear of his darker side.
Upon
completion of his therapy, he was heralded as a great success story. All
parties involved made sure that the media was aware of his success. It was big,
at least on a local and state scale, and the political machine involved was
eager to make sure everyone knew what happened with this man. This brand new
man.
This was
when he met Suzanne. And the connection was instant. She was a believer in his
salvation, in his becoming a better person. They had a great relationship for
several months.
At a
party featuring many political types, polemicists, and others eager to rub
shoulders with important people, Piggy was invited to be shown off to all the
eager eyes who joined in the chorus of singing for compassion over punishment.
“Paul
Peterson. Brave for taking this chance. A remarkable story of redemption amidst
a horrible tragedy.” There would be those at the party that remembered state
senator Jackson Willis' words, and would remember even then that his words
almost sounded like he had no idea what Piggy had actually done, but was happy
to take credit for Piggy's recovery since Willis' name was on the bill he
co-sponsored.
The Willis
family, an institution in their town, loved being a part of the spotlight,
already heavily entrenched in everything going on, and in all levels of
government in town and state level politics. Jackson Willis wore the smile of a
man who had achieved a great victory. Compassion was the buzz word of that
political cycle.
Politicians
always use compassion as a magnet for the votes of constituents. But
politicians rarely know what it is that they fight for, even when their
advisors hand them bullet point lists of the things their constituents would
like them to say.
Hollow
words were spoken that night, hollow words spoken through clean, smiling teeth.
Willis'
own young daughter, Henrita, was there. And Piggy couldn't keep his eyes off of
her the entire night. He put it out of his mind, as often as he could, but her
image was in his eyes even when he wasn't looking at her. At one point in the
course of the evening, he broke into horrible sweats as he kept staring at her.
He knew
it was wrong. He knew he shouldn't be thinking the horrible thoughts going
through his head. But he couldn't stop himself from imagining.
Would
it be so wrong? He knew the answer to that thought. And yet…
Henrita
was precocious for a ten year old. She was open-minded and very curious about
the world. She approached Piggy when he was standing away on the other side of
the room. He nearly jumped when he saw her standing before him, her deep blue
eyes staring into his.
“You're
the one everyone's celebrating, aren't you?”
Piggy
never answered her. He gave a few head shakes and nods at her deluge of
questions. Eventually, he pardoned himself.
He found
himself in the guest restroom of this massive house. He wept uncontrollably. He
prayed. He pleaded. He found himself talking to no one, asking for that
invisible entity's advice. Then, he wrote a note to his daughter, with the
letter titled “To Justice.” He found the senator's gun room, found a gun that
felt right in his hands, and ended his life, as well as the party.
The note
was a very honest one, telling his daughter that people have to be held
accountable for their actions and that he knew she could grow up to be a better
person than he ever was. And it also destroyed the horribly flawed system of
supposed compassion that Willis had been building.
It was
argued, by those who opposed the law and had found new voice, that little
compassion was shown for those victims that were irreparably harmed by Piggy's
actions. It was argued that there had been no justice at all until he ended his
own life. Thank goodness, many proclaimed, that no one else got hurt.
Rhoda
James was a person who celebrated Piggy's death. She watched as the system in
place, the system that was supposed to protect the innocent, failed the
innocent, protecting him when her young daughter had been his last victim. Her
rage was unmatched in her fight against the Willis law. Though there were many
on her side, no one really matched her fervor, her passion, her hatred of Piggy
and the people in power for the failure of the government to do what it was
supposed to do.
When
Piggy killed himself and left that damning note, Rhoda was given the stage like
never before. She was given a voice and she chose to use that voice as a tool
to empower the system to protect her daughter and other young children from
this sort of predatory act. She gave many speeches and addressed many people,
telling them of the things she was thankful for.
She was
thankful that after the justice system couldn't deliver, the monster saw fit to
do it himself. The fact that even he seemed to understand how horrible his
actions were was very indicative that we all needed to embrace that same
realization.
“Quite
frankly, I'm offended that people would even think to try and defend such a
deplorable action.” She couldn't be more right, with there never really being
much public support for the bill in the first place. But with a real life event
that affected many lives sitting heavily on the public mind, there was no
stopping what Rhoda was going to do to establish her cause.
And she
wouldn't start small, either. The support for her and her push was instant and
incredible. Opposing politicians and normal, everyday citizens jumped aboard
her push, and she found herself heading an organization that would push these
ideals forward. Rhoda’s message to all was to protect the innocent victims. Her
person message was something else entirely.
It was the
message she thought about every time she heard the name Piggy.
“People
don't really change. People just don't change.”
* * *
He had
asked her, “One more time?” He was pleading.
She
didn't answer, and now she sits very still. She waits for him to do something.
She hopes he doesn't. He's crying now. He lays down behind her as she sits on
the edge of the bed.
Another
drip.
One
more.
The
final one hits and she's suddenly filled with an urge that takes her.
She
runs. She gets to the door of the small trailer. She swings the door open and
runs outside of the trailer, tears running down her cheeks, fear filling her
chest.
She
hears him scream out for her.
She
doesn't turn.
Don't
turn around.
She
hears him stumble and curse. But she doesn't stop until she finds herself
outside of the trailer park and into a residential neighborhood.
There
are no cars. There are no people walking around. No one to scream to. But she's
not sure she can scream. She hurts, not just in her throat but all over her
body. She tries not to think of why.
Instead,
she keeps running, hoping for something that will help her. She can't hear that
man behind her anymore, but she's too scared to stop. To even turn and see.
But
eventually, she can't help herself. Her breathing is burning her insides. She's
tired. She can't run anymore.
She
finds a dry ditch and curls up in it. She cries until she can't anymore. She
can't sleep, so she just lies down until a bit of the sun starts to peak its
face over the edge of the horizon. But it's still dark enough that she doesn't
really notice anything going on around her.
She
doesn't see the police officer until his flashlight beam hits her. She doesn’t
feel him pick her up and carry her to the police car as he calls in for an
ambulance.
* * *
“People
can change. But they usually don't.” He’s whimpering to himself, all alone now.
©Copyright 2012 by Brit C. Tullis.
