The Sins of the Father

“You can’t do this, Donna.”

“It looks like I can,” I replied as I splashed more gasoline on the bed. 

I watched as he thrashed around, trying to pull free of the ropes that secured him to the bedposts. Ropes I had tied him with while he slept off the wine. I knew he wouldn’t be able to escape. He had taught me how to tie inescapable knots long ago.

 “Please, Donna,” he begged. “We can work this out. Just let me go.”

“So it’s to be nice daddy today, is it?” I asked while I pulled things from my bag.

The surge of power I felt when he turned pale at the sight of the acid bottle must have been what he felt every time he hurt us. I had been ready to get it over with quickly, but the look of terror on his face changed my mind. He deserved for me to take my time.

“This isn’t you, Donna. You can’t do this!”

“You’re singing the same ole tune, Daddy Dearest.” 

“Dammit, you bitch, let me lose!” he demanded.

I laughed at the outburst. I knew it wouldn’t take long before the true Tucker Reynolds came out. 

“That’s more like it,” I said and patted him on the cheek. “There’s the father we all know and hate.”

“You’ll pay for this, Donna,” he said. When I twisted the cap off the acid, he started yelling for help.

“It won’t do you any good. Remember? You soundproofed the basement years ago. At least that’s what you told us when we’d scream.”

I could tell he didn’t like it when I brought up his sins. He never had. He had always wanted to pretend they never happened after the fact. But I wanted him to remember. I wanted him to think about every evil thing he’d done. Every evil thing he’d made me do.

“You won’t get away with this!” he yelled. “They’ll put you in prison.”

“We’re both going to end up somewhere much worse than prison,” I replied.

He got quiet as I held the acid bottle above his foot. “Please,” he begged, but it did no use. I upturned the bottle and watched as acid ate through to the bones and muscle underneath his skin. His screams were deafening. I finally had to put the earplugs I’d brought in so I could hear myself think. 

I waited until he quieted down some before moving to the other foot. “Remember when you hammered the nail in Tom’s foot?” I asked as I poured. 

“I remember you held him down for me to do it,” he spat after he caught his breath.

That was the kicker. I had helped in the madness. Oh, not at first. At first, when I was younger, I was subjected to anything his twisted mind could think of. I often think he hated me so much because I survived. Unlike the others.

“Yes, I did. God help me, I held them all down. And what good did it do me?” I asked him as I watched a puddle of acid pool on his stomach. “None. You still came after me time and again, and no matter how often you promised a child would be the last, they never were.” 

His screams were almost too much even with the earplugs. The blood bubbling up through the acid eating his stomach was truly a gruesome sight, but I watched. I wanted to see everything. I wanted to watch while he died in anguish.

“There won’t be any more children now though,” I told him. “And guess what,” I said as I poured a line of acid up his chest to his neck. “Angeline lived.”

I could see the surprise in his eyes despite the pain. He thought I’d gotten rid of the little girl’s body like I had all the others. Unlike the others, Angeline was still breathing when he was done with her. I had distracted him and then went back for her. She was resting at the local hospital. I’m sure the cops had talked to her already.

“I will quit,” he said. “I promise. I won’t do it again. Please, just stop!”

“Neither of us will do it again,” I told him. 

I waited a few more minutes while the acid worked. I couldn’t wait too long, though, because I didn’t want the cops to arrive before I was finished. He wasn’t going to trial. I was his jury and executioner. 

“I thought about using the acid on your eyes,” I said. “But I changed my mind. I want you to see everything that happens. I want your eyes working when you wake up in hell.”

He was still screaming and cursing when I lit the match. I placed it on the end of the bed and then I curled up beside him. We both watched as the flames licked to life. 

When the fire started to scorch the bottom of my feet, I hugged him close and whispered, “It’s okay, daddy. I’m right here with you. It’ll only hurt a little.”