A Place To Call Home. Sharon Sala

know you’re here,” Joe whispered.

      Judd’s heart was pounding and the bitter taste of fear was in his mouth.

      Please God, if you’re out there…take me away. Take me away.

      “You can’t hide from me. Come out now and take your punishment like a man.”

      Bile rose in the back of Judd’s throat. Please, God, please. Not again. Not again. Don’t let him—

      “Gotcha!” Joe said.

      When the hand closed around the back of Judd’s neck, he knew it was over. He did not go willingly. Fighting against the pain of his father’s grasp, he struggled to pull free. If he could get to the stairs, he could get away. He would be safe after that. His father was bound to pass out soon. He always passed out. Those were the only times Judd ever knew peace.

      Joe backhanded his son, wincing when one of Judd’s teeth accidentally cut the back of his knuckle.

      “Don’t you bite me, you little bastard,” Joe snarled.

      Judd’s mouth was already swelling as he tried to break free of his father’s grasp.

      “I didn’t mean to, Daddy, I swear.”

      “Don’t lie to me,” Joe snapped, and backhanded him again. “Why didn’t you answer me when I called you? And what the hell did you do with my whiskey?”

      Reeling from the force of the blows, Judd couldn’t think, let alone answer. All he could do was duck and hold up his hands, trying to dodge his father’s fists.

      It was futile.

      Joe was too far gone in his rage to think about what he was doing. In his mind, he was striking out at the man who had fired him and the bartender who’d refused him a last drink. He saw the woman who had laughed at him as he stumbled out of the bar, and himself in a cycle of self-destruction with no way out.

      He hated what he saw.

      It was the painful jolt of flesh against flesh that finally sank through his senses. Slowly, he became aware that the skin on his hand was stinging. He paused, his arm raised above his head, and looked at the boy who was his son. The child’s face was covered in blood. Joe shuddered, his stomach suddenly roiling as the adrenaline rush started to crash. He needed to lie down.

      “Now, then,” he muttered as he staggered back against the wall. “Let that be a lesson to you.”

      He expected Judd to run. When he didn’t move, Joe shrugged, then turned, grabbing at the stair rail to steady himself. From the faint light spilling out from the stairwell above, he could see that Judd hadn’t moved. In fact, the boy’s silent demeanor was starting to get to him.

      “It’s your own fault,” he mumbled.

      Judd’s only response was a slow, careful breath. He would die before he let Joe Hanna know that he hurt.

      Joe watched a thick drop of blood gathering at the corner of Judd’s nose. He began to get nervous. Tomorrow was a school day. If Judd went to school in this condition, someone might decide to butt into their business. And at this point in Joe’s life, he had too much to lose to let that happen.

      Joe’s wife was dead, worn out by the years of living with the man who had been her husband. And while her death had left him with the burden of raising their son all alone, there had been a benefit to the loss that Joe hadn’t expected. Until Judd reached the age of eighteen, he received a monthly social security check on his mother’s behalf. And, as Judd’s legal guardian, the check came to Joe. It kept a roof over their heads and beer in his belly.

      Yet even in the state he was in, Joe had sense enough to realize that if he lost custody of his son, he would lose access to the money. He couldn’t let that happen. So, instead of apologizing to his son, he angrily pointed a finger in Judd’s face.

      “Don’t think you’re gonna go running to those damned teachers you’re so fond of and tattle on me,” Joe snarled. “They won’t help you. You know why? ’Cause you’re white trash, boy, and people don’t give a damn about white trash.”

      Judd’s hands curled into fists. A red haze was spreading between himself and his father, and he couldn’t think past the heat in his belly. The urge to hit was overwhelming. The urge to wipe that look off his father’s face forever was even stronger.

      Joe snorted. The kid was a loser. He wouldn’t even speak up for himself.

      “I’m tired. I’m going to bed now.”

      Then he started up the stairs. Halfway up, Judd’s voice came out of the silence.

      “Daddy.”

      Joe turned, blinking owlishly into the darkness below. Judd was only a vague outline in the shadows.

      “What?”

      “When you go to bed…say your prayers.”

      Joe frowned. “What the hell did you say that for?”

      “When you sleep, I will kill you.”

      Joe’s lips slackened. The statement was so ludicrous he couldn’t think of what to say. But when Judd stepped into the light spilling down from the kitchen above, Joe took an instinctive step back. The hate on his son’s face was too real.

      He tried to laugh. Judd was just a kid. A ten-year-old kid. But the laughter wouldn’t come. Suddenly, he found himself stumbling up the steps and into the light of the kitchen, his heart pounding, his belly lurching. He swayed where he stood, aware that he was only moments from passing out.

      When you sleep, I will kill you.

      The words still echoed in his head. Suddenly the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs sent him into a panic. Within seconds, he was staggering down the porch steps and running through the bushes of their backyard.

      A cat scrambled out of a garbage can, hissing and spitting as Joe stumbled into the alley. The commotion set the neighbor’s dog to barking. Joe’s blood ran cold. If Judd wanted to, he could find him by the noise trail alone.

      Joe paused and looked back. Something moved in the shadows. His heart skipped a beat. He turned and ran and never looked back, passing out some time later beneath some trees in the city park.

      When he woke the next morning, his only concern was that he’d outrun his fate. Days after, when the Kentucky authorities came and took Judd away, Joe couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but relief.

      And Judd Hanna didn’t care that his father was out of his life. In his mind, he’d been alone for years. His last refuge had been God, and that night under the stairs, even God had deserted him.

      A loud sound outside the bar startled Judd’s reverie. He blinked several times as his thoughts refocused. Once more, he found himself staring at the man in the mirror, and at the glass of whiskey only inches away from his lips. He shuddered. Damn. He wasn’t far from the man he’d learned to hate.

      At that moment, something inside of him snapped. He set the drink down without tasting it, tossed some money on the bar, and headed for the street. His captain had been right. He was taking chances with his life, only he didn’t know why, but one fact remained that he couldn’t ignore. If he wanted to live, it had to stop now.

      He walked the streets for hours, weighing his options. His rent was paid until the first of the year and his utility bills were deducted directly from his bank account. He had no one to answer to but himself, and no intentions of spilling his guts to a shrink. In Judd Hanna’s mind, that left him only one option, and he was going to take it before it was too late.

      Captain Roger Shaw’s satisfaction in dealing with Hanna’s problem was short-lived. At nine-thirty the next morning, a call from the department shrink verified the fact that Judd Hanna was a no-show.

      Furious, he called Judd’s apartment and got a disconnect message on the phone. He stared at the receiver in disbelief, then dialed again, certain