DAWN OF NIGHTMARES

DAWN OF NIGHTMARES GRIFFIN, GA – 1942

The ghost of infidelity lingered like a spectral presence, haunting Lucille’s thoughts, and planting seeds of doubt in her mind. Holding back a storm of resentment and discontent, Lucille greeted David as he arrived home. Standing at the door, ready to leave the weight of the world behind, David was eager to kiss his wife. He reached for Lucille wrapping his arms around her waste but wasn’t prepared for the stoic frozen hug she offered. Pushing away, Lucille vanished into the kitchen shouting “you did not call.”

Marietta darted from the kitchen bright-eyed and bursting with her infectious laughter. She launched into his embrace with her golden curls cascading across his shoulders. His heart was full of love for his baby girl.

“Let her go. Put Marietta down and stop hugging on her.”

He twirled her around before tossing her onto the couch.

“Now stay here my little floppy bunny. I’ll be right back.”

Each time David returned from a long haul; the fragile threads holding their family together weakened. Lucille’s relentless jealousy and suspicion simmered just beneath the surface, a cauldron of voiced frustrations and accusations. The Augusta Chronicle newspaper had reported the repeated infidelity of truckers but after the murder of a truck stop waitress, David instinctively knew infidelity had a tighter grip on Lucille’s mind.

“I’m no fool David and I will not be made to feel eclipsed in my own home by my own husband.”

Although Lucille’s posture was rigid, David reached for her once more, pulling her face close and attempting to kiss her. Lucille pulled away, her lips pressed into a tight line feeling overwhelmed by a cloud of suspicion still hovering in the silence of his absence. David knew what she was thinking. He knew he should have stopped and called.

“Get it together woman. She’s my little floppy bunny. I love her and miss her. Marietta deserves love too. I would hug you if you would let me.”

“And how many others were you hugging while you were gone David?”

“Lucille, you are the lover and love of my life. You know I will never betray your trust; I am faithful to you every single moment since I found out you were going to have our child. What’s so threatening about showing my daughter, our child, love?”

“Threatened.? Now I’m threatened? Why didn’t you call?”

“Only the best will keep their jobs because of the depression so I need to stay focused on my work. I can’t afford to get distracted. You know this!”

“Oh, so now your family is a distraction. Hearing your voice would have helped me feel less anxious as my mind swirled with what ifs after reading the newspaper report about the murder. You could have called and reassured me it was not you!”

“Now you question whether I could be a murderer? Don’t you trust me at all Lucille? Do you believe me when I tell you I love you.”

“Not when you forget about us and don’t call.”

“Listen, Lucille, the road’s a tough place, and it’s hard to explain the grit it takes to get those loads delivered on time. I just need you to trust me and have my back, be the great wife and mom you are. I can’t handle you grilling me every time I roll in from the haul. I’m gonna step out, grab a pack of smokes, and give you a minute to cool off. Need anything from the store?”

David, feeling frustrated, chose to ignore her harsh accusations and walked out. The waitress, armed with a menu and a smile brighter than the diner's red sign, approached the burly truck driver, clad in a plaid shirt and cap that had seen better days. David gave her a nod that said "thanks, but no thanks," locking his eyes on the cigarette machine. With the grace of a bear in a ballet class he dropped a handful of coins into the machine, coaxing out a pack of cigarettes like it was a long-lost friend. He turned his collar against the rain before heading to the bar next door. He could use a whiskey to settle his nerves, but his thought quickly averted at the sight of the flashing lights and sirens of a passing police car. A stark reminder that his job depended on 6 maintaining a clear record, he made a mental note to himself not to drink too much, aware of the consequences. Ignoring the temptation to indulge too heavily, he returned home with whiskey-fueled bravado. Wrestling with the key to unlock the door, David tumbled into his home, approached his bedroom like a sailor navigating a stormy sea, and staggered forward. Shedding his clothes with little regard, he kicked his clothes to the corner falling back and landing on his side of the bed. Lucille lay there like a silent judge in the courtroom of their relationship. Despite her fortress of pillows and irrational thoughts, he clung to the belief that his need to be close to her outweighed any emotional minefield he might step on. Even if all she could muster was the affection of a lukewarm handshake, he figured it was worth the risk—after all, he'd faced tougher challenges wrestling with a stubborn diesel engine. He scooted closer to her side with the stealth of a trucker trying to sneak past a weigh station. He managed to kick the covers off Lucille, hoping she would wake up. Each rise and fall of her chest fueled his overwhelming longing as he inched closer. Lucille turned away with the grace of a cat avoiding a bath, her back a wall of rigid resistance. Dismissing the realization that the only thing he'd be controlling tonight was his ability to leave her alone, he contemplated his next move. With a deep breath, he leaned over and gently tapped her shoulder, whispering her name softly, as if trying to coax a skittish horse.

"Lucille," he murmured, hoping his voice carried just the right mix of sincerity and charm to pierce through her fortress of sleep. Lucille stirred slightly, letting out a small, sleepy groan that he interpreted as acknowledgment. Encouraged, he tried again, this time with a bit more volume and a heavy hand across her chest.

"Lucille, I just wanted to talk," he said, attempting to sound casual, though his heart was pounding. She shifted again, this time rolling onto her back and blinking up at the ceiling. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, flickered over to him with a look that was hard to read in the dim light. "What is it? Why does your breath smell like turpentine," she asked, her voice carrying the weight of someone pulled from the depths of a dream. Feeling the pressure of the moment, he hesitated, suddenly unsure of what he wanted to say. The words seemed to tangle in his throat, and for a brief second, he considered retreating back under the covers. But he pressed on, driven by the whiskey-soaked confidence and hope that maybe, just maybe, she had missed him enough to relent. He pressed forward.

David fled from the confines of the sweat-soaked sheets, pushed his socked feet into his boots, grabbed his clothes and stormed out of the room, closing his ears to the echo of her tortured cries. His heart pounded like a war drum of betrayal as he tried to run from the guilt crashing over his conscience. How could he justify forcing himself upon his own wife? Pacing between rooms, David grappled with the stark reality of the evil he displayed and tore at his wedding band now a tarnished symbol of self-inflicted betrayal. Shredding his skin, he impatiently edged the ring from its place, leaving it bloody and abandoned on the table. Starring it down as if it were the enemy of his consecrated vows, he ran his bloody finger across the handset of the telephone vowing he would never be able to call again.

“No matter what I do, stay or go, she ain’t never gonna trust me.”

“Daddy?”

David turned with fright, seeing his daughter cast in the shadows of her bedroom door crying.

“What’s the matter Marietta.”

“I had a bad dream about a monster taking you away and it scared me.”

After putting Marietta back to bed with an empty promise that everything would be ok, he softened his footsteps as he made his way to the front door. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, swirling with regret, sadness, and anger. A single thought stood out clearly; they were better off without his brusque presence. As he crossed the threshold, he couldn’t help but glance back one last time, hoping that in leaving, he was giving Lucille the freedom to find someone she could love and Marietta a home without shouting. With a sigh, he turned away, stepping out into the unknown hoping to find a better version of himself.