God's Will

God's Will

By

Dante Petrilla

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Dante Petrilla

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Prologue

Time. An insubstantial notion. A curious little puzzle for tiny-minded fools.

Time, entropy. The two were woven together into a cruel abstraction that tore at the fabric of life. Small, moronic, physical life. Ridiculous! Physical life!

Time was an enemy to the limited, the tiny, the obtuse.

Time had never been a problem for him - until now. The very notion that it had become a problem plunged him into a dark, abysmal dismay the like of which he had never known. Time was running out. And worst of all - the fault was his own.

Slowly, purposefully, he steadied himself. He prepared the words - the incantations and intonations of unfathomable depth, which would draw upon the source of his mighty power. And once more, just once more, he would try. For his power was running out, side by side with time.

Time! He cursed the very concept now that it had become his greatest enemy. He cursed himself. He despised time for what it was, and himself for what he had done. He had brought everything crashing down around himself in his arrogance.

He resented its power - its power over him. Him! He had toyed with it, and time had struck at him, stung him and poisoned him with its deadly venom. Worst of all, it had made a mockery of him, of his great powers, his immense mind. Time had brought him to his knees.

Focus. He needed focus. Leave the bitterness behind. There was one last attempt at salvation to be made, and there was much at stake.

He murmured softly to himself as he prepared his mind for the awesome task ahead. "I have failed too often. I will know success. I will defeat you - vilest of enemies."

Time moved on. It moved on him, on everything in his universe, as the raw energy of his incomprehensibly powerful magic was set in motion by the unknowable science behind his incantations.

Its pure potency exploded through the infinity of dimensions comprising his very existence. It focused on the tiniest of spaces, in the most distant place. And it took hold. It breathed sweet life into his intent once more. And it was begun again.

The journey would be long and arduous. It would take time - most precious and hateful of all things. But on this occasion he would succeed. Every facet of his vast thought focused on that belief. He had to succeed. There was no other way.

Chapter 1

Mary

The radio studio was a cold, technical jumble of electronics which discomfited Mary. The overwhelming sensation brought on by the thought of all those faceless people listening made her ill at ease. The production team looked on through the gray glass. They didn’t stare, but they were looking. The microphone itself suddenly seemed intimidating, and she paused.

The struggle within her was evident, the pain of her memory reflected in her glassy eyes. This was hard for her. She had confronted the issues many times before, had come to terms with them in many ways. But this was the first time for her to face the awful memories of her childhood on air. She quickly blessed herself.

The host of the talk show insisted she call him by his first name. And while that name and his voice were both familiar to her, he was still a complete stranger. Again, she became very aware of the production team outside, busy with their work, yet still watching. Watching her. They all had that look on their faces. That look everyone developed when hearing her story - horrified pity. She hated that look. But she understood it, and forgave them for it.

It was daunting, and it had barely started. It was a hard story to tell.

Alec Candon smiled warmly at Mary, attempted to soothe her. It’s okay, Mary. You’re doing just fine. It’s just you and me having a chat.

His warm, genuine manner reassured her. He didn’t have that look on his face. She gave a weak half-smile back to him and continued, Like I said, Alec, I’m not really sure when it all started. I can pretty much always remember the abuse being part of my life. So I guess I must have been around three or four, maybe younger.

Candon frowned slightly, and fought his darkening expression. Your father physically and sexually abused you basically from the time you were a baby until you were fifteen. Morbid amazement had crept into his voice despite his best efforts to conceal it.

Until I ran away with my sister.

Jenifer was your sister. She was two years younger than you, and your father abused her as well. He knew all these things. He had read them in his notes about Mary’s story, but he still found it disturbing to actually face the woman, to see and hear her pain up close. He felt for her, but needed to keep her at ease, and to do that he needed to keep his own emotions firmly in check. It had been a while since he had faced a tough story like this.

Yes. We got the same treatment, Alec. Sometimes together, sometimes alone. He used to tell us the same stuff. ‘You’re my property,’ he’d say, ‘I own you. I’ll do what I damn well please. It’s all you’re good for anyway.’ She took a deep breath to calm herself, quivering slightly as she exhaled, then continued, He beat us black and blue with his belt, but only in places where the bruises wouldn’t show.

Her voice had started to break up slightly as she spoke, and Candon saw her resolve gradually melting, giving way to her pain and nervousness. Okay, Mary, you just relax there for a minute or two, and we’ll get you a cup of tea. I’m just gonna take a short break here. He cued a commercial and switched the microphones off. Again, he showed her that warm, friendly smile. You’re a brave woman, Mary. I know this isn’t easy, but you’re doing a great job.

God give me strength. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket. Is it okay if I have one of these?

Absolutely, you go right ahead, he gushed. He watched her light the cigarette, and inhaled deeply when the cloud of blue smoke reached him. I haven’t had one now for three years. I must admit, I still miss them.

She smiled, I should give them up myself, but … Well, you need something, don’t you?

Candon nodded, raised his eyebrows, Yeah, you do. You do. He cued another commercial, and regarded Mary silently. Perhaps it had been the introduction of the cigarette, but he had suddenly become aware of how raspy her voice was. It sounded like it had been worn ragged by years of screaming, or maybe it was just the smoking. He preferred to think it was the latter.

Her voice didn’t suit her. To Candon, she appeared elegant, if perhaps slightly tired looking. She was an attractive woman; tall, slim, with medium length dark brown hair, dyed to hide the gray. He knew from his notes that she was in her late thirties.

But in some subtle way her elegance was tainted. Her face was gaunt, giving her a somewhat skeletal appearance which spoke of age beyond her years. And the smell of cigarette smoke had mixed with her perfume in just such a way as to ruin any lasting impression of grace or beauty Candon may have initially formed.

She had been through hell though, he thought. He imagined that she might be stunningly beautiful if all the years of care had not taken their toll. She was only a small number of years his senior, and yet Candon felt as though she was old enough to be his mother. The thought disturbed him. Poor woman.

The tea was brought in, and the commercials were coming to an end. Okay, we’ll be back on in just a few seconds, Mary. He indicated the cup on the desk before Mary. The tea’s not bad here, honest. He smiled as she sipped, and faded the microphones back up.

Okay, we’re back now, talking with Mary who suffered abuse at the hands of her father for most of her childhood. But she’s here now with us, having come through all that, and she’s forged quite a successful life for herself despite the trauma inflicted on her by her father.

Candon’s tone then changed to a more serious one. Now presumably your mother must have known that this was going on. How could she sit by and just let it happen?

Mary frowned, She knew, Alec. To be honest, I don’t think she could face it. She didn’t know how to confront him. She was just as scared of him as the rest of us were. He beat her too. She must have found it impossible to leave him. She had no job, virtually no education. It was hard for her too. I used to hate her for not doing anything about it, but I don’t anymore. She was weak, but she wasn’t evil like he was. She was in the same boat as the rest of us.

Mary’s attempts to justify her mother’s inaction raised Candon’s anger, but he was careful to control the emotion. She didn’t need any confrontation from him. There were many things he wanted to say to her at that moment, but he knew it wasn’t his place to do so.

His expression darkened as he prepared to lead into the most disturbing part of Mary’s story. So your mother did nothing, and eventually you were driven to taking matters into your own hands. He paused. Not looking up from the notes in front of him, he continued, Tell me about your little brother Tommy.

Sadness fell over Mary’s countenance like a dark veil, and with a forlorn smile she said, "Tommy was a lovely little boy, Alec. He was born when I was ten. Such a sweet, happy little thing. He had beautiful blonde hair and big blue eyes.

After he came along, the abuse to me and my sister stopped for a while. It was like my father finally got the son he had been waiting for, and that satisfied something in him. He still treated us like dirt, swore at us and slapped us around, but he had stopped raping us.

Candon’s stomach churned, and he found it difficult to look at Mary. He knew what was coming, but again, he was disturbed at hearing the story from this poor woman’s lips.

She went on, "He used to say to us, ‘Little Tommy’s perfect. Why couldn’t you have been like him instead of the miserable sluts that you are?’

Well, he idolized Tommy, and for almost a year he didn’t sexually abuse us at all. But then gradually he started again, and after a while, things were back to normal.

Candon snorted humorlessly, "Normal. What a bastard."

"He was, Alec. An evil bastard. God forgive me. Anyway, he used to have us go into the bedroom at a certain time every night. We just went automatically, Jenifer and me. We knew he’d only come to us and beat us and rape us anyway if we didn’t. So at least that way we escaped getting beaten so much.

But this one particular night we went in and he had Tommy in there and he was … Her throat tightened, squeezing off the flow of words as she relived the horrific memory. Tears were welling in her eyes, and she shook her head as she began to cry. I’m sorry. Her voice was choked with the emotion tied to the memory.

It’s okay, Mary, Candon reassured her. He took hold of her hand and held it firmly as he watched the woman battle the pain of her past. He felt like crying himself, but he held back the tears. I’ll just take a short commercial break here. He cued the commercial disc once again, and cut the microphones off. It’s all right, Mary, you’re okay. You take as much time as you need. His understanding tone was calming, and had the desired effect.

One of his crew brought in a box of tissues, and sat them silently on the desk beside Mary. Candon could see that the young girl’s eyes were misted with tears as she quietly left the studio to return to her post outside.

Mary rubbed furiously at her eyes with several tissues, attempting to get hold of herself. She had worn no makeup. Perhaps she had expected this to happen. She tried to regain her composure as quickly as possible. I’m sorry. This isn’t going well, is it?

Candon’s warm smile was back again, Stop apologizing. It’s going just fine. Under the circumstances I’m surprised you’re able to come on the air at all. What you’re doing takes guts. Look at me, Mary. I mean it. It takes incredible courage for you to even be here right now. I wouldn’t be able to do it. I really admire your strength.

She smiled through diminishing tears and thanked Candon for his kindness. He had succeeded in putting her at ease once again. She sipped her now cold tea, and lit another cigarette, inhaling deeply as she did so. I’m okay now.

Good. Remember, it’s just you and me having a chat. No big deal. I know what you have to say is difficult, but just focus on why you’re here. You’ve come through an awful ordeal, and you’re here telling your story to help people. He had already opened the microphones unbeknownst to her, and he continued, So your little five year old brother Tommy was now falling victim to your father’s abuse as well.

That’s right, Alec. Her gaze was somewhat detached, still looking back on the harrowing memory. Her voice was still a little shaky, but she was over the worst of it, and was able to go on, "It was terrible. I got sick at the sight of what was happening to Tommy. There was blood on the bed, and he was crying, but my father wouldn’t stop. Jenifer and I just stood there frozen, watching. We were too scared to do anything.

"I don’t know if that was the first time my father abused Tommy, but it was the last. Jenifer and I talked that night in bed about how we’d run away the next day, and take Tommy with us.

We lived in a small town where everybody knew everybody else’s business, so we knew we would have to come to the city to get away without anyone knowing. We had it all planned out. We’d take money from our mother’s purse, pretend like we were going to school as usual, and we’d just get a bus into the city. We hadn’t really thought much about what we’d do when we got there. We just felt it would be so great to finally be away.

The sorrow in her expression had been growing as she spoke, and when she paused, her face contorted in anguish. The next morning when we got up, my father and mother were screaming at each other. Mom was hysterical, and my father started to beat her. Again, she paused, fighting back the tightening in her throat.

Mom just kept screaming Tommy’s name over and over again. When we came into the room to see what was happening, my father went crazy, screamed at us that it was our fault. She stopped again, shut her eyes tightly.

Tommy had bled to death during the night.

Candon could only shake his head, and after a brief pause, Mary went on. "My father screamed at us to go to school and tell Tommy’s teacher that he was sick. He said he’d deal with us when we got home.

So I took Mom’s purse and we got the bus into the city. We never went back home.

Candon’s voice was heavy as he continued with the interview. What an absolutely awful thing. He paused and cleared his throat. You then had to find your way as two teenage girls in the harsh environment of the city. Things must have been rough to say the least, especially in light of what you had just been through. Presumably you had very little money.

A tiny smile returned to Mary’s face. "It was bliss compared to home, Alec. It was spring, and it was warm. We slept on the streets. We were so happy just to be out of there. We were free and life was great … except for Tommy. That night was the happiest and the saddest I ever remember being.

But at least Tommy was free too. And now that I look back on it, it would have been awful for him to have had to endure life on the streets at such a young age. He deserved better than that. And he’s in a better place now.

You and your sister fell into prostitution and drugs.

"I never got into drugs myself, Alec. But selling my body was the easiest way to make a living, and Jenifer got addicted to heroin. She blew her money on that. After a few years, she had her own circle of friends who were all into it. I didn’t want to be part of that scene, and I was always at her to get off it and get away from those people. I had my own place at that time, and I wanted her to come and stay with me.

She didn’t want to know though, and that kind of pushed us apart. She died of an overdose when she was eighteen.

Good God, you’ve had your troubles, Mary. It’s an incredible story; a frightening tale of abuse and misery, but in the end one of triumph for yourself. You’re a successful author now. Well done.

Thank you, Alec.

"Now you’ve come through this hell and arrived out the other side an incredibly well-adjusted individual. Certainly you bear the scars of your own particular war, but you bear them well. You’re a very confident, intelligent and courageous woman. And I think a lot of people who might have found themselves in your situation, having gone through what you went through, would perhaps not have survived at all; to say nothing of being so together. Your sister Jenifer being a prime example.

You came through this tragic start to your life to become a very successful woman with a positive attitude, and forgiveness in your heart for those who inflicted this trauma on you and those who let it happen absolutely unchecked. What makes the difference between you and your sister? What’s got you through to where you are now?

A proud, happy smile lit up Mary’s face. Oh, it’s definitely my faith in God, my relationship with God. That bond, that love that I share with God gives me the strength to carry on and succeed. It takes the anger, the resentment, hatred and envy out of your life, and you just get such a perfect view of what is right. It might not always be the easiest choice to make, but that difficulty is all part of it. This is where my desire to help others has come from. I have a very deep commitment to helping other people overcome the same sort of abuse my family endured. That came about as a result of my going to church, learning what God, and what Christ are all about, what they stand for.

I know that forgiveness is the very Christian thing to do. Indeed, it’s at the very heart of Christianity. Now I attend church myself; have done for as long as I can remember. But don’t think that I could forgive someone who had done me such a terrible wrong - someone who had ruined my formative years the way your father did yours. I would find it hard to forgive far lesser offences against my family or myself. And I’ve always found it difficult to understand how people like yourself can find the strength to forgive those who have done them such harm. How do you do it?

Mary considered his question for a moment before answering. "It’s not really a question of how you do it, Alec. We all know how to do it, we’re all capable of it. It’s a choice you make. And if you don’t forgive, at the end of the day, you are the one who ultimately suffers for it. You’re the one that has to live with that pain and hatred inside, and it takes energy to keep those things going. It cripples you. You become consumed by your own hatred for the person you can’t forgive.

"That’s what happened to my sister. She couldn’t get over it. She dwelt on it day after day. She used to plan how she’d go back home someday and kill our father. Well, she never got to do that. Her hatred for him became her whole life. She used that as an excuse to throw her life away, an excuse to envy others who had a normal, happy childhood. And I really believe it all stems from her choice not to forgive him, and what happened, like I did.

"I mean, I don’t forget, Alec. God knows no one who went through that could just forget about it. But I can forgive because I know that that sets me free from the hold my father had on my life. And if I still hated him, that hatred would only harm me, not him. And I think I wouldn’t be where I am today if I did."

You called him an evil bastard earlier. Surely you must harbor some hatred for him?

Her confidence had grown as she had been speaking, and she met his question head on. "No, I don’t. I’m not going to sugarcoat what he is or what he did. I’m not going to lie and say what a lovely, wonderful father he was. He was an evil bastard. That’s a fact, not my opinion. There is evil in this world, genuine evil with no hope for redemption. He was an example of that. He’s to be pitied really, not hated - my mother even more so. You’ve just got to get on with things. If you want to have a good life, there’s no time in it for hatred."

Candon nodded in understanding, Hard choice, indeed to make, Mary.

That’s right, very hard. But that’s what it’s all about. It’s easy to do the wrong thing, so easy. I did it myself for many years before I found God and the Church. But when you do what is right for the right reason, you certainly reap the benefits. You’re rewarded far more than you would imagine possible. It gives you such a good feeling inside, has such a positive effect on your life.

You’re a very strong, wise woman, Mary. And you’re to be admired and applauded for who you are, what you stand for, and what you’re trying to do. We need lots more like you.

She was gratified by the sincerity in his voice. Thanks.

Now your book is doing very well, and you’re hoping it will shine a light on the darkness that is child abuse. Because that’s really the biggest problem, isn’t it? People are very unwilling, or feel quite unable to talk about it while it’s happening.

"That’s right. I’m just trying to draw attention to the problem, and to let people know; kids, mothers, and in some cases even fathers, who are in the situation I used to be in, that there are places you can go to get help, and not to be afraid to go. We have to do everything we can to get abused children out of the abusive situations, and get them the help they need.

The book is my story, but there’s a lot of information in there on where people can get help, and how they can go about it - because it’s never an easy dilemma to get out of, and most people just don’t know what to do.

The book is called Freedom, and it’s a remarkable story of triumph out of tragedy, told wonderfully by an equally remarkable woman. He smiled widely at her again. Mary, it’s been a delight to talk to you. You’re an inspiration to us all. Thank you very much for joining us.

She returned his infectious smile. "Thank you, Alec, for giving me the opportunity."

As Candon watched her smile, it hit him. There was nothing tainted about this woman at all. Her confidence and strength had blossomed like a beautiful flower before him as they spoke. He felt ashamed at the preconceived notion he’d had about Mary on meeting her.

* * *

Candon was enveloped by the freezing darkness as he exited the studio building. The fierce, biting January wind assailed him from every direction. He zipped up his jacket against the winter, and silently gave thanks that the show was over and that the Blue Hollow bar was just across the street.

His four-hour show was finished at six, and gridlock as usual this time of evening meant that he was able to cross easily. He heaved a sigh of relief that at least tonight he would not have to fight this wicked traffic. No, tonight he would need a taxi to take him home. The BMW would stay right where it was. That simple thought made him feel somewhat better, but only somewhat.

He often stopped in the Blue Hollow after a show, usually with his team. But the team was absent tonight. No one seemed in the mood for a few drinks and a laugh after today’s show, least of all Candon.

So he was glad he was alone. The show had continued for another hour after he had finished interviewing Mary, and Candon had become increasingly sullen during that short time. He was curt and uncommunicative with the callers, anxious for the show to come to an end. It was unlike him, but he had been rocked by Mary’s story.

No, that wasn’t it. It was not her story which had so shaken him. It had been her attitude. And worst of all, it was his own mental response to her attitude. She had put him to shame. She had a handle on the meaning of life that he didn’t.

He craved that sleepy dullness that a few whiskeys would bring, and he didn’t want to wait until he got home for it to take the edge off his day.

What a day!

For the past four years, he had been at the helm of an extremely successful nationally syndicated radio talk show that had gone from strength to strength. There was no doubt that its success was due in large part to Candon himself. He was the star. He had become comfortable being the star.

He had heard much in his time on the air, and had met with people he often felt to be less fortunate than himself. Mary had seemed another such person to him when he had read the notes on her story. She had remained that way in his mind until her confidence had blossomed when he asked her what had got her through. He had been patronizing. Patronizing! What right did he have to feel so superior, so much more fortunate?

Her story had chilled him to the bone like this winter iciness never could have. But her positive attitude, her thoughts on forgiveness had shaken him even more.

He felt small.

He wanted the sting taken out of his miserable day. To that end he entered the Blue Hollow, was greeted by the warm, smoky atmosphere, tainted with alcohol and urine which seemed common to all such places. It seemed much more noticeable tonight though.

He promptly ordered a large whiskey and gulped it before the bartender could leave. He indicated that he’d like his glass filled again. Again, it was drained just as quickly. He thrust the glass back at the bartender, expressing his desire that it be filled again.

Leo raised an eyebrow as he took the glass and asked, Hard day, Mr. Candon?

Candon nodded, You bet, Leo … you bet. His stomach was on fire; a seething burning which would soothe him in time. He frowned against the dull pain it brought as he sat at the bar. The next whiskey would be taken more carefully. He would most likely be late for dinner.

Leo always seemed to find time to talk to Candon whenever he came in. He liked the radio personality, and Candon liked his no-nonsense manner, his uncomplicated way of seeing the world. For a man in his late seventies, Leo was as sharp as a tack. Candon enjoyed talking with him, and wondered if perhaps that was his main reason for coming in tonight.

Leo knew people, he knew the world, he knew life, and he had sharp insights and views on it all. Candon often found himself quoting some small phrase or other of Leo’s on the radio.

Candon slowly sipped his third whiskey as Leo talked to him. I heard the show. Rough stuff. He shook his gray-haired head while drying a glass. He always seemed to be drying a glass.

Candon smiled weakly at his friend and took another sip. You think you’ve heard it all. Then you get slapped in the face with something like that.

I know. And after all that, she still believes in God. I think I might find faith a bit harder if something like that happened to me.

Faith seems to be what gets her through, Leo. That’s what’s important about it, I guess. That dull feeling was starting to wash over him now as he sipped. At last! he thought.

"Count your lucky stars, Mr. Candon. Some people got real problems."

"I never stop counting them, Leo. If there’s one thing to be taken out of all that stuff today - that’s it."

The two talked for some time until the bar began to get busier. Leo pointed an aged finger at Candon and said, You know, your wife’s gonna be wonderin’ where you are. You want me to call you a cab?

Candon managed a wry smile. You trying to get rid of me, Leo? Don’t worry about my wife. I expect she knows where I am. She reads me even better than you do sometimes."

The old bartender laughed. I’ll tell you somethin’, Mr. Candon. If I had a wife as beautiful as yours to go home to, I sure as hell wouldn’t be hangin’ around this place, wastin’ my time talkin’ to the likes of you.

Candon smiled. Point taken. He lifted his glass and emptied what was left of his fourth whiskey. Leo, I want lots more of these. He paused, then added as the bartender eyed him suspiciously, But I’ll be back to get them another day. Take it easy, my friend.

See ya, Mr. Candon. Hey, you make sure you get a cab now, you hear me? Candon was nearly out the door as Leo finished, but he waved to acknowledge that he had heard the old man.

No, there was no way he was fighting this traffic tonight.

As he hailed a taxi, he wondered if perhaps he might just make home in time for dinner after all. He looked at his watch. No, not likely.

The drive home was slow, and the driver was busy listening to the radio. It gave Candon time to think. The thoughts were unpleasant, but he wanted to think them. He felt the need to confront them as the whiskey worked on him.

The interview had shaken him up, jarred his emotions with the force of an earthquake the like of which