Armand Fourteen: Newfound Strength

Guest Starring: Two Police Officers made by MrsOogieBoogie/Freckled-Pixels

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"9-1-1. What's your emergency?"

"My dad is beating my sister on the porch."

"Okay, can your dad see you? Are you in any danger?"

"No, I don't think so, but I'm trying to be quiet, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, don't apologize, tell me some more details. Where are you?"

"I'm at my bedroom window, it overlooks the porch. Oh my God.. He's pushing her against one of the columns, I'm scared.. please send help."

"What's your address?"

"162 Savannah Lane.. oh God, I'm afraid he's going to kill her!"

"Help is on the way."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ END OF RECORDING ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hushed silence filled the courtroom after the damning 9-1-1 tape was played for everyone to hear. The mystery witness the police were looking for was Samuel Butchet, Dale's fifteen year old son.

"The court calls Samuel Butchet to the stand."

I walked up to the witness stand nervous, yet excited to finally get some freedom from the hell I had been raised in. I probably looked weak in the eyes of my family, since I hadn't caused any trouble for Dad after the time he punched me and locked me in my room for two days. I don't even remember what I had supposedly done, but that memory stuck with me. I had fooled Tracy and Dad for years, but I knew the truth. The only reason I had "submitted" was that I had a deep desire inside me to survive, which I knew could make me look compliant, but I was willing to take that chance. Dad's punishment had made me afraid I would starve, so he was able to control me upon threat of death. I never believed anything he said, though, because he just sounds crazy to me. I never tried to go against Dad regarding anything of my own, but I did try to intervene a couple of times when I saw Dad attacking Mom. I was always unsuccessful at saving her, though, as I was only eleven at the time, and it was easy for my Dad to fling me across the room with just one small push.

I was glad to see that Desiree had so much support, Mom was there, as well as the two police officers who arrested Dad. There was another woman there whom I didn't know, but I was glad for her presence nevertheless. My nervousness about testifying was countered by my deep desire to finally expose my father's cruelty, and if the law was going to offer a helping hand, I was damn sure not going to refuse it.  Dad and Desiree had always had screaming matches after which she would be whipped with a belt, but I had never seen Dad go so insane and use the concrete as his accomplice. I didn't know how he could call himself a religious man when he was clearly hellbent on acting like the opposite of a saint. I genuinely felt like Dad was going to kill Desiree had he been given the chance, which is why when the officers came to my group home inquiring if I would testify against my father, I decided to break my silence. I saw Tracy shooting daggers at me with her eyes, but I didn't care. I thought she was crazy, and maybe just as evil as Dad for going along with his antics.

"Mr. Butchet, is that your voice on the 9-1-1 recording?"

"Yes."

"Why did you call 9-1-1 that night?"

"I saw my Dad hit my sister, and I knew it wasn't right. I was afraid she was in danger."

"Why would she be in danger? He's her father too! Could it be you misunderstood a "hit" for a simple raising of the hand to stop someone, a raise that wouldn't make contact with them at all? You weren't there, you were all the way up at your bedroom win----"

"OBJECTION! Badgering the witness! He's only fifteen for Christ's sake!"

"SUSTAINED. Please just ask the witness questions based on fact, Mr. Haskle, and not his own speculations."

"Yes, your Honor. Mr. Butchet, on the tape you state you were afraid. Why?"

"Because my father scares me. He's hit me before when he felt I was doing something he didn't like. I knew he wouldn't like that I was calling the police."

"So why speak up now? Why not go to the police the first time he allegedly beat you?"

"I wanted my father to stop hitting Desiree. Previous times, I just tried to stop my dad, but he always got the upper hand. I was scared for Desiree, and I wanted a sure solution. I know 9-1-1 helps people with emergencies. This was an emergency."

"So you're just a scared little kid. Should we really be taking this child's words seriou-?"

"OBJECTION!!"

"SUSTAINED. Mr. Haskle, if you have no more real questions for this witness, please just spare me my time and SIT down."

"Yes, Your Honor. No further questions."

"Your witness, Ms. Cazelton."

"Mr. Butchet, did you feel in your heart that calling 9-1-1 was in the best interest of your sister, or your entire family?"

"My entire family."

"Why is that?"

"My dad abuses all of us physically. He has for years."

"OBJECTION! Witness speculation!"

"OVERRULED. It is true that Ms. Cazleton needs evidence to show whether abuse has indeed been going on for years aside from this incident, but she is in process of discussing this with the witness, Counselor."

"Why would he abuse you? What was his trigger, from your perspective, Mr. Butchet."

"Dad had a lot of rules. If we stepped outside of any of those rules, a physical punishment followed. He would beat us with his belt."

"Do you know what may have triggered your father that night you called 9-1-1?"

"My sister looked like she was leaving the house in the middle of the night. My dad has a strict curfew for all of us, and she wasn't obeying it."

"What made you aware of the situation?"

"The porch is right under my bedroom window, and I heard my dad yelling. I went to my window to see what he was yelling about."

"How many times did you see your father hit Desiree?"

"OBJECTION! Counselor is implying my client hit his daughter! Putting words in the witness' mouth!"

"SUSTAINED. Ms. Cazelton, reword your question for the court."

"Sorry, your Honor. Mr. Butchet, what did you witness from your bedroom window?"

"I saw my dad pushing Desiree into one of the columns on our house, and she hit her head.."

"...Then I saw him kick her in the stomach with his knee.."

"...Then I saw Dad throw her to the ground, put his knee on her back, pull her hair, and wrench her arm behind her back. The last thing I saw was him... I saw him..."

"Please try to continue, Mr. Butchet."

"...I saw him kick her in the face..."

I couldn't hold my composure anymore as I felt the pain of everything I was describing. It felt like I was right back there on that awful night doing the best I could to try to save Desiree from afar. I broke down into tears, hugging myself to try to combat the chill that had started coursing through my chest as I was describing the incident outside my window. My hands were clenched in fists because I also felt extreme rage towards my father for what he had done to our family all these years. I looked over at him, wanting to punch the smug look off his stupid face. He wasn't even sitting in his chair like he gave a fuck what was going on with his own children. Me, the witness, and Desiree, the plaintiff.

Dad caught me looking at him and glared, trying to intimidate me, no doubt, but I wasn't going to be kept under his thumb any longer. His eyes looked so cold and calculating under his angry eyebrows. I'd always wondered what made my dad tick. Did he get some odd pleasure out of seeing his family suffer in so many ways?

"That's enough for now, court will take a ten minute recess. Thank you, Mr. Butchet. You may step down."

---

I watched as my brother Samuel broke down on the witness stand when he described seeing Dad kick me in the face, and thought, 'Yes, that is the proper reaction to the events of that night,' not whatever Dad was thinking. I saw him glaring at Samuel and I couldn't understand what was wrong with him. I've always gone to church, upon Dad's request of course, but his sermons never matched the man I saw at our house. At church he was always inspiring and helpful, and it made me wonder if he just never wanted our family. Would he have been happier single? He sure doesn't treat Mom like he loves her. He just uses her for her housekeeping skills, skills that he wanted to brainwash me into doing too, for a man.

*BZZ-BZZ.*

My phone vibrated, and I took the recess to look at who had sent me a message. Once again, Armand's name flashed across the screen. My heart fluttered, and I swear it skipped a beat. Samuel's testimony had inspired me. He was so brave to go in public and tell everyone what a monster our father was, despite his age, and the many death glares he no doubt endured. I pushed all my insecurities I had the other day about my feelings for Armand out of my mind. I was good enough to have him as a friend. If my little brother thought I was worth fighting for, I believed it. I opened the message to read it. 

I had a mix of emotions when I saw the past messages that I had ignored. Part of me laughed when Armand thought he was acting like a clingy stalker because that wasn't what I thought of him at all. Part of me was sad that I didn't have the balls to answer him. Part of me got teary eyed when he said he missed me. It really did sound like he was genuinely worried about me after I had left the park so abruptly that day after we had talked about me moving out. Maybe he thought I had moved out and away from him as well. Suddenly I got a pang of guilt for making him feel that way. I had been so sucked into my family drama that I hadn't even thought about how all of this would make him feel. He hadn't seen me for over a month, and the way I had left him was worrisome. Part of the time I was in my coma, so I didn't feel bad about that one since that was out of my control. The stalker message was the one I got when I was in the clinic and couldn't respond. Couldn't, or didn't want to? No, of course I wanted to, he makes my heart feel warm. God, I'm an ass. The message about him hoping he wasn't bothering me was the one I had just received. Court recess was going to be over soon, and I wanted to let him know I was ok, so I sent him a simple message back.

---

*BEEP-BEEP.*

I pulled out my phone after it beeped in my pocket, and saw a familiar name flash across my screen. Holy shit! Desiree finally replied to me! I felt a ridiculous smile come across my face when all my fears of possibly being a clingy asshole disappeared. 

Desiree didn't hate me like I had been working myself up to believe. Take that, Mom. I had healed for the most part regarding my crazy mother and how she made me feel now that I had Ephemera to teach me that almost all of the thoughts Mom had told me were not true, but the thoughts had been resurfacing during the time I had momentarily lost touch with Desiree. When I opened Desiree's message, I have to admit I had more questions than answers, but at least she was talking to me again.

I wondered what could possibly have happened to Desiree that she needed to be in court, but I hoped it wasn't anything too terrible. I was happy that she had posted a sentence with the word later, meaning she wanted to keep in touch. One of my other fears was that I would turn possessive like my mom had done to my dad. My stalker message was an attempt to poke fun at myself for that thought. I hated my mom and I knew that I would never treat anyone like my mom treated my dad, but I didn't know how much of that awful behavior was hereditary, or subconscious.

Remy walked past me, laughing, no doubt because he saw that I had a Joker like smile plastered across my face while staring at my phone.

"So... how's Desiree?"

"Shut up, Remy... but she's fine? I think? She's in court, but she said she'd tell me what was up later."

"Court? I hope it's nothing too serious."

"Yeah, me too, but I suppose at the rate people seem to be suing each other over all kinds of dumb shit these days, it's possible it's minor. She didn't sound especially pained or anything."

"That's true. People are fucking ridiculous."

---

"The court calls Marilyn Butchet to the witness stand."

I walked towards the witness stand after the court came back from recess. The night the social worker came to the hospital, I had willingly answered her questions about Dale's past abuse of me and my children. It hadn't sunk in that night that I had any fault in the situation because I genuinely felt like I had been keeping my children safe. This past month, however, had given me a lot of time to think. Samuel and Tracy were in a group home, Dale had been remanded to prison after his bail had been denied, and Desiree was living at the physical therapy rehabilitation clinic. I realized I was just as guilty as Dale was for what had happened to my family. I couldn't bring myself to look at Desiree as I walked past her, afraid to see what she might be feeling, especially when it came to me. I had visited her every night she was in her coma, and I was sure she knew I loved her, but I was ashamed of how cowardly I had been. I hoped that Desiree knowing I was just about to go testify against her father would make her see how much I wanted to make amends with her.

I was an adult, yet I had continued to let Dale treat me like a child for most of our marriage. I let him boss me around and put me in my place. I don't know why I did that, I suppose it had just become routine ever since that night Dale had his first big blowup. It was when Tracy was six, she had probably just been doing something children do, but Dale brought her to her room and beat her with his belt. I didn't know it had been so serious until Tracy came into the kitchen crying. I went to find Dale and yelled at him about hitting Tracy, but that's when he threw me against the door frame of his office. Samuel came in and tried to stop Dale from hitting me again, but Dale shoved him out of the way, and he fell over Dale's desk. Dale then proceeded to hold my arm on the door frame, and slammed the door on my arm, breaking it. Afterwards, Dale took me to the hospital to get my arm put into a cast. He acted like an angel towards all the hospital staff, pretending like he was the doting husband trying to take care of his wife. His personality seemed to always be switching back and forth like that.

When he was the headmaster of the Catholic high school, he often came home from work venting about the discipline he had to dole out on unruly children, and I suddenly got a pang of uneasiness in my stomach. Had he abused other people's children, using the guise of headmaster to get away with it? I took a deep breath, trying to ready myself for my testimony. I sat on the witness stand chair and looked out at the courtroom, my eyes wandering over to Dale, who had changed from looking smug during Samuel's testimony, to looking at the table in front of him. I couldn't tell if he was just bored with the whole thing since he probably thought he was right, or if some part of him did feel shame and guilt for beating Desiree. Yeah right, Marilyn, he probably feels shame and guilt, not for beating Desiree, but for getting caught.

"Mr. Haskle, your witness."

"Misssusss Byooo-shayyyy."

Dale's lawyer dragged out my name, trying to throw me off before he even asked me any questions. I tried to remain strong with what newfound strength I had discovered from being apart from Dale for a month.

"Did you see my client hit your daughter on the night in question?"

"No."

"What are you even here testifying about then?"

"OBJECTION! Counselor knows the answer to that, he's badgering yet another witness!"

"SUSTAINED. Mrs. Butchet, you do not have to answer that."

"Mrs. Butchet, your son alleges that there is a history of abuse by my client regarding your entire family. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Butchet, is my client, your husband, not a religious man? Could it be that you just misunderstood his level of discipline for abuse?"

"NO. Dale is abusive! He goes overboard. Discipline never has to involve broken bones or bloody wounds!"

"Well, have you ever gone to the hospital? Broken bones can't be fixed with home remedies, now can they?"

"I went once."

"Did you tell anyone at the hospital about the alleged abuse? A nurse? A doctor?"

"No."

"Because my client was not abusing you, correct?"

"N- no."

"Ah-ha!"

"No, that's not what I mea-"

"No further questions, Your Honor."

Dammit, Marilyn, now isn't the time to screw something up like this! Dale's lawyer was good and that was awful for me. The way he had worded his question confused me on how I was supposed to answer it. He wasn't correct, and that's what I was responding to, but then he made it sound like I had said Dale wasn't abusing me. Shit, I hope I didn't just mess this up for Desiree. My heart sank more, once again, when I looked towards Dale only to see a slow, creepy smile spread across his face because he was probably coming to the same revelation I was. If I just screwed up my testimony, then Dale would have won something precious... his freedom.