A Thousand Miles From Nowhere
A Thousand Miles From Nowhere
by CaughtNTheQuiet
May 2002
She lay curled tightly in the fetal position, her back pressed against the wall, hoping her arms and knees would protect the child growing inside of her as the wall protected her spine and kidneys. She felt each bruise form with every blow of his steel toed boots. One of these days he would kill her. Probably the day he found out about the child.
She heard his footsteps receding as he walked away, heard the slamming of the screen door. She lay still, knowing from experience that these sounds often lied. It wasn't until she heard the engine of his truck start up and the crunch of the gravel on the driveway that she allowed herself to uncurl. She ached. God, how she ached. She lay there for a moment after uncurling, letting the blood flow to the forming bruises, wincing as it did so. After the pain subsided, she sat up then gingerly got to her feet and made her way to the bathroom. The mirror over the sink told no tale of the beating she'd just taken. It never did, he was too careful for that.
Stripping off her clothes, the full length mirror hanging behind the door told a different story. Her arms and legs were a rainbow of colors - old bruises fading into muddy yellow and split-pea green, new ones turning black and blue and purple, red welts showing where the bruises hadn't formed yet. Sighing, she turned the water on as hot as she could stand it and stepped into the shower. She knew cold water would help keep the swelling and bruising down, but the heat would help her muscle ache.
'Bastard,' she thought as the tears mingled with the stinging water. She stayed under the jets until the water ran cold then stepped out and quickly dried off, putting her clothes back on, carefully trying to avoid the tender new bruises.
She walked into the kitchen and started the dishes - the reason he'd flown into a rage this morning. Never mind that she'd been cooking and doing his laundry and . . . she sighed. The excuse hadn't mattered - there was always an excuse. She stared out the window and the tears started rolling down her face again. She had to leave. Now, before he got back. Hurrying to her room, she grabbed the bag she'd had packed for weeks . . . ever since she'd found out she was pregnant. Ready for when she'd finally had enough. She checked the money she'd carefully hidden in the bag, then went to the cupboard and took out the coffee can and emptied it. Two hundred dollars in the can, six hundred in her bag. Not much, but enough to get away.
She picked up the phone and dialed. “Come get me,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I'm ready.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
May 2003
He'd found her. She'd known he would eventually, she had just hoped she wouldn't be home alone when he did. The sound of his truck alerted her and she hid the baby in a closet and dialed Tommy's cell phone.
“He's here,” was all she said before hanging up and loading the shotgun. There was nowhere to hide - he might find the baby first - so she stepped onto the porch and pointed the shotgun at his chest as he exited the truck.
“You just turn around and get back in your truck, daddy,” she said with more confidence than she felt.
“Now put that thing away, little girl,” he said with a smile that was anything but friendly, “you know you cain't shoot worth a damn.”
“I've been practicing.” To prove her point, she shot the side mirror off his truck.
He flinched but didn't back down. “Shootin' a truck ain't shootin' a person, girl,” he said, still advancing.
She gripped the gun and expelled the shell, chambering the second in a fluid movement. She watched as he hesitated, she hadn't been lying - Tommy had made it a point to teach her how to shoot “just in case”.
He began advancing again and she faltered. He hadn't done anything yet. Would self-defense hold up? If it didn't, what would happen to Emma? Her palms started to sweat as these thoughts raced through her mind and the gun slipped.
That was all he needed. She fired, but the shot went wide and terror flooded her. At least the gun was no longer loaded but that just meant he'd kill her more slowly - with his fists and feet. She swung at him with the gun but he grabbed it and wrested it from her, swinging it at her. She ducked the blow but it glanced off her shoulder. She needed to keep him outside, away from Emma.
He growled and threw the gun away, grabbing her by the shoulders, his fingers biting into them, his grip punishing.
“I prefer 'hands on',” he grinned, “you should remember that, girl.”
She pushed at him, both of them tumbling off the porch and onto the hard ground. She was on her feet in an instant, waiting for him, fighting for Emma. He snarled and came at her, his fist connecting with her jaw. 'I guess he don't care about bruising my face anymore,' she thought as the pain radiated through her jaw and into her ear. He equilibrium thrown off, she stumbled which gave him a chance to kick her feet out from under her. Then the kicks started to her back, arms, head and legs. Curled up in the fetal position all she could think about was what would happen to Emma when she was gone. Would Tommy be able to raise her on his own?
She felt each bruise form with every blow of his steel toed boots. Was today the day he finally killed her?
She felt a surge of energy pulsate through her. Suddenly, her jaw no longer hurt and she felt stronger. Uncurling, she reached out and grabbed his foot as it came toward her, pulling and taking him hard to the ground.
Scrambling to her feet, she squared off, fists at the ready in a stance that felt as normal as breathing. As he got to his feet, without thinking, she spun on her right foot, kicking out with her left. As her foot connected with his ribcage, she was rewarded with a resounding “CRACK”. He grunted as she easily danced away from his clumsy swing. Her body felt better, not great but better. She knew it was a crazy thought, but it was like her body was healing itself faster. She threw two quick punches; the first again hitting his ribcage, the second, an uppercut, catching his chin.
“I'm gonna kill you, girl,” he threatened.
She responded by kicking him in the midsection, then spinning and sweeping his feet out from under him. The ground forced his breath from his lungs and she was on him in a heartbeat, pinning him to the ground. She was gratified to see the fear in his eyes. She could see that he knew, and knew that she knew, she could kill him. The thought did cross her mind but on the heels of that thought came a picture of Emma's sweet face.
“Today's your lucky day, daddy,” she said as her fist connected with his nose, knocking him unconscious. Rolling off him, she then stumbled to the porch. She'd done it. She'd broken his hold over her. She didn't know what happened or why, but she thanked God for the strength; first to best him, then to spare him.
As Tommy's truck came up the drive, followed by the sheriff's car, she knew she was finally safe.
She hung her head and cried.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
1000 miles away, Sunnydale, CA
Willow Rosenberg felt the power surge through her as she channeled the scythe's energy. When the rush passed, she looked at Kennedy.
“You, are a goddess,” Kennedy said in awe.
“And you're a slayer,” she said, handing Kennedy the scythe. “Get this to Buffy.”
As Kennedy bolted from the room, Willow tipped over in a rush of euphoria.
“Nifty,” she giggled.
They'd done it. All over the world, new slayers were awakening - the power of the scythe that Willow had just channeled had given them all the power to stand and fight.
The End
by CaughtNTheQuiet
May 2002
She lay curled tightly in the fetal position, her back pressed against the wall, hoping her arms and knees would protect the child growing inside of her as the wall protected her spine and kidneys. She felt each bruise form with every blow of his steel toed boots. One of these days he would kill her. Probably the day he found out about the child.
She heard his footsteps receding as he walked away, heard the slamming of the screen door. She lay still, knowing from experience that these sounds often lied. It wasn't until she heard the engine of his truck start up and the crunch of the gravel on the driveway that she allowed herself to uncurl. She ached. God, how she ached. She lay there for a moment after uncurling, letting the blood flow to the forming bruises, wincing as it did so. After the pain subsided, she sat up then gingerly got to her feet and made her way to the bathroom. The mirror over the sink told no tale of the beating she'd just taken. It never did, he was too careful for that.
Stripping off her clothes, the full length mirror hanging behind the door told a different story. Her arms and legs were a rainbow of colors - old bruises fading into muddy yellow and split-pea green, new ones turning black and blue and purple, red welts showing where the bruises hadn't formed yet. Sighing, she turned the water on as hot as she could stand it and stepped into the shower. She knew cold water would help keep the swelling and bruising down, but the heat would help her muscle ache.
'Bastard,' she thought as the tears mingled with the stinging water. She stayed under the jets until the water ran cold then stepped out and quickly dried off, putting her clothes back on, carefully trying to avoid the tender new bruises.
She walked into the kitchen and started the dishes - the reason he'd flown into a rage this morning. Never mind that she'd been cooking and doing his laundry and . . . she sighed. The excuse hadn't mattered - there was always an excuse. She stared out the window and the tears started rolling down her face again. She had to leave. Now, before he got back. Hurrying to her room, she grabbed the bag she'd had packed for weeks . . . ever since she'd found out she was pregnant. Ready for when she'd finally had enough. She checked the money she'd carefully hidden in the bag, then went to the cupboard and took out the coffee can and emptied it. Two hundred dollars in the can, six hundred in her bag. Not much, but enough to get away.
She picked up the phone and dialed. “Come get me,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I'm ready.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
May 2003
He'd found her. She'd known he would eventually, she had just hoped she wouldn't be home alone when he did. The sound of his truck alerted her and she hid the baby in a closet and dialed Tommy's cell phone.
“He's here,” was all she said before hanging up and loading the shotgun. There was nowhere to hide - he might find the baby first - so she stepped onto the porch and pointed the shotgun at his chest as he exited the truck.
“You just turn around and get back in your truck, daddy,” she said with more confidence than she felt.
“Now put that thing away, little girl,” he said with a smile that was anything but friendly, “you know you cain't shoot worth a damn.”
“I've been practicing.” To prove her point, she shot the side mirror off his truck.
He flinched but didn't back down. “Shootin' a truck ain't shootin' a person, girl,” he said, still advancing.
She gripped the gun and expelled the shell, chambering the second in a fluid movement. She watched as he hesitated, she hadn't been lying - Tommy had made it a point to teach her how to shoot “just in case”.
He began advancing again and she faltered. He hadn't done anything yet. Would self-defense hold up? If it didn't, what would happen to Emma? Her palms started to sweat as these thoughts raced through her mind and the gun slipped.
That was all he needed. She fired, but the shot went wide and terror flooded her. At least the gun was no longer loaded but that just meant he'd kill her more slowly - with his fists and feet. She swung at him with the gun but he grabbed it and wrested it from her, swinging it at her. She ducked the blow but it glanced off her shoulder. She needed to keep him outside, away from Emma.
He growled and threw the gun away, grabbing her by the shoulders, his fingers biting into them, his grip punishing.
“I prefer 'hands on',” he grinned, “you should remember that, girl.”
She pushed at him, both of them tumbling off the porch and onto the hard ground. She was on her feet in an instant, waiting for him, fighting for Emma. He snarled and came at her, his fist connecting with her jaw. 'I guess he don't care about bruising my face anymore,' she thought as the pain radiated through her jaw and into her ear. He equilibrium thrown off, she stumbled which gave him a chance to kick her feet out from under her. Then the kicks started to her back, arms, head and legs. Curled up in the fetal position all she could think about was what would happen to Emma when she was gone. Would Tommy be able to raise her on his own?
She felt each bruise form with every blow of his steel toed boots. Was today the day he finally killed her?
She felt a surge of energy pulsate through her. Suddenly, her jaw no longer hurt and she felt stronger. Uncurling, she reached out and grabbed his foot as it came toward her, pulling and taking him hard to the ground.
Scrambling to her feet, she squared off, fists at the ready in a stance that felt as normal as breathing. As he got to his feet, without thinking, she spun on her right foot, kicking out with her left. As her foot connected with his ribcage, she was rewarded with a resounding “CRACK”. He grunted as she easily danced away from his clumsy swing. Her body felt better, not great but better. She knew it was a crazy thought, but it was like her body was healing itself faster. She threw two quick punches; the first again hitting his ribcage, the second, an uppercut, catching his chin.
“I'm gonna kill you, girl,” he threatened.
She responded by kicking him in the midsection, then spinning and sweeping his feet out from under him. The ground forced his breath from his lungs and she was on him in a heartbeat, pinning him to the ground. She was gratified to see the fear in his eyes. She could see that he knew, and knew that she knew, she could kill him. The thought did cross her mind but on the heels of that thought came a picture of Emma's sweet face.
“Today's your lucky day, daddy,” she said as her fist connected with his nose, knocking him unconscious. Rolling off him, she then stumbled to the porch. She'd done it. She'd broken his hold over her. She didn't know what happened or why, but she thanked God for the strength; first to best him, then to spare him.
As Tommy's truck came up the drive, followed by the sheriff's car, she knew she was finally safe.
She hung her head and cried.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
1000 miles away, Sunnydale, CA
Willow Rosenberg felt the power surge through her as she channeled the scythe's energy. When the rush passed, she looked at Kennedy.
“You, are a goddess,” Kennedy said in awe.
“And you're a slayer,” she said, handing Kennedy the scythe. “Get this to Buffy.”
As Kennedy bolted from the room, Willow tipped over in a rush of euphoria.
“Nifty,” she giggled.
They'd done it. All over the world, new slayers were awakening - the power of the scythe that Willow had just channeled had given them all the power to stand and fight.
The End