Amy Peterson sat at the top of the stairs inside her parents modest home in St.Albans, Queens. She placed her trembling hands over her ears; her parents were arguing again. Her father, Joseph Peterson, stood by the window; he was peeking through the drapes.

   "That was their second visit," his wife, Heather Peterson, said.

   "Didn't I tell you to shut the hell up?"

   "I can't believe you're doing this shit again."

   "Shut the hell up will ya!" Joseph Peterson stepped away from the window. "I told you that I was done with that, didn't I ?"

    Heather Peterson glowered at her husband.

    "Why are you looking at me like that?"

    Heather Peterson buried her face into her hands. She shook her head and said, "I don't believe you..." She removed her hands from her face and stared at her husband. "You promised you wouldn't...you promised!" Joseph Peterson sat down next to his wife and held her hand. "What have you  been up to, Heather? That's the question."  Joseph squeezed his wife's hand.

    "Stop that. You're hurting me!" With her free hand, Heather Peterson slapped her husband across the face. Joseph grabbed his wife by the hair and pulled her out of her chair. Heather's knee struck her husband squarely in the groin. Joseph Peterson doubled over from the pain. Heather grabbed a snow globe from off the coffee table. "Stop it!" Amy screamed.

                                                                                    

                                                                                    2

 

 

Both parents froze in their tracks and looked up at their daughter. "Leave my daddy alone!" Amy shouted.  Joseph limped over toward the staircase. "Look what you did," he said to his wife. "You got my baby all upset." He held on to the wall in order to steady himself. "It's okay, baby." Amy ran toward her father. "Shh, everything alright," he said. Joseph took his daughter up to her room. 

    Once they were inside she asked, "Why does she always blame things on you, daddy?"

    "She doesn't mean too, baby. Your mother has some...problems and she's working on them, Amy, you just have to be a little more patient with her--"

    "I hate her."

    "No, you don't, baby." Joseph picked his daughter up and tossed her on the bed. "Come here, you," he said as his grabbed his daughter by the ankles and pulled her toward him. He kissed her on the neck. Amy giggled. She loved it when her father paid her this kind of attention. Amy looked loving at her father. "I hate her, daddy." Joseph tried to change the subject.

    "Hey, would you like to go to the beach later?"

    "She's always mad."

    "Joe, are you done? We need to talk." Heather said. She was standing in the doorway. Amy shot her  mother look. "Don't go,  daddy, please." Tears swelled up in her eyes.

    "Joe." Heather had her hands on her hips now, "Are you coming?"

    "Try to get some rest, baby girl. I'm gonna go talk to your mother." Joseph Peterson kissed his  daughter,  then he walked out of the room.  As soon as he passed his wife, Heather pushed him toward their bedroom.

   Amy Peterson sat in the middle of her bed and listened as her parents screamed at one another. A loud crashing sound made Amy jump. Then she heard the springs on her parents' bed give way to their combined weight; then the moaning  began; like always. "I hate that, bitch."

    An hour later, Heather Peterson was sitting by the window in her bedroom. She stared down at her husband and daughter as they got into the family's car. The sick bastard is a bad influence, she thought as the car pulled out of the driveway.

    Heather Peterson was compelled to stay with her husband. The hot, violence sex that they have after each fight is what she'd lived for. As a matter of fact, the hot, violence sex is what made her said yes when he'd proposed to her fifteen years ago, that and a nasty little secret that he waved in her face every time she thought about leaving him, which was all the time .

 

 

                                                                                         3

 

Joseph Peterson was a handsome, athletic man; a Brad Pitt look-a-like. But a demon resided in his soul.

    Heather Peterson walked over to her bureau and removed a Zoloft from a capsule; she suffered from chronic depression. She popped the tablet into her mouth and washed it down with a glass of  tepid water that she kept on a night table. Heather Peterson stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked haggard. She gazed at the dark, blue marks on her neck; a little reminder of the rough sex she just had with her husband. Heather gently touched her left eye and cheek. The bruises from last night were still tender. She walked away from the mirror and flopped down on her bed. For the past two weeks, Heather Peterson had suffered from insomnia and the feeling of hopelessness had been her constant companion. 

   She mused over the many ways that she end her suffering. Heather rubbed her right side and stared at the ceiling.  

    Heather Peterson was not an educated woman.  She Born in Detroit, Oregon, where in 1995, the  year that she was born, the population was 331people in 96 households. Most of the young women in her town concentrated on finding a husband rather than their education. By the time Heather reached puberty,  she was already sexually active.  When she first met young  Joseph Peterson it wasn't love but an uncontrollable lust that drove her to him.

    Heather Peterson rose from her bed and dragged her lethargic body into the bathroom. When she was done, she slid back into her bed and curled up in a fetal position.

    The first time that Joseph Peterson had sex with another girl he made Heather watch. Her jealousy burned hot because the girl was younger than the fifteen-year-old Heather. Two days later, the girl's body was found, she was beaten to a pulp and her skull was crushed.  Joseph knew that after he had beaten the girl to death and dumped their bodies in the woods, Heather would come by afterward and bash the girls skulls in. Joseph Peterson had seen Heather's dark side

 

 

                                                                                       4

 

 When Amy was born,  Joseph Peterson's nasty little habit had ceased, until a year ago when the  body of a teenage girl--that he was secretly having an affair with- was  found murdered, then last week another body of a teenage girl was found beaten and stabbed to death. Her body was stuffed into a large industrial, black plastic bag. The bag was found in front of their home.

    Heather Peterson sat up in her bed and thought: I've got to get Amy away from him. Heather had made up her mind; it was time to leave Joe. She quickly slid out of her bed and marched over toward the bureau. She opened the drawers and began pulling out her things. Heather realized that most of her clothes were in the dryer down in the basement. She felt a surge of power as she made her way down the basement steps. In the past when Heather threatened to leave Joseph they would have a big fight followed by incredibly violent sex. Heather would be to sore and to spent to leave. Her plan of action tonight was to get her husband drunk, wait until he fell asleep, then get Amy and herself the hell out of there.

   As she left the washroom, Heather paused in front of her husband's private quarters; a room that she and Amy were forbidden to enter. She placed the clothes bin on the floor and twisted the knob; but of course, the door was locked. But Heather knew where he hid the key. Five minutes later Heather returned with the key. Joseph hid it in the garage stuck between the pages of a magazine called: Barely Legal. She entered her husband's private quarters and switched on the lights,  the room lit up in a red hue. A bottle of  Jack Daniel's sat on a wood stand and the room smelled like weed. A fifty-five-inch flat screen T.Vwas mounted on the wall opposite the door. A red high back chair was placed in front of the T.V..Heather began searching the room. There was a .38 Smith & Wesson lying in the of seat of the chair; Heather pick it up and placed it in her pocket. She then walked over to the flat screen. Heather lifted the flat screen a few inches away from the wall. There was something taped to the back of the T.V..She managed to remove two DVD's. There were no markings on them. Heather popped one of the DVD's into the Xbox. What she saw didn't surprise her. Her husband was having sex with the teenage girl that was found in the large plastic bag in front of their home. "Fuckin' bastard." Heather forced herself to watch the whole video.  Joseph was furiously humping the teenager. Jealous, Heather ripped the flat screen  off of the wall and threw the Xbox onto the floor. 

   Fuming with anger and jealousy, Heather stuffed her clothing into a suitcase, then she ran into her daughter's room. When Heather started pulling her daughter's  things off the hangers she noticed a small box lying in the corner of the closet.

    She pulled the box out.

    She opened it.

    She screamed.

   Inside the box were two pairs of bloody panties; "He's fucking his daughter. That son of a bitch."

   "What are you doing," A flat monotone voice said. The voice startled Heather. Heather Peterson whipped her head in the direction of the voice. Amy was standing behind her. Heather placed her hand on her chest and sighed. "Where's your father?  Amy stood there for a moment before she said, "He said he'll be back later...what are you doing in my closet?" 

    "Come on, Amy, we've got to get out of here, now." Heather reached out to grab her daughter by the arm, but Amy pulled away.

    "No."

    "Listen to me, Amy, I know you're not going to believe this, but your father is a sick man."

    "No, he isn't!"

    "Amy, I know this is hard for you to believe, but it's true. We've-- he's done some really bad things. I'm just trying to save you--"

   "You're a fuckin' liar." Amy turned and ran out of her room. Heather heard the bathroom door slam. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway made Heather jump;  Joseph was coming. "Oh my God!" Heather pulled the DVD's from her hip pocket and threw them into the box with the bloody panties. 

    "Amy, where are you?" Joseph Peterson called out. He checked the kitchen, then the backyard. "Amy!" Joseph switched on the basement lights, then he ran down the stairs. He noticed that the door to his private quarters was open. He called out his daughter's name again. The sound of his wife's voice stopped him in is tracks.  Joseph Peterson ran back up the stairs; taking them two at a time. He stopped in front of Amy's room. Nothing, then he ran toward his bedroom. What Joseph Peterson saw made him heave. Amy was sitting on top her mother's chest. Blood sputtered from the carotid artery in his wife's neck. Amy's arms, face, hair, and chest were covered in her mother's blood.

    "Amy. Noo! Joseph Peterson watched in absolute horror as his sweet little girl pulled a pair of scissors from out of his wife's throat. A sucking sound coupled with a large, bloody air bubble escaped from the open wound. Amy turned to look at her father. Her entire upper body was saturated in her mother's blood. "She was going to take me from you, daddy." Amy climbed off her mother's chest and picked up the box which contained the dead girl's panties. "She found the things that I took from those bitches after I killed them. You loved more than me," she shouted at her father. Amy was moving slowly in her father's direction. She looked as if someone had just pulled her straight from hell. "You loved those bitches more than you loved me."

    "Amy, please..."

    "You never kissed me like you did them. You never touched and felt my body the way you did those bitches." Amy picked up the .38 and pointed it at her father. "So you can go to hell with them." Amy Peterson pulled the trigger.