A Place for the Broken Ch. 01

Crickets chirping, frogs croaking. The sounds of a warm Southern spring night filled the humid air. James McGovern sat in his truck, a Marlboro stuck between his lips. Pain and anger was all he knew anymore, and it was undeniable and crushing. Hanging from his rearview mirror was a silver chain and a matched set of engagement and wedding rings. Patricia's.

Since the third grade, he had loved her. She had strawberry blonde hair up in pigtails, with a light dusting of freckles across her nose. Hidden behind her too-big eyeglasses were the most dazzling blue eyes he had ever seen. It was truly love at first sight.

Throughout grade school and into high school, they shared a pure and devoted love. The first time they held hands was in the 6th grade. Some new girl at school seemed to have taken a liking to Jimmy, and Patricia knew she had to stake her claim. She grabbed his hand, and in his mind, she never let go.

Their first kiss, just the other side of a chaste peck, was at their eighth-grade dance. It wasn't until they were both of age at their senior prom that Jimmy's hands made it under her bikini lines. That night, they made magic. A pure expression of their love and devotion.

Always a smart and studious young lady, Patricia got accepted at UGA for microbiology and immunology. Jimmy, ever the active and physical young man, did a tour in the Marines as a Recon sniper, where he received a Distinguished Service Medal and 2 Purple Hearts. During his time in service, the lovers stayed in touch over FaceTime and spent every available leave or weekend together. Except during his combat deployment, of course. After his discharge, he went to work with his father in his machinist and welding business.

Eventually, Patricia graduated with her master's and went to work for the CDC. They were married in the cathedral in Atlanta and after a few years, they decided to try for a baby. Much to their dismay, a sports injury in Jimmy's freshman year had rendered him sterile. What seemed to be just a serious hit to the nads actually severed his connections much like a vasectomy, but the years of scar tissue made surgery impossible.

The couple, now in their early thirties, discussed adopting and, through the church, had become foster parents. They were naturals. The organization often giving them family unit kids to best serve the children. After nearly 5 years of fostering, they decided to take a hug break. Jimmy's dad wanted to retire to Florida after suffering a debilitating heart attack and sold Jimmy the business. With the extra responsibilities of ownership, Jimmy felt he needed to commit too much time to the business to give kids a good home.

On the way back from moving his parents down to Florida, the couple decided to take a weekend to themselves on the beach. Driving back to the resort after dinner that Saturday night, they got caught in the middle of a gang dispute and Patricia was hit in the head by a stray bullet. Sitting in her luxury SUV, Fleetwood Mac playing through the sound system, Jimmy looked over at the love of his life. The center of his universe, slumped, what remained of her head resting on his lap. Blood and gray matter dripping from his face. Not understanding what had happened, he looked through the shattered passenger side window into the eyes of a face he knew. A face he had cared for. A face he had hoped to see again, just not at the wrong end of a 9mm. Reese Johnson. One of their first foster kids.

As the realization of what had happened finally made its way into his mind, the pain overwhelmed him. He screamed into the night, pieces of his humanity slipped away. After years of struggling with his PTSD, the loss of Patricia sent him over the edge.

At the murder trial, Reese was truly remorseful. He had loved Patricia more than his own crack-head mother, and Jimmy was the only dad his heart would ever accept. But when Jimmy looked over at the shell of a human being that was Reese's mother, sitting behind her son, he knew where his anger truly belonged. The woman who sold her children to support her addiction. The woman who beat Reese into a coma just prior to Reese coming to live with them. This total piece of human shit. She killed his wife, just as sure as if she pulled the trigger herself.

James, as he began insisting upon being called after Patricia's death, began to plan his revenge the minute the guilty charge was handed down and the conspicuous absence of Reese's mother in the courtroom. Throughout the entire trial, Reese couldn't bring himself to look James in the eye, but when the judge read the charges, Reese stood like a man, turned to his mother's empty seat, then looked James square in the eye and cried a heartfelt apology. James simply nodded, turned and walked away.

James took his time and after 3 months avenged his wife like the Punisher himself. Skull painted on body armor, the whole 9 yards. When it was said and done, 15 drug dealing gang-bangers and, as the press put it, "a long-time prostitute" were found dead in a Forest Park crack house. All the police had to go on was the 'Punisher' had ridden in on a black motorcycle with guns blazing. No matter how hard they pushed, not a soul was willing to come out against the 'Punisher'.

A year later, and another half dozen piece of shit "parents" and their drug suppliers had similar run-ins with the 'Punisher'. James was finally beginning to feel his rage and hatred abate. Not to mention the various bullet holes and stab wounds he'd stitched himself were beginning to take their toll. He decided to hang up the armor and try to get on with life. He sold the business, and with the proceeds from the sale, Patricia's life insurance, and his VA disability, he would never have to work again. Luckily, Patricia had the foresight to put accidental death insurance on their mortgages, so both their house in the northern Atlanta suburbs and their cabin up in the mountains were his free and clear.

But the pain never really went away. And his habit of tracking down deadbeat parents was hard to break as well. So here he sat in his blacked-out F150, staring at a run-down single-wide on a rough dirt road an hour south of Atlanta. The bitch he was surveilling wasn't his normal type of target. The only drugs involved were maybe some weed. And the bitch wasn't the abuser; she allowed her boyfriends that pleasure. Her 12-year-old daughter was paying the price for her mother's weakness.

James had a sweet spot in his heart for the girl, Cindy, since the day he met her when she came to live with him and Patricia about three years ago. The information DFACS had supplied about this poor little thing was sad. The mother had temporarily lost custody and was serving 6 months for neglect charges. The mitigating circumstances were pretty well spelled out in the report. The mother wasn't the abuser; the boyfriend was, and the woman was victimized herself. Regardless, his heart ached for months after his little "Cindy-Lu-Who" was returned to her mother.

James waited until the new boyfriend pulled up in his 20-year-old, idiotic, squatted Chevy Tahoe. The previous asshole boyfriend was still serving another ten years or so for molesting Cindy. The drunk asshole staggered across the dirt yard with a half-empty 12-pack of Bud Light in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other. He tripped and stumbled up the stairs into the trailer and commenced to screaming his ignorant redneck head off at the bitch and Cindy. James bided his time. He listened to the asshole yell at the bitch and smack the shit out of her, a few minutes later, the trailer grew quiet, and the lights started to go off.

An hour later, with his silenced Glock 19 in hand, James entered the unlocked trailer, finding the bitch passed out on the couch, the nightlight from the stove vent hood casting a sickly yellow light across her features. A newly blackened eye and blood-crusted nose adorned what would have otherwise been considered a cute, if chubby, face. Her large breasts rose and fell with her breaths. The dirty, white-blood-stained shirt hugging her ample frame showed a surprising and not unappealing full hourglass shape.

James pulled down his night vision goggles and went down the hall past the bathroom to the master bedroom. The asshat was asleep on his stomach, the stench of stale beer and body odor was nearly enough to make him gag. He silently approached the bed and grabbed a pillow to further silence the sound, James put a single shot through the bastard's head.

He found the Cindy sound asleep in what appeared to be her own bed. Stepping around to where the she lay, he brushed her hair back from her face, and memories flooded his mind. He long to hear her laugh, and see her eyes light up when she looked up at him, soon she would be his forever. His daughter to love, cherish, spoil rotten, and protect. "Never again, baby girl," he whispered, "I promise, never again." He reached into his pocket and pulled a needle loaded with a tranquilizer and injected it into the sleeping girl, then covered her with a sheet. Returning to the hallway, he heard the bitch start to stir. He plastered himself against the wall inside the bedroom next to the doorway, pulling out another loaded syringe and waited.

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Samantha dragged herself off the couch, needing to empty her bladder. She had drank herself into a stupor after receiving another beating and being forced to listen to her daughter being taken. She was beyond the ability to cry about it anymore. He had beaten that out of her months ago. She was beyond help. She knew that eventually he would kill her if she didn't kill herself first. But after a life of abuse, she was kind of numb at this point. At 26, she had nothing left to live for except that little girl in the other room. The product of her father's abuse and her dead mother's inability to protect her. But she swore she wouldn't kill herself like her mother did and leave her daughter to deal with life like she had.

At 14, Sam found herself pregnant, due to her father's affections that began days after her 9th birthday. Being 9, she knew it was wrong, but at least he was showing her kindness and affection, compared to the physical and emotional terror he dealt to the rest of the family, especially her mother. When her pregnancy finally came to light, her mother went hysterical. Her older brother, Chase, had tried to beat their father with his baseball bat, but even at 17, he was no match for the older man. The last she had seen of Chase was him crawling through their front yard trying to get away from their father. Two months later, Lynnette, Samantha's 12-year-old little sister, found their mother in the bathtub with her wrists cut open. The aftermath was a total shit show, resulting in the girls being sent to different foster homes and her father serving a 125-year sentence for the murder of Chase and multiple counts of physical and child abuse of all sorts with both of the girls. With no family members willing or capable of taking them in, both girls remained wards of the State of Tennessee until they turned 18. Apparently, too damaged for adoption. The sisters worked hard to stay in contact each other over the years. Lynette was now serving time for robbing a liquor store in Alabama, her two year old daughter in foster care up in Tennessee. Both seeming to be following in their mother's footsteps.

Samantha felt her bladder would burst as she staggered down the hall of the trailer, bumping into the wall. The bump brought fear into her. She was afraid to wake him. She stopped and listened, her fear rising as she couldn't hear his snoring. She passed the bathroom and saw Cindy in her own bed asleep. She dared to peek into the uncannily silent master bedroom. Simultaneously, she noted the smell of gunpowder, the pillow over Chase's head, and movement to her right as a needle was passed into her shoulder as a hand covered her mouth. She stared up at a face covered with night vision goggles like she'd seen on TV shows. Another hand grabbed the back of her neck and head. She began to panic, but she was held tight by incredibly strong hands and couldn't breathe. The man turned her, pressing her back to his armored chest. The hand that was behind her head became an arm around her throat. Within seconds, the world went black as she felt her piss leaking down her legs.

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James had brought the mother and daughter to his and Patricia's cabin up in the mountains. Being on 20 acres on the side of a mountain ensured all the privacy they'd ever wanted, and now it provided the privacy he needed. The trip up to the cabin had been uneventful. He kept "his ladies" drugged as he got them all settled in. Upstairs, he deposited Samantha in the guest suite. Cindy, he would keep at his side in the master on the main level.

Having secured the cabin and given the girls another dose of sleeping juice, he jumped back in the truck and headed to town. A trip to the local Walmart for clothing for "his ladies" and some groceries was the most harrowing time of this whole adventure so far. Leaving them alone and drugged posed a myriad of possible complications. Fears of giving Cindy having been given too much sedative made him hurry his steps. Luckily, they quietly slept the whole time he was gone.

He decided to let Cindy awaken first in order to soothe her fears and rekindle their relationship and trust he hoped she still had in her heart. He would leave the bitch drugged until he felt confident in Cindy's reaction. Subconsciously, he had saved Cindy not just for her good but for himself. He needed her. He needed to make amends. He knew that all the murders he committed, though he felt justified, would put him in hell. But just maybe saving this little angel would be his salvation. The bitch, on the other hand, would become his willing plaything, a vent for his anger, or she would become pig slop, just like Chase had become.

After putting away the groceries, he checked on Cindy and found she had wet herself. He needed to give her a sponge bath to wash the urine and filth off her. He used hospital style wipes to clean her up and putting pajamas on her. She had stirred a few times during the ordeal, but the meds held her quite unconscious.

He ascended the stairs to check on the bitch and smelled her odor before even opening the door. Thankfully, Patricia had always insisted on waterproof mattress pads for all the beds. He fondly recalled how wet she would become during their lovemaking and how much he loved to make her squirt during their foreplay. The stench of piss, body odor, and stale beer brought him out of his reverie. Much to his dismay, he knew he needed to clean her chubby ass up before she got a bed sore from lying in her wetness.

He ran downstairs to get some scissors, more supplies, and a fresh set of sheets. After cutting off the rags that covered her body and disposing of them in one of the trash bags in his supplies, then bathed her with the wipes. He got some soap and water for her face and blood-encrusted nose and upper lip. He rolled her over to change the sheets, wash her backside, and put extra towels under her midsection to make cleaning her in the future a bit easier. Returning her to lying on her back, he stood and surveyed his work, noticing her really for the first time.

She was actually quite attractive, with the exception of the black eye and swollen lip. Her naturally wavy dishwater blonde hair was kept long, reaching nearly to her ass when pulled straight. He could definitely see where Cindy got her cuteness from. Laying there totally naked, it was evident how her poor choice in clothing made her look much bigger than she actually was. Yes, she had big boobs, bubble butt, and child-bearing hips, but she had a well-proportioned, thick hourglass figure. At 5'4" and maybe 200 pounds, she did have a belly, but it seemed to fit her perfectly, giving her the soft, comfy feel. It surprised him when he started to get a bit excited looking at her puffy mons. Patricia had been fit, 5'9 and topping out at 130 pounds, with barely a B cup adorning her chest. She always kept her pubs nicely trimmed and had rather large inner labia. Samantha's puffy lips and hairy muff hid any evidence of inner labia. She definitely needed to shave.

After he had finished with the bitch, he showered, put on some jammy pants, and laid next to his Cindy-Lou, exhausted. Strange dreams filled his mind, images of big tits bound in ropes, blonde hair dangling from a pillory, big white ass cheeks covered in red marks from a riding crop...