Chapter One - Task Force Vigilante

Task Force Vigilante by Louis Berry

Madeline McVie was born into a family with two older brothers and a younger sister. Her brother Marcus eclipsed her age by only thirty minutes. The twin’s appearance favored that of his mother; and his sister, that of her father. The only commonality of countenance was the long, straight, dark hair they shared. The brother aspired to reflect his twin’s pleasing appearance. Attention was thrust upon his sister, leaving him feeling isolated. Their parents allowed the boy to grow his hair long to match that of his sister. Ethereal bonds between the two were formed in utero. The dizygotic nature of conception required nurturing to perpetuate the connection. Each was thrust into the world and forced to meet challenges. Threats encountered did not reflect equally upon siblings.

Whenever the family went out together, strangers naturally gravitated toward the third child. Her appearance was viewed as striking by all who encountered her. There was something special about Madeline. Views of family members were based on the superficial. Recognition of how outsiders treated the young girl prevented the conception of the fragile soul encased by her tiny body.

The family’s home was on South McArthur Avenue. The northern and southern sections of the road were bisected by Cherry Street. The southern section provided a picturesque view for those who drove the oak canopied road as it extended toward the bay.

It was 1972, a time without social media or ubiquitous camera phones. Kids’ main mode of transportation were bicycles that propelled them from home to home and friend to friend. There was a great deal of freedom for young people to discover themselves without the dogma associated with communicating via chat rooms.

There was no way for the seven-year-old Madeline to avoid facing the destructive nature inherent in humanity. Although it arrived in the form of a friend, it would leave having destroyed her earthly soul. She had yet to be taught to value herself, endangering innate value by surrendering it to others.

Influential men controlled almost every facet of life in the small town in which she lived. The most vulnerable were those onto whom tyrants wrapped dominant tentacles.

Madeline’s hair was dark brown, some would say black. It was straight and hung to the middle of her back. Her skin was olive and a darker hue than that of family members, even Marcus. Parents’ friends jested she wasn’t a full-blooded McVie. Madeline was born in 1965, a time when morals were tossed aside for that which felt good at the moment. Family lifestyles changed not long after the introduction of a television in every home. Outside influences were broadcast nightly. Attitudes became less ethereal and more physical. Divorce rates escalated in the subsequent decade and never reverted to the mean. It was a decade that damaged Madeline physically and emotionally beyond repair.

Her brother, Charles, was five years older than Madeline, and her sister Carolyn, four years younger. Age differences left Madeline isolated and without confidants. Although Marcus desired the same hair as his sister, his interests in 1972 shifted to the rough and tumble life enjoyed by little boys. Madeline preferred the pristine and pretty. Her birth order left her at a time when her mother became parentally lazy. Assumptions that older siblings were instilling pearls of wisdom necessary to become successful humans absolved the woman of responsibility.

The zeitgeist broadcast through 1970s television pulled the oldest child, Charles, away from his family. It was no longer the nuclear situation his parents, Beverly and William, enjoyed in the 1950s. There arose a sink-or-swim existence for all four.

Beverly McVie had been the homecoming queen at Cottondale High School. Her husband William was in his high school’s homecoming court and escorted Karen Rothberg. It was a mere coincidence the two attended the University of Alabama at the same time. William majored in Hospitality Management and Beverly American Literature. It was a time when the young girl had difficulty imagining anything other than being a mother. In 1972, she found herself desiring more from life. What that was, she had no idea.

Parenting by proclamation wielded an unintentional two-edged sword. Throughout each child’s young life, Beverly wagged her finger in front of innocent, yet curious faces and proclaimed that her children, “were no better than anyone else on the planet.” Her intent was borne of the civil rights struggle, which she fully supported. Each of her children took this lesson to heart and ran in circles of friends from all walks of life. They developed the skill of learning vicariously. The cutting came at varying times in each child’s life. Inability to recognize those with whom they associated as possessing malevolent intent, accomplished nothing more than hastened extraction of value for perverted purposes. This phenomenon struck Madeline hardest.

It was a Sunday evening. The family finished dinner and adjourned into the television room to watch The Wonderful World of Disney. On that particular night, the family had a guest for dinner, Uncle Jack. The man was not linked to the family by DNA. He was however a man that exerted a great deal of influence over the household by owning the motel William managed.

A rug covered the hardwood floors in the middle of the room where Madeline sat, leaning on her left hip, and playing with Charles’ Hot Wheel cars. The carpeting consisted of large red squares. Separating the cubes were three-inch black lines, and down their middle were solid yellow stripes. Embracing her childlike imagination, Madeline used this pattern as her system of highways.

She stopped what she was doing when the familiar image of Tinker Bell came on the television and tapped her magic wand atop Cinderella’s castle. Fairy dust exploded throughout each corner of the family’s nineteen-inch color television. The episode on this particular night was The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes, starring Kurt Russell. He was a favorite of Madeline’s.

Surrounding the seven-year-old girl were her two brothers who sat on a sofa situated beneath the window between the television room and the back porch. Her younger sister sat on her mother’s lap in a rocking chair, and her father lay prone in his recliner. Uncle Jack stood in the doorway between the dining and family rooms. His arms were arrogantly folded across his chest. His gaze was not on the television but fell upon Madeline. How he appreciated her visage was wholly unnatural.

Jack was a businessman and one of the wealthiest people in town. Any parcel of land in town that held significant value was at least partially owned by the man. The majority of his holdings had been obtained legitimately through hard work and intellect. Some of the most valuable properties had been obtained through sham foreclosures with the aid of corrupt bankers and judges. Powerless business owners lost everything to his schemes. Some had never once been late on a mortgage payment. Operations were repeated whenever the desire to own something that wasn’t his motivated the man to set the wheels of corrupt apparatus in motion. If he saw something he wanted he didn’t hesitate to invest money in legal fees that provided massive returns.

Jack stood patiently in the doorway observing Madeline as she watched the movie. When Dexter Riley was shocked by lighting while repairing a mainframe, the man reached over and tapped Madeline’s father on his right shoulder. The father turned to his guest, and Jack motioned with his head toward the young girl still playing with cars and watching television.

Upon his guest’s direction, William called down to his daughter. “Madeline, why don’t you go outside and show Uncle Jack your dollhouse?”

The seven-year-old turned to her father and whined, “But I wanna watch the movie.”

“Now, sweetie, you know Uncle Jack paid to have your dollhouse built in our backyard. I think you need to show him the finished product and be grateful.”

Emphatically, she tossed the Hot Wheel she held into the air and watched as it crashed into the others aligned on her carpeted thoroughfare. Madeline righted herself, stood, and walked over to the old man, who still leaned against the door frame. She held her hand up, and the old man took her tiny hand in his and they walked through the back door, down three concrete steps, and onto the back porch. The concrete floor was painted dark green. Colorful crocheted throw rugs knitted by Beverly’s grandmother were scattered about offering varying hues to an otherwise drab environment.

Madeline pushed on the wooden frame of the screen door that led into the backyard. Just outside the entry was an arc of concrete no wider than the doorframe. It was only large enough to hold a welcome mat for those entering to wipe their feet. Beverly prettied up its appearance by painting the step to resemble a clam shell. The mural’s purpose was to brush away the stress associated with raising a family and remind the mother of her favorite spot on the beach.

The pad was only a few inches off the ground, but Madeline took the opportunity to jump from it as if she were taking flight. Jack never let go of her hand.

The young girl innocently tugged her uncle’s hand as she led him to the rear of the yard where the dollhouse stood.

Her brothers were angry about the obstruction to their football field. No longer could they launch deep passes and proclaim themselves the second coming of Archie Manning.

Jack became aggravated at the dirt collecting on his shoes from the well-worn path. Every few steps he lifted a foot and brushed away the dust with his free hand. He hopped on one foot to keep up with Madeline as she continued to lead him by the hand.

Upon opening its door, the seven-year-old entered the dollhouse first. The old man followed, ducking under and through the five-foot doorway. He stooped as he walked through the small house until he reached the chair at the end of an undersized, yet quality-built bed.

After sitting down, he smiled at Madeline. “Why don’t you get in the bed like you would in your own bedroom at night?”

The young girl’s look was confused as she glanced around the room. She held her palms skyward and shrugged innocently. “But I don’t have my pajamas.”

“That’s okay. You can take your clothes off because no one sleeps in their clothes.”

His instructions were firm, or so that’s how they were perceived by the seven-year-old. Butterflies fluttered in the stomach of the child. She was nervous and unsure of what the man asked of her. Hesitantly, she removed her shoes and socks and then climbed into the small bed, never removing her stare from the man. There was nothing she could do to prevent whatever was to happen. Her role seemed cast as witness and victim.

Jack’s smile would have been recognized as smarmy, creepy, and untrustworthy by adult women. He was a man intent on taking what he desired. The child’s nerves were wracked. At a time in a little girl’s life when she should begin conceiving the beauty the world contains, young Madeline was being made to surrender innocence to a man she’d been taught to love like a relative. She was confused and unsure of what should be done.

Without standing, Jack scooted his chair from the end of the small bed to its side where Madeline lay. She watched intently without blinking. The old man reached over and freed the button fly on her jeans. Grabbing the hem at her ankles, he tugged and removed her pants with a couple of quick jerks.

Oblivious to the time elapsed and what may be transpiring in their own backyard, the McVie family sat staring at the nineteen-inch television. Seemingly more important were the challenges faced by a young college student who could perform math problems without the use of a pencil and paper. A boy who could memorize encyclopedias upon one reading. Someone who could learn foreign languages simply by reading them. The family soaked in the stress of the fictional character being tugged upon by all of his classmates to complete their work for them. Trapped in the plight of an imaginary personality they’d never met, nor with whom they would maintain a relationship, the family was oblivious to the brutality forced upon their sister and daughter.

Without realizing it, the entire two-hour movie neared completion before Jack and Madeline made their way back to the house and into the family room. Beverly was the only family member who noticed their presence. Anger was her only reaction when she saw her daughter’s jeans soaked in urine.

Witnessing Beverly’s disgust, Jack interjected. “Yeah, I guess I should have built a bathroom in the dollhouse. She was having so much fun playing I guess she didn’t realize how badly she had to go to the bathroom.” Shifting blame to his victim, the old man declared, “Or, she may have some emotional issues.”

An angry mother’s face gave way to one of confusion. She stood and placed Madeline’s now sleeping sister in the chair she vacated. She looked curiously at a man she’d welcomed into her home on numerous occasions. Beverly laid her hands gently on her daughter’s shoulders from behind and led her into the bathroom.

The happenings in the room drifted into the consciousness of Madeline’s older brother Charles, who asked, “What happened?”

The father brushed aside any significance. “I think your sister had an accident.”

To wit, Charles refocused his attention on the Disney movie.

Jack casually slapped William on the left shoulder with the back of his hand. “I’m going to head home now. No need to walk me out.”

“Okay. Will I see you at the next HRA meeting?”

With his back to the man, Jack walked out of the room and responded arrogantly, “I’ll be there.”

Once inside the bathroom, Beverly issued commands. “Take these clothes off, get in the tub, and scrub every nook and cranny of your body. And when you’re done, don’t drain the water. Leave it for your brothers.” Her commands of conservation were borne of tales of the Great Depression as a child. “Oh, and take these pee-stained clothes directly to the washing machine and drop them inside. Don’t get any pee on my floor.” Madeline’s mother left the room angrily but modified her demeanor before entering the family room, unsure if Jack remained.

Slowly, Madeline began to undress. Progress halted as she became confused. Innocence wished not to defy her mother. When she took off her jeans, they touched the floor, so she stepped onto the bathmat. Her actions brought forth the realization the rug was merely an extension of the floor. Quickly she moved to the towel rack and pulled a towel from it and dropped it to the floor. She spread it open using her feet and proceeded to get undressed.

The young girl looked at the towel beneath her feet that held her soaked jeans. It would need to be used to dry off once out of the tub. She then picked up her clothes and placed them in the sink.

Slowly, apprehensively, she removed her panties. They were white with purple, green, and pink flowers. She slid them down her thighs, away from her genitals that throbbed painfully and stopped. Inside the cloth crotch, Madeline saw two blood stains. The fragile skin of her vagina and anus had been torn and produced two distinct spots. Her heart raced knowing her mother would be angry.

She shuffled over to the tub; her thighs still bound by her panties. Leaning against the side she reached across and turned the hot water handle the exact number of rotations she knew would offer a comforting bath. She did the same with the nearer cold-water handle.

As she watched the tub fill, Madeline occasionally glanced at her panties. She stared at the bloodstains until she lost focus. That’s when she became conscious of a milky white substance that dripped from her crotch and landed between the bloodstains. She had no idea what it was. Her seven-year-old mind raced with possibilities. Without conclusion, she quickly removed her panties, dropped them in the sink with the clothes, stoop atop tip-toes and turned on its faucet. She didn’t know if something was leaking from inside her body. “Uncle Jack injured something inside me.” Madeline rationalized.

She climbed into the tub and bathed vigorously, paying particular attention to her genitals. Actions were painful, but she scrubbed away evidence of rape. The young girl ran the washcloth across her crotch several times until there were no more signs of blood.

Fear engulfed her as she considered calling Beverly to explain what happened to her body. She decided not to annoy her mother further. She hadn’t the words to explain the rape. Beverly was already angry, and the little girl didn’t wish to stoke her emotional state. That’s when it occurred to her. She needed to rid her consciousness of the evidence of lost innocence before her mother found it.

Without drying off Madeline hopped out of the tub, dripping water all over the bathmat and tile floor, and made her way atop the toilet. Leaning over the sink, she ran her hands vigorously through the water, retrieving her panties. She gripped them tightly and flung the underwear over the edge of the sink, spraying water throughout the bathroom.

Pushing away from the sink, and then stepping off the toilet, she reclaimed the garment from the floor and crawled back inside the tub.

Once settled on her bottom, she held the crotch of her panties in her hands, one on each side of the cloth that made up the small strip. Bringing both hands together at the point of one bloodstain, she rubbed vigorously attempting to eliminate it. She repeated this behavior several times, alternately focusing on each of the three visible stains. There came a point she realized her efforts weren’t making the smudges disappear. The young girl tossed the panties out of the tub and onto the floor.

All that made this night horrifying, gave way to normal behavior when Madeline prepared to emerge from the bathroom to get ready for bed. She reached for the chain tethered between the faucet and drain stopper and tugged. When she heard the tell-tale glug of the first burst of water leaving the bath, the girl recalled her mother’s commandment, grabbed the stopper, and replaced it inside the drain.

Madeline grabbed a clean towel, reserved for her brothers, from the rack on the wall at the rear of the tub. She dutifully toweled off the upper part of her body before climbing out and onto the floor. Once finished drying, she reached over the rim of the sink and retrieved her jeans. She shook them above the basin to remove as much water as possible, and then dropped them onto the floor next to her panties.

Beverly shuttled the girl so quickly into the bathroom they failed to retrieve pajamas from her room. Madeline wrapped the towel around her pre-pubescent body as if she were a grown woman possessing that which must be hidden for the sake of modesty. She picked up her soiled clothes and walked to the door. Opening it, she peered around the corner to see if anyone was still in the family room. When she felt the coast was clear, Madeline emerged and ran across the hallway to her room. Only desiring the most direct path to her door, she failed to consider the metal grate above their basement boiler that lay in her path. She cried in pain as her bare feet met the grate.

“Are you okay?” Beverly called.

Madeline gathered herself on the carpeted floor just beyond the grate. “Yeah.”

As she grabbed for her feet the towel wrapped around her fell to the floor. She didn’t care. Grabbing it in her hand, and holding her soiled clothes in the other, she ran naked into her room to retrieve her pajamas.

Mature thoughts raced through the seven-year-old’s mind. Devious intentions had no business entering such a pristine being but were present for the sake of self-preservation. She wished and prayed that God would not let her mommy see the stains on her panties.

Madeline walked across the house, taking an alternate route through the formal living room to avoid the family room. From there she walked through the kitchen and into the laundry room. As her mother ordered, she dropped her soiled clothes into the washing machine. She was too small to see inside and hoped her mother would place other laundry on top of her clothes without examination. Once her clothes were out of her possession, Madeline absolved herself of all responsibility. Emotional cleansing was not as easily accomplished.

The mindset of a child had been altered that night. Trust was no longer afforded those who should have a child’s best interest at heart. The night’s horror would be repressed, but the subconscious would never be the same. At an age when a little girl should be consumed by the fantastic possibilities contained in the universe, Madeline was forced to recognize the desirous nature of flesh and all of its flaws. She had not been given the tools to understand, nor rationalize the abuse she was made to endure. A black seed had been planted that would grow until it became sublime. Once she discovered her place in the world, the beast within would rise up and destroy anything that held the promise of eternal happiness. The seven-year-old girl did not die that night, but her connection to the universe was altered beyond the recognition of an eternal being. Her soul would no longer seek the spark innate in humans. A fallible and limited life based on her physical appearance and its appeal became her destiny.

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