A Father’s Love

(Challenge Prompt: "Once upon a time...")

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"She is a beautiful girl. I'll give you that."

The tall man spoke in the quiet moon shine. Night noises had long since ceased. Only the sound of trees rustling in a gentle breeze could be heard accompanying his voice.

"When she first told me about the games you two played, I wanted to think she was lying. I wanted to believe that it was some kind of practical joke; she said you even made her call you 'daddy.' I wanted to know that you'd never hurt her.  She's just a little girl."

He leaned against the long wooden handle of a shovel, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. In the night's light, the rag appeared to be spotted black.

"Oh, damn. I made a mess." Forgetting about the spots on his cloth, the man left streaks across his forehead. Touching his fingers above his brow, he brought them down to eye level, feeling their stickiness.

"Once upon a time, we were almost family.  My closest friend.  I named you her Godfather, even.  Everything's different now.  It's all a wreck, and I'm the one left cleaning it!"  His voice had climbed into a restrained shout, but there was no audience to witness his flare of temper.

Nearly no audience, anyway.

The tall man kicked the heap before him.

A muffled groan was the only response.

"Look at this. You're the one did all the work, and I'm the one sweating." He chuckled ruefully.

"Well. Maybe it's psychological. I've never exactly done this before. I guess I have you to thank for that, too. Another first for you, congratulations."

The pleas had stopped thirty minutes in. The hole became wider, deeper, but still too shallow for proper Christian use.

It only had to be deep enough to avoid the plowblades.

There had been a severe beating before they'd ever taken a drive out to this lonely cotton field. Rope had been used after the hole was finished, but not the way this monster had used it on his daughter.

Nothing about tonight was a game.

"Well, Dom. I think it's time for you to pray. You know how this ends."

The tall man left his shovel-support and leaned over to help the tied man into a sitting position.

"Dom. Dom, don't cry, big guy. You knew the risks. You've known me our entire lives. The kind of man I am. The kind of lengths I'd go to in order to protect my family. To protect my little girl."

Sobs shook Dominic's body, and the hemp between his teeth couldn't muffle the renewed pleas for clemency.

Sighing, her father drew shining blue steel from a leather holster. Pausing to admire the glow of moonlight along the cold length of the barrel, he paused and looked down at Dominic.

"You know how old she is, Dom. And you did it anyway. She still asks me to buy her Barbies and Strawberry Shortcake, you twisted fuck. I hope the Manjesus forgives you, because I, her father, her Daddy, I don't."

The ropes pulled tight as he tried to flee; the gag was true to the word as he screamed for mercy, but all he succeeded in doing was roll with the slug from that forty-four.  Headfirst, he toppled into the shallow grave dug by his own hands.

Silence.

Dom was almost dead before the first spray of dirt landed on his back.

Her dad stopped to listen as nightsounds returned to normal while he worked.