Sickened Minds

Prologue

1955

    Jennie Finch's thin, pale hands rested on her plump stomach. She was two months away from giving birth and seemed to be anticipating the little one, but her joy was normally overshadowed by worry and fear.

"Dwayne, what are you feeding the children?" She asked, her crystal blue eyes fixed on her husband as they stood in the kitchen.

"What are you talking about, Jennie? I'm feeding them protein. It's what they need to grow," he replied in a gruff voice. Violence seeped through his words.

Dwayne's hand hit the table. Unlike Jennie, it was anything but thin. His whole body wasn't, in fact. He weighed more than three-hundred pounds, every inch of him being pure fat. His skin was deathly pale, and his eyes were blue- but almost grey from how lifeless they were. He was dressed in a white apron with brown stains, which came from an unknown substance.

Jennie picked his hand up softly and pressed her pink lips against it. "Dwayne," she said in a shaky voice, clearly afraid, "you know I love you, but I think we need to reconsider what they're putting into their mouths."

He pulled away from her roughly. The only thing keeping him from smacking her was her pregnant innocence. "You know nothing."

Her lip quivered. "Please, honey, listen to me. Do you see how pale you are? Have you seen the children? Have you seen me, who's carrying your baby? I want to eat real food."

"Stop worrying about what I do and take care of the rats. I make the money in this house, not you." He walked away from her without another word, disappearing into his secret back room. He locked it behind him. Jennie began to sob. She took wobbling steps into their dining room and grabbed one of the chairs, steadying herself so she wouldn't fall over.

"Rats..." Jennie whispered to herself. Anger flashed in her eyes. "Rats? Dwayne, get out here. How dare you call my- our- children that?!"

A butcher's knife slammed into his table- she didn't see, but she knew immediately that's what it was. There was silence following. She pounded her fist against his door.

"Open the door, please."

It was bolted with six different locks. It was never going to open.

"Mommy?"

She rested her head against the door. "Yes, Ayren?"

Ayren, their daughter, stood in the doorway. Her light brown hair was in little pigtail braids, hanging over her shoulders. She held a doll in her arms, clutching it tightly against her pink nightgown. Jennie crouched down and stroked her cheek softly.

"I have to speak with Father. Go back to your room. I'll be with you soon." She kissed Ayren's forehead. "I love you so much, darling."

"Mommy... my tummy hurts...."

"Oh, Ayren... I know. I'm so sorry," Jennie said.

"Where are the veggies?"

"The pantry." Jennie sent her on her way, then turned towards the door. Ayren hoarded some food before scurrying upstairs. "Dwayne, speak with me."

She was responded with more chops. She knocked again. Blood began to seep under the door and stain her slippers. She stepped backwards, practically unfazed. She was used to living in a putrid home.

"Open the door," she demanded.

The door swung open, hitting Jennie so hard across her arm it knocked her onto the tile floor. Dwayne stood over her with his butcher's knife.