Beside the door and partially hidden in a corner was an aluminum baseball bat that belonged to her son. She went to the kitchen where the light was on and waited. He staggered and stumbled, and she braced herself for what was to come. The car stopped beside the house and she watched him get out. She had worn it before and he had once liked it. Was it weaving and lurching as usual, or was it under control? Was he drunk as always on these nights or could he have throttled back on the drinking? She wore a racy negligee to catch his attention and perhaps alter his mood from violence to romance.
On the sofa in the den, Josie took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and eased to the window to watch the car. Those inside should have been asleep for hours, but sleep was not possible during these awful nights. They washed through the house and cast ominous, silent shadows on the walls, then went away as the car dipped before its final approach. It was long after midnight on an early Sunday when the headlights finally appeared. The seclusion of the house added to the imminent horror. The house could not be seen from the road and was accessed by a winding gravel drive that dipped and curved and at night caused approaching headlights to sweep through the front windows and doors as if to warn those waiting inside. The unhappy little home was out in the country, some six miles south of Clanton on an old county road that went nowhere in particular.
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