Publisher's Synopsis
"Ray's novel is a harrowing portrayal of child abuse made even more unsettling by the fact that it's a true story (with names changed). ... heartbreaking ... bittersweet ... inspiring ... about one girl's fortitude and perseverance." - Kirkus Reviews Her nostrils flare wide open. "Don't you dare move one inch." I hear her open the drawer, and look up to see the silver blades in her hand. She shakes the pair of scissors at me, "I'm sick of you and I'm sick of hair in your face." She's nuts! Her crazy eyes light up with hell-fire. I launch out of the chair and run downstairs. I don't know which way to turn. I pass Adam's door. I know I can't hide in any of the rooms. I'll be trapped. My eyes dart all over the place. There's nowhere safe to go. I speed past my room and around the corner towards the ping-pong table. I see the wood that covers the steps. The plastic! I need to get to the plastic opening. I need to get outside and run to Mr. Hollikan. I look behind me. I can't see her. I look ahead. She's coming at me. She's too close. I'll never make it. I run around the table. She switches direction and glares at me with her two hands on the side edge of the table, panting for breath. I can't run past her but maybe I can throw her off balance. I look behind her and scream, "Dad, stop her!" She turns around to look. Immediately I run in the opposite direction. She screams and yells the foulest names at me as I run frantically from her. She's so close I can hear her breath ticking like a time bomb. I need to create more distance between us. She's as fast as I am and I need to buy time to crawl under that wood. I hear her panting heavier closer behind me. I run past my brothers' room again. I see a bunch of framing wood leaning near my room. I slow down and throw it directly towards her. It blocks her path and she is furious. "I'm going to kill you, you little slut!" I run past the ping-pong table. I drop to my knees and dive under the gap in the wood. I scramble up the steps. I pull at the frame around the plastic. It's not loose enough. I hear her screams get louder, closer. I tear at the plastic like a wild animal. I punch it frantically with my fist and wrists but all I get is a bloody dent. It's too thick. I hear her voice directly below me, cursing me out. I hear the wood scrape. I turn around she has slid it open almost a foot. She has her head and shoulders through but her stomach is caught. She is lurched forward. Her arms stretch and grope towards me. Squished between the boards, she snarls threats that make my hair rise. I have to get out. I claw at the plastic shoving it between my teeth. I rip a hole in it. I use my wrists and arms to tear it bigger. The blow to my back knocks the wind out of me. She's hurling wood at me. Another piece hits my ankle. I look back when I hear the wood scrape again. She's squeezing through. If she kills that baby, I may as well jump in front of a truck. Maybe I should give up before she does. I feel something sharp bludgeon the muscle of my left leg as I claw and rip at the plastic. The plastic gives way as my body hurtles into the back yard. I tumble outside and land on my knees. I just need to make it through the fence, into the woods. What would you do if your father's soon-to-be wife turned out to be a monster ... a woman who lost her own children after the courts labeled her an unfit mother? Toxic Thoughts is a true story series about adversity and resilience. I wrote Battered hoping to enlighten those who have had more pleasant upbringings. Yes I want readers, but I also want cheerleaders who will cheer for survivors and encourage victims to come forward sooner than I did. I am sure if you read my book I will remind you of someone you know ... someone you misread. It only takes one person to take the time to make a difference. The klutz in school that shows up with repeated bruising from being "accident-prone" is in my mind, a myth many still believe in