Part Two: Chapter One

Winters in southern Ohio can be especially cruel and stricken; there are days when the air is too cold for the welcome snow that would shut down schools and businesses, allowing young children the opportunity to romp and play in the white powder. For a young Kaylin McSandsen, winters were especially brutal: she was left along most nights, and every scraping of a bare branch, every creak of the cold, empty house was a monster that filled the little girl's nightmares.

Kaylin Colleen McSandsen was the only child of Aaron McSandsen, a hardened man, born in Ireland and raised in Kentucky by his coal mining father. He had worked hard, and earned the respect of those around him. At twenty-one he met Colleen Mullins, within two months they were married; seven months later their daughter was born. Aaron was absorbed in his work and worried constantly about the opinions of those around him. He had high expectations of himself and of his new family, before it had even begun. His patience with his young bride wore thing within weeks of their marriage.

Aaron worked as the sift manager for the manufacturing company in a small town called Riversedge, located near mostly nothing in Ohio. He took on as many shifts and duties as he could' after work he was always asked to out for drinks with coworkers and eventually his bosses. He was a man's man: hard-working, fun to be around, and always dependable.

Collen was a frail, weak woman who waited constantly for the young and passionate Aaron she had fallen in love with to come home. Worried so about pleasing the man who had become her husband, Kaylin was left to herself most of the time whole Colleen fretted about, herself taking nips from a bottle she kept in her spice cabinet. Kaylin was tasked with helping Mommy clean the house: scrubbing baseboards and windows daily, toilet bowls washed with bleach after each flush, and her clothes were neatly folded before being placed in the hamper for washing.

Kaylin was only a few years old when she first remembered seeing her father hit her mother. She had woken up in the middle of the night to hear her father's loud singing downstairs, Collen was hushing him, and he was shoving her away. In that instant, all the days of trying to win his approval, all the nights of waiting for him to come home rushed through Colleen's veins and she threw a heavy glass platter at him. The shattering as it hit the floor was deafening, and Aaron attacked her like she was a man, breaking her jaw with one hard punch that laid her to the ground. His calloused hands were around her throat when he saw little Kaylin standing in the door, blood from her mother's mouth had sprayed on her frayed Care Bears nightgown. He released Colleen, wiped the spittle from his mouth and growled, "It's not even worth it. You aren't even worth my sweat."

Things changed after that. Every night Aaron didn't come home from his shift, Colleen went out too, giving Kaylin kisses and told to stay in bed no matter what. Sometimes Mommy came home first, stumbling in the door not always alone; sometimes Father came home first waking Kaylin up with a shake, asking where her mother was.

Her mother's death in a car accident when Kaylin was twelve ended that. Her father tried to mourn his wife, but the loss was inconsequential, they had lost each other years before her body was in the ground. Aaron's estranged relationship with his daughter prevented him from helping the young girl handle her bereavement, but neighbors and townspeople came to his aide: offering to stay with the girl while he worked, bringing food for their meals, and taking Kaylin to mass. Never wanting to be pitied, Aaron accepted the offering for the obligatory mourning time, and then assured everyone they would get along fine. Aaron realized he needed someone to watch over his daughter's comings and goings though, and to ensure their privacy and to maintain his routine of working and philandering, Aaron moved his ailing father into his house.

Exposed to too much war and coal dust, Francis McSandsen, was a gruff man who adored his granddaughter in his own, quiet way. He complimented her cooking, signed school papers; he bought a TV for her room and even paid for her own telephone line to her bedroom; she called him 'Seanathair' the Gaelic word for Grandfather that he had taught her long ago, and he called her his 'Kaylerie' an adaption of her name in the old brogue. But he was as distant as his son, and preferred to spend more time to himself and watching TV than paying much attention to his granddaughter.

Kaylin had learned early to smile and be happy no matter what, and to be the best little girl she could be and never upset anyone. She gave love and hugs to everyone in the school and the community, and she was known to a strong and diligent daughter to her widowed father and her sick grandfather. Kaylin was good at smiling and being good for it was in doing so that she got the occasional smile in return from her father, or that she earned praise from other adults in her vicinity. She never mourned her life: it was the only one she knew.