Five Trailers Lot E

*Author's Note: Any and all persons willingly engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

*Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microwave Spoil-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

**..**

Brenda Broussard watched as Angela Gernaud and an unknown blonde knelt on the filthy living room carpet and hungrily kissed one another for the amusement of her twin brothers, Peter and Paul. She did not find the scene amusing or erotic; it saddened her.

Angela wore her Cabrini Catholic High School uniform despite having been expelled a few months earlier. The uniform blouse was no longer the pristine starched white color it had been. The blouse was stained and there were sweat circles underneath each armpit. The skirt was filthy and torn in a few places.

The other blonde wore a halter top and Daisy Duke Denim shorts. Brenda had never seen this blonde before; she assumed this blonde was new to the addiction. Her clothes were relatively clean, her skin was still healthy, her teeth did not show the ravages of meth use. She even wore a wedding ring and a fairly nice engagement ring; she still had her jewelry.

"Hey, Angela, why you don't play with her tits, huh?" Peter smirked.

The trailer door slammed shut and Bobby Broussard, their father stormed into the trailer. He stopped in front of the new blonde and used her hair to pull her from her knees to dangle in the air.

"Fucking card got refused," Bobby snarled hatefully at the woman. "Your husband's card? Got refused."

"What? It, no, no, I got three hundred, Paul, remember? I got three hundred just this afternoon," the woman whined.

"And that three hundred's gone," Bobby screamed, face millimeters from the blonde's frantic face.

"And then we let you and this little pig here use another hundred worth," Paul said, kicking Angela when he said 'little pig.'

"Where's the card? I, I'll get some more," the woman pleaded.

"Fuck! That, that felt good," Paul said and delivered a second, much more forceful kick to Angela's side.

"God damn, what? Call that a kick you fucking pussy," Peter giggled, getting to his feet and approaching the groaning meth addict.

Brenda turned and fled to her room. She cursed Deborah Broussard, her mother; her mother knew what her father and two brothers were capable of. Her mother knew exactly what hell she was leaving her daughter to live in when she packed everything in her car one morning and drove away.

Brenda vaguely remembered living in a loving and happy home. She'd been a little girl when the Baggett Mattress Factory had caught on fire one night. Bobby had been injured when the roof collapsed. A series of operations had left him a bitter, scarred man addicted to pain killers. They lost their home because Bobby was spending every penny on drugs instead of bills. Their mother worked as a waitress at Dusty's Country Kitchen to pay the lot fees and the utilities for the trailer.

When Peter and Paul were old enough, they dropped out of school and began selling drugs. Bobby then hit on the idea of manufacturing the drugs, rather than selling for Lynelle Turner. Lynelle had not taken this turn of events well.

Lynelle Turner had sent an enforcer to the trailer, to persuade Bobby and Peter and Paul that cutting Lynelle out of the picture was a bad idea.

Lynelle was sitting In Sweet Pea's Restaurant, enjoying their stuffed pork chops when Bobby Broussard walked in, sat at Lynelle's table and dropped one of Farley's rings onto the table.

"Farley has retired," Bobby said, manic smile on his face. "But, here's one of his rings as a gift for you."

Bobby stood, wished the frightened man a good evening, and left. Lynelle picked up the ring and dropped it again when he saw the blood on the fake gold and glass ring.

Shortly after the boys dropped out of school, their mother took off. Bobby had not believed Brenda when she said she didn't know where her mother had gone and beat her with his belt until she lay on the floor, not moving.

Her father seemed remorseful for that day, remorseful for the horrific and unwarranted beating. He never raised a hand to her again. And, never displayed any affection to her again.

Now, running from the living room of their double-wide trailer, running from the sadistic and inhumane treatment of two women, Brenda ran past the lab room. She skittered to a stop; the door was slightly ajar.

The door was never open. In fact, there was a hasp that normally had a large padlock locking it securely shut. But someone had removed the padlock, someone had opened the door, and someone had left the room unattended, open.

Peering in, Brenda saw the equipment. She saw jars of liquid, saw various powders in clear plastic bags. And, she saw the green canvas duffel bag. The bag was unzipped and Brenda could see dollar bills spilling out onto the desk.

Whenever she needed money, for groceries, for feminine products, she went to her father. Bobby wouldn't even make eye contact with her as he peeled off a hundred dollar bill. Brenda tried to be a good girl, tried to earn his love. She would always offer him the change and he would just mutter for her to hang onto it for the next time she needed whatever it was.

Her Raggedy Ann doll, the last thing Deborah Broussard gave to her daughter no longer contained any stuffing. Brinda had pulled a few threads loose in the doll's foot and had stuffed all the dollar bills into the doll. A safety pin kept the foot secure.

Now, hearing the maniacal giggles and the obscene sounds of flesh hitting flesh, Brenda looked around at the source of all her troubles. Brenda looked around at the corrosive materials that had eaten away her childhood, her happiness.

A steady diet of fast food restaurants had played havoc with her body. At five feet one inch tall, Brenda Jo Broussard possessed a 30DD chest, a twenty six inch waist and a thirty two inch hips with bubble butt. She'd had her first menstrual sycle at age nine and Peter and Paul had taken notice that she had begun to develop.

Thankfully, Bobby had come in from some task or other and had caught the boys trying to touch the crying, begging girl. He had delivered an ass whipping to the two boys, Paul still had one upper front tooth missing from that day. But, other than to call her hateful names, they never bothered her again.

"And ain't never even said they love me neither," Brenda thought bitterly as she moved toward the equipment.

A disposable cigarette lighter lay on the high table. Brinda saw a gas jet and wondered. The brutal sounds continued, the awful giggling continued, their father's guffaws now joining in.

Brenda placed a jar of ether into a wire hoop and suspended it just above the gas jet. Turning the jet on, Brenda lighted the jet. Then, she grabbed the duffel bag and quickly zipped it shut.

The padlock was on the desk; she saw it when she pulled the heavy bag from the desk. Brenda removed the large ring of keys from the lock and hurried to the door, canvas bag in hand.

She knew, she knew her father would pull his.44 magnum from his waistband; he was proud of the large handgun, loved showing it off, loved telling people what it could do to the human body. If he caught her with his money, his precious money in her possession, he would not hesitate to kill her. The money was far more precious to him than she had ever been.

"Can't be no worse than what I'm doing now," Brenda said as she locked the door, clicking the padlock shut.

Brenda grabbed her large backpack and stuffed the duffel bag inside of it. She put some clothing on top of the duffel bag, then, on a whim, put a box of sanitary napkins at the very top. Raggedy Ann in hand, Brenda dug her cell phone out of her jeans pocket and put it to her ear.

"Yes ma'am, Miss Mindy. Hope it's a girl yeah," She said, looping her backpack over her shoulder and carrying her Raggedy Ann doll down the hall.

"No ma'am, be right there," Brenda said, averting her eyes as she entered the living room.

"Hey! Where, where you think you going? Almost ten at night here," Bobby ordered.

"That Miss Mindy? Remember, used live right there? Lot A?" Brenda said, pointing across the clamshell drive toward the now empty trailer. "She having her baby, nees me come over and watch her and Mr. George's babies while they at the hospital."

"Let's see what you got in that backpack," Bobby ordered.

"Yes sir," Brenda said dutifully, unzipping the heavy bag.

"Never mind," Bobby quickly said, seeing the box of sanitary napkins and some of Brenda's panties and a bra just inside the large pack. "Why you bringing your doll?"

"Uh? Can't sleep without it," Brenda said. "Aint' got no idea how long they going be. Might have sleep there."

Brenda did not know if ether was flammable. She did know, sooner or later, though, the heat would build up and gasses would build up in the jar, causing the lid to pop off. The noise was sure to be loud, loud enough to get Bobby's attention. There would be nowhere for her to hide from his wrath once he discovered her attempted sabotage of their precious laboratory.

"I can go? They sending an Uber and I got be at the stop sign waiting," Brenda said.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, go on," Bobby said, turning his attention back to their hapless victims.

Brenda was at the stop sign, a hundred yards away when the explosion occurred. She felt the concussion of the blast at the same time she heard the thunderous 'BOOM!' The force of the blast nearly knocked her to her knees. The roar of the explosion deafened her; she wondered if she'd ever regain her hearing.

"I'm so sorry," Brenda whispered, thinking of Angela and the unknown woman. "Hope y'all can forgive me."

Walking to the DeGarde Inn, Brenda saw the first fire engine, ambulance and police cruiser scream past. Again, she felt horrible remorse for the two women. Then she realized; she'd been able to hear the sirens; her hearing had been restored.

"They got to be better off; least they won't be needing use no more," Brenda attempted to console herself as she entered the hotel's lobby.

"Help you?" the woman behind the counter smiled. "Aw! I had me one them Raggedy Ann's when I was a little girl; God! Wonder what ever happened to her? I'm need call my momma, bet she'd know."

"Bus tickets?" Brenda asked.

While Brenda Jo Broussard hurried from the trailer park, in Uncle Danny's trailer on Lot C, Susan Gerrard sat on the toilet, cursing her best friend, Sydnee Thompson for giving her the flu. Sammy and Daisy and Uncle Danny and Miss Rose were in Norwill, Tennessee, looking at the campus of Norwill University, the latest university to offer Samuel Gerrard a full ride scholarship. Susan couldn't go because she was sick.

Just as a fresh bout of cramps struck, causing Susan to groan in misery, a huge thunderclap was heard and the trailer was blown off of its cinderblocks. Susan was knocked from her perch and slammed into the wall. She attempted to clamp her rectum shut but could not help the unfortunate occurrence.

She'd been playing 'Candy Crush' on her cell phone. Now, she located the device and called 911. She crawled; the severe pitch of the trailer made walking on the floor nearly impossible.

"There's been an explosion; something blew up," Susan said when the operator answered. "Blew the trailer almost on its side."

Crawling to the living room, Susan gasped. She could see that the trailer on Lot E was a fireball. She could also see that the Thompson trailer was off its mooring, and was smoldering.

"Need to send a fire truck!" Susan screamed to the operator. "The Broussard trailer's on fire and it looks like the Thompson trailer's next! Hurry!"

Susan hoisted herself upright, opened the door, which was difficult since the door opened outward, and stepped out onto the concrete steps. She screamed; the glass from their screen door cut through her fuzzy socks into her feet. Her cell phone clattered onto the concrete pad then skittered down the steps onto the clam shell drive.

Susan wanted to sit; her feet were in agony. Vut the Thompson trailer was ablaze. Despite her bloody feet, Susan ran for the Thompson trailer.

There were no cars in front of the trailer at Lot A; George and Mindy had moved out; they were buying a house in Baylor Lake. There were no cars in front of Lot B either. Susan assumed the cute boy that lived there was on a date with his really pretty red headed girlfriend. She didn't know anything about the beautiful brunette woman; she seemed to work late hours.

"Miss Linda! Miss Linda! Sydnee," Susan screamed, hammering on their thin door. "Fire! Fire! Sydnee! Miss Linda! Y'all need get out!"

The knob was locked. Susan turned and ran back for Uncle Danny's truck; they'd taken Miss Rose's Mercedes-Benz for the car trip. Jumping into the bed, Susan rooted around for the tire iron. The clam shells of the parking lot cut horribly into her feet as she ran again for the burning trailer.

Susan jammed the tire iron into the flimsy door and gave a tremendous heave. The door splintered and popped open.

Crawling inside, Susan found a drunk and disoriented Linda staggering, trying to find her footing. The smoke was thick and noxious and Miss Linda was coughing and asking Ralph for forgiveness. Susan grabbed the woman as she attempted to walk toward the source of the smoke.

"Miss Linda, Come on!" Susan screamed, dragging the woman to the floor. "Come on! Crawl! Crawl with me!"

"Ralph. I, I'm going be with my Ralph," Miss Linda sobbed. "It's what I deserve!"

"Miss Linda, please! You can be with Ralph later," Susan begged, pulling the resisting woman toward the trailer's front door.

Susan managed to push the drunk woman out onto the rusty metal steps of the trailer. She hoped the woman would stay put but feared that the woman might re-enter the burning trailer.

Susan's eyes watered, her throat burned as she made her way to Sydnee's door.

"Momma?" Sydnee weakly cried out when Susan managed to push the twisted door of Sydnee's room open.

"Oh thank God, thank you God," Susan sobbed out, finding Sydnee's arm in the pitch blackness. "Come on, come with me, Sydnee."

"Momma, where's my momma?" Sydnee sobbed, coughing as the smoke intensified.

"Outside. She's outside," Susan assured her friend.

Sydnee screamed when she tried to put weight onto her left leg. The force of the blast and the toppling of the trailer had thrown Sydnee against the wall, breaking her left tibia. Susan sobbed; knowing she was hurting her best friend tore at her heart, but she dragged the screaming, fighting girl to the front door of the trailer.

"Got you, we got you," a male voice soothed, pulling Susan through the open door.

"Sydnee! No, no, I'm fine; get Sydnee!" Susan protested.

"We got her, the red head? We got her," the deep voice soothed. "Come on, come on, lay down, that's a girl."

While Susan was sucking in precious oxygen, while Linda and Sydnee Thompson were being loaded into the ambulance, the fire fighters were trying to keep the trailers on Lot A, B, and C from burning. St. Elizabeth's Public Utilities had sent out an emergency crew to shut off the gas to the lots. Performance 12 had also sent out a van and Summer Duhon was attempting to get interviews from fire fighters and the police.

"Hi-yee; I'm Summer Duhon," the attractive blonde said to Susan as Susan lay on the gurney, waiting to be loaded onto the second ambulance.

"Hi," Susan croaked. "I love you. My brother Samuel says you're annoying as hell, but I think you're great."

"Aw well thank you," Summer said. "Jeremiah Simon says you're a hero. He says you saved two people tonight."

"No. You know who's a real hero? My Uncle Danny," Susan said as the gurney was being raised. "My mother dropped me and Samuel off at, at, oh my God! Our, our trailer! It's ruined!"

While Ulysses Lee, ER nurse at St. Elizabeth Parish Trauma Center was cleaning Susan's feet of glass and clam shell fragments, Brenda Jo Broussard settled onto her seat of the large Greyhound bus. She had first thought to head to Houston, Texas, a city large enough to get lost in. But then remembered a promise her mother had made to her, just before Deborah loaded her things into her car and disappeared.

"One day? One day you and me, just us girls; we'll take a drive out to Colorado. Benhurst, Colorado and we'll do some snow skiing. Just you and me," Deborah had promised.

"Ticket to where?" the smiling woman behind the counter of the DeGarde Inn had asked, fingers poised above the computer's keyboard.

"Benhurst. It's in Colorado," Brenda had said. "No, don't ask me to spell it."

Rumbling west, the bus pulled Brenda Jo Broussard away from DeGarde, away from Hell. While Brenda slipped into a troubled sleep, Susan slept fitfully in a small room just past the Emergency Room of St. Elizabeth Parish Trauma Center.

"Hi-yee," Summer Duhon smiled as Susan groggily came to.

"Hi, you, you're Summer Duhon," Susan said, looking around at the small room.

"Uh huh," Summer agreed. "Listen, I'm preparing to do a follow-up from the studio. Right before you were taken here, you were telling me about your Uncle Danny."

"Huh?" Susan asked.

"I said you were a hero and you said your Uncle Danny was the real hero," Summer reminded Susan.

"Huh? Oh, oh yeah," Susan said, wincing in pain as she tried to use her heels to push herself upright.

"So, before I go on air, I just wanted to get the whole story," Summer said.

"My Uncle Danny? See, my mom had me and Samuel; he's my twin brother and one day, she just dropped us off at Uncle Danny's trailer, said she'd be right back. Well, that was fifteen years ago," Susan said.

Susan's eyes filled with tears as she relived the horrors of a few hours ago. Her home, the home she and Samuel and Uncle Danny shared...something had blown up and now their home was broken.

"She'd be right back," Summer prompted.

"Our home," Susan sobbed. "Something blew up and our home..."

Summer kept her cell phone recording as the brave young woman mourned the loss of her home. Even if it were repaired, she'd never feel completely safe in her home ever again.

After ten minutes, Summer had the full story. Uncle Danny had, without reservation or anger had taken on the role of full-time parent. He had raised his niece and nephew as his own, had shouldered the cost and responsibility for Susan and Samuel.

Right now? They, Samuel and Uncle Danny and Miss Rose and Daisy? They're in Norwill, Tennessee; Samuel's been offered a full scholarship he's super genius smart and Uncle Danny wanted to make sure it's a good place for Samuel, see? Even though we're almost nineteen? He's still looking out for us; he's a hero," Susan declared.

"Sounds like a good role model," Summer said.

"Sounds like a great role model," Susan said forcefully. "And even if I gave him a million dollars a day for the rest of my life? I'd never be able to repay him for all he's done for me, for us."

"Bye-yee," Summer said when Ulysses ordered the reporter out.

"Bye-yee," Susan smiled as the attractive young reporter left.

"Oh God, don't start that 'Hi-yee' and 'Bye-yee' stuff," the stout nurse smiled. "Makes me want to shoot my TV whenever she's on."

Upstairs in the same hospital, Linda Thompson was in a semi-private room when she learned what had happened. Through bleary eyes, she watched the Performance 12 News broadcast on her neighbor's television, heard Susan Gerrard's glowing description of her Uncle Danny.

"This brave eighteen year old student of Cabrini High School pulled two neighbors from a burning trailer," Summer Duhon said while images of the fire fighters trying to douse the flames played on the screen behind her. "But Susan Gerrard doesn't see herself as a hero. Susan Gerrard says the real hero in the family is her Uncle Danny."