Somewhere in the middle of the night, the side of my face throbbing with a dull, painful pulse, I have the worst sort of thought a kid can have.

I think about what happened to me and then start thinking about Artie Duncan. Maybe the same anger and rage that gave me a knot on my temple and a black eye ended up killing him.

Maybe the same hands that struck me were the ones that struck Artie.

No, that didn’t happen, that couldn’t happen.

I wonder what’s worse. Killing a complete stranger or bashing your son’s face in?

I try to stop thinking this, because there’s nothing I can do with it. I don’t really think my father is a murderer, but then again, who knows? He could be. I don’t know why he would kill someone, but I don’t know why he likes hitting me either. I don’t understand where the anger comes from, but I do get that it’s there. It’s there and it’s real and maybe, just maybe . . .

Stop.

I think of Marvel telling me about her prayers. I’d like to be able to do that, pray to God. But really, truly, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe that a prayer I might say is going to do a bit of good. It might make me feel nice for a moment and take my mind off the reality of today, but tomorrow is going to be the same. There’s nothing a prayer is going to do to change the monster living with me or the madness he brings. Nothing whatsoever.

So instead of praying, and instead of wondering if that monster is indeed a murderer, I think of Marvel. I want to dream about her.

I want to imagine a shop where I can pick out a dozen different hats for her. A seventies-cool-vibes shop downtown where she holds my hand and smiles and I buy her whatever she wants. Then we walk the city sidewalks and look up at the blue sky and don’t have a single care in the world. We’re grown up and these dark days are behind us and all we have is each other.

This is what I think about as I drift off toward sleep and unconsciousness. It’s a fantasy, but just as much of a fantasy as the prayers Marvel prays.

She can have her dreams, and I’ll have mine.