I am a throw-away child, the broken foster kid he took in. The voice in my head told me they wouldn’t believe me, that what happened is my fault. The thought of having to go through the courts and tell a bunch of strangers what happened for an entire year, have them question every detail and scrutinize everything about my childhood, about me; the victim becomes the accused.
The term innocent until proven guilty irks me. Why must I be questioned as if I am the guilty one before being proven innocent? So, each time I turn around, not able to go through with it, not able to mention my biggest shame.
That is what plays on my mind when he tells me to come to the basement. I know he doesn’t need help to sort things; he only wants me to go down there so he can torture what is left of my soul, to make sure I am destroyed beyond repair.
That sickening feeling fills my gut as my feet touch the cold basement floor. His wife is a nurse and always works the night shift, leaving us with this monster. I often wonder how many before me. How many more girls has he destroyed?
I’m not sure, but I know his next target will be Lana. I couldn’t live with myself knowing I left her with him, left her to this house of horrors. I watch as he undoes his belt and points to the dusty couch in the corner. Bile rises in my throat as I walk over to it. I can hear the TV upstairs above us, Lana watching cartoons, completely unaware of what is happening below her. He places his belt and gun on the mini fridge before roughly grabbing me. I tune out while he has his way with me, only coming back to reality as he pulls my pants back up. Tears roll down my cheeks, I hear the TV click off, knowing it is nearly bedtime.
I can hear him talking to me, but I don’t understand what he says. All I can focus on is her footsteps as they go up the stairs to her bedroom. I can’t abandon her like that, leave her with him to do as he pleases. Before I realize what, I have done, I pick up his gun. My hands tremble as I point it at him. He cocks an eyebrow at me before swigging from his bottle of bourbon. He laughs.
“Hand it over. We both know you won’t do it,” he says, laughing as he moves toward me.
My hands shake as I turn the safety off. His eyes widen before he tries ripping it from my hands. We struggle, he backhands me, my head whips to the side and the gun falls from my hands on the floor. He bends down, picks it up and puts the safety back on before walking up the stairs like nothing happened. Hours, I sit down there until I get the courage to go back up the stairs. My dream feels like it is only minutes. Everything moves quickly, and next, I am sneaking upstairs.
Walking to his room, I find him passed out drunk. Running down the stairs, I grab a bottle of liquor. He always smokes in bed, so it will look like an accident. It is no secret the officer is an alcoholic. Apparently, he suffers from some form of PTSD. I pour the liquor onto his bed, careful not to wake him. The smell is pungent and burns my nose. Grabbing one of his smokes from the bedside table, I light it, smoking half of it before grabbing the bottle again and tipping it on him. He wakes immediately, looking up at me, half asleep. He has a cruel smile on his lips as he reaches for me before realizing what I tipped on him. Anger blazes as I draw back on the cigarette, trying to calm my nerves.
“Burn in hell,” I tell him as I flick it.
I watch as it lands on the bed.
The covers catch fire before his clothes do, he screams. I watch, horrified at what I have done until my brain kicks into function. He tries getting up, but flames engulf him; I can smell his burning hair as he climbs off the bed, trying to put out the flames frantically. I step back, watching as everything catches fire before I run for the door. His screams will forever haunt my memory.
I run from that room, bolting down the stairs only to remember Lana is in the room next door to his, making me run back up, but the hallway is already on fire. The wallpaper is burning and peeling off the walls as I run past and into her room, shaking her. She wakes up just as the fire alarms blare.
I rip her from her bed in her Harry Potter pajamas. Her eyes widen when we step into the hall, and she sees the flames. I shove her toward the stairs, and she runs down when I feel something fall on me, shoving me down the stairs, and I thrash. Burning pain moves up my back, making me scream in agony, and all I can focus on is the pain as Lana screams. I writhe in agony, trying to get whatever is on me off.
I
hear voices; they sound familiar to me, getting louder and louder.
“Evelyn, wake up, wake up.” Someone is shaking me from my dream, and my eyes fly open.
My heart is pounding against my chest painfully. Sweat coats my skin, and my eyes try to adjust to the light. I scream, trying to get away from the hands shaking me, thrashing to get him off.
“Evelyn, it’s me. Stop.” That voice, that familiar voice rings through my head again, and my eyes focus as they land on Thaddeus.
I stop, looking around the room, and I am not in the house of my nightmares but my bed with my mates. Tears roll down my cheeks as I realize I am awake, no longer burning, and the searing pain dissipates.
Thaddeus’s hands clutch my face. “You’re okay. You’re okay, little one. It was just a dream,” he says as he pulls me towards him and into his lap.
Ryland moves closer, placing his head in my lap, and I feel my breathing even out as reality comes back to me. I then notice Orion watching me from the end of the bed, an indecipherable expression on his face. Looking down at Ryland, I notice claw marks across his back and angry red lines that are nearly healed.
“What happened to your back?” I whisper. My voice sounds hoarse, like I have been screaming and my throat hurts just speaking.
“Everything you feel, we feel. That’s what woke us, I thought I was on fire,” Ryland says as he rolls his head and looks up at me. I lean back against Thaddeus; his hand strokes my damp hair from my face. Guilt floods me as I stare down at Ryland. They can feel it, feel everything, and the thought sickens me.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“A few days,” Thaddeus answers, making my head whip to the side to look at him.
“Thaddeus, marking you knocked you out. His mark did the same to us as well. Think it’s because he is a Tribrid,” Orion answers the question I am about to ask.
I nod, not knowing what else to say. Guilt is eating at me as I stare at Orion. His curious gaze is watching me.