Page 56 of The Puppeteer and the Poisoned Pawn

His words thaw a small section of my heart, but only for a moment. A dark instinct quickly takes over, filling the hollowness in my chest with hardening stubbornness. This version of myself that avoids that sincerity in someone’s voice, that wallows in anger, that backs further and further away from their loved ones—it’s all I have left. It’s the only thing keeping me moving. I lift my chin in defiance.

“Then don’t,” I say coldly. “Go home. Watch over Niles. I’m going to spiral. I’m going to hurt anyone who gets in my way.”

I don’t have to look at Chekiss to sense the devastation consuming his expression.

“You won’t like the person I’m becoming. So, please, don’t stay and watch.”

Looking up at my father’s house is like standing before his coffin.

Two stories, painted in charcoal black. The epitome of a horror house. Haunting. Grim. An aura of death. The graveyard for happy childhoods.

The lawn is crisp and dry, the windows are grimy from age and harsh weather. This will be like visiting Kane’s childhood home. I won’t be able to step foot in that living room. The room where he beat me. The room where he took his life.

I decide to go in through the back door, trudging through the backyard’s overgrown weeds to get there. I have to shake and jimmy the doorknob before I use my shoulder to shove it open. I’m struck with the scent of decaying wood, leaky pipes, and the soap my father used to wash his clothes with.

My breath remains stuck in my chest as I feel it tugging me away, sucking me into the void. My stomach dips, my eyes go wide, and I brace myself for impact.

The voice of a little girl sets my equilibrium back in place. Soft, shy, and cautious. I grip the kitchen counter to steady myself, searching for the young version of me. For my father.

“Daddy,” little Skylenna mutters, peeking over the kitchen table. Her big green eyes are barely visible with the lights off.

I jolt at the sight of him. Hunched over the stove, dripping in sweat, panting like he’s been running for miles. I step closer, swallowing down the fear that I still seem to have of this man.

He’s tall, an inch or so over six feet. Jack tears off his leather jacket, tossing it to the creaky wooden floor. And he’s mumbling something, over and over again. Ritualistically.

I take another step, leaning in to hear his words.

“I’m hallucinating. I’m hallucinating. I’m hallucinating.” His quiet, croaky voice sets my teeth on edge.

“I haven’t eaten,” little Skylenna says from her shadowed hiding place under the table.

Jack throws his fist down, rattling the silverware drawer. My breath hitches.

“Go hide from Daddy.” Breath whooshes from Jack’s chest like he’s battling a deep-rooted pain. A muscle spasm coming from the pit of his stomach. A monster trying to claw its way out.

Little Skylenna doesn’t move.

“Christ, please don’t let me hurt her,” he wheezes, gripping the edges of the counter as if he might rip the wood from its post. “I can’t—fight it, baby doll.”

Sweat drips from his temples to the sides of his neck. And it’s like a switch. His muscles relax, eyes soften, hands loosen their grip.

And I can feel the terror thick in the stale air before he moves. Like watching a wave build into a wall before it crashes over a boat.

Little Skylenna is that boat.

“Run,” I tell her.

But it’s too late. Jack rushes to the side of the table, plucking her by the long wavy locks on her little head.

“You’re hungry, huh? Do you even know how much I’ve lost because of you? Having children ruined my life! Think about that while you sit in the dark.”

Little Skylenna screams, holding her hair to relieve some of the pain as he drags her to the basement door. Her rising terror becomes a tangible layer in the room. I can hardly breathe, watching her fight against his hold, fresh tears springing from her eyes.

“Please, Daddy!”

My jaw aches as I grind my teeth together. He kicks the basement door open and pushes her in. This time, she doesn’t topple down the stairs. She’s instantly quiet. And I remember why. If she even made a sound, he would strip her of clothes, so she’d have to lie in the cold. Naked.

I look at Jack as he slides down the kitchen wall, staring at the door with several emotions warring behind his eyes.

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