Page 1 of Gooey

Chapter 1

Winter

An unrelenting rush of rain pelting the structure surrounding us makes it nearly impossible to hear anything else. The brutal thunder crashing above doesn’t help. Storms are impossibly loud when you’re in the middle of the ocean. With the waves going choppy and slamming into the station’s supports and the temperamental skies, there’s nothing quite like it.

I’d always loved the ocean. As a kid, I remember the stories my father would tell about his adventures at sea and how much I longed to be out there with him. He was so animated in his adoration for the salty waters and I wanted nothing more than to share that with him. But when my mother died, my father became a man I feared rather than admired.

On my eighteenth birthday, he demonstrated that I had every right to be afraid. He kidnapped me in the dark and snuffed out every ounce of light in me. He was different—paranoid since losing my mother—and convinced I was destined to die as she did. He couldn’t let me leave for college and he couldn’t think of another way to stop me.

That was two years ago now, and I’ve been a stowaway ever since. Living on a top secret offshore structure might not be so awful when you aren’t forced to hide from everyone on board, but I wouldn’t know. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to be able to find out either.

My toes feel like little ice cubes, freezing against the damp ground as a cold hard press of steel threatens the delicate skin of my throat. Hands shaking and teeth clattering, I watch through blurred vision as the crowd of men slowly surrounds father and me. They’re like wolves, and I should be terrified of them. But their vicious snarls are for the man holding a knife to my neck, not for me.

“Let her go,” a deep voice bellows. “We can work this out if you let the girl go.”

I wish I could say that the command offers me some kind of relief, but it doesn’t even scratch the surface. My scalp screams in protest as I’m hauled closer to my dad’s body, being pulled against him by my hair.

My feet are becoming numb without proper socks and shoes, and my now soaked hair is clinging to my face like it may freeze there. The pain coupled with the cold is starting to make nausea bubble in my stomach. I bite my lip, fighting tears.

He’s threatening to kill me with his knife, walking us closer and closer to the exposed edge of the structure. My own father is using my life like a bargaining chip to strangers because he’s stolen from them. Stolen a lot from what I can tell. Much of the yelling has been drowned out by the storm wrecking around us, but none of it sounds good.

When I was woken up from a dead sleep by my dad just minutes ago, his eyes were wild with panic and fear. I thought the storm may have claimed some of the structure and he was worried for me. Boy, was I wrong.

He wanted to evacuate. To jump ship before anyone came to make him pay for what he’d done. He rushed me from my closet-sized room, not even giving me the time to pull on my sweater or boots. Before he could get us out, the men found us and his knife found my throat.

“Back off!” he snaps at them, the yell practically making my ears ring. “We’re leaving or I’m going to kill her right in front of you! She’s just an innocent girl, do you want to be responsible for her bleeding out at your feet?”

My lips wobble and a sob bursts from behind them. I don’t want to die. I’ve hardly even lived.

“There’s nowhere for you to go,” a man from the group shouts. “You won’t make it out of the storm on a boat, Bill. Let her go and no one has to get hurt.”

A bitter, manic laugh comes from behind me. “Fuck off.”

“Dad, please,” I beg, trying my hardest not to squirm. I’m fighting off the most natural need to tremble as he holds me in this horrible position. My brain is working on overdrive trying to stay alive.

“It’s okay, princess,” he rumbles quietly, just loud enough for me to hear. “We’re going to be together no matter what. I won’t let you go.”

I wish he would. I want nothing more than for him to let me go.

Dying before I’ve had any opportunity to enjoy living would be tragic. I want to have kids and a husband. I want to explore outside and not live the rest of my life stored away in a glorified cupboard. Still, I think I’d take being hidden away over being slaughtered by my own father.

“Please,” I repeat, tears freely flowing down my cheeks. I feel like my heart is going to burst from my chest, the wild beat drumming hard.

It’s no use. All of the begging in the world isn’t going to stop him from creeping closer to the edge. The smell of salt water is like poison in the air, getting more potent as I come closer and closer to death.

“Don’t!”

“Stop!”

“Let her go!”

“You’re going to fall?—”

Various shouts of dismay fire off and my eyes seal shut, like my body wants to shut down. I wish I could say this is a dream, but no nightmare has ever felt like this.

“This is your fault!” Father screams at them.

My gut clenches and I think I might throw up. There’s no more hope to cling to and no one to save me from this.

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