Page 27 of Deliver us from Evil

Was that way with my parents, too.

First week I was in that basement, my sadistic little mind was having a fucking field day. Oh, the beautiful, brutal things I did to them in my head. Holding them at gunpoint. Forcing them to do despicable things to each other. Thoughts of their fear, their humiliation—it kept me going for a while.

I’d keep banging on the door, begging them to let me out. Pleading with them. Trying to convince them that I wasn’t one of the others.

Yes, I wanted my limited freedom back. But more than that, I craved the pain I knew I would inflict on them soon as I was free. Vengeance for hurting me. For hurting all the boys they’d kept in that dark hell.

To this day, I can’t believe those tortured souls had been under my feet all that time. That I’d been living mere yards away from so much pain and suffering.

Some part of me still believes that’s how my mind came to be so fucked up. That, unknowingly, I’d absorbed all that abuse through the pores in my skin. Like radiation, it began poisoning me.

I pay my bill. Leave.

The rental reeks of cigarettes, but I couldn’t care if they kept my entire deposit because of it.

All I care about is one thing—getting to my brothers.

What happens after I arrive, that’s up to them.

Chapter Twelve

Trinity

“Trinity.”

“Trinity!”

I’m cold. So cold compared to the warm hands on my body. Behind my neck, between my shoulders. Pushing me onto my side.

I retch. Throw up. I choke on the water and bile burning my nose and throat. It hurts a lot, but at least now I can breathe.

Hands on me again—so warm—helping me up. A towel to cover my nakedness.

Those hands guide me down a passage and into a room.

Halfway across the soft carpet I recognize where I am. A bedroom, but not mine.

Mom and Dad’s.

I’m still in Redford.

Oh God, I miss them so much. The smell in here, although stale, pushes pins through my heart. But why is everything still the same? It’s been more than a month. Surely someone would have bought the house? Moved in? Made it their own? Why is it still exactly the same as the day I left?

I shiver, and then try to resist when the hands lead me to the bed.

I was never allowed in here.

It wastheirroom. They made that very clear.

I never once ran in and clambered over them to wake them up when I was a little girl. No snuggling between them if I had a nightmare.

Because I was a good girl. I obeyed them. Even now, even though they’re gone, I feel like I’m disobeying them.

But when someone pulls away the sheets, revealing a warm nest I can burrow into, I go. No hesitation. Because I’m tired. I’m hurting. And I’m so cold.

As I slip between sheets that still smell like my parents, I hear a voice. Mom’s. Not singing—she never sang—but reciting a prayer.

...hallowed be...

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