Page 30 of Deliver us from Evil

His body fills the doorway. I can only get out if he comes closer. It’s that or jump out of a second-story window. There’s a tree outside—I could maybe catch hold of a branch.

That’s a big maybe.

How badly would it hurt if I missed the tree?

Maybe I can try and find out what Gabriel wants. I mean, I could be over-thinking this. What if he just wants to take me to the mall, watch a movie together, eat some take out?

As long as I don’t mention the Brotherhood, or the basement, I should be fine. Even now, he looks calm.

“I…”

Lord, why is this so difficult?

He puts his head to the side, waiting. Always so patient.

“What are…we doing?” Another swallow. “Here, I mean?”

He frowns, glances around. Then he reaches out and straightens a framed picture I drew when I still believed in unicorns and howawsumthey were.

“I’ve always liked this house,” he says. “Spent much more time here than I should have.”

His eyes fix on me again. I don’t know how I could ever have thought those brown irises were warm, or comforting. Now they look cruel. Calculating, even. “They left it to me, the house.”

“Don’t you have a house? Why don’t we go there instead?”

I don’t know if it’s better being here or in a different place, but we’d have to be in a car, on a road, out in public to get there. If I can convince him—

“My house?” Gabriel purses his lips. Shakes his head. “No. My house is no place for a little girl.”

Ghostly fingers crawl up my back and start toying with my hair. That’s what he thinks of me? A little girl? Does he even know how old I am?

It sickens me to think about it, but maybe that’s the only card I have to play right now. He keeps calling me daughter—maybe I can count on his paternal instincts to get me out of this jam.

“I’m kinda hungry,” I say, putting a hand to my stomach. “Can you make me something to eat?”

The kitchen has knives. Pans. Several objects I can use to hurt him with. It’s also closer to the front door, which has a lock I can turn from the inside without needing a key.

If I can get to the front door, I can get out of the house. I can run down the driveway and scream at the top of my lungs. The neighbors would hear. They’d have to look out their windows. And they’d see me running like a lunatic—

“No.”

My shoulders sag a little. “But I’m—”

Gabriel’s eyes narrow. “Do you really think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?”

Fuck.

Fuck!

I try and look innocent. “Really, I just want some—”

“You’ve been bad,” he says, stepping closer.

Yeah, come closer, you fucking creep. Close enough that I can run around you and out of the room. Down the stairs. To the front door.

I wish I’d thought of that yesterday. I’d been a few yards from the front door. But I’d been so doped up on heroin, I hadn’t even thought about it.

No. I’d been convinced my father was in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

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