Page 128 of Lotus

“My God, listen to yourself,” I spit out, his crass words causing a lump of dread to fester in my gut. “No secret or indiscretion is worththis.”

“You’re so naïve, son,” he quips.

“I’m not your son.” Absorbing his tirade, the pieces begin to fall into place, and for as intelligent as I consider myself to be, I cannot believe I never picked up on any of the signs. “Gabe told me you’d been spending more time with him recently. You were keeping tabs on me, using your own son for information.”

His snide leer is my response.

“You wanted me to live with you so you could keep an eye on me… so I would be under your thumb and you could monitor my memory recall.”

Travis replies with a grating chuckle, confirming my suspicions. And when he saunters back towards me, I react instinctively, throwing my tethered legs over the side of bed and kicking the nightstand, watching as it crashes into his knees. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much in terms of injuring him—it merely slows him down long enough to incite a new wave of rage against me. With my bottom half hanging off the bed, I brace myself as Travis charges at me, jabbing the gun into my abdomen so hard, bruising is imminent. Sydney’s muted cries intertwine with Travis’ words:

“You always were a troublemaker.”

“You’re a troublemaker, Oliver.”

Flashes of memories barrage me, open fire on my neurons.

“You’re on my team, Clementine.”

Flash.

“They’re taking a really long time to hide the flag.”

“Maybe you should go spy on them. I’ll stay here with my teddy.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, blinded and buried by the onslaught.

I tiptoe around the side of the house, following the sound of my stepfather’s voice. They are hiding behind a garden trellis.

“It’s okay, babygirl. I won’t hurt you.”

Clementine responds, sounding sad and frightened. “It feels weird. I want my mom.”

“Shh. You know we can’t tell anybody about this. You do know that, right? That would be very, very bad.”

“I know.”

Her shorts are pulled down to her ankles. He’s touching her in bad places.

“Good job, babygirl. That’s what I like to hear.”

More flashes. More lights. More sounds. More horror.

Travis spots me over Clementine’s shoulder.

The look in his eyes—oh no, oh no, oh no.

I’m in big trouble.

I run.

Flash.

I’m in the kitchen, hysterical, and my mother is so worried about me.

“I’m scared,” I cry.

I’m weeping, screaming, frantic.

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