Page 63 of Beneath the Dirt

Three large circles. Reminiscent of the ones Harlan painted in blood on my abdomen when it was me on that cross, and not his dad.

I turn back to Harlan. He stands hooded, looking like a dark god, staring at me with glee in his eyes.

My mouth moves faster than my mind can stop it. “What did you do to him?” I ask Harlan and even I’m shocked by the way my own voice is betraying me. It sounds…sad.Disappointedeven.

Not waiting for a response, I jog over to my stepdad and yank the gag out of his mouth.

“Araceli,” he breathes. I hate how my name always sounds like poison falling from his lips.

I swallow the disgust down.

This isn’t the time. I need to get out of here.

I need to get past this.

“I knew you’d change your mind,” he says, catching his breath, sounding relieved. “I knew you’d repent… for what you’ve done.”

There it is again, that word,repent.

That’s all he cares about. That everyone around him show remorse for their sins while he goes on living as a liar, a phony, a fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing. The audacity. Even now, when it’s so clear to anyone looking in at the conundrum he’s found himself in, that I certainly couldn’t be the cause of it. He still assumes I will take the blame as I always have.

Harlan steps behind me, and his father’s gaze grows frantic in their weariness. Moving back and forth, up, and down, between where I stand in front of him, and where his son now has one hand on my neck and the other offering me an ice pick.

“You have repented, haven’t you?” Harlan’s father pleads.

“Don’t listen to him,” Harlan whispers in my ear, opening my clenched palm wide enough to slip a knife in. My digits adhere to the smooth handle as I keep my eyes on his dad.

“Oh, dear Lord,” my stepdad begins, bellowing. “Araceli, please, no. Harlan—”

With the knife in my hand, I jolt forward, breaking the hold Harlan just had on me. The sharp tip flashes before my stepfather’s eyes, silencing him.

“Stop,” I command. “Stop your fucking blabbering, your lies, stop all of it!”

It’s not lost on me that I should be reacting to this differently. That the sight before me, no matter how vile my stepfather was to me and Harlan, should evoke some sort of sadness in me. But, it doesn’t. Even with the questions I have as to why Harlan has gone out of his way to recreate the setting of Heathen’s Cross, and whyhe dressed like a member, I take this bizarre moment as an opportunity to grasp onto the karma that’s been awaiting this man that’s caused me more pain that any human should inflict on another. Let alone a pastor.

He peers at me confused. “I don’t know how it got to this, Araceli. I loved you like a daughter.”

My tongue clicks. “Liar.”

“It’s true,” he lies, yet again.

I inch closer, causing his constrained body to flinch. The knife curled in my fist feels like a magnet. With each second that passes, the force intensifies, practically begging me to make contact with his skin and end him.

“You were like a—”

I cut him off. “A daughter. Yes, I know. Pardon me for missing the memo. I didn’t realize using me as an ashtray, or a human punching bag, or a place to sink your, what was it? Oh yes,” and I air quote, “‘God given parts to exorcise the demon out of me’. Sorry, Pastor. Abuse and rape isn’t how you show love.”

The truth in my words does what I knew it would do. Take that demon that lays dormant in him and summon it to the surface. Gone is his pleading case, and here is the asshole I’ve always known him to be, for all the people around us to witness.

He laughs, dry and sarcastic. “You’re irredeemable. Just like she was.”

My hand trembles around the knife as he continues.

“Just like your disgusting mother,” he spits, disdain and glee dancing in his expression.

Harlan, who I almost forgot has been standing behind me, places a kiss on my neck before he steps in front of me to confront his father.

“Is that why you had her killed? Huh, Dad? Is that why you had Mom, and Araceli’s mom, and all the others who threatened your way of spinning God’s truth into your own, all killed?”

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