Page 1 of Séance

Chapter One

RUE

Afist flies toward my face, and I force myself not to dodge or defend myself—it only makes the beatings worse. I brace my legs and pray I don’t go down. If he gets me on the ground, chances are I’ll never get back up again.

I wonder if he will kill me this time.

I almost wish he would, just so my hellish torment would finally be over, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.

I tuck my arms in close to protect my ribs. They haven’t completely healed from the last beating three days ago. If he hits them again, I’m afraid they’ll snap. I know from experience that broken ribs suck. I can deal with the pain, but I hate how it leaves me vulnerable and limits my movements.

My father’s rages are a frequent occurrence.

As much as he loves his control, he loves punishing me more.

The only way to survive his wrath is to embrace the pain and try not to lose consciousness.

A fist cracks across my cheekbone, and my head whips to the side. I swear I actually see stars.

Fuck, he’s really putting effort into it this evening.

I grunt under the blow and sway, barely managing to stay on my feet. My face heats then goes numb, and I do my best to hold back any reaction. If I show any defiance, the beating will only last longer.

My hair covers my face for a second, and I gingerly probe my teeth with my tongue.

Loose, but still in my mouth.

Bonus.

I slowly straighten and don’t see the second slap until I feel the impact. It hits the other side of my face with a force that splits my bottom lip, and blood spills down my chin. My hands curl into fists with the need to fight back, and I force myself to unwind my fingers, then straighten my spine.

The older I get, the more violent and unpredictable he becomes.

Today is the first time he’s actually hit my face with his fists. A slap here and there, yes, but never his fists. It wouldn’t do for others to see the evidence of his crimes. My recent failures must have pushed him too far. I don’t even bother making excuses because he doesn’t want to hear them.

Just as his arm winds back again, the doorbell chimes. I don’t move or react, knowing better than to think anyone would call the cops, not that it would matter if anyone did. Dear ole dad is filthy rich. Not just normal rich, but mega millions wealthy. The asshole is used to buying his way out of trouble, bribery the least of his sins.

His life wasn’t always this tangled mess of violence, deceit, and lies. My parents used to be the perfect power couple, rising to the top of their circle of rich and famous friends, but then I came along.

My birth was an accident of fate. Much to their chagrin, it had been much too late to terminate the pregnancy withoutrisking my mother’s health, or I’m sure they would have aborted me before I had a chance to take my first breath. The very thought of having a child was abhorrent to them.

I could almost understand their animosity, because the instant my mother became pregnant, she officially lost her marbles.

She was certifiably insane, or at least that was what her medical records claimed.

Doctor after doctor came to the house, and each one of them reached the same conclusion—she needed professional help and twenty-four-hour care. She was a harm to herself and those around her.

I’ll give it to my dad—he loved her with everything in him. He refused to have her committed. Unfortunately, every time she saw me, she called me a witch, said I was evil and that I needed to be destroyed. Apparently, the demons would go away if I were gone.

That was when I started having “accidents.”

The crazy bitch decided I needed to die. After the third such accident, when she shoved me down the steps and I broke my arm, the hospital threatened to have social services investigate, despite the money my dad threw at them to keep it quiet.

Dad said my mother was troubled and promised she would receive help. That he would personally take care of my safety.

His solution?

Instead of locking her away, he locked me away.

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