Page 2 of Séance

Problem solved.

When the crazy bitch finally passed, I was relieved. I thought things would change and I would finally be free.

I was a fool.

Her hatred of me transferred to my father.

He wanted to punish me for taking away the woman he loved.

He blamed me for her insanity, and he’s not wrong.

Our family has the sight. The so-called gift passes through the female line. Sometimes, it skips a generation, but it’s rare. The strength of the gift always varies as well. Mother’s ability was mild—the gift of persuasion. I called it the gift of bullshit. She could get anyone to tell her their secrets with a few whispered words or a light touch of her hand against their skin.

Then she got pregnant with me.

I often wonder if her gift would have stopped developing further if she didn’t have a child, but I can’t bring myself to care. The bitch got what she deserved.

Maybe I should be more compassionate. Chances are that I will suffer the same fate, but I don’t feel any remorse. She literally made my life hell.

Refusing to follow in her footsteps, I decided I would control my gifts, not let the power control me.

Instead of ignoring the voices in my head and letting them drive me insane, I scoured the internet for even the tiniest bit of information. What I found nearly shattered my mind. The voices were actually spirits, and it took a lot of time and experimentation to learn how to communicate with them. I trained myself tirelessly.

Unfortunately, the downside to my gift is that people think I’m just as crazy as my mother.

Sigh.

When my father discovered my abilities, I thought he would kill me in a fit of rage, which would have almost been preferable. Instead, he used my abilities to make business decisions…just like he used my mother. The fortune he amassed over the years increased exponentially. He crushed his enemies and became a mogul.

I call him a mongrel.

He doesn’t care that I can’t see everything. He doesn’t care that the spirits are tearing me apart. He doesn’t care about the bloody noses or migraines. All that matters is that I make him more money.

Spirits can’t see the future, though, and the fuckers can lie and mislead me.

Some of them would love nothing more than to see me suffer.

Each time I get something wrong, my father punishes me. It started small—yelling and bruises where people wouldn’t see the proof of his abuse. When I refused to obey, the abuse got worse. A hard smack or a vicious pinch that would leave me black and blue for days soon turned into a full beating with fists and kicks.

He doesn’t care who he hurts in his quest for more power and money.

I’ll eventually die at his hands if I don’t escape—it’s an inevitability—so I’ve been plotting and planning.

Unfortunately, I fear it might be too late.

A major deal fell through today, and he lost a multi-million-dollar contract. He’s furious and blames me for his fuckups. I told him not to do it, but he refused to listen, insisting that I work a miracle.

I mentally roll my eyes. If I could do that, I wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

His most current rant is that I made him look like a fool, but I had nothing to do with it. That was all on him, which he knows, and that just pisses him off more.

When the doorbell chimes again, he glares at me with such hatred that I see my death in his black eyes. Before he leaves, he backhands me across the face so hard, I crash to the floor with a heavy thump that steals the breath from my lungs. I quickly curl up, but not soon enough. The kick he aims my way catches me in the side, and yup, my ribs crack with an audible snap.

Eyes burning with pain—or maybe the beginnings of a concussion—I watch him storm out of the room. He slams the door behind him with a resounding thud, and I push myself upright, hissing when my ribs protest. I cup them gingerly, hoping to stabilize the damage, but I know from experience that nothing will take the edge off the pain.

I slowly climb to my feet and shuffle toward the door, knowing if I don’t leave now, he won’t stop until I’m unconscious, and I very much fear that I won’t wake up this time.

All my previous attempts to escape failed.

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