Page 5 of Scatter the Bones

Several men used to live here on the farm. In outbuildings my father converted to “guest houses.” Their wives were often allowed to stay in the main house. Were those men still here, ready to defend the homestead? Or had my father driven them away and kept their wives?

“Move,” I order again.

His steps are slow, his body rigid as he shuffles toward the house.

“No, use the side door to the basement,” I warn as he turns toward the front porch.

The door screeches as he pulls it open. He hesitates at the threshold of the basement steps, his body stiff.

“Down you go.” I press the tip of the gun between his shoulder blades.

Our feet scuff over the dusty, old stone steps. I turn and close the door behind us. The air grows heavier, suffocating as we descend into the darkness.

Every heartbeat thumps a painful reminder of the past. The days and nights I spent alone locked up in one of the rooms down here.

At the bottom of the steps, he opens another door.

The familiar sickening scent of rust and decay fills my lungs. Underneath it something chemical and unpleasant burns my nostrils.

I reach up and tug on the string dangling from a single naked light bulb. Harsh, yellow glare bounces around the makeshift dungeon.

For a second, I can’t breathe or move. I’m a kid again, terrified of whatever punishment my father’s come up with.

Nope. Not today.

“To the wall,” I order, keeping my voice cold and steady.

He turns slowly, extending his arms in a mocking gesture of martyrdom. “Just shoot me.”

“A bullet’s too good for you.” I jerk the gun toward the iron shackles embedded in the stone wall. Dark stains trickle over the bumpy stones—proof of the years of suffering that’s happened in this room. “Strip off your shirt.”

He slowly works the buttons loose. I can’t even take pleasure in the shaking of his hands. I just want this over with.

I’ve dreamed about this day. Planned it. Obsessed over it. Fantasized about it every day since the first time he marched me into this basement and chained me to that wall.

I told myself I’d savor each lash and warm my hands with his blood.

But now?

I wish I’d taken Jezzie and left. I wish I was on the road. At Rooster’s place.

Anywhere but here.

No.

I caught him trying to drown my sister. He deserves this.

“God will punish you for this,” my father hisses, glaring at me.

I shove him forward. “How do you know he didn’t send me here to punishyou?”

“I’m his loyal, humble servant.”

“Loyal and humble are two things you’ve never been, old man.” I lower the gun slowly, aiming first at his left knee, then his right, finally settling at his groin. “Strip off your shirt now. Or I’ll put a few holes in you andthenchain you to the wall. Your choice.”

“I should have known the wickedness could never been driven out of you. I should’ve broken you when I had the chance.”

A cold shudder races down my spine, memories exploding through my mind—the burning pain, chains biting into raw wrists, dark isolation, prayers whispered to deaf ears, my baby sister bringing me scraps of food and tending to my injuries.

---