Page 59 of Salvation

Chapter 62

Blake

Acreak sounds from somewhere in the house, but I don’t pay it much mind. What once would have sent me running to my bedroom and hiding beneath the covers doesn’t seem to bother me as much anymore. A house this old tends to be a bit noisy. “Ah, there it is.” I mutter as I spot one of the large white bags of sugar tucked behind some other ingredients.

I reach forward, pulling one of the bags down and setting it on the counter. I move for another, but a voice causes me to jolt, and one of the bags tumbles from my hands. I curse as it breaks open, mounds of sugar pooling at my feet. It takes me a fraction of a second to registerwhosevoice it is.

The very voice that’s appeared too many times in my nightmares. It rings in the air around me like a ghost dragging its fingers down my spine, cold and unwelcome. Once I finally see him, he’s raising his hands in a ‘I surrender’motion. “Don’t freak out, baby, I just want to talk.”

His once-blond hair is entirely gray. He’s as tall as I remember, but much thinner than the last time I saw him. His clothes don’t fill out his frame, like they’re two sizes too big. A round face with large green eyes and a slender nose. He’s aged, and it somehow makes him more intimidating than before.

Fear consumes me. Fear, so intense I’ve only ever felt it once before. At the hands of the same man now standing before me. Inmyhouse. Inmysafe space. It’s cruel how something that’s become so comforting to me can become so tortuous in just a few seconds.

“You can’t be here.” I try to keep my voice steady, but it comes out so small and so frail, and Ihateit. I’ve dreamed about this moment. What I would do and say. All the ways I’d scream at him and tear him apart for what he put me through. But with him standing here, right in front of me, it’s as if my body is betraying my brain. As if I’m just that small, broken girl again, begging for her father to be as gentle with her as he used to be.

I’m so scared, sopetrifiedthat all the words I want to say don’t come out. I’m sure that even if they could, only the wrong ones would. “You got so big.” He whispers. Taking me in like a father who wasn’t the sole reason his kid grew up without him.

“How are you here?” It’s then that I look over his person. No sort of ankle monitor in sight. Whether he removed it or not, I have no clue. But I don’t want to stick around to find out. “You’re supposed to be on house arrest.” My heart is beating erratically, and I’m trying my best to comb through all the ways to getoutof this situation.

His eyes turned cold and calculating at my words, and he dropped the hands still raised in the air. “I tried seeing your mom first, but she wasn’t home.”

I close my eyes for just a moment.She wasn’t home. That’s one small blessing. God knows what would have happened if she was. I give myself just that brief moment of peace, and then I’mopening my lids again. Taking my eyes off this monster for more time than necessary isn’t a mistake I can make twice.

“I missed my girl. I just wanted to see you. Jason told me you came back home.” His tone is both pleading and full of unmistakable malice. All it does is send a sick feeling shivering up my spine.

“You need to leave.” I say, my voice wavering. At that moment, my phone rings, and we both lock eyes before diving for it. I manage to grasp it first, but he still lunges for me once it’s in my shaky hands.

“Dammit, Blake!”

I turn to bolt, but I trip on the rug beneath my feet and come crashing down. The pain of my fall vibrates through my body. Before I can flip onto my back, his weight comes crashing down on me. “Dad!” I scream. “Dad, stop! Please, please, stop!” I can’t stop the cries that tear their way out of me. I’m too panicked at the position he’s got me in. How vulnerable I am. I hope that just saying his name, calling him something I promised tonevercall him again, would pull him back to reality. To the fact that I’mhis daughter.But it doesn’t. It only adds fuel to the fire. He rolls me onto my back, face red and seething above me. He then lifts his hand and sends it flying, backhanding me so hard it sends my head swinging to the right. Involuntary tears begin to leak from the corner of my eyes.

My world slows down and speeds up at the same time. My body falls into fight-or-flight mode.

I reach out with the one loose arm he let go in his effort to strike me, and I wrap my fingers around a nearby object, bringing it back to slam it against his head. I know I’ve met my mark when he lets out a wild roar. It dazes him enough for me to scurry out from underneath him. I don’t bother to search for my phone or see if he’s gotten up yet. This familiar terror of himcatching me and beating me within an inch of my life is what makes me successful in barreling through the front door.

***

A sharp throbbing ricochets in my head, and every single part of my body hurts in a way I’ve never experienced before. I slowly open my eyes, covering them as light pours in, causing them to sting. For just a moment, I have absolutely no idea where I am. But when I turn my head and see the broken glass shards and a large lamp sprawled on the floor, it dawns on me. The once-foggy images are becoming clearer as I take in the scene around me. The living room is torn to shreds. My chest rises faster and faster as I realize what’s happened. As I recall the memories that have left my frail body broken and bloody on the floor. Dread sets in as I realize just how bad the situation is.

He beat me so badly I blacked out.

Pushing up, I wince as the glass all around digs into the palms of my hands. Tears spring to my eyes at how much noise I’ve made from just that little sound. I try my best to stay quiet, even going as far as to hold my breath. Not sure where he is, but knowing I need to get out as soon as possible. Rising to shaky feet, I take in my surroundings. Eyes darting all around the room. And they freeze as I take in my father sprawled on the large couch in the center of the room. His knuckles are bloody from my assault, and a bottle of rum hangs from his limp fingertips.

A warm trickle falls down my arm and past my fingertips. I let my eyes slowly track it before it lands on a piece of glass with a light plop. I bite my tongue to stop myself from crying out. A large gash runs up the middle of it, and it leaks a steady flow of blood. It’s going to scar, and it needs stitches. Soon.

I force my eyes to stay glued to one of the larger glass shards covered in blood. It’s as large as a kitchen knife, and I think about picking it up.

To do what? Who knows? But for just a second, all the young, broken girl inside me wants to do is make him hurt just as badly as he’s hurt her. I begin to crouch and then stop dead. Because despite what’s just happened, he's still my father. For just a second, I think it. Think about picking up the broken glass and using it on him. It’s a horrendous thought. Something that will probably live in my head for the rest of my life. But I can’t bring myself to feel an ounce of shame just yet.

Right then, a floorboard creaks beneath my weight, and the snoring stops. Panic and fear hit me like a train, and I don’t wait to see if he’s woken. I’m sprinting, barreling through the front door, and jumping the porch steps. I pump my arms and legs as fast as they can go, bare feet digging into gravel and dirt. I don’t look back, too scared I’ll turn and see him following. I run, and run, and run, until my lungs are sore and begging for mercy.

Chapter 63

Wesley

“Hi Wesley!” Elain chirps, nursing a paper cup to her chest. It’s probably the coldest day we’ve had in Clover-Hills this season, so she’s bundled up in a large coat with matching gloves and a hat. For someone who just went through one hell of a traumatic experience, she seems to be holding herself together rather well. A part of me knows that it’s because of Blake.

I ruffle her hair as I walk by. “What’s up, kid? Is Blake here?”

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