Page 63 of Absolution
ABIGAIL
Iunlock the door to enter my gallery, already missing Dane. He left to run an errand only half an hour ago, but I feel his absence like a missing limb.
My addiction to my husband is definitely unhealthy, so I’m resolved to manage my Sunday on my own.
The catering crew did a good job cleaning up the gallery after the grand opening last night, but I still want to check the space for myself. I could wait until Monday, but I’m excited to spend more time building my new business. I sold eighteen paintings after my confrontation with my mother. I have some bookkeeping and delivery logistics to manage before I can devote a day to my art again.
I smile to myself. It’s a wonderful problem to have.
I can still hardly believe that people want to buy my art. I’ll gladly deal with paperwork as a result.
I step into my office at the back of the gallery, but I don’t quite manage to turn on the light. Rough hands grab me from behind, one clamping over my mouth to smother my shocked cry. Something sharp pierces my neck, and the horribly familiarsensation of soporific drugs oozing into my system makes panic spike through my heart.
“We need to talk, little Abby.”
Uncle Jeffrey’s low growl follows me down into darkness.
The darkness persistswhen I open my eyes. I blink hard, struggling to process the fact that I’m conscious. I lift my hand in front of my face, but all I see is inky blackness.
Then the dank smell registers, stirring a scent memory.
I’m nine years old again, and I’m trapped. The ghosts of my older cousins’ laughter echo through my ears. I stretch out my arms, and my fingers connect with the cold, thick metal door.
“No!” I moan, shoving against it. The lock on the outside rattles, and the door doesn’t budge.
My cousins shoved me in here and secured the aged lock. They told me that ghosts of Yankee soldiers haunt these cells beneath Elysium. An icy finger trails down my spine, one of those ghosts brushing against me. Their malevolent aura surrounds me, and my chest tightens to choke off my scream of abject terror.
I scramble wildly in the confined space, my nails breaking against rough bricks that surround me on three sides, squeezing me into a tiny box. There’s not enough oxygen in here. I can’t breathe.
My fists slam into the door, and a metallic boom resounds through my haunted cell.
“Let me out!” My voice is high and thin. “Let me out!”
The grate on the door screeches as it slides open, and a small square of yellow light sears my eyes.
“You’re not getting out of there until you see sense.”
Uncle Jeffrey’s voice. Not my cousins.
My mind reels, and I struggle to ground myself in the present. I’m not that frightened child anymore.
But I’m as helplessly trapped as she was when they locked me in here and left me to scream in the dark for hours.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I manage to wheeze. “You can’t keep me in here.”
All I can see of my uncle is a pair of icy blue eyes and the tops of his rage-flushed cheekbones.
“Oh yes, I can. You’re going to stay in there and think about what you’ve done to this family.”
I shake my head to clear away the ghostly hands that clutch at my face, trying to draw me back into darkness and mind-numbing panic.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I hiss. “If you’re facing the consequences of your sick actions, that’s on you.”
His eyes flash. “You’re going to recant the vile story you told that reporter,” he insists. “Then I’ll consider letting you out of there when you learn to be better behaved.”
My fists slam into the door in a pulse of pure rage, and he reels back a step.
“Did Mama put you up to this?” I demand. “Let me out, or you will all regret it.”
