Page 83 of Dolls & Daggers
I’ve never felt the type of panic I did when I realized Dove was really here, in California—in my mother’s house, talking to her.
“Of course I did, Songbi?—”
Mother’s low growl cuts her off. Dove’s hand flies out, backhanding her across the face before she resumes shackling her in the chains we found next to an old toolbox. “Hey! What did I tell you? Shut it.”
Dove stands, dusting off her hands, surveying her work before turning to the other things we found. “I’m a thousand percent sure this house belonged to a serial killer before you lived here. Or she’s picked up some new, untoward tendencies because this looks like a serial killer starter kit.”
Besides the chains—which have locks—and the toolbox, there’s a tarp, rope, and a crowbar. Either Dove is right, or my mother had a hobby I never knew about. A surge of anger splinters through my chest at the thought.
“Did you hurt anyone else?” The question is for my mother, though I step to where Dove stands and pick up the crowbar.
Like I told her earlier, having Dove with me makes me feel invincible. Alone, I panicked, drowning in the past. But this woman flew across the country to confront my demons for me, and that gives me a renewed sense of purpose.
Icando this.
“You don’t have to do this, Wren,” Dove whispers. “You can say what you need to say and walk away and never look back. You can let me handle it. Or, if youwant her to live—and I won’t judge if that’s what you want—we can leave together.”
“Listen to her, Wrenley, baby. You don’t have to do this.” Mother’s syrupy lilt makes my skin crawl.
Dove turns, ready to shut her up again, but my body moves first. With a roar, I pivot and stride forward, bringing the crowbar down on one of her restrained hands. She shrieks as her skin splits, blood spilling down her fingers, splattering as I strike again. This time, I hear the crunch of knuckles beneath the steel.
“Did you hurt anyone else?” I yell into her tear-streaked face, shaking with rage.
“Wren! Baby, stop!” Dove grabs my elbow, tugging on it before I can strike again. “You’re going to give yourself a head rush! And I haven’t put down a tarp yet! Do you know how hard blood is to get out of concrete?” She steps on my foot to try and gain leverage, trying to pry my arm down.
“I didn’t touch anyone else, I swear! You’re my only special boy!”
Her words make me impossibly furious.
After all those years of feeling so hopeless, I finally hold the power.
Dove is wrong.
I am a killer.
Shaking her off, I bash my mother’s other hand whereit’s chained to the arm of the chair. “You were supposed to protect me!”
Bits of bone and splattered blood fly through the air.
Dove barely registers above Mother’s screams. “Oh, this is going to be a fucking mess to clean, but go on, Songbird. Have at it.”
A sickening squelch fills the basement as I reduce her hands to bloody, meaty stumps. “You should have kept me safe! You should have loved me like a mother is supposed to!”
“Peroxide. Maybe she has some peroxide,” Dove mutters, heading upstairs.
“Why did you do it?” My voice cracks. Vulnerable. Tears flood my eyes. “Why did you hurt me?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, my sweet boy.” Her voice is weak, her ashen skin glistening with sweat. “Mommy just loves you so much. I wanted you all to myself. I thought if I made you feel good, you’d stay with me forever.”
She sounds so earnest, like she genuinely still believes what she did was okay.
Dove reappears as my tears fall. Her soothing hand slides up my back, then down again, trying her best to comfort me. “He would have been yours forever if you’d just acted like a sane mother.” Her voice is thick with emotion, and I don’t have to look at her to knowshe’s crying. I can hear the pain in her voice as she speaks. “Adults who prey on children are the worst kind of predators. You deserve what you’re about to get, Robyn.”
Mother fixes Dove with a scowl that distorts her face into something monstrous. “You little bitch. Do you think you’ve won? Don’t you think it’s funny that he choseyouwhen you look exactly likeme?” Her laughter is manic. “He’ll see me every time he looks at you, little girl. Every time you fuck, he’ll be thinking ofme.”
Dove stiffens beside me momentarily. Just the thought of my mother’s words getting to her, especially knowing that Dove is aware that Ididsee my mother when I looked at her at first, is enough to send me into another blind rage.
I can’t bear the thought of Dove having to think that. Ever.
