Page 125 of Corpse Roads

Eight.

Nine.

“You will obey your parents, or we’ll take the shirt away too.”

It hurts so bad, I can’t hold on to the meagre contents of my stomach. He hits me over and over again until I stop crying and lie empty in my own blood and vomit. Mrs Michaels doesn’t say a word, watching from her perch in the corner.

“I am your father now.”

I find the strength to look up at him.

“Say it,” he warns, holding the belt at the ready. “Say it!”

“You’re m-m-my father,” I sob blindly. “I’m s-sorry.”

“There, there, child. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

His weathered hand strokes over my hair, sticky with blood and sweat. The tenderness of his touch is petrifying after so many awful beatings.

“I have to hurt you, Harlow,” Pastor Michaels whispers. “It’s the only way to save you. But don’t worry, you’re almost there. This next bit will be easy.”

I’m too tired to repeat that Harlow isn’t my name. I can’t remember why. What is my name? Isn’t it Harlow? I don’t know why that doesn’t feel right.

It doesn’t matter anymore. I just want the pain to stop. If playing along and calling myself Harlow does that, then I’ll be the good girl he’s hoping for.

“Lay down,” he instructs. “Time to pray.”

All I can see is the glinting of the knife in his hands, inching closer to me. I’m too weak to fight back as he slices my t-shirt into dirty ribbons.

Mrs Michaels joins him in my cell, the sleeves of her floral dress rolled up. If she hits me again, I’m not sure I’ll survive it. Her anger is raw and brutal.

“We must purge the demons from your soul,” Pastor Michaels recites, kneeling over me.

“P-Please… don’t hurt m-me.”

“Hold her down.”

Following orders, Mrs Michaels kneels behind me. She pins my thin wrists above my head, using her knees to weigh me down.

I try to buck my legs, but every part of my body is screaming at me to stop fighting back. They planned it perfectly, wore me down, stole my strength.

Now, I can’t stop it.

Evil is coming for me.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I purge thee of your sins. You may ascend to the kingdom of the Almighty. Lord, have mercy on Harlow’s soul.”

I don’t feel the knife slicing deep into my torso. I don’t feel the blood pouring out of me with each intricate cut, carving some kind of pattern. My mind detaches, letting me roam freely in the darkness.

I’m not Letty anymore.

I’m just… Harlow.

* * *

I never meant for any of this to happen.

All I wanted was to be free.

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