Page 34 of Daughter of a Monster

“Have you worked for Mr Priest long?” I ask, curious to know the background of the strange girl.

“A while.” She says the words quietly and doesn’t offer any further explanation. There’s something which makes me feel as though it would be rude to pry any more, but my curiosity gets the better of me.

“How did you end up here?”

Her eyes dart to mine. There’s surprise in her expression, as though she assumed I already knew the answer to my question.

“I don’t like to talk about my past.” She stops walking. “Just follow that path. It will take you to the top of the hill.” And then she disappears, slipping into the garden she loves, leaving me staring after her as though she were some mythical creature or a figment of my imagination.

I start the worn path up to the top of the hill. Rather than the casual stroll I was expecting, it’s hard work and by the time I reach the top, my breaths are heavy with exertion. It’s amazing how quickly my fitness has disappeared now that I’m not dancing for hours each day.

Powering on my phone, I hold it high in the air. One bar appears. Then two. But no matter how high I hold it or where I wander, no more appear. I dial my mother anyway. It goes to voicemail, her recorded voice cutting in and out. I leave a message, letting her know I’m okay and explaining the lack of communication, but I don’t know if it even went through. And then I start the path back.

About a quarter of the way down, the trees clear around an old stump. I stand on top of it, looking out over the landscape. At times like this, I wish I was an artist rather than a dancer. That way, I might be able to capture the rays of the setting sun cutting through the stone ruins below, the delicate veins on the leaves of the ivy, the subtle way even the grass seems to turn golden under the glow of the early evening sunset.

My phone starts beeping and buzzing. I guess this is the spot to actually get coverage. Scrolling through the notifications, mostly from my mother, there’s an increasing desperation to her messages. And finally, when I get through them all, I sink to the ground.

My father was right.

He was released on bail to prepare for a re-trial three days ago.

Then he went missing.

Nausea twists in my gut. I put my head between my legs and start breathing deeply.

Jericho’s hand slaps my backside. “Count, Miss Berkley,” he orders, his voice dark and commanding.

I shake my head. This can’t be happening. How can someone who’s been found guilty of the things he has get released? Closing my eyes, his words repeat through my mind, my arm hurting where his fingers gripped me.

‘I’ll come find you when I’m out.’

But he can’t find me here, can he?

Thoughts and fears start crashing through me. Of all the things I’ve had to worry about, I never imagined my father being released could be one of them. And now no one knows where he is.

Suddenly I’m scared. I look around as though my father might appear in the trees, laughing that I ever thought I could escape him.

I start to run.

Again.

My knees are pushed open, a muscled body falling between them. Hands grip my thighs. Wetness pools as a finger pushes inside me. Jericho smiles.

The path back down is steep and I almost fall, stumbling because my feet are moving too fast, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. If I stop I’ll start thinking. And if I start thinking . . .

I don’t want to risk running into Alma, so rather than going around the pond and through the rose gardens, I take a different path.

The crumbling ruins of the parts of the church not yet restored rise in front of me. And then Gideon appears out of nowhere. And I mean out of nowhere. One step and the pathway is clear before me, another and there’s Gideon. He looks as startled to see me as I am him.

“Hey, hey,” he says, reaching to stop me before I run straight into him. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” I wipe away tears that I didn’t know were there.

“Nothing?” he repeats. “You’re pale as fuck even though you look like you’ve just run a marathon.”

“I’m fine.” I shake my head and offer him a plastic smile. “I’m fine. I think I just overexerted myself. Not as fit as I used to be.” I laugh but it comes out sounding hollow and forced.

“You taste so sweet.”

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