Page 67 of Daughter of a Monster

Last night I woke covered in a cold sweat. I was having the dream again. The one with the girl in the cell, my father beating her, and me not being able to do anything to help. Well, that’s how it started off, but then it morphed into something more terrifying. My father became the girl and Jericho became my father. I was trying to stop it but Jericho was deaf to my pleas.

When I woke it felt like someone had been watching me. Someone other than the camera which I now know is trained on my room. I wish I’d had more sense about me when I saw it, but for the life of me I can’t find the camera, nor can I remember from which angle the footage had been taken.

The only thing that brings me any sort of comfort is dance. It allows me to turn off my mind, forget where I am, forget why. I’ve pushed all the furniture to the edge of the room to allow myself as much space as possible.

Closing my eyes, I take in deep breaths as the music starts. At first, I only move my head, rolling it over my neck before adding my shoulders, chest, my entire body, allowing the music to flow through me, over me, under me. I tumble onto the ground and leap into the air.

I am free.

Free like a bird.

Free like a bird in a cage.

I stop dancing, my arms falling limply to my sides. My eyes move to the window. It’s my only chance for escape. It would be stupid to attempt climbing out of it but if I want to get out of here it’s my only option. Moving toward the window, I open it wide, searching the grounds for any sign of life. There’s none. No one standing guard. No one watching. I give one last look around the room before climbing outside. I don’t have time to think it through. I don’t have time to hatch another plan. Someone could be watching me right now. He could be watching.

There’s the smallest ledge for my toes, but thankfully there’s something to grip onto above. I move as quickly as I can, not daring to look down. The ledge where the lady of the house leaped to her death is only meters away. I move closer and closer, my heart pounding, my hands growing sweaty. Only once I reach the ledge do I allow myself to breathe. I stop, my ears straining to hear the thud of footsteps up the stairs, ready to come get me, but there’s nothing.

Below me, the ground is far, far away. Glancing back at the open window, I contemplate climbing through it, curling into a ball and pretending none of this is happening, but I can’t do that. I must push on.

The crack of available space to clamber from the ledge, around the corner of the house and up onto a section of the roof which will offer me some sort of safety, is tiny. I try not to think about what could happen if I slipped. Using every ounce of balance and grace I have, I inch myself around the ledge, ignoring the pounding of my heart trying to convince me to turn back. The wind is stronger around this side. Fresh drops of rain begin to fall. I keep inching my way, ever so slowly, my fingers growing sore from trying to clutch onto ridges too small and my legs shaking with the effort of keeping myself from falling. When I finally make it as far as I can, the ground is still far below. At least a couple of meters. More than I’m comfortable jumping from but I’ve got no choice. My stomach starts to cramp, waves of anxiety ready to cripple me. The rain is falling harder now, splattering against my face. Pushing the drops away from my eyes, I jump before I can change my mind. I roll as soon as I hit the ground, but I’m not quick enough to stop my foot from twisting painfully. I cry out, clutching my ankle before biting my lip, reducing my cry to a whimper.

I sit there for a few moments, breathing deeply, scanning my surroundings looking for someone coming after me, but no one comes. Maybe he’s distracted. Maybe he’s too busy dealing with my father to keep an eye on me. Whatever the reason, I know I can’t stay here for much longer. I need to put space between this nightmare and myself. The more distance I can put between us, the safer I’ll be.

I test my ankle gingerly, putting all my weight on my good leg before attempting to walk. It’s painful, but not impossible. After a few steps, the pain seems to subside a little and I quicken my pace, hobbling down the road, the rain soaking through my clothes.

It takes forever to reach the iron gates. I keep glancing back, certain that headlights are going to appear, but the world around me remains dark, the only light coming from the sliver of moon peeking out from the storm clouds.

I had hoped the gates only blocked off the road, but there’s fencing either side, leaving me no choice but to climb. Even though a knife of pain slices up my foot with each step, I don’t stop. I need to keep moving. Keep going. Eventually I’ll come across a house, or maybe a vehicle, and then I’ll be able to get help. For now, all I can concentrate on is putting one foot in front of the other. Or rather, above each other. The iron bars of the gate are slippery with the rain. I grip tightly and lift myself, leaving most of the weight on my bad foot and lifting the other to secure my first step. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying. I’m used to pain. I can handle this. I’ve danced on worse. Well, that’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. I haven’t had the courage to inspect my ankle yet. It’s already feeling tight and swollen.

My tears mix with raindrops as I climb. My hands ache with the cold. My foot throbs with the pressure of each step. When I reach the top, I stay still for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to settle my pounding heart. In the distance, I see a flash, headlights rounding a corner. He must have noticed I’m not in my room.

I almost slide down the other side of the gate, landing heavily on the ground. My hands shoot out to protect me and I end up with a gash on my palm. I cannot hold in my cry this time and start to sob as the intensity of the wind and rain increases. The cold is getting to me. My fingers are numb, but not the sort of numb that takes away the pain, the sort of numb that intensifies it, making it harder to move but still able to feel every stab of agony.

The sound of an engine pulls me out of my misery and I crawl over the dirt until I’m away from the road and hidden by trees. The gates open with a loud groan as the car approaches. It’s driving slowly, no doubt looking for me through the darkness and the rain. I pull my head back behind the tree I’m leaning against, desperately praying to the vehicle to keep driving by. I only let out my breath once the headlights are long gone.

I know it’s a risk to keep walking down the road, but the fear of getting lost is stronger than the fear of getting found. And thanks to it being nighttime, I’ll have warning of any approach from the headlights. I’ll have time to hide before they see me. Hopefully.

Dragging myself along the road, my eyes search for the tell-tale flash of light, but there’s nothing. I’m alone. Occasionally lightning cracks, igniting the world in blinding white before falling into darkness once again. I’m not as cold anymore. Either the movement is keeping me warm, or I’ve gotten so cold I can’t even feel it.

It seems like hours pass before the car comes back again. This time a beam of light is shone from open windows, scanning the forest either side of the road. I manage to hide just in time, hunkering low to the ground. Shuffling through the mud, I camouflage myself beneath the leaves of a bush, grateful for the small amount of shelter they provide. The rain is so heavy now it’s hard to see even a few meters in front of me. Curling myself into a ball, I decide I need a few moments rest before I keep going.

I fall into a feverish sort of sleep, hounded by nightmares both real and imagined. My father stalks me through the forest. Jericho’s voice echoes through my dreams, calling for me. I’m both hot and cold, unsure what is true and what is brought on by delirium.

The world is gray when I wake. My body is heavy and sore. I try to stretch but every limb screams in protest. I can’t stop shivering. I’m wet. I’m cold. All I want to do is cry.

Gingerly running my hands down my injured leg, I moan as even the pressure of my fingers brings pain. My ankle is severely swollen. My hand hurts from the wound on my palm.

Trying to walk is pointless. Each time I pull myself up, I collapse back to the ground, screaming into the wind and rain about the unfairness of it all.

This is my chance at escape and I’m fucking it up.

When I hear the rumble of an engine in the distance, I know I have been defeated. I know I will crawl out into the open and beg to be rescued. Being trapped in luxury is better than being free in misery.

I manage to get onto my hands and knees and crawl toward the road. Just like the night before, the car is driving slowly. I wave, trying to draw attention to myself and it jerks to a stop. The door opens and someone gets out but I’m so overwhelmed with relief, I merely collapse.

Strong arms surround me and lift me into the air. A deep voice rumbles as I’m held tight to someone’s chest. I huddle closer to the warmth as he walks back to the car and climbs inside, still holding me in his arms.

“She’s freezing.” A hand is pressed to my forehead. “Hurry.”

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