Page 122 of Corrupted Deception

The door squeaked on its hinges, then fell right off as I threw it open, but there was nothing inside, nothing but old, rotted wood floors and broken windows.

“Damn it!” I cursed aloud.

I kicked the rotted wooden wall, and my foot went right through it. I would have fallen on my ass, but Cielo reached out and caught me. The man was fast.

He kept his hands on my waist from behind me as I looked around, staring out at rolling hills, cloaked in lush greenery, stretched out beneath an expansive sky that seemed to touch every corner of the earth. I tried to breathe in the serenity of the scene, but it was all I could do to fight the hopelessness that was like a rising tide inside my chest.

My dad was good as this survival shit, so good that if he’d holed himself up somewhere, not wanting to be found, no amount of “Where’s Waldo” skills were going to help me. And if he was injured… he could die in his hiding spot, all alone, and I’d never find him.

If he isn’t dead already, a voice whispered inside my head, a voice I rather wanted to punch in the face at the moment.

“He’s too good at this, Cielo,” I said, remembering the very first time he’d dragged me out into the middle of nowhere for survival training.

“You want me to do what?” I say disbelievingly.

“I want you to take that stick and catch a fish,” he says like this is a perfectly reasonable request.

“you’re not serious.”

He spins in a slow, exaggerated circle, his arms out wide. “Do you see a better option, Char? Maybe a TGI Friday's nearby?” he says, half smiling.

I put my hands on my hips and huff. “How am I supposed to catch a fish with a stick?”

He shakes his head, refusing to give me the answer. “You tell me.”

Dear lord, this is ridiculous. He’s had me working at a computer desk… in the city. What are the chances some crisis is going to hit that will have me trying to catch fish in New York harbor?

But since he isn’t going to let this go—he’s even more stubborn than me, I think—I grab the stick, stomp to the river’s edge, and look down at the water slowly flowing past. I’m holding the stick like a spear, waiting, watching for a martyr fish to swim up to me and offer himself up—because clearly, that’s the only way I’m going to be able to catch a fish… with a stick!

I see a few coming, and I freeze.

They swim closer, and I grip the spear tighter. Just a little closer…

I slam the stick down into the water. And what do you know?—I come up empty.

Damn.

“This is stupid,” I say, glaring at my smug father who’s standing ten feet back, but he isn’t swayed.

So, I try again, over and over again.

Stab. Stab. Stab.

I feel like a crazy woman, standing here in the river with a spear, stabbing the water like I’m trying to make it bleed.

I see a deer.

I hold my breath. I’ve never seen a deer before. It’s on the other side of the river, all spindly legs and big eyes.

It comes closer, its eyes fixed on the river.

Perhaps for the first time in my life, I’m so still, it doesn’t even notice me.

Hm, maybe that deer would be easier than the fish, I think to myself, and the image comes to me, my own hand gripping the spear is it stabs that poor, defenseless animal.

Oh god.

“That’s it!” I yell as I turn and stomp out of the river, sending the deer running in the opposite direction. “I’m vegetarian now. No killing animals—and that includes fish.”

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