Page 78 of The Torturer's Target

“I’ve not been here before,” the girl said, her voice shaking with fear.

“What is your name?” Tesiera asked, her eyes darting around. “We need to find a way out of here.”

“Maddie,” the girl responded. “Can I see your face, please?”

“No, Maddie. Trust me; it’s safer for you that way.” Tesiera scanned the room quickly, and her eyes settled on a small window near the ceiling. It was too high to reach.

But then she spotted an old crate nearby they could use as a makeshift ladder.

“Stand on this,” Tesiera ordered, pulling the crate over to the wall under the window. She boosted the young woman onto the crate, then climbed up behind her.

Together, they pushed the window open and crawled out. They found themselves in a dark section of the mansion’s backyard. There were three guards within sight, their eyes scanning the area for any signs of trouble.

Tesiera palmed the dagger hanging from her hip, as she silently assessed the situation.

“Stay behind me,” she whispered to Maddie before she slowly approached the guards.

In a swift motion, Tesiera lunged forward, her knife slicing through the air and striking one of the guards in the neck. The guard fell to the ground, blood pooling around him.

The other two guards turned towards Tesiera, their weapons drawn. Tesiera dodged their attacks, her movements fluid. She landed a punch to one of the guards’ jaw, sending him reeling backwards. Maddie grabbed a nearby rock and threw it at the remaining guard, striking him in the temple and knocking him out. The distraction was enough for Tesiera to kill the guard.

They quickly made their way towards the small gate, Tesiera pulled out a pick set and quickly got to work. The sound of the lock unlocked filled the air. They swung the gate open and dashed into the wooded area surrounding the mansion.

They ran until they got to a grocery store. The young woman clung to Tesiera, tears streaming down her face as they ran.

They were out. They made it out.

Two hours later, Tesiera sat on the cold floor at one corner, the darkness of her bedroom swallowing her whole. Her body was still damp from her shower, it had done little to ease the tension that coiled within her.

She’d cleaned Maddie up, gave her a bunch of money and put her on a bus with enough money to find her way home safely. Now she was alone in the darkness, her shoulders slumped with an invisible weight pressed against them.

Finally, she had killed one of the men who had taken her father’s life. Revenge felt great, the victory tasted so damn good, but yet she felt hollow inside.

I don’t remember. A death like that is too insignificant for me to even remember.

Tesiera’s eyes were closed, the sound of the ticking clock loud in the silence. In the end, Jacob Blake had confessed that he remembered killing her father.

“You know, I do remember him. The pathetic man that wanted to hold onto the locket of his dead wife.” He’d laughed, spitting out blood. “You’re the little brat he was protecting that day? I would have put a bullet through your head then if I’d known a day like this would come.”

Every nerve in Tesiera’s body felt raw and exposed as though she had been stripped bare of all her defenses. It was a painful, agonizing feeling that she couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard she tried.

She’d wanted to sleep but her heart felt too heavy. The house was too quiet.

Memories flooded her mind, unbidden and unwanted.

“Keep quiet, baby. I will make it all go away. Daddy will make it all go away.”

“But it hurts,” young Tesiera cried, pushing at his hips to let up. “It hurts, Daddy, stop.”

“It won’t hurt for long, baby. It’s okay. I’ll make it all go away. Shhh, you don’t want Mommy to hear now, do you? Mommy won’t like that I’m consoling you and she will spank you like a bad child.”

The memory of that familiar voice in her ear made bile rise to her throat. She’d kept quiet and swallowed every scream that rose in her throat. Young Tesiera didn’t want to be a bad child. She didn’t want to be thrown out of her foster home.

Tesiera took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “You killed the man that created that memory, and you killed the one that resurrected it. Now, get a hold of yourself,” she muttered out loud.

Instead, a shudder went down her spine. She couldn’t stop the raw, pained feeling that consumed her like an open wound that refused to heal.

She felt exposed and vulnerable. Two feelings she despised as much as she despised ‘love’. So why the hell couldn’t she make it stop?

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