Chapter 50 Set Me Free
Set Me Free
RIPLEY
TWO MONTHS LATER
THUNDER BAY, ONTARIO
“Make sure it’s nice and tight.”
Preacher’s deep baritone fills the room as I secure the man’s wrist to the chair with a zip tie, glancing back over my shoulder and rolling my eyes.
“You still don’t think I know what I’m doing?”
The setup was disgustingly easy: Raphael posted as a teenage girl online, they had a brief back and forth, and ‘she’ gave him an address for a meetup.
He agreed.
Not a great look for a guy who did a stint for child pornography.
Preacher kisses me on the cheek, his scruff scraping gently against my skin.
“I’m just making sure you’re dotting your I’s and crossing the T’s.”
My heart’s been racing since the second he walked through that door and Preacher injected him, my jaw tingling in anticipation the entire time. Decades of pain and anger have led me to this moment. My father will never be able to put his hands on another child again.
I take a step back, smoothing out my long white lace skirt. My bouquet sits on the sofa, along with Preacher’s suit jacket. We picked up our attire at a little vintage store we found on the road. Figured we’d have our own private ceremony before we hopped on a plane to Europe.
“Now, rabbit, the most important part.”
I scroll through his phone, humming and hawing before finally landing on the perfect song.
Kokomo by the Beach Boys.
“Again?” Preacher chuckles. “You’ve picked this one before.”
“Yeah, because it’s fun! Besides, shouldn’t a serial killer have a signature?”
“You might be on to something,” He grins, flashing me his silver tooth. “Now, are you ready to do this?”
I draw in a deep breath to calm my nerves. The man tied to that chair looks nothing like I remember. His jet black hair has been replaced with thinning, wiry strands of silver, and the deep wrinkles in his face remind me of a wilting rose.
“I’m ready.”
“That’s my girl.”
He pulls some smelling salts out of his pocket, wafting them under my father’s nose until he comes-to with a violent gasp.
“Hi, Edgar,” I purr, stepping forward to give him a good look at me. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
His shuddering breath comes out in short wheezing rasps. Raphael mentioned his medical records say he’s got emphysema, probably from years of sucking down a pack a day. Serves him right.
“Chris— Christine?”
“Wow, you remembered, even after all these years!”
I giggle, spinning around and showing off my dress.
“You like it? It’s vintage. Chanel.”
My father’s eyes dart around the room, and back to me, caught somewhere between confusion and panic.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He hisses. “Let me go!”
“Oh, no,” I laugh. “I can’t do that. You’re my wedding present! Isn’t that right, baby?”
“That’s right.” Preacher hands me his knife, nearly giving my father a heart attack as he walks out from behind the chair. “She told me everything about you, Edgar, all the sick, demented little details about what you did to the two of them growing up—”
“I didn’t do shit!”
“Liar!” I scream, storming toward him and striking him across the face. “That’s all you ever did! It was all you were good at!”
His face is twisted up in frustration, the same way he always looked when he’d come home from the bar. He’d tear the house apart like an animal before he realized, like clockwork, that the thing he really wanted was already upstairs, with nowhere else to go.
“It’s not true! I know I was harsh sometimes but I loved you girls!”
He’s probably told himself so many lies over the years.
I was sick.
I couldn’t help myself.
I was drunk.
“Yeah, I’ll bet you did,” I snarl, dragging the knife down his cheek until I draw blood.
The thing about men like him is that there’s always a but, some situation or condition that explains away all the things they do; there’s always someone or something else to blame.
“Christine, you’re sick, I can tell. I was sick too, but I’m better now! We can get you help, it’s not too late!”
Just the sound of my old name spilling from his lips makes me nauseous.
“Sick? Nah, I’ve never felt better. Besides, you laid the groundwork for all of this. It’s time for you to see what you created.”
I lick the blood on the blade clean, spitting it right back into his face, but he barely flinches.
“Please, Christine, it’s like I said… I was sick back then. I didn’t know what I was— I didn’t know how badly I hurt you and your sister, but things have changed! I’ve gotten right with The Lord.”
His voice is raspy, filled with desperation and a disgusting sort of hope.
“Spare me the sob story, old man, you’ve got one job tonight. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted, to see your little girl get married?”
I move to join Preacher near the window where the last of the sunlight is dripping in like golden honey. I drink him in: cold olive eyes, long dark hair, and that menacing grin which always gives me butterflies, and soon my father’s desperate pleas become nothing more than background noise.
“Ripley Blackthorne, so long as I live, I’ll spend every second of every day devoted to you, loving you, worshipping you, and keeping you safe. You’re the other half of my pitch-black heart, and so long as I’m breathing, nobody will ever hurt you again.”
He slips a ring onto my finger.
“With this, I give you my heart, my soul, and my body.”
“Please, Christine!” My father wails, rudely interrupting our perfect little scene.
“Pipe down! This is my moment!”
“Don’t worry about him. Focus on me.”
I nod, slowly sliding the ring onto his finger with my heart in my throat.
“You saw potential in me, and embraced my darkness better than I could ever do myself. You’re my everything, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that you know that.”
I drag in a deep, shuddering breath, a little shocked that somehow this thing I’ve wanted more than anything else is turning out to be harder than cold-blooded murder.
“With this, I give you my heart, my soul, and my body.”
I barely get the last word out before Preacher grasps my face, practically devouring me with a rough and passionate kiss.
“Christine,” my father rasps. “Please.”
I smile sheepishly, breaking away and turning my head to face him as Preacher gently nips at my ear.
“Don’t worry, Papa, I haven’t forgotten about you. In fact, we’ve got a surprise prepared, right, baby?”
“Do your thing, rabbit.”
I walk toward the little table that Preacher’s knives are laid out on, and grab a little vial filled with liquified Pixie Dust. I tower over my father, becoming that same imposing figure he was to me for so many years.
All those times when I begged him to stop, pleaded with him through wide, tear-filled eyes…
A father is supposed to fight the monsters under the bed, not be one of them.
I grab him by the hair and force the vial to his lips, making sure he chokes down every last drop before taking a step back, and watching as the concoction takes hold.
It’s agony to wait, but I crush my impulsivity, suffering through the few minutes it takes in silence until he’s fully under, and staring straight ahead like a goddamn zombie.
Preacher said he made sure it was a strong enough dose, I just hope he was right.
“I want you to confess. And don’t you dare spare me any details.”
No more crying in the dark, wondering when the pain will stop.
I have to remind myself that I have control this time.
“All that weight you’ve been carrying around? All that guilt? It’s time to let it go.”
I stroke his hair, rocking his head back so he’s forced to look me directly in the eyes.
“I don’t— I can’t—”
I smile down at him, shaking my head.
“I don’t care.”
I start to trace around his eye socket with my knife, barely grazing the skin. I wonder if I could pluck one out and put it in a jar.
He coughs, his body trembling as he fights the truth that continues to bubble up from inside him like lava. I can practically see his pulse hammering against his throat.
“Why did you do it, to us, to your daughters?”
“I couldn’t control myself!” He begins to sob, horrified to hear the words coming out of his own mouth. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I—”
“But you did. You took our childhood— No, you took everything from us.”
“I can get help, I can get more—”
“You’re beyond that now,” Preacher growls from behind me. “‘God will repay each person according to what they have done.’ That’s Romans 2:6, I’m sure you know it pretty well if you’ve gotten right with The Lord.”
I cut the zip ties on his wrist as Preacher turns the music up.
We’re so in sync, he knows exactly what’s coming next.
That’s love, baby.
I place the knife in my father’s hand, glad to be listening to his pathetic sniffles for the final time.
“I want you to put this to your throat.”
He shakes his head, stammering as he struggles to get out the words.
I lean forward.
“You want to make me happy, don’t you?”
“Of course,” he nods, his grip on the knife tightening.
“It’s fine, papa. I’ll help you.”
He stares at me, a blend of confusion, sadness, and anger smoldering in his eyes, and for a second I think he might lash out in one more act of violent domination… but then he raises the knife to his throat, and I know it’s over.
My jaw tingles as I see the tiniest little glimpse of blood.
My breathing picks up.
My heart like thunder.
“Now keep still.”
He barely moves as I cut deeper, and I’m leaning in so close I can feel his wheezing against my cheek. He might have slipped the knife right into my own neck if the drug hadn’t taken such a firm hold.
“You are nothing,” I whisper. “You were ruthless, you were cruel, and no matter what you say, I know that you never loved us.”
I take his hand fully into mine, and help him slit his own throat so deep that I swear I can see his larynx. A deluge of blood pours out from the gaping wound we created together, father and daughter, and then his head tips back with a final, pathetic gurgle.
Eyes empty.
I let the knife fall to the floor, watching the blood flow like a river as tears rush down my face.
“Well done, little rabbit.” Preacher’s hand slips into mine, squeezing gently as he beams down on me. “Now how do you feel?”
I finally feel like I’ve taken my life back, the one that little girl lost so many years ago. There’s no more fear. No more doubt. This is always who I was meant to be.
“Free.”
When I was dying in that parking lot, Preacher made me a promise, told me he’d drag me out of hell. The thing is, he already had.
“You set me free.”