Chapter 38
CHRISTOPHER
I wake up to the sound of whining.
Jolting up, sheets tumble down my body as I whirl around. Foreign shapes and daunting shadows stare back at me, the silhouette of an unfamiliar bedroom putting me on guard.
“Holy shit.” Gulping down a breathe, I look at the dog scratching at the door, “Give me a warning next time, yeah?”
Ronan whines again, his head knocking against the door.
Unsettled, I ignore the beast and force myself to lie back down.
“Darling, you need to train your… Calista?”
Reaching over to the spot beside me, I find an empty duvet. Flattening beneath my hand, I find a cold mattress with no indent in sight.
Don’t let them get me.
Panic takes hold and I rip the sheets off the bed, frantically searching for the blonde who fell asleep beside me.
“Calista, this isn’t funny.”
The echo of Ronan’s whine follows me into the bathroom, the sound of his distress matching my racing heart.
“Come out right now.”
I’m running, racing from her empty bathroom to her walk-in closet, shoving clothes aside and looking for a hiding spot she could be in.
“If this is another test… fuck!”
A yelp of pain escapes me when I hit the jagged corner of a frame. Blood spurts from the cut and trickles into my palm, smearing across my skin in warning.
Dread leaks into my gut as I take in the shape of a door. Small and blunt in nature, it peeks out between the hangers holding Calista’s clothes.
Pushing leather pants aside, I squat down and pry my nails beneath the frame. Pick and peel until I can push the door open and look inside.
“Oh God.”
Hundreds upon hundreds of lines are carved into the four wooden walls. A child’s hiding hole decorated with a tally, an endless count that stops just as abruptly as it begins.
And that’s where the true horror lies.
Bile rises up in my throat as I take in the pictures decorating the ground. Pictures of a little blonde girl tied to the bed in various positions, blood leaking between her legs and tears spilling down her cheeks.
Why won’t anybody come save me?
Words written in permanent marker that rips a hole right through my fucking heart.
Picking up a photograph, I can see the edge of a knife in the corner of the frame, the faint smear of orange hair barely caught in the shot.
What a shame you can’t see yourself right now. Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?
Quotes, dialogue stolen from another time is scribbled along the back, the mocking underline of the sixth word drawing my attention to the photograph clipped to the back.
The shot of man with both his eyes gouged out.
I pick up another one, finding the same theme throughout. Words dissected and categorized to ensure each man reaps his punishment.
A punishment which was served in tenfold.
“What have you done.”
I don’t know who I’m talking to, the men or the little girl who tortured and sought to reclaim the pride that was taken away.
There’s seven of them in total, seven molesters who met an untimely end. Sorrow and rage curdles my stomach as I rifle through them all, witnessing the scars thicken and grow until they embody the woman she would one day become.
Callused. Calculated.
And so fucking strong.
The bed that was at my back ten minutes ago illuminates through the photos, transitioning from a victim to a predator as the men are tied down and torn apart in animalistic ways. Brutal and merciless, I can’t bring myself to feel pity for the men who scarred my fucking girl.
And now I can’t find her.
Grabbing one of the collars from the wall beside me, I steal the gold pendent hanging from its sparkly width. Cold hardwood brushes the bottom of my feet as I return to the bedroom, dark eyes following my every move.
“I need your help.”
An erratic heartbeat thunders through my ears, my palms clammy with the horrendous thoughts racing through my mind. Images painted red, memories gushing blood until I can taste them on the tip of my tongue.
Ronan’s ears flick towards me, his eyes narrowing with every step I take.
“Calista…Your mum needs our help.”
He starts to growl when I get close enough to touch him. Anger that masks the fear, the vicious look in his eyes is identical to the girl I found in the closet.
Reaching out, I gently brush the fur back from his ears. Soft and slow, just how Calista showed me.
“We’re all she’s got, mate.”
For two heart-stopping seconds, he tenses. Stares at me with eyes so wide I can’t help but feel a kinship with this mutt.
I press my hand against his fur, feeling the bumpy ridge of his skull. The scars that brand his skin just like they do Calista.
Just like they do me.
“That’s it. That’s a good boy.”
It’s fucked up how the same words that turn me on are the same ones that offer comfort. A reassurance and a promise that at least one person in this world knows you’re worth it.
Worth training and maybe worth keeping.
Ronan huffs softly, bumping his head back against my hand. Relief spills into my chest as I clip the tracking device to his collar, opting not to test his goodwill for any longer.
Grabbing my gun from the nightstand, I yank my cargo pants up my legs before wrestling a t-shirt over my head. Ronan watches me impatiently, his nails raking across the bedroom door.
Thunder cracks outside the window, an onslaught of rain screaming bloody murder against the side of Drache Manor. A torrential downpour in its deepest stage of fury, I don’t pay the weather any attention as Ronan goes charging towards the forbidden forest.
Slipping and sliding through muddy trails, debris flings in every direction as I go stumbling, sprinting after the dog. Rain pelts my skin, sheering through my shirt and plastering the useless material to my body as the distance between us starts to increase.
“Fuck.”
Pulling out my phone, a red dot blinks innocently on a map, it’s position inching farther away from me. I let out a curse and pick up speed, sloppily jumping over branches and hazardous bushes as I fumble my way through the thick wilderness.
I can barely see from the water splashing on my face, the steady drip of my hair leaving a cold fucking trail down my spine. Curses and prayers fall from my mouth as I keep going, keep pushing to find the mercy of anyone who is listening.
Find her, Ronan. Find her before it’s too late.