Chapter 5
Calla probed around the bruise on her shin, testing for soreness. Her older brother, Brent, was spiteful and had taken his anger out on her, making her life hell.
In the beginning, she’d tried to escape, but he put bars on the windows that kept her in. Sometimes he chained her to the wall, but most days she stood around in her room just waiting for him to bring her out to cook or clean.
It hadn’t always been like this. Her parents had been happy, filling their house with love, but something had been off about Brent from the start. Dad tried to ignore the problems, and Mom thought Brent was amazing, but after Daniel passed, they didn’t try for more kids.
They’d been planning on getting at least a quarter of the way through the alphabet or maybe even halfway through, which would have meant thirteen kids.
A shiver slid down her spine. She couldn’t imagine having more than one.
Hell, she wasn’t sure she even wanted kids.
But it wasn’t like her wants mattered. She was locked up and had no escape from Brent.
She’d come to realize that he dictated what happened in her life.
Long ago, she’d heard her parents talking with friends about kids and how many they wanted. Her mom hadn’t said it, but it was heavily implied that the thing with Daniel had stopped them from having more.
It was weird thinking about that time. She and Abigail had shared a room, then Daniel was gone, and they had to sleep in their parents’ room.
Any time she asked to move out, her parents said no. They slept in their parents’ room until Abigail was fifteen.
Also, during the day, her mother never left them alone with Brent. When she was younger, they never said anything bad about Brent, but she knew to steer clear of him. Now she knew why.
If only her parents had addressed the issue, but they hadn’t. They could have taken him to get help, but that wasn’t their way. They thought they could pray love into him, but it hadn’t worked.
She was glad Abigail had found an escape.
She must have taken off as soon as she heard the awful news.
Calla regretted the fact that she’d been too young to leave.
When she heard the news, she should have run.
If she had, she would have been put into foster care.
That would be better than being Brent’s prisoner, though. How long had it been?
A door slammed, signaling Brent's return. He was in a foul mood. Just great. She hadn't fully healed from the last beating, and this would probably be worse if he let her out at all.
She waited for the door to be flung open, but nothing happened. At some point, she drifted off but woke with a start when a noise sounded beside her.
“There you are,” Brent whispered, causing her to jump. His chuckle sounded more evil than jovial. “You should have stayed up for me. How can I work without support? You’re supposed to be there when I need you, sister.”
Slowly, so he didn’t strike her, she pushed herself up and into the corner, pulling her arms around her legs.
“You’re worthless. You sniveling little piece of shit. I was trying to do something amazing, and now you’re crying. Get a backbone and stop being such a crybaby.”
She hated Brent. If she could kill him, she would. But he never left anything she could use as a weapon out long enough for her to get her hands on it.
“The plan didn’t work out exactly the way I wanted. We have to take precautions. We might have to move.”
“Move. Where?”
His hand flew before she could raise her arms to protect her face. Pain slashed deep, and she cried out as her hands flew to her face.
The throbbing in her head kept her from hearing what he said, but she wouldn’t ask him to repeat himself. Asking for clarification just led to more pain for her.
“He knows now. I had a handle on it, and then he was about to figure it out. Jesus, how could we have been so stupid?”
She hated how he included her in his failures.
It wasn’t like she had any say in whatever it was he did.
She wasn’t allowed out of the house. She saw him driving one of those refrigerator trucks back to the barn and unloading something, but she didn’t know what he did or how he made money.
She knew nothing outside the walls of this house, and even then, she didn’t know everything inside the house.
If she could get outside, she sure as hell wouldn’t run back to the barn and take a look. She didn’t need to know what he was doing. All she needed was the opportunity to escape.
He threw up his hands as he stalked around the room. “Shit, this is terrible. I don’t want to leave here. Maybe he doesn’t know where we are. I never shared my location. He was too trusting. Dumb shit deserved to die.”
Calla wasn’t sure who he was talking about, but she hoped he was okay. Brent was mean, devious in a demented way. His twisted soul was why their parents were buried in the far field with nothing marking their graves. They’d thought they could handle Brent, but no one could handle his twisted ways.
He turned to her, his eyes narrowing. “Make me breakfast. I’m hungry.”
She ducked her head as she stood, following him to the kitchen. All the knives were in locked drawers. She guessed she could smash him in the head with the frying pan, but he was stronger than she was, and if she didn’t take him out with the first blow, he would probably kill her.
Maybe he would make a mistake, and she would be able to escape, eventually. If she could just get something to open the door with, or maybe one of the windows without bars on them, then she could figure a way out.
But Brent never left the keys where she had access, and anything she could pick the lock with had been removed from the kitchen. There wasn’t anything useful in the laundry room, or she would have taken it by now.
She fixed him eggs, bacon, and biscuits, sneaking bites while he wasn’t looking. Before she plated the biscuits, she was able to put one into her pocket.
After she served him food, she went to the bathroom.
This bathroom didn’t have a window, so he didn’t make her keep the door open.
She wolfed down the biscuit, almost moaning out loud at the first bite.
The number of calories she consumed each day wasn’t enough.
She needed more food, but Brent wasn’t going to give it to her.
Maybe he knew she took his food. He’d never said anything about it. Or maybe he was just ignorant and didn’t pay attention. But she would be dead if she didn’t take bites while she cooked.
Once she finished eating the biscuit, she rinsed her mouth out, removing the evidence of the food.
Brent was still eating breakfast when she stepped from the bathroom. He didn’t even look up when she started cleaning the dishes.
Desperation slid through her. She closed her eyes, trying to force away the emotions. Brent hated it when she showed any emotion. He got very angry at her "displays" as he called them.
If she could just hold on a little longer, she could make it out of this.
She just had to keep her head down, and then she could figure out a way to escape.
Once she was free, she could live on the streets.
Being homeless was better than being here.
At least she would have freedom even if she had no money or food.