Chapter 28
Woodrow—aged seventeen
My head pounded, my cupped hands covered my face, trying to block out the rising sun as it tried to blind me through the kitchen window. My finger shield wasn't strong enough to keep it out, and it did nothing for my migraine.
I had no idea how I got down here. No idea, at all. No idea why Nessie was tugging at my sweats, calling me fucking Suzie.
But I could imagine.
A new alter was on the rise, and judging by all the requests flying out of Nessie’s mouth, she was a parental figure. A better one than our actual parents.
“Go away, Ness,” I practically begged, my hand leaving my face to shoo her from me.
I lay draped across the table, hiding away from the checkered sheet and its permanent stains of food and blood.
Nessie kicked at the leg of my chair, huffing that I was no fun.
“It's nice to know you missed me,” I quirked.
“I prefer your others. They are more fun.” The term alters hadn't settled with her yet. “Do you want some chocolate milk?” she asked, being a little more like the sister I needed.
I peeled my hands from my face, exposing my tired eyes and giving the sun permission to abuse them. I blinked twice, appreciating the small gesture.
I sat back and watched, exhaustion preventing me from helping as my little sister scaled the kitchen cabinets for a glass for me. Luckily, she didn't fall or break anything. But things in the room were already broken—cabinets, the trash can, even the stove.
Nessie jumped from the worktop and hurried to the refrigerator with two glasses. The hardest part of all this for her, was trying to get the fridge to open with full hands.
I looked away, weighed down by the nightmare I lived. A nightmare I couldn't even remember.
I had no idea where Jolie was, but I knew if I asked Nessie, she wouldn't have told me that she was upstairs in the room they shared.
The worry of what had happened to her was heavy on my heart.
Closing my eyes, I sent myself back in time.
I saw my father cut up my heart when he dissected my pet.
I saw Jolie, standing up to him, throwing a drink in his face.
I fingered the tablecloth where the drops of alcohol would have dripped from his chin.
A phantom pain struck me, and I almost fell out of my seat. The smell of blood invaded my nose, overpowering the chocolate milk being poured, as a memory that wasn’t mine, was pushed into my head. The recollection of being shot hit me like a bullet, reminding me why this clavicle was achy.
“Woodrow!” Nessie shouted as if she was scolding me. “Don't touch that! You're still healing. You don't want an infection.”
A shadow wrapped around me, forceful fingers pressing into my right shoulder, mimicking the ache on the left. My eyes moved to the bitten-down nails, digging into me through my thin t-shirt.
“Good to see you're back, kid. It's been a while this time.” My father blew out a puff of smoke from the cigar moving back and forth from his thin lips. The smell, mixed with a night of poor alcohol choices, almost made me sick.
I cringed under his touch, feeling dirtier than ever. Those hands of his caused so much damage. Hurt those I loved most.
I bit my tongue, literally, as it was the only way I could stop myself from demanding where Jolie was.
“Don't tell your mother I lit this in here. It's our secret.” His fingers slackened.
Disgusted by him, as he blew out another puff that had me choking, my gaze settled on the doors that lived in the shadows of this room.
The herb closet and its wooden twin that led down to the basement.
They no longer looked like twins. One was damaged pretty badly, beat up from the inside.
And for the first time ever, not properly closed.
I read horror stories about what went on down there. Tales written by a seven-year-old who only existed because I was mentally traumatized.
My father clocked the direction of my eyes, but he was seeing fucking double, if not triple. “Wondering what happened?”
Subconsciously, I blinked twice.
“Hell had a mood. After everything that happened a few weeks back, we did some therapy down there. He didn't react so well.”
I didn't turn to see my father's bloodshot eyes staring down at me like he was anticipating a reaction I wouldn't allow myself to give.
I licked the dryness from my mouth. I had no idea why Hell did whatever he did to leave chunks of wood missing from the basement door, but with my body breaking out in a cold sweat, it was like my body was trying to tell me something my mind kept secret.
That something fucking awful had happened down there.
And that my father wasn’t being truthful about it.
I prayed to God that my father wouldn't feel my blood running colder beneath his touch. He probably couldn't. . . he couldn't see beyond his nose right now. Couldn’t see that the door wasn’t closed.
He was hammered.
And the heavy drinking probably had something to do with me, and everyone else that lived inside my skin. He'd told me so many times that was the case.
But the reality was, he couldn't cope with being a monster.
My attention drew back to Nessie, her little voice interrupting as she stared at me with a chocolate moustache. She placed my drink down, the glass clanking against the strong table. She pushed it toward me, stretching on her tippy toes to get it close. “Your milk.”
She traveled the perimeter of the table, staying out of my father’s way as she nested on my other side. The strain challenged me as my arm wrapped around her, and I held her close.
“Anyways, I have things to do. Keep an eye on your sister; your mother will be down in a second.” My father gave my shoulder another squeeze, before moving to the back door and shoving his sweaty feet into dirty work boots.
The key to the back door twisted in the lock, and he stepped outside.
I could see him through the door’s glass—my father—squinting his eyes as he tried to dial suspicious calls. The kind that often had his dodgy friends stopping by.
He pulled an axe from a tree stump and moved out of my sight, his cell wedged between his ear and shoulder. What was left of the strong-scented cigar, still in his mouth.
Nessie's eyes were on me when I looked back, still full of fear and wide. She could still hear my father, and he brought out those emotions in her.
And she pulled the memories from me.
I saw us in the shed. . . I saw me on the ground, finding the strength from somewhere to get to her as he put his hands around her tiny throat.
I blinked, and she did, too, a tear falling from her big doe eyes.
I opened my mouth to talk, but it was her voice that whispered into the air first as she cupped my ear to keep the conversation just between us.
“Woodrow, how do I reach Hell?” Nessie was no longer afraid of saying his name. “Daddy is the devil, and only Hell can trap him.”
I didn't have a clue what she meant, or what else he might have done to her while I wasn't present, but I was glad to see there were no bruises around her neck.
“He comes to save me when I'm hurt. Ness,—”
“Will he save me too?” I didn't think about my answer. I knew despite her fear, Hell would never hurt her. He never had. Everyone else, never her.
I blinked twice, thinking if she was ever hurt, and I wasn't around, Hell would protect her. I'd put in that request as soon as I got back to my diary. The diary I couldn't wait to fucking read, because apparently, I had lots to catch up on.
I turned in my chair. Nessie just stared at me with a somber expression painted on her sad face. “You missed my birthday. I’m eight now. A big girl. You missed it. You weren’t there.” Her words grew grave as the conversation came to a close. “No one came but Daddy’s friends.”
My lips were still dry, my mouth growing dryer, but I forgot the existence of my chocolate milk and licked them again. Fair to assume, that was a nervous fucking habit.
I wrapped my fingers around Nessie's dainty shoulder, keeping the touch firm but gentle. “Did they hurt you?”
“I don’t like them being here.” She didn’t want to say more. I wanted to push, but I couldn’t. I’d never felt Nessie so fragile. She enveloped me in love, squeezing me tight. “I love you, Woodrow, and I really did miss you.”
“I love you, too, baby.” My fingers spread over her back, and I asked a flurry of questions, “Where is Jolie, Ness? What happened to her?”
“I don't know.” Her pain came out with her whisper, another tear, too. “I haven't seen her for months.”
“Months?” Fuck, how long had I been gone! My hands dropped, and I reared back, pacing around the room like it could help me in any way.
“Did they send her away?”
“No.”
“Did they. . .” I choked on the lump in my throat, and my legs gave way before I could ask, “Did he kill her?”
Was that why Nessie was afraid of our father?
Nessie moved in between my parted legs as I sat on the floor, a clammy hand on my thigh. Her glass of chocolate milk, was again, clutched in her other hand.
“She's still here.” Nessie's words stopped my world spinning. “I hear her crying sometimes. Woody said he hurt her, but he didn't mean it.”
“Why…why…why…why would he do that? What did he say!” I struggled with remaining calm. I needed to get to that diary.
My little sister's grip tightened, her badly painted nails—that she must have done herself without Jolie around—digging into my barely-there muscles.
“He didn't mean it. He was very sorry. He was crying and upset, and he said she was screaming. I heard her, too.”
“Where, Ness? Where did you hear Jolie?”
Like a magnet, I felt the pull. My gaze moved to the darkest part of the dismal room, to the broken basement door, and then it creaked as she pushed it open.
I saw her, and her image yanked me up onto my feet.
I shook from head to toe.
My eyes examined her features and the pain permanently etched within them.
Her face was different, melted down the left side. Those same scars traveled down her neck, right to her nipple. Her eyes were bloodshot like she'd cried for fucking months.