Chapter One #2
“Boys will be boys. Besides, when she’s his wife, he’ll be able to live out every little fantasy he wants. He’ll soon get bored and leave her to her own devices.”
For once, the sheriff has nothing to say. I squeeze the jar so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break. I hope the sheriff has the day he fucking deserves over and over again. He’s the only person here who could get me out of this place, but all he does is turn a blind eye to everything.
“Besides, Andy is just a puppet. One who is easily controlled with the right incentive.”
“Andy is a lazy fuck, but he sure has a hard-on for Calliope. If he thinks he’ll get to have power over Calliope and get a share of this place, he’ll do it.
It’s not like he needs to be faithful.” The sheriff laughs, which doesn’t surprise me.
The man can’t keep his dick in his pants for two minutes.
“He probably already thinks this place is yours anyway, just like everyone else in town does.”
“And that’s the way it will stay.” I can hear the threat in my father’s voice, and I know the sheriff does too.
“None of my business. I don’t agree with women owning property anyway. It gives them ideas. I don’t want any of the feminist shit invading my town.”
“Only the Hart women can inherit this place. Hell, I had to take the Hart name when I married Joanie, that’s how fucking strict the rules are regarding this place. Keep your mouth shut about that and everything else I just told you, and we’ll be fine.”
“I’m hardly going to sit down with Calliope and tell her she owns the place now, am I? Even if I did, she’d think I was just fooling her. We both know she isn’t that bright.”
I back up quietly and head back outside, needing a minute to get my thoughts in order.
The house seems to swell with sympathy beneath my palm as I lean against the wood.
My mouth is dry as dirt, my palms slick with sweat as I try to get my head around what I just heard.
This place is mine? There is no way my father would put it in my name.
Heck, that conversation just proved that.
So, my mother then? Or grandparents, perhaps?
Both died before I was born, and from what I understand, this place has been in the family for generations.
I just assumed it was my father’s line, not my mother’s.
After all, there was a time when women weren’t allowed to have bank accounts, let alone own property.
I blow out a shaky breath, feeling off kilter, but I pull myself together, not wanting anyone to become suspicious.
I open the door again, this time slamming it behind me so they can hear me coming.
I wipe my expression clean and walk to the kitchen, where the sheriff is just getting to his feet.
He walks over and takes the jar from me before tipping his hat.
“Thank you, Calliope. You be careful now, you hear me?”
I feel my lip curl up in disgust, so I dip my head to hide it.
My father walks past me to see him out, elbowing me out of the way.
I don’t stick around. Instead, I head up to my room and set about cleaning myself up.
I strip out of my clothes and take a shower as my mind spins over everything I’ve just learned.
The problem is that the information means nothing if I have no one around to enforce the rules.
With a sigh, I climb out and dry off before slipping into clean underwear and a long black dress.
I pull my hair into a braid and take a look at my face where it’s swelling and red.
It will be bruised by this time tomorrow.
The bruises on the other side of my face haven’t even faded yet, and now I’ll be rocking a new set.
How awesome. The split in my lip has stopped bleeding, but the gash in my eyebrow is still weeping.
I might need a stitch or two. I could do it myself, of course, but every time people turn their backs on what’s happening to me, it makes me want to expose them to my reality.
I don’t bother with any makeup. I’m not trying to hide what happened.
My father has enough of a hold on this town that he could probably beat me in the middle of the town square, and he’d still get away with it.
That’s why I like them all to see what happens to me.
Hopefully, I can haunt them with the knowledge that they are not the good, god-fearing folk they claim to be.
And honestly, it’s my anger at all of them that keeps my fear in check.
Without it fueling me, I’d have climbed into a bath with a razor blade years ago.
I walk down the stairs slowly and make my way to the door. The house holds its breath before I feel its silent shriek. I whirl around and find my father standing just behind me.
“Where are you going, Calliope?” he asks, his voice a menacing whisper.
“I need more supplies,” I reply, my voice almost as quiet as his, my instincts telling me to run. But even I know better than to run from a predator.
“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?”
I blink, having no idea how to answer that. When it comes to my father, I’m guilty of dozens of infringements, valid and make-believe.
“I don’t—”
My words are cut off as he backhands me across the face. “If you didn’t cry like a pussy, people wouldn’t call the cops.”
I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood, or maybe that’s where my teeth have cut into my cheek.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“You’re not, but you will be. The next time you make a sound, I’ll cut your fucking tongue, and there is nothing you can do to stop me,” he taunts, right before pulling back his arm and punching me in the chest. I see stars for a second before I crumble to the ground.
I don’t need to worry about screaming, I can’t even draw in a breath.
He leans over me, his face full of menace and fury, before he spits at me.
I feel it hit my cheek as something inside me snaps.
It twists and coils, seeking vengeance and blood.
I stare into his eyes and let him see every ounce of hatred I have for him.
Something on my face must give him pause because he freezes, his mouth opening in shock.
The lights flash again, only this time they don’t stop.
The house groans as if in pain as wind curls around me, spinning in a dizzying loop, making the strands of hair that have fallen from my braids fly across my face.
The house groans again. It almost sounds as if it’s coming to life, snapping the chains of its captivity as the beast within it stirs. The same feeling is awakening in me. It’s distributing and powerful, terrifying and glorious.
“No. That’s not possible. You’re only sixteen.”
I slowly get to my feet, using the door for support. Not once do I take my eyes off this man. “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you myself,” I warn. The voice that comes out of me sounds nothing like mine.
“Holy shit!”
My eyes snap to the man standing behind my father. The color has bled from Dale’s face, his complexion now one of bone as he takes a step back. My energy winks out, my legs threatening to buckle as I lean heavily on the door.
The wind disappears, the lights stop flashing, and the house seems almost to take a deep steadying breath.
Before either man can say anything, I turn the doorknob and escape outside.