Chapter Four
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
Now
Iturn the page, pretending to be absorbed in my book as I hear someone approaching my cell. I don’t look up, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to myself. But when I hear a key in the lock, I admit defeat.
I close the book when I realize it’s the warden himself with Middleton, one of the guards.
“Good morning, Hart,” the warden greets me politely, before sitting in the flimsy chair next to the desk. It groans under his weight, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
“So, one week to go. Any issues? I know other inmates can cause problems when they realize someone in their midst is leaving.”
“None, sir.” And it was true. I’d been fortunate that most of the inmates were pretty friendly toward me, protective even.
It didn’t hurt that I was still a child when I arrived here.
Many of them stepped into maternal roles, but none quite so much as Mama Ray.
My chest squeezes at the thought of her.
The memories are too fresh and raw to dwell on.
It had been three months since she’d died, peacefully in her sleep.
After spending fifteen years with her, my tiny cell had never felt so lonely.
“That’s good. Now, it’s my understanding your lawyer has discussed with you what you need to know once you leave here?”
“She has, but I’m due to see her again today. She said she needed to finalize some things.”
“Excellent. I wish all my prisoners were like you.”
I look at him like he’s a fucking idiot. Even the guard looks at him with a frown. Realizing nobody finds his comment amusing, he coughs and gets to his feet.
“Right, well, good luck, Hart. I hope we never see you again.” He winks and walks out. Middleton shakes her head. Her lips twitch as she looks at me before she turns and walks the warden back to his office.
I lie down and stare at the top bunk, not sure how I’m supposed to feel about all this. I imagine most people would be jumping for joy at the prospect of getting out of prison, but after fifteen years, this place has felt more like home than Crowhurst ever did.
I rub my thumb absentmindedly over my birthmark.
The once-red mark is now completely black, resembling a tattoo more than a mark I was born with.
It’s the mark that started it all. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time.
Funnily enough, fifteen years gives you a lot of time to read and study, and what I found made sense as much as it blew my mind.
Turns out, witches are real. Each bloodline displays varying degrees of strength that manifest in a variety of ways.
For most, a witch will find they have an affinity—or a stronger aptitude, if you like—in a specific area.
Like my ability to manipulate the weather.
In others, those with a diluted bloodline, gifts might not be so obvious, but they often show strengths in other areas.
Like having a sense of danger, or supercharged gut instincts.
The strongest families—which I couldn’t find much on, probably because they liked to keep their abilities closer to their chests—could show strengths in more than one area.
I couldn’t find enough information to understand how that worked.
My lawyer had done her best to find me dozens of obscure books over the years.
I’d taken a bunch of history, literature, and women’s studies courses to explain away my need for them.
She never batted an eye at my unusual requests.
Most people would have looked at me funny, but not Jen.
Of course, if anyone bothered to read through the tomes of information I had, they would have likely written it off as nothing more than make-believe.
But not me. Even without my father confirming it. I’d had too many strange encounters to believe anything but the truth. I’m a witch, just like my mother was, and her mother before her.
My mood still affects the weather patterns, but I’ve developed in other areas too. Areas I’m still mostly hiding. A prison cell, surrounded by dozens of other women, is not the place to start experimenting.
The most surprising, though, was reading about the way the house back home could communicate with me in its own way.
I had thought it was my imagination, but apparently not.
Most people who believe the fictional stories are acquainted with witches having a familiar, like a black cat or something similar.
Turns out a house can become familiar too.
If enough witches have lived in it over the years, it absorbs a little of the power from the people it protects.
Most witches don’t come into their powers until they turn eighteen, at least according to the texts I was able to get my hands on.
Still, there were cases throughout history in which extreme circumstances made the power manifest early.
Things like near-death experiences or extreme cases of abuse are among the popular theories of why.
It didn’t take an expert to figure out why mine came to me before they should have. Not that it helped me in the end.
When I woke up after that fateful night, it was to find myself handcuffed to a hospital bed. A lot of that whole time, at least in the very beginning, was still hazy. I think my brain was trying to shield me from the worst of it.
Even now, I don’t remember everything. But I remember the parts I wish I could forget. And I’d pieced enough of the distorted fragments over the years to know I’d been set up.
A day after I was brutally raped, I was charged with first-degree murder, thanks to Dale’s eyewitness testimony that I’d shot and killed my father.
Dale was the one who shot him. But for years, I couldn’t fathom why.
It seemed to me my father was in on it, but he sure as heck wouldn’t have agreed to die for his cause.
The man loved himself too much. When I asked my lawyer to do some digging, I found out that a new manager was running the ranch—one appointed by my father to take over in the event of his death.
The document was signed the day of the shooting.
No way was that a coincidence. And who was this guy?
My lawyer had put a PI on him and managed to get a couple of grainy photos.
I stared at those things for what felt like years, trying to figure out how he played into things, before it hit me one day like a two-by-four to the face.
The truth had been staring right back at me all along.
They say the devil is in the details, a fact that became all too clear once I stopped looking at the photos as a whole and focused on the small stuff I’d missed.
Like his eyes. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then the view from my father’s soul would be pitch black.
And that’s what I was looking at. The evil eyes of the man who made my life hell, staring back at me from the face of a stranger.
He’d had a lot of work done, extensive procedures that changed the shape of his face and the slope of his nose.
His jawline was more sculpted, his cheekbones more defined.
If it weren’t for his eyes, I wouldn’t have recognized him, and that man has haunted my dreams for over a decade.
The question is, how did he pull it off?
“Hart. Visitor to see you.”
I jump at the sound of the guard’s voice.
I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn’t heard them approach—rookie error.
Even though I’ve been mostly safe in here, some of the newcomers were looking to upset the natural order of things.
They wouldn’t hesitate to hurt me if they thought it might serve their purpose.
I climb off the bed and walk to the door, slipping my arms through the slot so the guard can cuff me.
Once I’m cuffed, I step back so they can open the door and usher me out.
I walk beside him quietly, ignoring everything going on around me as I’m led to one of the rooms used for our legal teams. It’s one of the only spaces available that doesn’t have cameras or people nearby to listen in.
I smile at Jenny, who is waiting for me, and take my seat on the opposite side of the table, resting my hands on the wood as the guard cuffs me to the metal hooks in the wood.
Jen waits for him to leave before she speaks. “How are you doing, kid?”
I roll my eyes at her. “It’s been a long time since I was a kid.”
“When you get to my age, everyone’s a kid,” she replies with a wry grin.
She might be in her early seventies, but Jenny had proven to be one of my strongest advocates.
With her silver hair sleeked back into a bun and her black pinstripe power suit, she looks both elegant and badass, and she knows how to work both angles.
She’d come on as my lawyer after the public defender I was appointed pretty much hung me out to dry.
By then, the waters had been too muddy for me to walk away unscathed, but she had managed to get my charges reduced to second degree.
She wanted to fight the self-defense angle, but Dale’s account made it difficult.
Truth is, I’d have taken a life sentence if it meant getting away from that place.
The irony is that if my father’s plan had gone off without a hitch, he might have gotten exactly what he wanted for me—life without parole, or even the death penalty.
Unfortunately for him, karma had a twisted sense of humor.
The beating I had taken from him earlier that day, the traces of drugs in my system, and the examination that showed I’d been raped, flipped things on their head.
If the prosecution pushed too hard, they might make a martyr of me and swing public opinion in my favor.
They erred on the side of caution, and I was sentenced to fifteen years with eligibility for parole after ten.
I was denied parole twice. Given my father’s influence, that wasn’t a surprise.
Now, I was a week away from leaving, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
“Okay, so I have lots of news. First of all, I’ve been doing a bit of digging. It seems the people pulling all the strings fifteen years ago have been retiring, and your case has garnered fresh eyes.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters because we both know you shouldn’t have spent a day in this place, let alone fifteen years.”
I bite my lip, unsure what to say. Knowing she’s angry in defense of me still catches me off guard, even after all this time.
“As I was saying…It brought up questions about why you were denied parole—not once, but twice—given that you have an exemplary record and no history of violence. And before you say that doesn’t matter, in this case it does.
With a little magic, courtesy of your favorite lawyer, I managed to get you released unconditionally. ”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means you served your full sentence with zero issues. You’ve repaid your debt to society and are considered reformed.
Now, usually if murder is involved, there will always be a supervision period.
But in light of the circumstances, that’s been waived.
The only rule they have in place right now for you is that you cannot own a firearm. ”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it. I have all the paperwork here for you to sign regarding that, plus everything to do with the ranch and your inheritance.”
“My what?”
She looks up from the papers she’s shuffling through. “Your inheritance? You didn’t know about that?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jen.”
“Interesting. Okay, well, your maternal grandmother left you an inheritance that you could collect once you turned thirty. Once you sign, it will be deposited into the accounts of your choice. I know a few personal investors who will talk to you about what you should or shouldn’t do with it. All up to you, off course.”
I huff out a laugh. “Jen, I was incarcerated before I was an adult. I don’t even have a grown-up bank account.”
She grins at me. “I took care of that, naturally.”
“Of course you did.”
“Now, where was I? Oh yes, I have eviction notices, severance packages, and new hire forms. Where do you want to start?”
I take in the forms spread out on the table before me.
I haven’t told a soul about what happened to me that night.
Not the real truth anyway. Not about what Austin did to me, not about Dale’s lies, or how the man I was convicted of killing is very much alive.
The way I figure it, I was already punished for killing a man.
I might as well have the fun of experiencing it.
“Let’s start with the eviction notices and go from there.”
“Works for me. From what I can tell, nobody lives in the main house. I’m not sure why, but it does mean you won’t have to kick anyone out of it before you move back in. Not that it would matter anyway—the house and all the land are yours, free and clear. Any questions?”
“Nope. Just tell me where and what to sign.”
“You’re not even going to ask me how much your inheritance is?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t really matter to me.
It wasn’t something I was expecting, so whatever it is will just be a bonus.
Hopefully, it will relieve the financial burden a little, while I get my business up and running again.
” And now that we live in a world of social media, I’ll focus more on selling my things online so I don’t have to worry about interacting with the locals.
“It’s twenty-two point two million dollars, give or take a few.”
My mouth drops open in shock.
She throws her head back and laughs. “I thought that might surprise you.”
“Holy shit.”
“Holy shit indeed. On a side note, it gives me peace of mind knowing you have it. Businesses have been struggling a lot in Crowhurst. I did a little research, and a lot of places have filed for bankruptcy.”
I shrug, innocently. “The recession hit everyone, I imagine.”
“It was the strangest thing. Crops failed, trade dried up, and even the cattle became problematic. For whatever reason, the town is slowly dying.”
I fight back a grin. “You’re right. That is strange.”