Page 16

But they never look closely enough to see what’s underneath.

When I finally sink into bed, hair still wet, the mattress groans beneath me. The night circles my mind, settling heavily in my chest. I replay every step, every methodical movement I made to make sure I’m doing everything I need to. I know there’s room for improvement. With each one I extinguish from this earth I’ll get more precise. Practice makes perfect.

The air is damp and heavy with the smell of mildew and earth. The faint flicker of a single bulb casts long shadows across the rough stone walls. I’m in the cellar of the house my father bought, the one with the grand columns and pristine façade. But down here, beneath the polished floors and stained-glass windows, there is nothing grand.

The floor is dirt, cold, and unforgiving beneath my bare feet. The walls are lined with shelves holding jars of preserves, their contents clouded and forgotten. In the corner, an old furnace wheezes faintly, its rusted pipes creaking in the silence.

But it’s not silent. Not really.

Laughter echoes off the walls, low and menacing. The kind of laughter that makes my skin crawl. I’m small again, my nightgown hanging loosely around my thin frame, my hands clenching the fabric at my sides. The tears are already there, hot and stinging as they slide down my cheeks.

The men are gathered around the table in the center of the room, their faces cast in shadow. My father sits at the head, his glass raised high, the amber liquid inside catching the light. The others are scattered around him, leaning against the walls, perched on crates, their eyes gleaming as they watch me.

“Come here, sweetheart,” one of them says, his voice oily and sickly sweet. He pats his knee, the gesture almost mocking. “Let’s see that pretty smile.”

I don’t move. My legs are frozen, their stares rooting me to the spot. My father’s voice cuts through the fog, sharp and commanding. “Do as you’re told, Eleanor.” That name. It’s not mine. It’s never been mine. But that doesn’t matter. Nothing I say matters. Snickers follow my father’s mistake of using my mother’s name. Her name echoes in laughing tones.

The man stands, his boots heavy against the dirt floor. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar running down the left side of his face. He steps toward me, his movements slow, deliberate. The others watch, their laughter fading into quiet murmurs.

“Don’t cry now,” he says, crouching in front of me. His breath is sour, laced with bourbon. “We’re just having a little fun.”

I shake my head, the tears falling faster. My body trembles as he reaches out, his fingers rough and callused as they brush against my cheek.

“You’ll ruin that pretty face with all those tears,” he says, his tone low and mocking. “Smile for us, darlin’. Show us you can be good.”

I flinch away, but there’s nowhere to go. The furnace heat presses against my back. My father’s voice booms again, louder this time. “Do as you’re told!”

The man grabs my arm, his grip bruising as he pulls me forward. My feet stumble over the uneven ground, my stomach churning with a nausea that won’t go away. The others close in, their shadows stretching long and dark across the walls.

The memory shifts, the edges blurring as the cellar seems to grow darker. I’m on my knees now, the dirt cold and damp against my skin. The man’s hand is in my hair, pulling hard, yanking my head back so I can’t look away. I hear the tell-tale sound of metal clinking together as he unbuckles his belt. The low growl of a zipper is next. The others watch, their faces leering.

“Do it,” someone says, their voice a low growl.

“That’s a good girl,” another adds, their tone filled with mockery.

My hands shake as I dig my nails into my thighs. Oh, how I wish I could disappear into the pain, but I don’t. Nothing helps. The tears fall freely now, hot and unstoppable. I try to disappear, to let my mind drift somewhere else, somewhere safe. But there’s no escape. Not from this room. Not from him.

“Open your eyes,” the man commands, his voice sharp and unyielding. “I said open your eyes and look at me.”

And I do.

His face looms in front of me, every line and shadow etched into my memory like a brand. The jagged scar across his left cheek, the thin curl of his lips as they twist into a sneer, the pale blue of his eyes, gleaming, cruel and amused.

“Good girl,” he says, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “You’ll remember this, won’t you?”

His name rises unbidden in my mind, a name I haven’t spoken in years.

Dennis Harper.

I jolt awake. My chest heaves, lungs dragging for air. The sheets tangle around my legs like restraints. I blink my eyes, trying to push the sleep from them. My room is dark, the faint glow of the moon casting pale streaks across the wooden walls. My throat burns dry and raw. The memory clings to me, wrapping around my limbs like smoke. For a moment, I’m frozen, pinned beneath the past. The air in the cabin feels dense and unmoving, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the sheets sticking to my sweat-dampened skin. My feet hit the cold floor, the chill biting into my feet like shards of ice. Chills spread across my skin. My hands are trembling as I rake my fingers through my tangled hair. Each strand feels like a thread pulling me back into the nightmare. I reach for the glass of water on the nightstand, my grip unsteady, the cool condensation slick against my fingertips. When I lift it, the water sloshes, reflecting the erratic rhythm of my breath. The past isn’t supposed to touch me here. Not in this cabin. Not in this sanctuary I’ve built for myself. But it does. It always does. I take a slow sip of water, the cold sliding down my throat. My hands steady, and my breathing slows. The pigs grunt faintly in the distance, their sounds carrying through the still night.

“Dennis Harper,” I whisper the name into the darkness, tasting it, testing it. His name feels heavy on my tongue, weighted with years of hate and pain. He’s out there somewhere. Living his life free of guilt, free of consequences.

But not for long.

CHAPTER