I cross my arms defiantly over my chest and tear my eyes away from him and back to our youngest. “Cleo; mind what your Momma tells you and go outside.”

  “Don’t you move,” Dad says to her in a low, dangerous tone.

  Cleo puts her face in her hands and begins to sob as quietly as she can. She’s confused and doesn’t know what to do and that’s more our fault than her own. She understands what I want her to do and she understand what Dad is telling her to do, but she’s so scared she doesn’t know who to listen to.

  I walk over to their side of the table and put an arm around Chloe’s shaking little body and give Dad a dirty look. One he returns with wild eyes and a dangerous smile.

  “Get your ass into the well, girl. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  My back is sore and it’s hotter than Satan’s asshole down in the darkness, but I knew what Dad was up to. Either get in the well, or he’d get into Cleo and I’m still holding out hope that he’ll let me out of here if I do a good enough job.

  I sigh as I reach down the wet and dirty rag back into the bucket and keep scrubbing the mold off the brick enclosure. I try not to think of Mom—of how she died all alone down here. Probably scared more for me than herself, but I hope she knows that I’m as much of a fighter as she is. Even more so according to Dad, and I won’t let it end the way she was forced to.

  “Hey Mom!”

  I glance up at the opening of the well and shield my eyes from the sole beam of sunlight that’s threatening to blind on Dad’s behalf for not continuing to work.

  “Yes?” I call back.

  “I’m getting hungry. Are you going to make supper tonight?”

  I smile despite the situation I find myself in. Richter doesn’t let anyone within a fifty-mile radius of his voice know that he’s a growing boy and is constantly hungry.

  “Soon as I’m done down here,” I promise him.

  “Get the fuck away from there!”

  His gasp echoes down to me, and the quick glance over his shoulder before he disappears makes me roll my eyes. Maybe one day they won’t be as afraid of Dad as they currently are.

  I get it.

  He’s an insufferable bastard that seems to want to make whatever years he has left on this Earth as uncomfortable for the rest of us as he apparently feels, and I’ve already promised myself that if the clock doesn’t run out on him soon enough, I’ll find a way to save my kids from the Hell I know he has waiting for them.

  I put my hands on my hips, waiting impatiently for him to appear in my line of sight, but then swallow hard when I see he’s carrying a clearly terrified Cleo. She looks stressed and I’m hoping it’s because of something he may have said to her, rather than did.

  Not that she should have to suffer either indignity, but this is truly a hope for the lesser of two evils.

  Dad grins when he sees me looking up at them and bounces our youngest in his arms. He whispers something into her ear, and she nods, burying her face into his neck. He rolls his eyes as he attempts to wrestle out of her iron tight grasp, then sets her down on the grass surrounding the oubliette.

  “Just like I told you, okay?” he asks her, as he leans down and ruffles her hair. She nods, placing her fists to her mouth and waits as she watches him in clear distress.

  “Good girl,” he says as he tosses the rope ladder down into the darkness. I raise an eyebrow and put my hand on one of the rungs, assuming I’ve done a good enough job that he’s letting me out, but the look he gives me tells me otherwise.

  “Go on,” he instructs Cleo, keeping his steely stare on me. “Go down there with your Momma.”

  “What?” I ask in shock.

  Cleo carefully grips the top of the rope and begins to slowly inch her way down to me. I grab her as soon as she gets close enough and hold her tightly against me, telling her that it’ll be okay.

  Dad begins to pull the rope out of my reach and when he’s got it all the way up, he lets it fall on the side of the structure, before he leans down, hands on his thighs, and grins.

  “You wanted a night with her to make her understand how shit goes right?” he quips. Before he continues, he closes his eyes tightly as he turns his head to cough, then turns his attention back to us. “Now you’ll have it. I expect you both to be obedient little girls when I come collect you in the morning.”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to protest, and as he callously ignores Cleo’s much louder sobs, I watch him put the wooden gate back into its place and sit down on the dark, cool dirt with my daughter in my arms.

  He’s trying to break me the same way he did with Jocelyn.

  And I can’t let him.

  I don’t know what time it is, but my body is shaking. Not because I’m afraid of where I am, but because my body needs rest and I refuse to give it any. I hold Cleo close to my chest and continue to rub her back as she sleeps quietly against me.

  This hole in the ground isn’t very large and I know that whatever’s left of my mother has to be close by.

  I’d love to be able to talk to her now, to ask her how she survived Dad as long as she did, and if he ever put her in the well before the last time I ever saw her. Was she strong? The way he speaks about her sometimes makes me believe it.

  But if she was so strong, why couldn’t she save herself or her brothers? Why wasn’t she able to give us all a chance outside of Dad’s home?

  I know I’ll never get the answer to any of the questions I have because Dad won’t talk about things he can’t control, but I know he misses her.

  The constant comparisons to her when I’m doing my best to please him—emotionally or sexually—tells me as much.

  I’m glad she’s dead.

  She shouldn’t have to live to see what we’ve become, and even though she didn’t save us, I forgive her. I know that standing up to Dad is a scary thing to do, but if she had me, then she lasted longer than she probably thought she would and that’s a bravery I can appreciate.

  Cleo’s shifts in my arms. I lean down and gently kiss the top of her head because I don’t want her to wake up in this abyss. I want the sun to shine on her skin when she opens her eyes again, and I want her to be out of this damn hole running around with her brother and sister.

  I would stay in here if that’s what it would take to make Dad happy, but I can’t. Not when I have children to protect from him. Not when I see how much disdain he has for one, and barely cares about the others.

  That’s how it always starts with him though. At first, he treated me like I was gold—the most precious jewel in his crown of deviance, and then I was treated like a burden. Even after the first time he held my body close to his, kissing me in a way, that even then I knew, a father should never kiss his child. But when he finally had broken me in to his liking, he lost interest in me … until I was able to give him children.

  And now I do my best to keep his depraved lust focused solely on me. I don’t want the cycle to continue, and no matter what happens, I’ll make sure that it ends with me.

  I let out a sigh as I cradle Cleo in my arms and rest my cheek against the top of her head. My body is envious of the sleep she’s getting, but my heart is stronger than my mind, and I know that I can stay awake as long as I need to.

  I begin to hum quietly.

  A mirthless tune, something without merit, but hopeful that the vibration coming from deep inside me will keep her safely in a world of dreams far away from Dad.

  I wonder what crosses her mind when he yells at her. Does she hate him, or does she desperately seek his approval like I did when I was her age?

  I wonder how Richter feels when Dad tells him that he’s a waste of time and to fuck off. Does it break his heart like it used to do to me, or does he try to figure out a way to be seen in a better light?

  And Skylar.

  Does she feel lost when Dad looks at her the way he looked at me the first time he came into my bedroom after he put Mom back into the well? Has he already put his hands on her and made her swear not to tell me?

  Fuck.

  The longer I sit in the darkness, the more these thoughts fill my mind, the more I find myself wondering if I’m too late to save them.

  My eyes open with a start.

  I’m so damn angry at myself for falling asleep but when Cleo smiles at me, I know she’s forgiven me.

  “Hi Momma,” she says softly.

  I pull her close and kiss her forehead, before I get to my feet and glance up at the sunlight. The wooden cover has been removed from the top of the well and that means that Dad is waiting for us.

  Unless it was one of the kids, but I doubt it. They know his wrath is as terrible as ever now, and the older he gets, the meaner and colder he becomes.

  They don’t know the father that I did when I was younger. He had his moments where he could be so kind, that I would almost forget all of the terrible things he would do to me.

  Trips to the zoo, an ice cream cone for being good, and sometimes, if I were really well behaved, he’d go weeks without making me sleep in his bed.

  Little favors like that sometimes outweighed the bad and that’s why it was easy for me to forgive him after we had Cleo.

  No one will understand it, but it’s not for anyone to understand. Forgiveness is something not easily achieved and I love my father—even if not in the way he hopes, but I do.

  It’s an undeniable feeling deep inside of my belly.

  But so is the ominous shadow that sits over his face as of late, and that’s why I smart off to him more often than not.

  I need to keep him angry with me so that they’re safe. When Dad loses his temper, he also uses a lot of energy up these days, and that’s for the best.

  “Come on up—I don’t have all fucking day to stand around waiting for you two,” he barks down into the semi-darkness. I sigh as I hold Cleo close and look around the old, worn bricks that surround us. I’m not entirely sure how he expects me to get out of here without the rope ladder, but there’s only one way out and that’s up.

  “Remember when I used to run around with you on my back?” I ask Cleo gently. “How you would hold onto my neck really tight, like a strong girl?”

  She pulls away from me and looks into my eyes, nodding with serious eyes.

  “Can you do that for me now?” I inquire. She nods again and I set her down on the dirty oubliette floor, kneeling in the dismal remnants that my mother had to endure on her own as Cleo uses both of her hands to push the hair out of her face, and kisses me gently on the cheek. She’s scared, but she’s trying to be such a brave little girl right now.

  That’s why I can’t let him win.

  If he does, she’s at his mercy and I’ll end up in the same place that Jocelyn was thrown away to die.

  “Go on now,” I encourage with a small smile. “Show Momma that you’re still a strong girl.”

  Cleo moves carefully around me and climbs onto my back, her little arms wrapping around my neck, hands clasped together, and holds on tightly. I get back to my feet and instruct her to wrap her legs around my sides as much as she can. Once she’s as secure around my body as possible, I look up at the top of the oubliette toward freedom.

  I chew on my lower lip for a moment while I look for a crevice, a crack, anything, that I can use to begin my ascent when I finally find one. I dig my nails deep into the hole between the bricks, the tips of my fingers grazing something curious, but I dismiss it for now, and begin to lift my body up the side, climbing like a Momma bear with my cub on my back.

  I slip once and almost lose my footing, but when I hear Cleo’s terrified gasp, I manage to regain my footing, and continue climbing.

  We’re about halfway up when Dad leans over the side of the oubliette and smirks, tossing the rope ladder down.

  I refuse to take it. I know it’ll draw his wrath, but what doesn’t these days? Instead, I continue to slowly, and meticulously, make my way toward the sunlight without his help and when I finally reach the top, I tell Cleo to climb up my back and out onto the grass. She does as she’s told because she’s a good girl.

  Unlike me.

  I’m a defiant, nasty little girl.

  That’s what he tells me.

  No matter how hard I try, no matter what I say to him, or do to please him, he still manages to find faults in me.

  I take a deep breath as I pull myself out of the well and roll onto the grass, breathing heavily, and hoping for the slightest reprieve before he turns into a jackal.

  “Did you learn your lesson, Darbs?” he asks, his tone sharp and deadly.

  I take a series of ragged breaths and use the last of my strength to push myself to all fours. I have to answer him, and I have to do so soon, or he’ll become angry and there are two targets for his rage now.

  “Yes. I’m sorry,” I manage to say.

  “Good. Get yourself inside and get cleaned up. Take the kid with you,” he commands.

  The sound of the wooden gate slamming shut over the oubliette is a relief. It means that the punishment is over this time and whatever offense he thinks I’ve committed has been forgiven.

  This has to end, I tell myself as I get to my feet tiredly and take Cleo’s hand. I smile down at her, wipe the stray tear from her cheek, and lead her back toward the house of horrors that I have to find some way to save my children from.

  I’m their only hope and I refuse to let them become engulfed in the darkness that’s so close to swallowing me whole.

  The torrent of hot water cascades over my body. My hands are on the shower wall, my head is down, and my eyes are closed. I locked the children in their room before I came into the bathroom because I still don’t trust Dad not to touch them.

  It’s been in his eyes more often than not lately, and even though I’m still young enough to give him more children, he gets bored much too quickly with his wives.

  I chuckle despite my mood.

  We were never his wives. Not even Laura. From what I can remember, the stories that I’ve read in Mom’s diary, Laura was more of a prisoner of his than his wife, and when she bore him three children, he chased her off.

  He didn’t care if she left because she wasn’t his blood. She didn’t know what he was going to do to their children, and she only cared about herself.

  Thanks, whoever hurt Dad as much as you did.

  The thought is sarcastic, bitter, and full of hate for a woman I’ve never known, but I feel that it’s well deserved.

  Then my thoughts turn toward my own mother. Did she try? Did she ever think of taking her brothers and running? I don’t know because I never got the chance to know her. I vaguely remember her face, only ever seen when Dad held me and let me peek down into the oubliette.

  I raise my head toward the hot water and let it continue to burn my flesh as I think about her. She must have tried because Dad tells me sometimes that I’m like her. Willful, disobedient, and care only about the children instead of him.

  Maybe I have more of her inside of me than I do him. Maybe I won’t become a monster too.

  Maybe … but the last thing I’ll ever dare to do in this place is hope. I’ll never hope for myself, my children are a different matter. They’ll survive this without having to feel his touch because as long as I’m still alive, as long as I’m still of use to him, he’ll keep his attention on me.

  I startle when I hear the bathroom door creak open. I wait for a moment, listening for the sound of one of my children’s voices, but when the silence follows, I wonder if maybe I’m just hearing things.

  Of course, that all changes when the bathroom door slides open.

  “How long do you plan on standing in there?” comes the gruff question.

  “I’m almost done,” I reply quietly as I open my eyes.

  Dad’s standing there, looking at me with his arms crossed over his chest, and a look of disdain on his face.

  Of all the things that crushes me the most, it’s the feeling of knowing that he’s disappointed with me. With a heavy sigh, I turn away from him, and turn the knobs to shut the water off. I reach up for the towel and wrap it around my body as I pull the door open a little wider and step out onto the bathroom mat, careful to avoid the disappointment in his eyes.

  “Sorry, Daddy,” I mumble as I step toward the sink.

  He chuckles, clicks his tongue against his teeth and comes over to stand behind me. I do my best not to shudder when he presses his body against mine and runs his fingers down my arm. I do my best not to cry when he leans down and places his chin on my shoulder, his lips grazing my neck.

  Instead, I reach a hand up and wipe the steam away from the mirror and reach for my comb, doing my best not to react to the feeling of my body betraying me under the weight of his touch.

  “You’re such a beautiful girl, Darbs,” he murmurs against the nape of my neck.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” I say as evenly as I can. I hope he doesn’t hear the slight tremor in my voice. I hope he can’t feel the tremble that’s starting to go through me.

  But I know my father and he misses nothing.

  This fact is soon proven when one of his hands moves down my back and lifts the towel up. He gently smacks my ass, before using his hand to nudge my legs apart, and slides the tip of his fingers along my pussy lips.

  “Mm,” he groans as he places his forehead on the back of my neck. I set the comb down and opt for my toothbrush instead. Maybe if I can distract myself by scrubbing my teeth instead of trying to subtly assault him with the comb, he’ll get the hint and leave me alone for now.

  I twist the cap off the tube and bite down on my tongue when he slides a finger inside of me. I refuse to give him a verbal reaction—that would be a sick reward for him and it’s my turn to punish him a little bit.

  Dad begins to slide his finger in and out of my opening, gently kissing the back of my neck. His stubble tickles me slightly but I ignore it as I squeeze some paste onto my toothbrush and turn the faucet on.

  “Come on, Darbs,” he breathes as he slides another finger inside of me. “Show me how much you love this.”

 

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