Flagrant: An Inferno World Novella

by Ally Vance

  “Who sent you here?” he questions in a low and deadly tone full of threat.

  “N-no one. I found papers in my mom's closet and then an envelope of photos in my stepdad's crazy momma's house. I wasn't sent by anyone. I ran away and found this place by accident,” I blurt out, gesturing at the clearing and taking a step back; for the first time, I’m afraid to be in his presence.

  Mom didn't want me to know anything about my daddy, and if this man really is my daddy, then I've really fucked up. Not just because of my visceral reaction to the photo, but because I'm beginning to understand why she feared me finding out the truth.

  Chapter Nine

  “Prove it,” he says, looking down at me with a penetrative stare.

  “Right now?” I ask as I glance around us.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Did I say later?”

  I squirm under the intensity of his gaze and look down as I swing my backpack off my shoulder and open it. Rummaging through, I pull out the envelope of photographs, the papers containing details of my birth and legal name change, and the photographs I took from Mom’s box. Silently, still looking down at my feet, I hold them out for him to take, but he doesn’t; instead, he just continues to stare at me. I feel self-conscious, standing there like an idiot holding out this stuff to him.

  I don't know what he's waiting for. I flick through the photos to find the one of him and my mom and show it to him, but he gives it no more than a passing glance. Finally, lifting my eyes to meet his, we stare wordlessly at each other. He seems to be searching for something, but what, I don’t know. The scrutinizing way he’s eyeing me makes my body erupt in chills, and I want to shiver. I’m not sure what it is about him, but I’m curious and afraid in equal measures. An illicit yearning has burrowed deep inside me. It’s in my blood, and it sickens me that I still feel it, even after my unexpected enlightenment barely ten minutes ago.

  His eyes are dark, but I can see the golden-brown tones hiding in the shadows, and I realize why my mom told me I had my daddy’s eyes. It’s like looking into a reflection, but if the eyes are the windows to the soul, then there’s nothing but darkness lurking within his. I’m breathless; fear, elation, and something deeper runs through me, but I can’t pinpoint why my reaction to him is so visceral.

  As he continues to study me, I feel the same telltale butterflies fluttering in my stomach that I get when staring at his photograph. He’s much older than he was in that image, but somehow he’s even more handsome now with the gray flecks in his hair and in the scruff on his chin. My body reacts, unbidden, and something must show in my face because I see the barest hint of a reaction in his eyes. His expression changes, but instead of anger or whatever the hell emotion he should be expressing, he smirks with amusement.

  He rubs his chin thoughtfully.

  “Come along then,” he says, finally.

  I blink stupidly up at him, surprised by the sudden change in his tone from unwelcoming to inviting. Without waiting for me to respond, he turns to walk away while I remain standing there, not moving.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself. You won’t like it if I do,” he throws over his shoulder, not even bothering to look, somehow knowing I’m still in the same place I was a moment ago.

  I quickly tuck the handful of papers and photos into my backpack and hurry after him, running to catch up and match his long strides. I’m trying not to trip over any stones and tree roots lurking beneath the fallen leaves, but it’s hard to focus when I’m walking beside the one man I’ve spent most of my life yearning to know.

  I stumble and fall onto my knees, and feel the skin split beneath the material of my leggings, but I push aside the pain, and scrambling to my feet, I hurry to catch up again. We’ve not been walking for long when we reach a large stone house; it’s the one from Mom’s photo with the same truck out front looking older but still in good condition. There’s something cold about the building, but after living with Gregory for so many years, I’d much rather take coldness over heated, drunken rages.

  I’ll never go back to Mom’s house. There’s nothing left for me there, except an empty hole in my heart where she used to live and memories tarnished with hatred. This is the fate I chose for myself when I abandoned everything in pursuit of a long-faded but never forgotten dream. I wanted to know where I came from and the identity of my real daddy, and now I’m here and he’s in front of my eyes. He’s real and so much more intriguing than I’d ever dared to hope.

  I follow him into the house, looking behind me one last time at the trees and the narrow, trodden down path we walked along to get here. I frown, realizing I never asked him why the stone chair was there and what was so special about it. Mentally shrugging, I set aside the questions for later and take in my surroundings as he leads me along a hallway and into a large family room.

  He drops down onto a couch and stretches out his legs, nodding at the empty seat next to him. Nervously, I walk across the room and sit down beside him. I’m on edge, not knowing what to do or say. Eighteen years is a long time. He may be my daddy, but I don’t know anything else about him; he’s a complete stranger to me. How can we begin to bridge the gap between us?

  Chapter Ten

  The silence drags on awkwardly, and a part of me is terrified to shatter it. I know nothing about my daddy beyond the few mentions of him my mom made when I pressured her for information, and the scathing remarks made by both Gregory and his crazy momma whom, I now realize, are more connected to me than I knew or would like. I want to speak, but I’m not sure what to say. It was one thing to dream of this moment, but another entirely to be experiencing it.

  My head is spinning, my heart is racing, my breaths are coming in short, sharp pants, and my hands are balled into clammy fists on my lap.

  “You need to relax. You’ll give yourself an aneurysm if you stay all tensed up like that,” he says, and when I jump at the sound of his voice, he chuckles.

  I laugh nervously and attempt to loosen up my muscles and do as he says. His tone may have been friendly, but there’s no mistaking the instruction in his words. He’s perfectly at ease with his long legs stretched out, and his arms spread out across the back of the couch. I feel small compared to him, and it’s not just in height and build. His presence is all encompassing, filling the room with the essence of him.

  Finally relaxing, somewhat, I dig deep for the courage I felt when I ran from Gregory and took control of my fate. Summoning it to the surface, I look toward my daddy and gulp down the fear I’m feeling. Mentally, I shrug off all preconceived notions I have from the dark picture Mom painted of him and slide up the couch closer to him. I want to know more, and the curiosity I’ve buried within me for so long finally starts to resurface. The floodgates to my mouth open, and the questions start pouring out.

  “So, how long have you lived here? How old are you? How did you meet my mom? What should I call you? Have you got any other kids?” I rattle off.

  I haven’t seen anyone else here, but that doesn’t mean there’s no one. I could have siblings I don’t know about.

  “You’ve not been here long, so I’ll forgive you this once because you don’t know the rules yet. Don’t ask questions. My business is not your business, and just because you’re family, it doesn’t mean you’re entitled to know shit. Yes, I have other kids. No I’m not going to talk about them. You’ll meet them soon enough, I expect. You can call me Pater, like the others do,” he tells me, and I’m taken aback by his blunt response.

  “Rules?” I question tentatively, trying to make it sound more like a statement than a question, but failing while kicking myself for letting him make me feel belittled already.

  His eyes darken, and his lips twitch before spreading into a smile.

  “There aren’t many, and they’re not hard to learn. Don’t ask questions, don’t go upstairs without permission, and don’t ever lie to me. I’ll always know when you disobey me, and you won’t enjoy the consequences if you break the rules. There are others, but y
ou’ll pick them up as you go along,” he responds, and the clear threat makes my heart jolt.

  I sit silently, staring at him, unsure what I should say or do. He stares back at me, his smile and darkened eyes alighting on mine. Slowly, he drags his gaze over my face and down my body. I shift uncomfortably, still aware of how close he came to catching me back in that clearing, pleasuring myself to his photo, only to discover, shortly after, the moral implications of what I’d done. A part of me wonders if he saw me before he approached, but I’m fairly certain my actions went unseen. Honestly, I have no idea what he’d have thought, and I’m not sure I want to find out.

  I know I shouldn’t, but a small part of me envisions him spanking me for my transgressions, and it takes everything in me not to squirm at the thought of his large hands chastising my body. I mentally shake my head to clear it and smile faintly at him, forcing some kind of acknowledgement of his words. My skin prickles with awareness, and I turn to meet a set of eyes peering through the doorway. I blink and they’re gone; it was so quick I may have imagined them.

  My stomach rumbles, and I follow Pater’s eyes as he glances at a clock on the mantle. I’m surprised to see that it’s so late. He stands up and stretches, and I peek as subtly as I can at the abs beneath his shirt when it lifts with his movements. What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be acting like this, let alone entertaining any of these thoughts I’m having. He’s my daddy, my blood, my family. It’s wrong, it’s disgusting, and I’m ashamed of myself for thinking them at all.

  He looks at me and then turns to leave the room.

  “Come on. Dinner will be ready in a moment.”

  I hurriedly get to my feet and follow after him through the door and along a narrow hallway into a large kitchen. In the center is a wooden dining table with six matching chairs surrounding it. He takes a seat at the head of the table and gestures for me to sit in the chair adjacent to him. Nervousness prickles through me, and I have to stifle a gasp when I see a young man, who can’t be much younger in age than me, standing by the counter staring sullenly at us.

  He’s slim with dark hair, and his sharp angular features closely resemble Pater’s. In an instant, I know this is one of his other children.

  “Vaughn, stop staring and bring the food over,” our daddy barks at him, and I jump in surprise at the harsh tone.

  A warning look from Vaughn when I open my mouth to speak shuts me up, and I sit in silence while he obeys the instruction. Soon the plates are on the table and the smell and sight of the food makes my mouth water. Another young boy walks into the room, and after glancing shyly at me, he takes a seat. I notice that the plates in front of us hold a much simpler and smaller portion of food than Pater’s, but I’m too hungry to question it. Vaughn sits opposite me, and the remaining chair remains empty. I pick up my fork and prepare to dig in, but a sharp kick on my ankle under the table makes me gasp, and I glare at Vaughn. What gives him the right to boss me around and kick me? He doesn’t even know me.

  Pater picks up his fork and takes a bite of the food and then glances between me and his son.

  “Kid, behave around your sister. Don’t want to end up like Jocelyn, do you? Speaking of, have you visited her today?” he asks, his tone taking on a stern edge, and I watch as Vaughn’s face pales before he shakes his head and drops his gaze to his plate.

  My stomach is in knots. I’m not sure what to make of all of this, but I keep my thoughts to myself. I concentrate on my food until it's gone, and I stay put when our daddy stands up and exits the kitchen, leaving me alone with my siblings.

  Chapter Eleven

  Over the next few days, I settle into an uneasy routine. I’m still learning the rules and getting to know the family. I’ve met Vaughn and the youngest boy who I’ve since learned is called Eloy, but I have yet to meet Jocelyn. I’ve asked Vaughn about her a few times, but he refuses to answer any questions about the family. Eloy is quiet and doesn’t really speak much around me, or engage in conversation, so I can’t ask him, and I’m not sure I’m willing to risk upsetting our daddy by asking him and breaking one of his cardinal rules. He said I’d meet his other kids soon enough, but Jocelyn is still a mystery to me.

  I’m slowly beginning to find my place, in the house at least, but I’ve still yet to discover what my role and position will be as a part of this family. I want nothing to do with Gregory and his mom in spite of the fact we’re related. As far as I’m concerned, my daddy and my half-siblings are all I’ve got left in this world.

  The house is so quiet most of the time, and I often catch myself treading lightly like I’m stepping on eggshells, trying not to break them. I’ve put the reason I’m feeling unsettled by the silence down to the stark contrast between where I am now and where I come from. Occasionally, however, the tension is almost palpable, particularly when I’m around Vaughn and Pater and the questions are burning inside me. Eloy is fearful when our father is in the room and quietly behaves, but I’ve noticed how Vaughn looks out for him and me. I’m desperate to unravel the mystery of Jocelyn, and I’m still trying to find my feet and not shoulder any of the weight of whatever is at play in this house. I’ve found myself often wondering, while lying in my bed at night, what I’ve gotten myself into. One thing’s for sure, it’s better than what I’ve left behind me…so far, at least.

  It’s late, really late, at night during my second week here when the sounds of sex reach my ears. Heavy grunts that can only belong to Pater filter through the floorboards, and the high keen of a female blends in erotically. I shift and roll over, attempting to ignore them, and the effect they’re having on me. I shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts. I repeat the words over and over in my head, willing my body and mind to obey. I do my best to ignore the way my nipples harden at the sounds of the woman he’s pleasuring and disregard the tangible wetness between my thighs at the thought of what he’s doing to her to elicit such a response.

  I close my eyes tightly, and squeeze my legs together, hating the ache that’s burning down there, begging to be released. Unable to curb the cravings, which first began with the photograph of a stranger, I cave into them and slide my hand downward, moaning softly at the contact of my fingers against my clit and slick folds. I’m so wet, and it’s so wrong, but the forbidden is taunting me into sin and darkness, and I want to indulge in an oblivion of pleasure.

  I cry out when I’m getting close, and I barely manage to stifle the sound that threatens to escape by biting my lip with my teeth. I’m too far gone to stop when I hear my bedroom door opening and then closing, I’m lost in the delirium of sensation flooding through my system. Another cry almost escapes as the orgasm crests through me, and a hand clamps down over my mouth, trapping it inside. Tremors of pleasure ripple through me as I stare into a pair of startlingly familiar brown eyes. There’s a wariness in them, shielding secrets I want to know, but they lack the soullessness that lingers in Pater’s...they belong to Vaughn.

  The sounds upstairs subside, and I’m trapped in a maelstrom of confusion and shame as my body calms and my heart rate slows. Vaughn holds his hand where it is while soft footsteps on the floor above and then on the stairs reach our ears before fading away to nothing. He removes his hand from my mouth, and we both stare at each other.

  Awkwardness starts to sink in at the thought of being caught by my brother getting off to the sound of our daddy fucking someone in the rooms above us. I remove my hand from between my legs and look away. The thin curtain hanging over the window does nothing to filter out the moonlight, and it’s just clear enough to see his pale face.

  He lifts his hand from my mouth and slowly backs away from me. I’m frozen in place, still stunned from his sudden presence and being caught touching myself. Without saying a word, he leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind him, and moments later I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs before the house falls deathly quiet once again. No sound disturbs the silence, not even a creak of the house or whis
per of wind past my window. It's strange, especially with the forest on our doorstep. Deciding I’m imagining things, I curl up beneath the blanket and close my eyes, letting myself drift off into an uneasy, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Vaughn’s daily, morning wake up knock on my bedroom door rouses me from a light slumber, and I stare up at the ceiling while my body slowly catches up with my mind. The room I’ve been given is plain, bland almost, with white walls and a simple bed with white sheets and a woolen blanket.

  Sitting up, I shove the curtains open and lean forward to grab my backpack that’s slung over the post at the end of my bed. I still haven’t unpacked everything, and I try not to dwell on why that is. I tip it upside down, allowing the contents to spill onto the blanket. I haven’t looked at any of this stuff since I came here, but I want to now. Ignoring the papers with the details of my birth and name change, I reach for the envelope and loose photos scattered in front of me.

  I leaf through them, looking for the photo of my mom and me. Finding it, I hold it up to the light and take in the similarities between us. She looks happy in this picture, and it hurts that I don’t remember this moment we spent together. Too many bad recollections of living with her and Gregory and having him trail along on our days out have scrubbed many of the happier memories clean from my mind.

  The other photo I’ve been trying to forget about sits on the bed. His dark brown eyes affect me like they’ve done every time before, but the image does nothing to convey the power of that stare when it’s being leveled directly at me, up close and very real. My head aches with the conflict inside it as I desperately try to cope with the wrongness of my response to him and force myself to morph my feelings into something more appropriate for a daughter. Familial love is one thing, but this is beyond the norm of anything I should be experiencing. The deep carnal desire wars with my morality, and it scares me to know how much I want to give in to it.