by Brogan Riley
“He loved you in his sick twisted way.”
Felix was a handsome man. Women loved his strength and charisma. They didn’t see the rot inside him.
“Sabine hates me because he hurt her and never hurt me,” I say.
Her eyes wander off and a choking sound escapes her mouth. “I was helpless, Poppy. I was weak. He had money and power and I felt so helpless. I didn’t know what to do. I should have taken you and escaped when I had the chance. I should have… but he…” Her voice halts as her body shakes and tears shine on her cheeks.
“You were too young.”
He’d whipped her with a belt many times. She still has scars after the beatings on her back. He kicked her, smacked her, and called her horrible names.
He had the means to hold her captive—the kaleidoscope of servant people and their silent mouths, the lack of conscience in our security staff, the army of lawyers. The dungeon. Starvation. Pills. Cruel threats.
Her hand searches for mine, and our fingers lace together. “I’m here for you now,” she says.
“I know.”
But I don’t know who I really am anymore.
I’d been only Poppy before Jackson found my mom. Now, I’m more. I understand more.
It’s as though the locks in my brain have been released. I hate it and I need it even more.
I’m scared.
“You love him?” she asks.
“That doesn’t matter.”
She draws in a deep breath and exhales with an audible sound. “He’s much older than you. I’m your mother, so I need to know. Do you love him?”
“I do.”
I do love Jackson.
I see Tommy emerge from the wall of bushes, five logs enclosed in his arms.
“Supper will be ready in half an hour, lovely ladies,” he says.
“Thank you, Tommy,” my mom says as she twines her fingers in her hair.
Yes, we’ll eat and after the supper, Tommy will interrogate me and then my mom. He calls it a parody of therapy, but my mom and I are grateful for his help. Her voice has a caramel tinge each time she says his name. He smiles each time he says her name.
They seem to thrive when they’re together.
My mom is healing.
Me?
I’m bitter and bitter as time goes by.
Being intelligent sometimes brings more pain than joy.
Chapter 15
Poppy
Memories enter my head, all of them unwanted and disgusting like big flies with metallic blue-green bodies lured by the smell of decay.
“Sabine darling, could you pass the salt to me, please.”
“Yes, daddy.”
“Ride your daddy, you little slut.”
“No, please. Don’t do this to me.”
I’m six.
My mom has just laid me on the bed. She’s perched on the mattress, her hand squeezing mine.
“Can you read me a book?” I ask.
Her right eye twitches and she bites her nails. “You never understand those stories, Poppy.”
I sit up, my feet tucked under my bottom. The bedside lamp casts glittery pink butterflies onto the walls and they dance, sliding across our faces.
I reach under the pillow with my hand and take a book out. I hand it to my mom.
“Adriana read it to me yesterday,” I say, “and I liked the story.”
Adriana keeps calling me my mom’s sister. I don’t like it. I know my mom is my mom.
She looks down at the title page. “Ah, about a wolf and a little girl.”
I shake my head. “No, this one is about a girl and an evil stepmother.”
“No, Poppy,” she says in an unpleasant voice, holding the book’s cover spread in front of my eyes, “just read the title.”
“Snow—“
“No, it reads Little Red…”
My heart hammers in my chest. “It reads Snow Whi—“
“No, Poppy. It’s not that story. You see, you can’t read or understand any stories.”
Tears prick my eyes.
Adriana is our cook. She reads with me sometimes. She keeps saying I’m a bright girl. My mom keeps saying I am not.
The door of my bedroom creaks open and he walks in. My mom drops her head and starts shaking.
His cold green eyes fix on mine and then travel to the book in my mom’s hand. “You’re reading to my little princess?”
A gulping sound escapes my mom’s mouth as she pulls the book to her chest and holds it in place with her trembling hand. She raises her head and turns to face him.
“She’s too stupid to understand,” she says. “It’s the genetics and…” Her voice halts.
I stiffen.
He tilts his head to the right and then to the left, stretching his neck muscles as his fingers flex and straighten. I hitch up the comforter as he loosens the collar of his white shirt. A deadly silence hangs in the air. My mom rises to her feet, but he leaps at her. He grips the back of her neck and pushes her to her knees. The book hits the floor and opens with a rustle.
“You’re my family,” he says through gritted teeth. “You have to respect each other. Calling my little princess stupid is no respect.”
He throws my mom at the wall. She bounces off and falls to the floor. She lies on her side as he moves towards her. His leg swings, and he kicks my mom in her tummy.
“Respect, Sonja,” he says with a calm that causes me to shake. “I wasn’t respected. I wasn’t loved. But we’re a family. We love and respect one another, do you understand?”
He turns around and walks over to me. His hand strokes my head.
“You’re a beautiful smart young woman,” he says. “Soon, you’ll be ready.”
I can hear my mom throw up. I want to throw up too.
He holds my chin. “Say you love your daddy.”
“I don’t understand,” I mumble, tears trickling down from my eyes.
“Say it,” he growls.
I put on my stupidest smile. “I love my hamster.” I giggle. “I love him so much.” I giggle louder. I giggle like I’m crazy.
My mom told to giggle like this each time he’s around me.
He withdraws his hand, repulsion painting his face.
“Told you,” my mom rasps. “She’s damaged. Told you this, daddy.”
He moves closer to her and kicks her again. “Teach her to be bright.”
I roll my fingers into fists.
I’ll give him an apple one day. The apple will be poisonous to him and he’ll die.
I’m ten.
I’m counting the bars in the windows. There are so many of them I keep losing count. But I know which of them are loose. I know this even though I know very little.
There’s going to be a party in our castle tonight. Four men and one woman will attend. He will attend. Sabine will attend. My mom and I will not.
Such parties take place in our house two, three times a year. Sabine always has a bruised throat and sore bottom the following day.
My mom and I always hide in the attic on such nights because he is always very drunk.
I’m eleven.
My mom walks into my bedroom. “Hurry.”
“Why? What is happening?”
“There’s not much time, Poppy.” She grabs my hand and drags me out of the bed.
We exit the bedroom and move along the dark corridor. Sabine obstructs our way.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Sabine hisses.
“Somewhere far from here,” my mom says.
“You can’t escape him, you idiot,” Sabine says. “He already knows.”
My mom freezes. “You told him, you stupid bitch?”
Sabine says nothing, her hands trembling.
The sound of many footsteps comes up to my ears. Three men in green uniforms appear at the top of the stairwell. Their boots are thumping against the marble steps.
My mom moves back and trips over the rug. We fall down. I’m yanked away from her and the men immobilise her with thei
r hands covered with rubber gloves. She screams, wails like an animal. Syringes appear in the men’s hands. My mom wriggles and cries out as they jab her.
Somebody hauls me away from her. I scream and kick but I’m thrown into my bedroom and locked up inside it.
I’m seventeen.
I know his routine so well even though I know very little.
I’m a disgusting ghost to him so he never pays attention to me. His whole focus is on Sabine. She’s his heiress after all. After a very expensive doctor has diagnosed me with a learning disability, I even get a phone and internet access.
I know where the cameras are fitted. I know where the security men are based. I know where the pills are stored.
I know there are no cameras in his office.
Not to mention the loose bars. A lot of them have become loose for all these years. I can sneak out through one of the windows. I can walk along the ledge and sneak into his office.
I can do this even though I can do very little.
Chapter 16
Jackson
The tower made from glass and metal shoots to the sky in front of me. I climb the stairs and walk through the glass revolving door. My boots thump against the shiny grey floor. Two men in navy uniforms approach me. I stop with my arms raised. I’m a good boy as they search me through.
When they are finished, I stand by a reception desk and put my elbows on the marble top. A young receptionist flashes me a panicked smile.
The bitch knows I’m here and she knows who I am. The security staff working outside the building wouldn’t have let me in otherwise. I had to leave my gun with them, but there’s a knife in the sole of my boot.
A suit with ginger hair and pale green eyes approaches me and leads me towards an elevator. I step into it. The ginger presses one of the red buttons. The elevator dings and takes us up.
The ginger’s cold eyes sweep over my jacket. “You have fifteen minutes,” he says.
I salute him.
The elevator dings as the door swishes open. I walk out and move along a corridor with white and green walls. The ginger stops in front of a black door and presses his thumb against a lock. The door clicks open and we walk into a lab. People in white aprons and protective glasses stare at me like I’m a rabid fox.
I walk through a glass door and then enter an office. A woman is standing by an antique desk. A massive security guy is standing in the corner by a bookcase.
The woman waves her hand and the ginger exits the office.
“Please, sit down,” she says.
“No, thanks,” I say.
She nods, her fish-like green eyes shooting a promise of death towards me. “There’re cameras in here and five security men outside the office, ready to knock you down.”
“I just wanted to say that I’ll find a way to get you,” I say.
She waves her hand to the security guy and he exits the office.
“Aren’t you scared to die?” I ask.
“You’ll be dead before you even think of killing me. You’re an ant here.”
“And you crossed my path, bitch. Believe me, ants can bite.”
She averts her eyes with a bitter chuckle escaping her mouth. “I have nothing against you. I just want them both gone.”
“Why?”
Her glance travels back to me as her eye twitches. “They can expose me.”
“The queen doesn’t want her shit to bubble up, huh?”
She smoothes a hand over her perfectly styled hair. “They should be dead and you shouldn’t have poked your nose into my business.” Her fingers tremble. “The three of us are victims.” A vein appears on her temple. “The shit is so deep you can’t even imagine, you little biker boy. Politicians, businesspeople, lawyers, doctors. The Arachnid Conclave. People are goods to them. Business and entertainment. And most of all their sick religion. You can’t escape that shit. You can only be one of them. You can only keep covering the shit up.”
Something cold and slimy wraps around my heart as she continues with her confusing, convoluted confession, “You’re already dead, you know. And so am I. But I’m rich so I’ll live longer.” A shadow of dread fills her eyes for a moment. It’s an elemental dread like she’s been to hell. “I’m just trying to stay alive for a bit longer.”
I almost feel sorry for her. “I can give you asylum.”
Inside a concrete cell in Alaska for example. She’s mad. She should be separated from the rest of the world.
“You’re so little and stupid,” she hisses. “There’s no place safe from… them.” Her glance bores into me. “They’ll find you sooner or later.”
“You’re wrong, Sabine. They’re not invincible. You’re just too scared to leave your glass castle and seek safety somewhere else.”
“Maybe.” She moves back. “Maybe not.” The ghost of a smile plays on her lips. She looks both like an evil bitch and like a victim. “There’re cops outside the office. You’re going to jail and I’m going to get rid of my lovely relatives. I’m sorry. There’s no other way.”
The door bangs open and five cops pour into the office. I manage only a growl as they surround me.
A hard item slams on the back of my skull. Blackness obscures my vision. I know I’m fucked.
Then my mind goes blank.
Poppy
Tommy puts three bowls on the table, and my mom starts filling them with tomato soup. The smell of basil and parsley rises in streaks of steam and settles in my nostrils.
“I can’t cook,” she says, her voice part sad, part humorous.
“Neither can I,” Tommy says.
She flashes him a warm smile, combing her hair with her fingers. “I want to dye my grey hairs.”
“I like your grey hairs,” Tommy says.
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
He pinches a wisp of her hair. “Really.”
Her face lights up, and a voice in my head tells me to grab my bowl and go to the living room. The wooden floor screeches under my bare feet as I move towards the fireplace and sit down on the red Persian carpet. The warmth of the flames envelops me as I dip my spoon in my soup.
I shouldn’t be here. This cabin is for my mom and Tommy. He makes her feel better. I make her feel sad.
I eat my soup, blowing air onto every spoonful. It’s really nice, but I’m not hungry.
A hand strokes my head as a delicate kiss lands on my cheek.
“Don’t even think about it, Poppy,” my mom says.
I look over my shoulder. “You and Tommy need privacy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why so mortally serious, huh?”
“But, it’s true, Mom.”
She sits on her heels beside me. “What about this? We’ll pack our stuff and go back to the clubhouse?”
“No.”
“Why not?” She throws her arm over my back.
“You… me… Jackson…” My voice halts as my heart crumbles.
“You and I deserve to be happy.”
“Are you happy?”
“I’m the happiest mom on the face of the earth, Poppy.” She kisses my temple. “And you look so happy when you mention your husband. So sad at the same time.”
“I can’t.”
“Okay, not now. Maybe later. In a month or two?”
“Maybe.”
We sit, engulfed in silence, and then she urges me to finish my soup. Tommy joins us, takes the bowl away from my hand and carries it back to the kitchen.
“You’ll need a scan soon,” my mom says.
I nod. “I know.”
“Everything will be fine,” she continues.
I nod again. My mom sighs as Tommy returns to us.
“I need a walk,” I say.
Tommy and my mom exchange glances. “Sure,” they say with one voice.
So, I go.
I feel full of joy when I’m thinking about the life growing inside of me. And scared. I don’t want that poor little being to know what I know.
Poppy is so tainted wi
th the disease that had eaten the people in my family house.
But the other me is pristine, unaware. The other me never truly existed until now.
She can be a good wise mother.
She could…
No, I can’t.
But the baby needs their father.
I can’t.
I keep walking, streaks of mist slithering among the shrubs and tree trunks. I massage my tummy with my hand. Every inhalation is humid and cold.
“I’m not very clever,” I say to my baby, “but I can love. You’ll be loved. You’ll be safe. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
I’d kill to keep my baby safe.
But the other me can’t kill. Poppy can kill.
“You’ll be clever and beautiful, you’ll see. You’ll be strong. You’ll be happy.”
Pain shoots through my chest. The baby needs their father to be happy.
I want to have a normal family.
I don’t want to hide inside Poppy anymore. I don’t need to. I want to know what being the true me tastes like.
Chapter 17
Jackson
The hot water from the rusty showerhead streams down my back, but my muscles are taut like I’m going to fight at any moment. Adrenaline surges through me. My mind is cold. Focused. I’m not on holiday in Majorca after all. I’m in jail.
My eyes sweep over the dirty walls with the paint peeling off and then travel to the cracked washbasins on my left. To my right is the barred door. I turn off the water. It’s quiet. Too quiet.
I wipe the water away from my face with my palms. It’s deadly quiet like someone is going to lose their life tonight.
I sense somebody stand behind me. The smell of sweat mingles with the stench of cheap tobacco.
“On your knees, cunt,” a male voice says, raspy from the excess of cigarettes.
I don’t move.
There’s more of them gathering behind me.
I know it’s Spider and his two bitches.
Someone whistles.
Someone mimics female moaning.
Three on one. I’ve been there before.
I take in a sharp breath as my fingers roll into fists, but a gurgling sound diverts my attention. I jerk my head back. My body follows the movement.
I see Theodor.
I’m sharing the cell with Theodor, a fifty-year-old butcher who put a bullet into his wife’s skull ten months ago.