Betraying Innocence

by Phoenix, Airicka

“Ana will be busy later,” Dad piped in, somehow making those five little words come off like a threat.

  Rafe bobbed his head slowly like that made perfect sense. “Right. See—”

  Bang! The door slammed shut in his face.

  “Dad!” Ana exclaimed, horrified.

  “He was leaving!” he cried with all the innocence of an evil villain. “Besides, do you really want to be friends with a guy like that?”

  She gaped, too outraged, mortified … appalled to formulate words for a sold minute. Then it all came charging back. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means that boys who look dangerous, usually are. He’s a far cry from Jaime.”

  “I was never interested in Jaime.”

  Dad threw his hands up. “Well, maybe that’s the kind of guy you should be setting your sights on, Ana.” He put his hands up to stop her when she opened her mouth to argue. “Look, I get that you’re almost an adult and there’s something exciting about a guy like…”

  “Rafe,” she supplied.

  “Whatever. But boys like him only want one thing and I sure as hell won’t let him get that from my daughter.”

  Ana wanted to laugh. Rafe didn’t need her to get that one thing. Most of the girls in town were tripping over their panties chasing him. He had his pick of any one of them. But she didn’t tell her father that.

  Instead, she folded her arms and replied, “I’m not stupid. I’m not going to let some guy go there just because he’s hot, okay?”

  He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I never said you were stupid, but that kid sets off all my daddy senses, okay? Just stay away from him.”

  “I can make that decision on my own. I’m going to be eighteen next year.”

  Dad squeezed her shoulder, shrugged his own and replied simply, “That’s still a whole twelve months away. Until then, I reserve the right to be a total jerk until further notice.” He shrugged again. “It’s one of the perks of being a dad.”

  Then, with a brilliant smile, he pivoted on his heels and strolled into the kitchen, whistling.

  Chapter Five

  Ana

  The creak of rusted hinges stole the thin wisps of sleep Ana was trying desperately to cling on to. It seeped through her wall of defense and her eyes snapped open. They darted to the door. Still firmly shut. They moved to the closet. Also shut. It was three fifteen in the morning.

  Groaning, she pushed upright. “Dad? Is that you?”

  Silence curled through the house, dense like fog. Part of her wondered if she could touch it if she reached out.

  Mitzy hopped off the bed and slinked over to the door. He sat on his haunches and mewled.

  “Now?” she hissed. The last thing she wanted was to open the door. “Can’t you hold it in?”

  The cat twisted his head around and pinned her with unimpressed green eyes and mewled again, clearly not taking no for an answer.

  Resigned, Ana pushed back the sheets and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. She yawned and stuffed a fist into her eyelid. Still half asleep, she rose and shivered as the cold soaked into the bottom of her feet. She made a mental note to ask for a heater.

  “I’m coming!” she grumbled when Mitzy growled his displeasure. “God you’re a bossy cat!”

  Shuffling to the door, she yanked it open. Mitzy bolted past her, padding stealthy to the landing of the stairs. He looked back, mewled.

  “Go!” she told him.

  He mewled.

  “What is wrong with you, cat?”

  Abandoning the safety of her room, she followed him downstairs. Each step felt like a cube of ice beneath her foot.

  Mitzy was already at the bottom; long, straggly tail twitching. He took off once Ana had reached him. He loped down the hall, illuminated by a square patch of yellow spilling from the kitchen doorway. Ana frowned. Her parents never left the light on.

  Mitzy purred, a sound she hadn’t heard him make in years. She looked down to find him rubbing himself against the bottom half of the door the way a normal cat would rub himself along his owner’s legs.

  “Hey, stop that.” She started for him.

  He made another sound, something deep and guttural.

  “Come here, boy,” she whispered, her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. “Come on.”

  Ignoring her, he went up onto his hind legs, planted his front paws on the door and began clawing at the wood, peeling away wood and paint. His purrs intensified, becoming growls of something much too big for his tiny frame. Ana gasped, her breathing rapid.

  “Mitzy…”

  “Ana?”

  The overhead lights flared to life, blinding her. She hissed as her hands flew up to shield her eyes. She spun around, squinting through her fingers at the figure standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Dad?”

  “What are you doing down here?” He looked around. “Who are you talking to?”

  Relieved not to be alone anymore, Ana stabbed a finger in the direction of the cat. “He won’t stop clawing at the door.”

  Brow furrowed, Dad joined her in the hall and followed her finger. “Who won’t?”

  Frustrated, Ana turned.

  The cat was gone. The claw marks were gone. There was nothing there.

  “But…” She turned on the spot, looking for the feline. “He was just here. He made me come down.”

  “Who?”

  “Mitzy! He was…”

  At the top of the stairs … watching her with his cool, green eyes.

  Ice cold dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. Sweat dampened the back of her shirt, plastering it to her spine.

  “He was here,” she rasped. “I swear, he was…”

  Her father’s hands were warm and gentle around her as he pulled her into his chest. “You were dreaming.” He stroked her hair. “Come on.”

  She let herself be led up and even let herself get tucked in the way he’d done when she was little. He kissed her temple, murmured good night and left her wide awake in the dark.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Ana yawned loudly, dropping her head back against the headrest. “So tired.”

  Dad nodded like it made perfect sense. “You had a rough night.” He took his time making a turn. “Want to talk about what happened?”

  She’d asked herself the same question for most of what was left of the night as she had laid there, watching the door and listening as the house settled around her. She’d only come to one conclusion.

  “I guess I was sleepwalking.”

  Her father’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s a new phase. Don’t kids usually outgrow that? I mean, you’re kind of going backwards in the order of things.”

  She rolled her eyes, in no mood for joking, talking, or being awake. “I have no idea.”

  A moment of silence strained around them as they passed through the gates at the airport and circled the lot for a spot to park.

  “So what were you doing?” he asked.

  Ana shook her head. “I have no idea. I thought Mitzy was asking me to follow him downstairs.”

  Dad nodded slowly. “Yeah that’s what you said last night.”

  Her mom was ranting into her phone when she finally disembarked the plane. Ana wondered how long it was after the tires hit the asphalt before her mother switched on her phone. Assuming she even waited that long.

  “Yes of course I’ll have the presentation ready. I’ll fax it over the second I get home. Yes.” She pressed a kiss to the top of Ana’s head, brushed a kiss to her father’s cheek, then went right back to negotiating business.

  “Did I miss anything?” Mom asked, once they were strapped into the truck and pulling out of the airport.

  “Nope,” Ana and her dad muttered together.

  Mom looked from one to the other, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “It’s just you both look so … miserable. Is it because I asked you to come pick me up? You know I would have done it myself, but I’m just so tired.”

  �
�We had a bit of a rough night,” her father explained.

  “It’s why Dad won’t let me drive your car back,” Ana muttered, a bit peeved about the fact.

  “That’s not why,” her dad replied. “I would just feel better if you didn’t look ready to fall asleep sitting up.”

  “Did something happen last night?” Her mother turned slightly in her seat to peer at Ana in the back.

  Ana shook her head. “Just a bad dream.”

  Her mom sat back again. “Well, I guess we’re all going to have an early night.” She sighed, tilting her head back against the headrest. “I am just exhausted myself.”

  “Ana. Wake up.”

  The sheets rustled in the dark as Ana shifted.

  “Ana.”

  “What?” she grumbled into the pillow.

  “Wake up, Ana.”

  “No … why?”

  “Come here.”

  Groaning, she sat up, her head a million miles away, lost in the heavy fog of sleep. The floorboards creaked as she was led down the stairs. Her shoulder scraped the wall along the hall leading into the kitchen.

  “Where are we going?”

  “This way.”

  “Mom?” The back door was open to the cool, night air. Ana frowned as she staggered her way forward. “Dad? Where are you?”

  “This way.”

  The night was crisp, moist with condensation. The dew on the grass dampened the bottom of her flannel pants as she was propelled across the yard.

  “Ana!”

  “I’m coming!” Her foot caught on a root. She staggered but kept upright.

  “Ana, stop!” The voice wasn’t the same. This one was panicked and loud.

  “This way!”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Ana!”

  Something slammed into her, nearly sending her to the ground. Bands of steel clasped around her, crushing her breathing and lifting her off her feet. The assault had the mist lifting from around her. She was sent violently crashing into reality. She cried out as she was swung around and set back down onto her feet.

  “Ana.” She was grabbed and forcibly turned to face her father’s drawn and pale face and the wild fear in his eyes. “What were you thinking?”

  She stared at him, her mind and her eyes at war with what was happening. “What are you doing?”

  He jerked back. He straightened, scrubbing his hands over his face. He swore. His fingers fisted back through his hair.

  “What are you doing out here, Ana?”

  Disorientated, she looked around her. “I’m outside.”

  “Yeah, you’re outside!” he shouted, his voice bordering on hysterical. “What are you doing outside?” He rubbed a shaky hand over his mouth. “You nearly walked straight into the pond. Jesus … if I hadn’t gotten up for a glass of water … Christ, Ana!”

  “I … I’m sorry… I don’t know how I got here.”

  With another violent curse that would have had her mother laying bricks, she was snatched up by his arms and smothered into his chest. He held her so tight she couldn’t breathe. Then, just as suddenly, he released her.

  “Come on.” He exhaled sharply. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

  Chapter Six

  Ana

  Ana woke several more times in the weeks that passed, each time in a different place. It was never clear how she got there, but she would open her eyes and she would be in the backyard, standing in the living room, on the top of the stairs, in the hallway, in the kitchen, the living room, the front porch, her room … always standing, always disorientated. Sometimes it was broad daylight, the sun blinding, the wind whipping through her hair, cooling the sweat soaking her clothes. Other times, it was pitch black and she didn’t know where she was until she started screaming. Then someone was always there, pulling her back from the brink of insanity, back into the black abyss, only for it to happen all over again.

  Then came the nightmares, a blurry mess of noise and colors. The smell alone was enough to send her reeling. The repugnant stench of blood, of decay, of something dead, punched a hole into her gut. Her stomach churned even as she fought to throw off the heavy blanket of terror pulling her under. The smell was always followed by screams; horrible, deafening screams that drove into her ears like spikes. They clawed at her brain until she wanted to just tear it from her skull and throw it against the wall. But all of that was nothing, nothing compared to the tapping.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Each careless rap of her father’s fingers on the tiled counter sent a chill down Ana’s spine. She watched his steady drumming with a thick ball of bile lodged in the back of her throat. The sour tang of it lathered her tongue, making her want to gag every time she swallowed. Her nerves jittered, grating with every relentless tap, tap, tap.

  The tapping! God the tapping! It was always there, pounding into the cavity of her skull. It never stopped. Always tapping. Tapping. Tapping. She heard it every night. It beat against the walls, the floor, the ceiling like a trapped creature searching for a way out. It was everywhere. And when it wasn’t scurrying behind the walls, it was toying with her, making her see things, making her wake up in places she didn’t belong. She couldn’t stand it anymore. Three weeks of torture and she could feel herself slowly beginning to slip. The walls of her room, they kept pushing in on her, suffocating her. Every morning she woke up drenched in sweat and feeling trapped in a tomb with the tapping in her ears. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear her hair out. She wanted to … her gaze flickered to the block of knives on the counter. Her hand jerked, knocking into her spoon and sending it clanging in the bowl. The sound jolted her. She came back to herself, breathing hard. Tears of frustration lodged in her throat.

  “Ana? What’s wrong?”

  “I need to go!” she cried, shoving out of her stool, sending it careening and screeching across the laminate.

  “Go?” Mom’s gray eyes were wide against her stunned face. “Go where?”

  “Anywhere.” Her feet tangled together. She slammed into the island, but determination spurred her up and moving. “I can’t stay here anymore! I can’t stay here!”

  Panting, Ana tore out of the kitchen, ignoring the shouts of her parents as she thundered down the hallway and out the front door.

  Late August greeted her with an umbrella of gray clouds and the scent of rain clinging to the muggy air. The ground beneath her bare feet squished as she pounded down the path. In the distance, thunder boomed. But she kept running, trying to outrun the world. It wasn’t until it began to pour, turning the dirt to sludge, that her legs buckled. They collapsed beneath her and she just sat there in the middle of the road, soaked, shivering and completely alone.

  It was undetermined how long she huddled there in a puddle of filth, listening to the whoosh of rain and the hard thump of her heart as it fought not to explode. But the rain slowed from dumping buckets to a light drizzle, and maybe that’s what saved her, because there was no way the car racing towards her would have seen her in time otherwise. It just managed to skid to a fishtailing stop.

  “What the hell are you doing sitting there?” a voice boomed over the rushing rain.

  Ana had no energy to look up. It was taking all her strength to remain upright. She was just so tired and the ground was so soft. She just wanted to sit. Please, just let me sit! But hands were suddenly there, grabbing her, tugging at her, pulling her until the only sounds were the reminiscences of the rain in her ears and the squeak of something in the background. Something itchy was wrapped around her, sucking out the chill soaking her bones, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Now, where did you come from, hmm?” Tap, tap, tap, tap. Oh God, the tapping. It was back! She slammed her hands over her ears, needing to block it before it bore holes into her brain.

  “Stop! Stop it!” she wailed.

  Hands were there again, confining her, holding her down when all she wanted to do was run, run from the tapping.

 
“Get off me! Let me go!” Her screams were swallowed by more tapping. It was everywhere. So loud, so demanding. It was trying to drive her mad. “Stop!”

  Just behind the consuming noise, something shrieked. The world around her rattled. Someone … something growled.

  “Get off her!”

  More noise. More tapping. It was happening all around her, but she couldn’t see. It was dark, thick, empty, hot darkness, grinding into her eyes, blinding her. Why couldn’t she see what was happening?

  Cool wetness slapped her in the face a second later. She was grabbed again, dragged. She was vaguely aware of being lifted, cradled. Someone was saying something. The words were familiar, but it could have been Klingon for all the sense it made. Then, there was warmth again. The itchy thing was replaced by something that smelled of spices, rain and freshly mowed grass. Ana tried to piece it all together, but the tapping was back, seemingly louder. Someone was sobbing. Deep, heart wrenching sobs that tore at her soul. Then there was nothing. No cold. No rain. No warmth. No sound, except the tapping keeping her company in the dark.

  Rafe

  He should leave. It felt strange sitting there, in her kitchen, drinking tea from a mug that said #1 Dad and listening as her parents tried to determine what to do with their daughter.

  Rafe glanced up at the two, a little daunted by how much they both looked like Ana, or rather, how much she looked like them. Usually kids had pieces, but she had all the best parts of her parents. The intense green of her dad’s eyes. The brown and gold of her mom’s hair. He had no idea when he’d observed her so closely that it was almost impossible not to notice, but he could sketch her from memory given the chance. It was just too bad he had no artistic abilities.

  “Could you tell us again what happened, please, Raphael?” Mrs. French turned away from her husband to take the stool on Rafe’s right.

  She wasn’t crying. If anything, she looked frighteningly determined not to cry. Rafe would have believed her to be disturbingly in control of her emotion if it weren’t for the red ring around her eyes and the way her jaw muscles kept flexing. She bunched her hands together and set them on the table.