Shallow River

by H. D. Carlton

  I don’t want to live anymore.

  I don’t want to exist.

  To be.

  If there were anything to kill myself with in this basement, I would’ve done it already. And he knows that, too. He knows it and he’s dragging out the torture. That’s why he took the wooden chair away. He must’ve seen me eyeing it, already planning on breaking the chair and using the sharp end of the wood to cut my wrists. He walked away with that chair in his damn hand.

  I tried to crack wood off the wooden steps, but I had nothing to use and my body was too weak to even get a splinter.

  What point is there in life anyways? Amelia has her own family, and though I know she loves me dearly, she can also live without me.

  There’s Mako.

  But he hates me.

  I close my eyes tightly. I can’t keep the onslaught of memories flashing through my mind, despite my desperate attempts to push them out of my head. Images of Mako flicker through my thoughts like a slide show. Of his smile. His determined expression anytime he’d try to knock some sense into me. His sexy smirk when I said or did something he liked. And his acceptance when I told him about my sordid past.

  He’s done so much for me. Given up so much. Risked everything for me. And I couldn’t open my mouth and give him one piece of information that could’ve changed everything. He could’ve caught Billy, and I’d never be in this stupid fucking situation. Once again, I got myself here.

  I was too selfish. Too weak. Too scared. All I could consider is that Billy would come for me if I snitched.

  Look where that got you, dumb bitch.

  I could laugh at the irony.

  A stream of light shines on my body before I hear the groan of wooden steps beneath his weight. I clamp my lids shut, too tired and weak to lift a hand to block the light. Each step feels like a thud of my heart.

  “You look pathetic,” he sneers, his fancy black shoes appearing in my line of vision. I don’t move, hoping, praying, he kicks out that shoe just one time, hard enough to knock me out completely. Once I’m out, he can keep kicking for all I care.

  His shoe can snuff my life out like he does to his cigarettes.

  “I am pathetic,” I correct weakly, sucking in my lips to stop the stream of drool.

  “No fight? No will to live? How boring.” A wad of spit lands on my cheek. I recoil, causing every ache in my body to flare to life.

  See, this is why I stayed still. The cement numbed my pain as long as I didn’t move.

  With an angry swipe, I fling the spit off my cheek. Asshole.

  “I’d rather not trade diseases with you,” I mutter snidely. He laughs. Laughs at my words. At my anger. Everything about this situation is funny to him.

  “Ryan was right about you. You’re so easy to kick down, it’s boring.” The breath in my lungs seizes.

  “What did you say?” I whisper.

  “We became good friends, him and I. He was practically frothing at the mouth to have a drug lord on speed dial. So desperate, in fact, that he made a deal with me. He wanted my connections. Little boy wanted to play with the big boys and start dipping his hands in my operations. And guess what his collateral was?” He leans in closer. “You,” he rasps.

  A sob breaks free from my throat. His words, his truth, it hurts. I was always expendable to Ryan. He’d trap another girl in no time once I was gone.

  “He was willing to trade you into the Ghost Killer if it meant moving up in the world. I was so happy to oblige.” An evil laugh trickles from his throat. “You know what the best part is? He didn’t know I already own you.”

  His foot kicks out, but not where I need it. It lands right in my ribs, sending shockwaves of pain throughout my body. I roll from the kick, my arms lolling out sloppily as if he just heaved over a drunk person.

  My tormenter’s face appears above me, sneering down at me like I’m dirt. “Can you tell me apart from the rest of the dirt on the floor, or do I blend in?” I tack on a little grin for extra measure. From this position, his foot will hit my temple and knock me out quicker.

  His lip curls and just for a second, I imagine his foot lifting up and coming down on me, filling my vision with blackness.

  It doesn’t though. He just shakes his head at me and sighs pitifully. That sound makes me angrier than anything. Pity. He could’ve said or done anything else to me and I wouldn’t have batted an eye. But pity makes my skin crawl.

  I growl. “What the fuck are you waiting for, old man? Didn’t make a big enough impression scattering your little Ghost’s around so you gotta come pick on your daughter?” I spit the word at him with all the disgust I can muster.

  He smirks at me. “You always were a daddy’s girl.”

  Time stills, just for a moment as the words wash over me. And then I’m up, screaming and clawing at him with unpracticed movements. But I don’t care. The white-hot rage overwhelms my senses until I am is just rage.

  I hate him. I hate him so much. It’s all I can feel. The hate growing inside of me like a tumor, so deep, it’d be impossible to cut out without bleeding me dry.

  His laughter filters through, even as my nails make contact and rake across his dried-up skin. Even has blood pools from the scratches and leaks down his face and neck. With one backhand swipe, he knocks me flat on my ass. I hit hard. My tailbone taking the brunt of my weight before my head crashes down next, bouncing off the floor like a rubber ball.

  I accept every bit of the pain the follows suit. Even as it blinds me, rendering me completely invalid and useless, I accept it. I welcome it with open fucking arms. If all I can feel is physical pain, maybe I won’t feel the proverbial claws ripping apart my mentality.

  Tears track down my cheeks. Normally, I’d wipe them away before they could even think to fall. Showing weakness in front of Billy is the same as willingly opening your legs for him. Either way, he’ll be forcing himself inside of you, whether it’s with his pain or his dick. Or maybe even both.

  This time, I let them fall. I just don’t care anymore.

  A clatter of metal rings throughout the room and into my skull. Just barely, I’m able to lift my head enough to see the tray of food. An apple rolling off the tray and into a dark corner to join the spiders, a ham sandwich, a fruit cup, and a small water bottle. Nothing that would require utensils, of course. Though I suppose it’s a pretty nutritious meal for a prisoner.

  “Eat up,” he chirps before walking back up the stairs, whistling a low tune as he does.

  For the longest time, I stare at that food. I stare until more tears form in my eyes, blurring everything into one blob, and eventually until everything takes shape again and my eyes dry completely.

  I don’t stop staring, not for a long while.

  I SCARFED DOWN THE food and water, pacing myself enough so I didn’t get sick. I did the same for the next several meals. I can’t be sure exactly when I decided to escape. It feels like I’ve always known I would, even when I was deluding myself with the prospect of death. My entire life has been ruled by this man. And when I finally got a taste of freedom, it was snatched away by another abusive prick. I’ve never actually gotten much of a chance to rule my own life. Forge my own path. Decide my own future. All of those things were constantly taken out of my hands.

  I refused to let Ryan have the privilege any longer, I’ll be damned if I let Billy have it, either.

  The groan of wood beneath heavy weight immediately sets my heart into overdrive. Adrenaline surges, leaving my hands shaky. Billy will be coming down to talk to a completely different girl than what he left three days ago. He would throw the food down the stairwell and slam the door behind him. Three meals, three rotations. Three days. The same amount of time he made me wait last time. Which means I’ve been down here for at least a week.

  I’ve been waiting for another moment with him, and now that it’s here, I’m not sure I’m ready.

  But I don’t think I’ll ever be quite ready. Standing up to Billy is something I’ve never succe
ssfully achieved before. Anytime I’d try, I’d get kicked down and I was always too weak—too scared—to get back up and try again. In efforts to conserve my life, I just ended up handing it over to him on a silver platter.

  “Are you going to let me shower?” I ask calmly, before he can utter a word to me. He looks down at me, his face arranged in his usual blank state.

  It takes him a moment before he responds. “Do you think you deserve a shower?”

  I hate Billy’s mind games. “Yes,” I answer confidently. Not because I’ve been a quote-on-quote good girl, but because I’m a human fucking being and I deserve basic rights like using a fucking shower.

  He smirks at my tone. “Do you, now? And why’s that?”

  I lick my lips, aiming for a new tactic. “Because I’m your daughter.”

  His head tips back and a full bellied laugh sounds from his throat. The sound irks me, but I force the tension to leave my body. If I snap at him in anger, it’ll just make it worse. And I need to get out of this basement.

  “Can I watch?” he asks, a smarmy smile on his face.

  With all the control I can muster, I force my face to stay relaxed, shrug my shoulders and say, “Sure.”

  Sure, dad, you can watch me shower. That’s not fucking repulsive or anything.

  His blue eyes glide over me, calculating and shining with mirth. This is another game to him, and it seems like I’ve been lucky enough to catch him in a good mood. When Billy’s in a good mood, he loves to play games.

  He nods his head once, the small grin still on his face. “Let’s go then. Daughter.”

  BILLY TURNS THE SHOWER water on for me, adjusting it until he’s satisfied with the temperature. I’m not sure if it makes him feel as if he’s taking care of me, I don’t really care either way. Him taking me to the shower was my only excuse for getting out of the basement. He gave me a bucket and a roll of paper-thin toilet paper to take care of business and threw my food at me.

  What else could a girl ask for other than a nice hot shower?

  My eyes tracked over every inch of the house as he led me to the bathroom. I’m in some type of trap house. In the tiny living room, there were beer bottles and needles scattered across the coffee table, boarded up windows, stained brown carpet and rotted curtains that reeked of mothballs. The kitchen looked almost identical to Barbie’s, purely based off of the gunk caked into the cheap, cracking linoleum floors, moldy fridge and more needles on the table. Down a short hallway, and into the bathroom is where my fancy shower awaits.

  It’s just as dirty as the rest of the house.

  I don’t actually plan on getting in that disease-infested thing. Billy can hand over all the soap he wants, I’d still come out the other side smelling like must. He shoos me further into the bathroom, closes the door behind me and locks it. Sidling past me, he holds the plastic curtain open for me, silently prompting me to undress and get in. A nervous sweat breaks out across my skin as his face darkens. Shadows are pressing in around him, and the cold detached look he gives me has the temperature dropping in the room by several degrees.

  “Get in the fucking shower, River.”

  Twenty Seven

  Mako

  WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?

  The same mantra has been running through my mind from the moment Amelia told me River is missing. Even now, only an hour after watching River’s kidnapping, I’m banging my fist on Barbie’s door, I’m still chanting the same words. I dropped Amelia off her at house, despite her incredibly angry protests. Like hell am I allowing a pregnant woman to step foot inside this house—this town—where Billy could easily show up. I don’t need to meet her husband to know that he’d murder me. And I’d let him.

  “What, what, what, I’m fucking coming!” Barbie shouts from the other side of the door, her attitude increasing by the word. River’s mother flings open the door, hellfire that she is, with no regard to who could be banging on her door late in the evening.

  I’ll give it to her, this woman has balls of fucking steel. Too bad I’m going to crush them in my fist if she doesn’t tell me what the fuck I need to know.

  Both brows shoot to her hairline when she sees me. One slow perusal consisting of her dead eyes sweeping my body from head to toe and a salacious grin later, and I’m ready to knock her the fuck out. Same shit she did the first time I met her, and it still gives me the creeps.

  “Well how can I help you, suga?” she says with what’s supposed to be a charming grin. She leans against the door, getting comfortable.

  “Billy kidnapped your daughter. Let me in now,” I say, getting straight to the point. Her spine snaps straight and what looks like concern flashes across her eyes for a brief second before a blank mask takes over once more.

  She opens the door without another word, woodenly turning around and leading me to the kitchen. The smell of mold, mothballs and something fishy hits first, poking at my gag reflux dangerously. I have to clench my teeth to keep the disgust from showing on my face. I don’t bother taking close inventory of her living space—I’d rather not see something I can’t unsee like I did last time. Big mistake. Last time I was here, I took note of the exit points. Now, I take great care to listen out for sounds of anyone else in the house.

  “So, when was she taken?” Barbie asks, like she’s striking up a conversation about the fucking weather.

  “Last night,” I answer. She sits at the table, cluttered with paraphernalia of all sorts. I could easily arrest this woman, but it’d only be a waste of time. It already feels like the walls are closing in around me as each second ticks by and she’s still in the hands of that psychopath.

  Is he hurting her? Did he already kill her?

  I shake my head. I can’t think like that. Not now, or I’ll completely lose it.

  “Do you know where he could’ve taken her?” I ask. I took a single step into the kitchen, crowding the entranceway.

  Barbie lights a cigarette, inhales deeply, her cheeks hollowing out as she does. A low growl reverberates from chest up and up my throat. More seconds go by.

  “I don’t,” she says finally before taking another drag. I cross my arms across my chest, needing to do something with them or else my hands will end up wrapped around Barbie’s neck before I can stop myself.

  “You’ve been Billy’s bitch for half your life, and you don’t know where he could be?” I push. It’s a guess how long Barbie has known Billy, but from the haggardness in her decrepit body, it’s not hard to see that a soul-sucking demon like Billy has been in her life for too many years.

  She laughs, the sound hollow and weak. “Do you really think I’d want to know? The more I know, the more of a liability I am and less of a chance I have of surviving. I purposely stayed far out of Billy’s business.”

  Surviving. Not living, but surviving. That’s all Barbie’s been doing, and it’s all River has ever known. Pity forms in the pit of my stomach for River’s mother. I don’t feel bad for her situation, not when she’s been a terrible mother to River, but a part of me understands why Barbie has been. She’s been chained to a monster. And when you bring a child into that type of situation, sometimes it’s safer to make them hate you. Because if they hate you, they won’t grieve when you ultimately die. And if you refuse to attach to the person you brought into this world, it won’t hurt so bad when they leave you with your shackles while they go off to find a better life. Or in this case, if they die first.

  It’s no excuse. No justification. But it’s Barbie’s logic.

  “I think you know more than you ever let on,” I guess, cocking a brow. River has said before that Barbie mastered the ability to obtain information from her clients. She also mentioned that Billy would rant to Barbie in his crazed states, back when he was killing people the first time he got hooked on meth. Back when he killed my father. I’m sure all kinds of shit came out of his mouth in those moments—shit he more than likely doesn’t remember saying. The breath in Barbie’s lungs attests to that.

  She�
��s street smart—even I can see that. Barbie may have made it look like she wasn’t listening and gleaning info from Billy, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t. She’s too smart to purposely stay clueless, especially when dealing with someone like him.

  I’m becoming desperate. If Barbie doesn’t tell me anything, then I’m left with nothing. I’d have to start from scratch. Track down the people affiliated with Billy, find out where his stomping grounds are, and follow the fucker wherever he goes.

  The washed-up woman flicks her cigarette before inhaling once more. Her hands are trembling and she’s sucking on that thing so deeply, that it’s obvious I’m right.

  “What do you know, Barbie?” I demand through gritted teeth. When she doesn’t answer, I stalk towards her, slam a hand on the table—avoiding the needles—and put my face right into hers. Her eyes widen into round discs as she inhales sharply, stunned by my sudden proximity.

  “I swear to fucking god, Barbie, if you don’t start talking, I will make all the years of suffering alongside Billy look like a fucking pipedream. Put that cigarette in your mouth one more fucking time without answering my goddamn question, and you’ll be swallowing the wrong end. Now. Where. Is. She?”

  I stare straight into her dead eyes, now infused with the fear she’s been lacking since I told her that her daughter has been kidnapped by one of the most dangerous men in the country. Heavy breaths fall from her cracked lips, her chest pumping deeply.

  “I… I’m being honest when I say I don’t know where he took her. But I do know that he conducts some of his… operations at Hawk’s downtown. He’s good for showing up there a few times a week. That’s the only information I have. I meant it when I said I stay out of his business.”

  Liar. But I’ll take the little information she gave. Better than fucking nothing, I guess.

  Without breaking eye contact, I slowly pull away. Her hand continues to tremble as she ashes the cigarette and then ever so gently, brings it to her lips.