by Kara Jones
Phaedra; however, could identify with them a little bit because just like them, she had climbed out of the woods and into the Wilson house; except she came via a different route…
She'd always had a difficult time, but on the outside, it seemed as though she had a very charmed existence. She lived in the center of one of the nearby towns and her parents weren't wealthy, but had a decent income, which meant she and her sister could have a good life. She had all the toys she wanted, and could eat any candy her heart desired. Her mother was known all over town for being one of the most beautiful women anyone had ever seen with long legs and a curvy body that perfectly complimented her petite and doll-like face.
"You've got your mother's looks," everyone would tell her from when she was old enough to stand up.
She was always so proud to hear she was just like her precious Mommy; the woman with the golden curls and the satin bronzed skin.
Her mother though, was hiding a very dark secret; her husband. He was often vacant from people's memories; a sort of invisible entity that was in hiding most of the time unless he wanted to come out and wash the car. Then, he was back inside for another week, gambling and drinking as he kept the house in a perpetual state of darkness. There was a time when Phaedra was certain she loved her father because that's just what little girls did. They wanted to grow up and be like their Mommy and marry someone like their Daddy. Except gradually, as she grew taller and became less of a child, she knew the surly man was unlovable.
He had a raging temper; one that would send the family scattering from the house like wild mice. He could stay silent for hours or even days, then lose all sense of sanity in an instant and throw the nearest thing at you just because you were there and he thought you were looking at him funny.
"The bastard," she thought of him now as she began to sweep the front of the porch, pushing dead leaves into the dusty gutter, wishing she was wiping dirt all over her father's face.
"Just as long as he's not hurting my Janey."
Jane, her younger sister, was everything to her, and through her father's mood swings, the girls, along with their mother, had stuck together. This close camaraderie; however, was not to last when her father set about slitting them up. It started off small; he'd make their mother sit with him at all times in the living room as he drank and watched TV, only letting her leave if it was to fetch him a sandwich or do the laundry. This went on for almost a year, as the two young girls sat halfway down the stairs, looking at their poor mother through the gaps in the bannister, wishing she was with them.
Their father then took this a step further when he decided that after spending their whole lives sharing a bedroom, the girls were now to get their own separate rooms.
"You're big girls now, not babies," he'd spat, as he dragged Janey's mattress across the landing.
After that, the girls hardly saw each other apart from dinner time. Their father would send them to their own bedrooms as soon as they were home from school. Then, they were ordered to do their homework, often over and over again, until they fell asleep.
All of this; however, was nothing compared to what he did on Phaedra's sixteenth birthday. There wasn't much of a celebration. The family wasn't allowed things like presents or parties, so the day consisted of everyone sitting in the garden. They watched the man of the house drink beer and swear at the neighbors, as they cowered beneath their cardigans and sweaters. When the festivities had ended and Phaedra made her way indoors, he'd walk in after her, stealthy and quick like a viper, and grab her from behind.
"No one will see us here," he pushed her against the wall and whispered in her ear. "They won't come in unless I tell them to."
Twisting her arms behind her back, she tried to scream, but he pushed her into the wall even more, so her lungs were crushed and no voice could escape her body.
"You're starting to look so much like your mother when I first met her, you know." Keeping a firm grip on her, he ran a hand through her hair. His hot, sour breath hit the back of her neck and she shivered.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"What do you think?" came his terse reply.
It was then, in the hall, that she did something she didn't think she was capable of; she stood up to her father. Mustering all her strength, she pushed hard and managed to get her arms free. Her father was so drunk that, although he was a large and strong man, his reflexes were slow with his speech beginning to slurred. There was nothing greater than the look of shock that came over his face when she swung around and hit him square in the gut with her knee. He toppled backward, landing on one of the family portraits. The glass shattered and fell to the ground like crystal snow. Then, a rage came over his eyes and Phaedra's blood ran cold. She watched in horror, as his face burned crimson with anger. He stood up and moved to grab her. His hands were outstretched as though he wanted to strangle her, but she ducked and moved away just in time. Running upstairs, she grabbed her things while listening to the sound of her father's lumbering footsteps climb the stairs. She only had seconds before he'd most likely kill her. There was something about the look in his eyes; something that looked as though he wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted.
She was on the edge of the window ledge with her satchel hanging from her shoulder when she had a sudden thought.
"Shit, Janey!" she tumbled back into her bedroom despite hearing him on the landing. Ripping out a page from her diary, she grabbed the nearest thing, a red lip liner, and scrawled the words JANEY, I LOVE YOU before hiding it under the bed and swinging her legs back out the window again.
Just as her father opened the door, he saw a flash of blonde hair, as it tumbled down from the window. To save herself, the young girl jumped from the window and landed in the bed of roses that her mother had spent so long growing. She felt momentarily guilty until she saw her father's face pop out above her and yell:
"I'll fucking kill you, get back here," and he was back inside.
She imagined him staggering down the stairs. It wouldn't be long until he caught her or worse, her mom and sister found her and persuaded her to come back inside. There was no way in hell she would set foot in that house ever again. Despite the fact that she was sure she had a sprained ankle, she ran as fast as she could with the pain searing up her leg. She ran and ran until she reached the center of town where she jumped on the first bus that was going anywhere and got off when she ran out of fare.
The bus had stopped on the edge of the woods, and it was a cold night when she entered the dense forest. It was then, as the night settled around her, that the severity of the situation hit her. She cried great big sobs that tore through her body as she thought about never seeing her mom or sister again. She imagined them back home, worrying about where she was, and she thought of Janey crying herself to sleep at the thought of never seeing her big sister again.
"What have I done?" her voice trembled into the night. "This is a nightmare."
Yet, as she stepped one tentative toe into the darkness of the forest, she knew that this was a step into her new life. She wasn't going home. She was just going to have to make this work.
What she hadn't anticipated was the sheer hostility and coldness of the terrain that she would be faced with once she stepped over the threshold into the wilderness. The feeling of death was both immediate and imminent, as she stood amongst the trees listening to the sound of the foxes howling in the distance.
In the future, she might tell people that she lived as a feral child; one that was like a wild mountainous creature, such as a werewolf or a mighty panther. What she wouldn't tell them was that on that fateful night, she lay down on top of the damp muddy leaves and cried. She was lost, hopeless, and terrified. And; of course, she would never admit that she'd remained in her place for almost two days before the Wilson family had found her while out on a hunting trip. They brought her home without any question and loved her as if she was their own. She'd been a member of the family ever since and joined some of the other str
ays that enjoyed honorary Wilson status.
As she finished her chores for the day, she picked up her mop and bucket, and then headed inside. The heat had been hammering down on her head for hours, giving her a solid migraine that only moonshine could cure. However, as she stepped into the hallway and readied herself for a tall, cool glass of liquor, she heard the scuttling footsteps of Mama Wilson.
"You ain't done yet, girl," the old toothless hag scrunched up her face and pointed a bony finger into Phaedra's belly.
"But, I did all you told me to do," she protested.
"You ain't done shit," the old lady snarled.
It was then, when Phaedra felt as though she could slap the dentures out the old woman, that she heard it. It was the distant rumbling of motorcycles.
*****
The gang who were high up in Prince Country occasionally came down from the mountains for official gang business, and their reputation preceded them. She remembered the first time she saw them all arriving on the edge of the village in a large convoy. They looked as threatening as they did sexy, and she marveled at the sight of their long hair and tattoos. Ever since then, she'd feel her stomach flutter with butterflies every time she heard the sound of the motorcycles' engines roar down the road. To her, it was like a kind of music; like the bass in a nightclub, a mesmeric sexual drone.
Mama Wilson pulled away from her and hobbled up the stairs. She was an old-fashioned woman and believed that a woman's place was far away from men, especially when there was business to be discussed. It wasn't long until the sound of bikes reached the front of the house and Phaedra stood on the porch slack-jawed, as she watched the gang's leader climb off his bike and walk up to her.
He gave her a quick once-over and the young girl felt as though she could feel his stare all the way through her clothes. She felt the goose bumps rise on the back of her neck, as he stood even closer to her and spoke with the gruffest, most gravelly voice she'd ever heard.
"I'm here for Clayton," he rasped, his voice smelling like liquor and cigarettes.
Beside the young housemaid, the man stood head and shoulders above her, and she felt his piercing gaze, as she looked up into his face. The sunlight bounced off his chestnut hair like a halo, as his enormous figure eclipsed the sun.
"I'll just..." her voice came out croaky, as she suddenly felt as though she had no idea how to speak. "I'll go... him... I mean I'll just go get him," she hurried inside with her bare feet slapping on the wooden floorboards.
Meanwhile, Max was climbing off his bike to join his best buddy.
"She's kinda sweet," he winked at Derren.
"Yeah... I noticed."
"I think she likes you, too. You see how she looked at you?"
"Yeah well... As lovely as she is, I don't care about getting with another woman. It's not long until I'm married, and I'll be the luckiest man on earth by then."
"Hey man, lighten up. You're right, it's not long until you're married, so you may as well have some fun while you still can."
Derren gave him a skeptical look out of the corner of his eye.
"You're a real dog, Max. It's a wonder your wife even stays with you."
"Yeah well... She knows when she's got a good thing going."
Derren stepped away from his friend. His father was always saying the man was a bad influence on him and he wasn't wrong; he was always trying to get him to stray from his responsibilities. But, a promise was a promise, unless you lived in Prince Country, and then it was more like a sacred oath that couldn't be broken unless blood was spilled. No matter how attractive a girl was, Derren was waiting for marriage, and that was that.
"I can see what you're thinking." Max was suddenly by his side once again. "You're thinking that you're real honorable sticking by your lady."
"That's right," Derren nodded, as he began to wonder where the hell this Clayton fella was.
"Well... Your sweet lady ain't an angel, I can tell you that," Max smirked.
"What you talkin' about?" Derren's mind went to stormy places at hearing his best friend's words.
"Oh... nothin',"
The gang leader, suddenly engulfed with anger, gripped his friend by his shirt and snarled in his face.
"What are you talkin' about, Max?"
"Nothin' nothin', I've just heard things is all. It's my duty to tell you, ain't it? We're like brothers, buddy. It’s about time you found out."
"Found out what?"
"That... that..." Max gulped down his anxiety, as his face flushed red. "That she's HAD people… some of the guys in the MC..."
Derren had heard enough and let go of his friend. It was then that he heard footsteps crunching across the porch.
"You must be Derren Prince," a thin man with the body of a weasel and the moustache to match walked out of the house wiping his dirty, oil covered hands down his apron.
"Yeah... That's me. My father, Samson, sent me."
"Ah, good ole' Samson. I miss that son of a bitch. You better come inside."
As the meeting progressed, it would seem that the gang was more welcomed at the Wilson house than their leader first expected. He got on well with Clayton, even if they didn't have much in common, but he thought he was a pleasant and funny guy, especially when he discovered he had taken in the young girl he had met earlier.
"So, she was a runaway?" Derren asked, as he sipped his beer.
"Yeah... sure looks that way. Came from one of the towns out west, but she's a real nice girl."
"We can see that!" Max was elbowing his friend in the ribs again, winking and grinning from ear to ear.
"Enough of that, you horny idiot," Derren jokingly punched him in the gut.
As the night progressed, the gang joined the stray inhabitants of the house and gathered around the back of the house with more beer and some music. Derren, now relaxed and enjoying himself, was sat on his own at the edge of the trees with a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He breathed out a plume of smoke into the air and watched as it lingered in the balmy, summer night. Fireflies danced nearby, and he watched them through his drunken haze, imagining they were stars. Then, he looked back over the throng of people who were laughing and dancing in front of him. Once again, he felt the swell of pride, knowing he was with his own people.
He would be lying; however, if he could say he'd forgotten what Max had said. Ciara had been with other men... He wanted to be marrying a lady; a respectable one who would be pure and bear him children. Now, he felt as though he couldn't trust her; not if she'd been with members of his gang. Once again, he looked over the crowd in front of him and wondered which ones had kissed her, felt her body, and satisfied her. It made him sick to his stomach.
Throwing his bottle on the ground, he walked into the woods for some momentary peace and solace. It was getting dark and, as he looked up to the tree tops, he saw their dark, green leaves were beginning to merge with the darkness of the sky. A few stars; however, were piercing through the sky, and he looked up to see where the North Star was. He was taught to find it, as well as the constellations, from such a young age that divining direction and fate from the stars came as easily to him as getting drunk.
Yet, something was distracting him from the beauty of the nature. It was a gentle singing; one that almost sounded like a siren song.
"What the?" he was confused and turned around to find the source of the music.
There was something so alluring about it; so beautiful, yet innocent. He followed the sound through the ever darkening wood until a glow began to emanate through the foliage. It was the gentle firelight of a makeshift camp. Phaedra, who thought she was alone, was singing to herself as she doodled a sequence of shapes in an old diary.
Derren moved a little closer, trying to get a better look at the mysterious figure. She seemed so ethereal, so out of place, and iridescent as the brightening moonlight washed over her skin. He took a tentative step forward, snapping a branch with his heavy boot.
The noise startled her
and she stopped singing. Looking up, she saw him right away and, once again, her stomach was rampant with butterflies. She saw the auburn sheen of his hair, as it reflected the flames. His eyes were glittering and cunning like those of an animal.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he crept closer as though she was a wounded animal. "What are you doing all the way out here?"
"I just wanted to make myself scarce," her voice was so quiet it was barely audible. "In case they give me more chores," she looked back to her sketches for a second, and then closed over her book in case he saw them.
"Hey, they're good," he tried to encourage her as he pointed to her artwork.
"They're terrible. I never thought anyone would ever see them."
Derren was awestruck by her beauty, and looked at her serene face with her wide eyes and flowing hair. He thought she was as special and rare as a nymph or a fairy.
"It suits you… being out here," he smiled. "Mind if I join you?"
She nodded and cleared a little space for him.
"I don't have much to offer you," she conceded. "All I have is some chocolate," she reached out and offered him a piece.
"Chocolate is fine by me," he grinned, and took it from her dainty hand. "So...." he chewed on it. “Do you hide out here often?"
"Er... Yeah, most nights. It's too crowded in there to sleep sometimes."
"Yeah... I can see that."
In the distance, the sounds of merriment were sill sounding from the house. Derren imagined it to be a hectic place to live for a young girl.
"You seem too nice to be living here," he said with a softness coming over him. "How long have you been here?"