by Katie May
I snorted. Family business made me think of a sweet, loving family that
laughed as they fixed their shop and then came home to meals around the
dinner table. I’m pretty sure that most family businesses didn’t involve over a
hundred shell companies, connections with the mafia, and a date with the
drug lord of Mexico. Running the “family business” sounded about as
appealing to me as stabbing my eye repeatedly with a rusted spoon would’ve
been. Needless to say, it wasn’t appealing.
Still, I was the good girl, the good daughter, that my parents wanted me to
be. It wasn’t so much as to please them as it was to protect myself. When I
was good, when I listened and obeyed, they had no reason to punish me.
No reason to send people like Buttlicker to my room.
The mere thought made me tremble as if I had suddenly been
electrocuted. My hand absently pulled at my sweater sleeve until they were
covering my hands.
It wasn’t long before our meal came, though it was a different waiter that
delivered it than the gorgeous one from earlier. Great. The one guy that I
actually found attractive, my family had to go and scare him away.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. The longest relationship I had…well,
that had lasted approximately two days. In kindergarten.
You see, I had a little problem (yes, even more of a problem than talking
to myself was). It involved people. And it involved my lack of talking to
them. To some, I came across as a complete and utter bitch. To be completely
honest, I kind of was. I didn’t have friends; I had minions and wannabes that
followed me around like lost puppies. I was the girl that every boy wanted,
and every girl wanted to be. The socialite constantly stalked by paparazzi
with a slew of hookups in her wake. The trendsetter, the beauty queen, the
diva.
I was everything but myself.
It was almost as if I was a player in a video game, but I was being
controlled by a monkey on acid. I would run into walls, trip over air, and
ninety-nine percent of the time look completely lost and oblivious. I often
wondered if my life was just a big joke and God and the angels were sitting
up in heaven laughing at me.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Look at this mistake. You see? This is what a human
shouldn’t be.
It was super empowering.
“How is everything tasting?” Asher reappeared at our table, breaking me
from my depressing reverie. His eyes flickered briefly over the other
occupants before resting on me. He offered me a crooked smile.
“It’s delicious, thank you,” I responded, chasing down a bite of my
alfredo with a cup of water.
“It’s acceptable. The meat’s a little dry. I would like to speak to the cook
about that.” D.O.D’s eyes were narrowed. Of course, my dad couldn’t go one
freaking minute without being a complete asshole. And you wonder why I
have no friends?
Asher’s stance visibly stiffened, but he managed another serene smile.
“Of course. I’ll go get him for you right away.”
I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, that I understood the
restaurant was packed and taking away the head chef in the middle of the
dinner-rush was beyond idiotic, but I kept my mouth shut. I tried to convey
with my eyes how sorry I was for, well, everything.
Something in my expression must’ve distracted him, for one second, he
was staring at me and the next he was lurching forward. The plate of food he
had been carrying shattered on the floor, food flying through the air to land in
Buttlicker’s lap. Dickhead immediately jumped to his feet, surveying Asher
as if he was a potential threat.
I felt my body grow cold.
It was obviously an accident, but I knew my father and the people he
surrounded himself with. The best-case scenario would be the waiter getting
a good old firing. The worst…
Thinking quickly, I threw back my head and let out a liltingly laugh.
Every eye immediately turned to stare at me. The usual chatter in the
restaurant completely diminished until all I could hear was Asher’s rapidly
beating heart as he picked himself up behind me.
D.O.D pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What the hell are you laughing at?”
I smoothed my expression into one of icy impassiveness. I called it my
bitch face, one that I reserved only for meetings like these. It was a part that I
had long since perfected. Bitch me was almost like an extension of my hand.
“I didn’t appreciate the way the waiter was ogling me,” I said flippantly,
scowling at Asher. He blinked at me, momentarily speechless. “So I taught
him a little lesson about respect.” I tossed my hair over my shoulder for
effect. I had seen girls do it in movies, so I figured why the hell not?
You got this Adelaide. You’re a bad bitch.
D.O.D’s hands tightened around his cup until I could see his blue veins
protruding from his alabaster skin.
“You tripped him.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I was just trying to teach him some respect, daddy dearest. Isn’t that
what you always told me?” Yeah, so maybe now I was being a sarcastic bitch
instead of just a mean bitch, but I couldn’t help it. He always seemed to bring
out the worst in me. Maybe I just figured that whatever punishment he dished
out wouldn’t change depending on how bad I was. I could murder someone,
and it would be just as bad as if I were to cuss at the dinner table.
Not as if I had ever murdered someone before, mind you.
For a moment I thought he was going to yell at me in front of the entire
restaurant. I even feared that he would throw his cup at me. Glass was a pain
to get out of my skin and hair. After what felt like an eternity, he released a
breath while simultaneously releasing the cup. I felt like I could breathe
again.
“We will discuss this tonight,” he said stoutly, turning back towards his
meal. His eyes promised pain. Lots and lots of pain. Buttlicker, beside me,
grinned deviously.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, but I would be more than willing help
you administer punishment.”
My fork cluttered against my plate, and my mouth dropped open.
God no. Please no. Not again. No. No. No.
“I believe we could come to an agreement,” D.O.D said with a tiny smile.
“If you, of course, agree to my original proposition.”
Once again, the conversation turned back towards buildings and real-
estate and all that other fun stuff. I, however, felt as if I couldn’t breathe. My
body felt cold, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice over my head. It
was a numb type of cold. Painful, almost, but dulling as the seconds dragged
on.
I noticed that Asher hadn’t moved from where he stood behind me, food
dousing his white shirt. Nobody paid him any mind as the conversation
veered towards contracts – not even my mother was staring at him any longer
– but I could feel his eyes caressing my back. I tried my hardest to ignore
him, tried my hardest to face forward, but the urge to turn around was almost
unbearable. Fin
ally, I couldn’t resist any longer.
His eyes were anguished when they met mine. His thick, ebony lashes
feathered against his cheekbones. Just as suddenly, the expression was swept
away by a tidal wave of anger. His gaze turned towards my father, who
seemed utterly oblivious to the penetrating eyes grazing his skin.
I recognized that look. It was the same look I have both given and have
been at the receiving end of. It was a look that promised pain and revenge.
It was a look that made me, almost innately, hopeful.
GANGS AND GHOSTS
PROLOGUE
F ourteen years ago
The young couple stared through the glass screen, the fluorescent
lights up above crackling at intermittent intervals. They held each
other closely, an abundant number of emotions running rampant through
them. Disgust, fear, pity, and an overwhelming sense of compassion.
“Is this her?” he asked the doctor. The her in question was a petite figure.
Dirt was smeared over her cheeks and her body was unnaturally skinny. She
was so tiny, so breakable, so wrong.
She was on her hands and knees on the ground, head tilted back as she
howled at an invisible moon. Maybe she believed that the light was the moon.
“This is her,” the doctor said. There was no sympathy in his voice. He
was cool, calm, and collected...everything that the young couple was not. He
glanced down at his clipboard and then back towards the small girl. “Are you
sure about this?”
This question had been asked numerous times by numerous people. His
parents, their friends, complete strangers. It was his mom that caused him to
hesitate, her words heartfelt and sincere despite the cruelness of her words.
“Think about your son. She will hurt him. You saw the videos. She’s a
monster.”
And he had believed her, if only a for a moment. He would do anything
for his family.
But the little girl...
She looked so innocent and tiny in the dauntingly large room. Her hair
was unkempt, and her body was covered in soot. It was obvious that no one
had bothered to clean her in the weeks she had been here. His heart
hammered in sympathy and something else.
Something almost like love.
He didn’t know it was possible to love a little girl he had only known for
a few weeks and never talked to, yet he knew it to be true. This girl was
meant to be his daughter. To be their daughter.
“Can we talk to her?” His partner asked, voice gruff. The doctor glanced
at them, shocked by their request, but eventually nodded. He typed in a code,
and the door swung open.
The couple tentatively ventured closer, and the child’s head snapped up.
She bared her teeth, eyes predatory.
“Hello darling,” he said, taking a step closer to her. She immediately
scurried into a corner. He paused in mid-stride. The last thing he wanted to
do was make her uncomfortable.
“Does she have a name?” This was addressed towards the doctor. The
older man shook his head slowly, eyes trained on the feral girl.
“We call her Patient 214.”
He bristled at the assumption that she was less than human, that she was
undeserving of a name. That would change immediately once she came home
with them.
“Hello sweetie,” he tried again. This time, he did not step closer. She
could come to him if she wanted to.
She eyed his outstretched hand warily.
“Don’t,” she croaked out. Her voice was strange to his ears, an almost
unfamiliar lilt to her vowels. “He doesn’t want you to touch me.”
“Who doesn’t want me to touch you?” he asked, glancing over his
shoulder at the stone-faced doctor. Had the doctor said something to her?
From his apathetic expression and the stiff shake of his head, the man
reasoned that he hadn’t.
“Who are you talking about?” the man repeated.
The little girl stared up at him. Despite her young age, there was a
coherence in her expression that was startling. When she spoke, her voice
was a whisper.
“The Shadow Man.”
PRESENT DAY
The house was...nice.
Not the most eloquent description, but there were no other words I could
think to use. An immense structure with protruding rocks created the
entryway, and the flower garden had row after row of carefully planted
perennials. I personally believed the house was trying too hard. The grass
was green, manicured to perfection, and glinting with morning dew. A white-
picket fence separated the building from its neighbors.
I glanced up at the house in dismay - and then glanced down the road at
the dozens of other identical houses. Did the builders not believe in
individuality?
One hand carrying a cardboard box and the other a garbage bag, I walked
up the surprisingly steep staircase.
“What do you think?” Dad asked eagerly, fumbling to put the key into the
lock. I chose, rather wisely, not to answer him. He was proud of this place
but, despite its monotonous beauty, it was no home.
Only one year, I told myself. One more year until I could go back.
To Dad, I said, “Which room is mine?” I plastered a singularly beautiful
smile onto my face to further emphasize my point. Colt told me it was a smile
that could make even angels fall. And then he proceeded to call me one of
those fallen angels, so I couldn’t really take it as a compliment.
“I call the biggest room.” Karissa pranced by me, hands empty of any
belongings. Knowing her, she expected us to carry all of her stuff inside. She
probably even expected us to set up and decorate her room.
Nine-years-old and already a little diva.
“You don’t get the biggest room.” I rolled my eyes at her entitlement. I
had always told my parents that they were too lenient with the little she-devil,
too wishy-washy. She said jump, and they responded with how high. A petty
version of me might've been jealous of the way that they treated her, but I had
long since accepted that her cuteness was impossible to defy.
“I call the basement,” Colt called. He slung his duffle bag further up his
shoulder while his free hand gripped his familiar black guitar case.
“You don’t get the entire basement,” I snorted. In response, Colt merely
flicked my ear.
“I need the space,” he answered firmly.
“What you need is to get your own place and stop mooching off of Dads.”
“Fuck off.”
“Language!” The final member of our family, and the name that the
strident voice belonged to, was Papa. A domineering figure with broad
shoulders and a scraggly beard, Papa was an imposing man. Only his family
knew that the giant beast was actually a big teddy bear.
“I can’t get the damn key to work,” Dad grumbled, hand turning the knob
ineffectually. Papa took the key from his husband’s hand and gently placed it
into the lock. The door swung open instantly.
“Show off,” Dad grumbled, but Papa simply grinned.
Choosing not to listen to the rest of their banter, I took off with a
blistering speed towards where I as
sumed the living room was supposed to
be. From Dad’s explanation, there was a large hallway that branched off from
this area with a cute room at the end of it. According to Dad, it had a secret
door inside of the closet that led to another, smaller room. Apparently, the old
owners had been paranoid of a break-in or something of the sort. Why else
would they create a hiding place?
I heard the patter of footsteps as Karissa moved on the floor above me.
Colt must’ve already claimed the basement, that bastard. Like the prima
donna he was, he believed that he needed at least three rooms, a bathroom,
and a “studio room” (though I didn’t understand how that differed from the
‘three rooms’ requirement).
“I’m a grown man now,” he had told me on the car ride over. “I need my
space.”
“You need your own house,” I muttered for the umpteenth time.
“I’m getting a job,” Colt protested. “And going back to college.”
I didn’t have a response to that. I had heard the same story thousands of
times. He would come up with an excuse not to do any of that stuff, that I
was sure of.
The hallway was long and barren, almost eerie in the artificial lighting. I
noted, with some satisfaction, a bathroom adjacent to my desired bedroom.
Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to share with my siblings. Karissa made it a habit
to leave her makeup and curling iron on the counter, and Colt was a slob.
Laundry room? He hadn’t heard of it. No, he apparently believed that the
ideal place for dirty clothes was the linoleum tiles of the bathroom.
The door at the very end of the hallway was cracked open. Smiling with
anticipation, I pushed it open the rest of the way.
It was small, though I hadn’t expected anything else, and devoid of any
trinkets or memorabilia. The flooring was a dark, mahogany wood that
worked surprisingly well with the beige walls. A single window showed off
our neighbor’s house, brown siding obscured slightly by the tiny fence.
“I knew you would like this room,” Dad said from behind me.
“It’s cute,” I agreed. It may have been small, but it was positively darling.
I already could envision where my furniture would be set up - head of the bed
against the wall, dresser beside the closet, my bookshelf in the far corner. It
wasn’t Chicago, but it would have to do. It would never be my home though.