by Coralee June
Unlike the front, the bedroom window opened with a groan. I winced as the glass squeaked along the frame's track. My roaring pulse thudded in my ears, and I had to strain to hear if anyone was coming.
After a few breaths, I'd determined that no one was in the cabin, so I crawled my way in, grinning a little when I remembered the last time I'd broken into a building. My feet landed on thin, blue carpet. A twin bed was pushed up against the wall. On it, was a simple quilt and a single pillow. Dust billowed up as I walked across the room. It looked like no one had ever slept there.
For a moment, I considered not continuing to explore my father's mysterious cabin in the woods. I rubbed my chest, my bloodied feet dragging across the scratchy carpet as I made my way to the connecting bathroom. Heavy. The air felt heavy.
The rusted sink smelled of bleach. Behind the shower curtain was a mop bucket, filled to the brim with dirty water. Back in the bedroom, I traced my fingers over the wooden dresser and winced when the splintered wood cut my skin.
The living room had a floral printed couch and a box television set coated in a layer of dust. In the kitchen, no food inhabited the running refrigerator. The chipped chestnut cabinets only held a large collection of black trash bags.
There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was just a creepy cabin in the woods.
I turned to leave but spotted a rug off-center, as if it had been haphazardly moved last minute. I crouched low, looking around the dark room before lifting the red-stained carpet.
Fear danced along my spine, bringing my heart to an alarming tempo as a door with brass handles appeared embedded in the floor. I covered my mouth with my hand, suddenly feeling more terrified about what I would find. My thoughts were racing.
My feet ached to pace the small space. So I stood up to stare at the door, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. Walking back and forth in the small kitchen, I debated on opening it. I was alone and stranded in the woods. Within a couple hours, the sun would be setting. I wished that Ryker, Blaise, Gavriel, or Callum were with me. I craved the comfort of their protection.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I decided to open the door.
I bent over and yanked the two doors open with a grunt. The heavy wood groaned on its hinges. I gently set down the doors on the wooden floor then peered down into the hole.
A staircase. A dark staircase.
I inched my feet out, finding the first step, and the next. At an incredibly slow pace, I descended each with care. As my heart thudded, I trailed my hands along the wall, seeking a light switch.
"You can do this, Summer," I whispered to myself. It was so dark I couldn't see my hands or the steps. I didn't know how far down this basement led, or if I'd even be able to see what occupied it. My mind conjured up images of snakes and ghosts waiting to grab hold of me and never let go.
When my toe hit the floor and I could no longer descend, I waved my hands around, flinching when they brushed along a hanging metal cord overhead. I pulled it, and a dim light bulb illuminated above me, its glow a steady crescendo, building as I took in the room.
Polished concrete covered most of the floor with a tarp laid down in the middle. A metal table was dead center of the room, and I made my way towards it.
My chest heaved with every step, and I trembled as I observed the thick, leather straps bolted to the thick metal. Along the wall was a line of kennels of varying sizes. I made my way over to them, still trying to process everything.
Fur of all colors and textures collected in a dustpan on the floor in a corner. A jar of teeth sat on another wooden table with drawers. Another tarp was neatly folded in the center of it.
I clutched my chest as my eyes locked on a half-opened trunk. A knife sticking out. What was this place?
"How long have you known?"
I whirled around with a scream so loud my vocal cords couldn't maintain the power of it. I grabbed my dress and moved back, my hips colliding with the table. I knocked over the chest, and knives of every variety spilled out around me.
There, at the base of the stairs, was my father. But that wasn't the only thing that scared me. When I had entered the basement, I was too busy looking at the peculiar table and tarps that I didn't notice the wall behind me.
With my angry father standing in the center, a wall displayed printed photos of various sizes. Each of them had different subjects. Mostly animals, some of them people. But all had a common theme:
Blood.
Oh, God— the blood.
I clutched my neck, aching to close in on itself. I wanted to become as small as possible. Dad looked pleased by my terror. He glanced behind himself at the shrine of death. Then, when he twisted back towards me, there was a happy gleam in his eyes.
"Everyone is looking for you," he said in his cold voice. "I know these woods well."
"What is this place?" I stuttered, not willing to recognize the truth. I clung to the lie that this was all a misunderstanding. It was the only way I could cope.
"What do you think this place is, Summer?" he asked calmly. I knew it was an avoidance tactic. I'd learned long ago that my father avoided questions he didn't like with more questions.
"Do...do you kill..."
In the corner, I noticed a larger photo taking up a good square foot of space. Despite the absolute terror flooding my system, I moved closer, keeping my father's rigid frame within eyesight.
Once I was close enough to make out the mutilated torso, I gasped. The missing teen?
His face was pale and cold, lips blue. Slashes covered the length of his torso. There was a gash across his neck and holes in his hands. For the photo, my father posed him in a prayer position.
It was so much worse than I could have ever imagined. My eyes traveled the length of the wall on impulse. I wanted to shy away from the gore, but I couldn't stop staring.
Animal, animal, boy.
This teen looked eerily similar to Elliot. He also had blond hair, stained with blood. His cheekbones were high and prominent like his, too.
I continued to follow the line. Animal. Animal.
Cat? I spun around to face my father, his eyes bright and proud. He stood taller as I took in every inch of his terrifying frame before turning back to the wall of his conquests.
"You're a serial killer."
"Do I detect a hint of whimsy?" Dad asked. "We're cut from the same cloth, Summer. I made you in my image."
I pressed my back up against the wall, wincing when it collided with the photos behind me. It felt like I was pressing up against a sea of dead bodies. "Is your heart racing? Do you feel your pulse? Thump thump," Dad said. He patted his chest while walking towards me.
"Thump thump, thump thump."
"Stop," I pleaded as he closed in on me, our noses barely touching. I could smell Mom's lasagna on his breath.
"You could join me."
"No."
Dad pulled away, disappointment in his dipped brow and thin lips. "You think you're better than me, don't you?"
I looked around the room for anything that could help me get out of here. At home, Dad had tricked us all. But here, in his element, his control was slipping. He couldn't hold onto the mirage that he was normal. If I didn't escape, I'd be dead—I was sure of it.
I slid away from him and made my way back towards the table where I had spilled the collection of knives. "I was able to link Mr. Elliot to your Bullets, you know. Between my influence and their reputation, it'd be easy to convince the courts that their fight club was somehow involved in his disappearance."
"You wouldn't," I choked out, eyeing his pocket where the corner of a keyring stuck out.
Dad laughed, his boisterous chuckles echoing off the walls. I covered my ears to block out the manic sound. "Look around you. I do whatever I want. I can get away with whatever I want. I'm the Chief. You think it's hard for me to make evidence disappear? I can prioritize tips, remove witnesses. And now that I've made some very influential friends, nothing—and I mean nothing—can stop me."<
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I eyed the staircase. For a moment, I thought of Ryker. I breathed deeply, imagining the way he calmed himself before a fight. He didn't allow his nerves to affect him, even when he was beaten down and bruised. Strength came from people willing to take a hit, and I had to be willing to take that risk and fight my father.
"You're insane," I whispered before bending down and grabbing the first knife I saw, making him laugh more.
"You really think you can hurt me?"
"Yes."
With a scream, I ran towards him, the small knife stretched out, and my free arm waving. I prayed my loud shrills and unpredictable movements would catch him off guard, but instead, his lip quirked as if he was merely amused.
We stood toe to toe, and I slashed the air. He dodged my blade with an unimpressed sigh. I kicked, and he sidestepped. Laughing, he moved away from each of my advances, unfazed.
I crouched low as we circled one another. I needed his keys. If I could get out of here, I'd have a chance. "I can't wait to get rid of the Bullets," Dad said. "I don't make a habit of killing family. I have standards. But if you so much as breathe a word of this, no one will believe you. It'll be my word against yours. And my word has enough weight to have your friends locked up for life."
My heart thudded at his threats. Could he really do that?
I didn't have the stamina or the ability to fight him. I tried to think of my father's weaknesses. What could I do to distract him?
"You're a coward. No wonder Mom hates you," I spat. He paused for a second, and I knew the key to getting his attention. He was prideful about his image, determined to appear normal despite the bloody double life he was leading.
"She's drinking and driving now. Does she know about this? Does she know she's married to a psychopath?" Dad's eyes no longer looked amused as he matched the intensity of my stance. "You don't have to bring her to this room. You're killing her just by existing."
Dad froze, and I took my opening. Lunging, I slid the knife across his chest, and he crumpled to the ground as he bled. I yanked the keys from his pocket and began sprinting up the steps.
If I could just get to the top. If I could just get to the car.
If I could just get to the Bullets.
A hand grabbed my ankle, and I fell, my chin hitting the wooden plank of the staircase. Another hand encircled my other foot, and I began sinking back down to the basement. "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" Dad asked. He was at the base of the steps with a vice-like grip around me, pulling me back. "You need to work on your technique. Your puncture might bleed, but it won't do any lasting damage."
His shirt was seeping with blood, coating the steps with his crimson stain. My nails dug into the wood as I screamed and clawed my way out of his hold. I used every ounce of energy I had and splinters gathered beneath my nails.
No. It wouldn't end like this.
I rolled my leg in a pool of his blood, making my skin slippery. His hand struggled to maintain its grip, and the moment I was free, I kicked him square in the face, sending him backward.
My feet sprinted up the steps, slamming the kitchen hatch behind me before making my way outside to his car. I didn't bother to shut the door behind me.
Adrenaline was like a drug, I clung to it as I soared down the drive. I just had to survive a little longer. Just had to get home.
I looked down at the car charger in the center console and with trembling hands, plugged in my phone. Rushing down the highway at impossibly high speeds, I waited as my phone booted up while trying to ignore the influx of missed calls and texts.
Gav: Summer. Get your ass back here.
Ryker: I knew you'd do this to me.
Blaise: Please. Please just call me. Text me. Anything.
Callum: Baby, where are you?
Closing all of them, I dialed the one person that understood my father best.
"Summer Bright, you come home this very instant," Mom yelled into the receiver.
"Mom," I choked out with a sob. My vision blurred from the salty tears, and I pulled over on the shoulder of the highway.
There was silence on the other end of the line. "Summer, what’s wrong?"
"Dad. I-I I stumbled upon this cabin in the woods. The stuff he does there, Mom—"
"Don't say another word," she hissed, her voice lowering to a whisper.
Although adrenaline still pumped through my veins, a sickly feeling dulled my jitters.
"Did you go inside? The cabin, I mean," she asked.
"Yes."
"Did he see you?"
I whimpered, slamming my head against the steering wheel. "Yes."
"Run."
My spine straightened, and I stared at my phone for a moment. She knew.
"What?"
"Run, Summer. Run and don't you come back here." I couldn't believe this. I'd survived my father's hell to be dropped into another version of it.
"We could go to the police," I offered. Wasn't that the right thing to do? Wasn't that what you were supposed to do? All my life, I was taught that the police caught the bad guys.
"He is the police. The last person I confided in died in a mysterious accident. You have no choice. He will isolate you. Control you. Keep you chained to this house and this town until you've withered away to nothing."
"You've known this whole time?" I cried out while filtering through my memories. I thought of the drinking, the sleeping pills.
"I thought he was cheating," her voice slurred, full of emotion. "I wish he was cheating. I'll put a bag and some cash in a duffle bag beneath the statue at the high school. Go there within the hour. Head to the bus station. Get out of here."
"We could run together?" I offered. How could she expect me to do this on my own? She'd controlled every aspect of my life for as long as I'd remembered, but now she wanted to let me free?
She paused, letting out a low sigh before answering. "I still love him, Summer. Does that make me a monster, too?"
I didn't answer her. Ending the call, I sat back in my seat, letting loose a series of expletives and guttural screams.
I forced my eyes to stay open, because every time they shut, I saw them. The photos. The dead, glazed over eyes and marred bodies. Boys with blond hair, in their deadly praying pose.
I looked down at my phone. My fingers itched to text the Bullets. I wanted to beg their forgiveness and plead for their help. I hovered over the dial button, knowing that Blaise would answer on the first ring.
But my father's words echoed in my mind, stopping me.
I can't wait to get rid of the Bullets.
I slammed my head against the headrest as tears poured down my cheeks. I had a choice here. I could fight the devil. Stay and risk the Bullets and my mother. I could go to the police.
But did the Bullets want me anymore? And my Mother was choosing my father—a serial killer—over me.
I could be free. I could escape and never return.
I shut off my phone and, after rolling down the window, tossed it on the pavement. I knew what I had to do.
With tears streaming down my face, I sped off towards the high school, kissing Summer Bright goodbye.
Epilogue
Ryker
Present Day
* * *
Guilt was a nasty side effect of regret. It kept you up at night, eating at your insides until there's nothing left.
I felt like nothing. The only part of me still worth believing in was lying asleep in my bed, still processing everything. The others wanted to immediately act, but I just wanted to watch her. As her chest moved up and down, I relaxed with each breath. She was alive. She was safe.
She fought her way through hell and back to me, and all I'd done was give up on the one good thing in my life.
"Wanna come downstairs?" Blaise whispered through the cracked doorway. I'd ordered them all to leave her alone. All the fussing was keeping her awake. She'd invited us to the darkest day of her life but was more worried about us than about herself.
"Not really."
"Gavriel's orders." Fucking Gavriel. Signing over my life to him had its perks—the main one being her—but it wasn't cheap. He owned me. Mind, body, and soul.
I stood then to adjust the comforter up higher on her body. I rubbed my thumb along her brow, and she let out a moan.
She was so fucking strong. How did I miss that? I saw the world for everything it was. I could sense a liar a mile away. But when it came to her, I'd been driving blind. I assumed the worst.
Everyone was sitting around the kitchen table arguing over what to do next. Putting a hit on a public figure, especially, one under Santobello's protection, would be hard.
"She okay?" Callum asked, looking longingly up towards the stairs. He may be one hell of an annoying prick, but he loved our girl. That was good enough for me.
"Yeah, she's fine."
Gavriel was on the phone with Nix. He gave him the rundown of what Sunshine told us, but something told me that Nix already knew. Hell, he'd hacked into Gavriel's system with ease. I'm sure it was no skin off his dick to dig into Sunshine's past.
"Yes. I want all eyes on him at all times. He takes no more victims. He so much as pisses the wrong way, we expose him." Gavriel hung up with a sigh before looking around the room at us.
"Anyone else feel like shit?" Blaise asked, sinking into his seat. He always had to tell it like it was. He was careless with his words. "I'd always known there was more to the story, I just never expected this."
Around the table, no one answered, but they didn't have to. They may each wear the emotions differently, but it all boiled down to guilt. It always boiled down to guilt.
"So, what are we going to do now?" I asked, choking down my emotions. I'd deal with it tomorrow. Tonight? Sunshine needed me. She'd been taking far too many hits for far too long.
“I’m going to submit an appeal to reopen Elliot’s case. Maybe he was sloppy? I’m sure there’s evidence somewhere. I can get a warrant for the cabin if she’s able to give me a detailed description of where it’s at. Maybe—”