Sins of the Father (6 page)

Chapter 6

~Sawyer~

*10 years ago*

Whack.

I pressed my forehead against the wall and rolled it from side to side, trying to distract myself from the flames licking up my back.

Whack. Whack.

It was the sound that haunted my nightmares. The sound of pain, of flesh being tenderized and flayed. I felt a trickle down my side and the waistband of my sweats grew damp where the blood soaked into the fabric.

Whack.

I’d lost count of how many lashes I’d taken this time. The beating felt as though it had gone on forever. Not that it mattered. There was no limit. It was over when it was over. When he decided I’d learned my lesson.

“Next time . . .”
Whack
. “. . . maybe . . .”
Whack
. “. . . you’ll do . . .”
Whack
. “. . . as . . .”
Whack
. “. . . you’re . . .”
Whack
. “. . . told.”

It was my own fault. I’d deliberately disobeyed. When I went to the concert in the park the night before, I’d known it was suicide. I just didn’t care. I was so damn sick and tired of following pointless orders so that the asshole I called my father could feel powerful. Why? Out of fear? Screw that. Screw him and his goddamn belt.

It all sounded pretty brave last night, but with my face pressed against the wall and my back torn apart . . . it sounded a lot more like stupidity.

Whack.

Black ringed the edges of my vision, pinpointing a crack in the plaster where Dad’s fist had
landed a few weeks earlier. I welcomed the darkness. It would be over soon. As one knee gave out and I sagged against the wall, I idly wondered if that crack would be the last thing I’d ever see. If he’d stop when I lost consciousness or if he’d go all the way. If he’d finally do it this time. If he’d kill me.

“Oh no you don’t.” An ice cold spray shocked my senses back to life. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

An oversized plastic cup rolled across the kitchen tiles as water streamed down my back.

“I’m not finished with you yet.”

I think I groaned, but it was drowned out by the crack of the belt falling again. My newly sensitized nerves flared with pain. My second knee folded, but I clung to the wall. If I went down still conscious, this would escalate to a whole other level.

I locked my legs and stood straight. My father grunted and it felt as though the skin from my shoulders had been torn clean from the bone.

“
Stop
. Please. No more.” Shit, I was begging. Begging never helped anything. It only made
things worse. I knew that, but I couldn’t help myself. Some long dormant survival instinct had clawed its way to the surface. “Please . . . no more. I can’t . . .”

“You
can’t?
”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I’ll show you what you
can’t
do. You
can’t
leave this house without my permission.”
Whack
. “You
can’t
piss, shit, or breathe without my goddamn say so.”
Whack
. “And you sure as hell
can’t
get out of a punishment you’ve earned by acting like some sissy little girl.”

Whack. Whack.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t take it anymore. I dropped to my knees and covered my head, preparing for the worst, praying I’d survive. Maybe he did intend to kill me this time, but he damn sure meant for me to feel every moment of my death.

A steel-toed boot collided with the underside of my ribs and I crashed against the wall. I couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t—Another foot cracked against my spine and I was no longer praying for survival.

Curled against the baseboard, I shut my eyes and pressed my face to the floor.
Please. Please just let it be over.

There was a sound like a shotgun and for a moment I thought my prayers had been answered. Footsteps. A scuffle. Shouting. I couldn’t process what was happening. I could barely even see. Blood leaked into my eyes, blinding me. I must have hit my head harder than I’d realized.

The sounds quieted and then there were only voices. Angry voices. I must have been drifting in and out of lucidity because I only caught bits and pieces of what they were saying.

“. . . ever touch him again . . . no police . . .  face down in a shallow grave . . .”

“. . . fucking crazy . . .”

“. . . get out.”

The last bit was followed by more footsteps and the slamming of a door.

“Sawyer?” Rough hands rolled me onto my back. “
Shit
. Sawyer?
Fuck
. You alive, man?”

I grunted and heard Frank release a heavy breath.

“Alright. You’re gonna be alright. Can you stand?”

Stand?
I thought not dying was an epic feat.

“I don’t know.” At least that’s what I meant to say. It’s what it sounded like in my head. From my lips came a series of garbled sounds.

“
Shit
. . . Okay . . . Stay here . . .”

Not a problem seeing as the darkness had come to take me away once more. This time I surrendered, knowing I was safe. Knowing Frank was there. Knowing I owed him my life.

*Present day*

“Look, I’m sorry—”

“
Sorry?
” I rounded on Frank the moment I slid the door into place and slammed him up against the side of the stable.

“I lost my temper, but—”

“No, buts.” He was two seconds from seeing what it looked like when I lost
my
temper. “You touch that girl again and I swear to God, Frank, this is over. I will walk and I will take her with me. You get me?”

“I get you.” He shoved my arm from where I’d planted it across his chest.

“Do you really?” I stepped back, giving him a little space. I didn’t want to fight him, but he needed to know I was serious. “Because I’m not fucking around here, Frank. We didn’t do this to hurt anyone. We did it for Sylvie. What would she think?”

“Don’t you say her goddamn name.” Frank’s growl would intimidate most people. It didn’t have that effect on me.

“Syl-vie. She would be horrified with the shit you just pulled in there and you know it.” If anyone could reach him, it was his sister. Even now.

“Fuck you.”

“Just don’t, Frank. There’s a line here and I’m not willing to cross it.”

“Screw you, asshole. You think you’re some kind of savior? You’re so much better than me? We both crossed the line so damn long ago we can’t even see it anymore. You’re right, this
is
about Sylvie. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get justice for her because I
loved
her. Can you say the same?”

I couldn’t deny that I’d crossed lines I never imagined crossing. The image of Ophelia’s puffy lip and the tears swimming in her eyes was something I doubted I’d ever be able to shake. It caused my fingers to curl and I could feel the imprints where my nails dug into my palms watching her cry. But there was another line, a
darker
line. And it was my purpose to keep us both the hell away from it.

“Don’t question how I felt about your sister, man. You know damn well I cared for her. But I respect her memory enough not to tarnish it. Ophelia had nothing to do with what happened to Sylvie. She doesn’t even
know
for chrissakes. You’re pissed. I get it. I’m pissed, too. But you can’t go taking that shit out on her.”

The crunch of gravel put a decisive end to our argument. An old black Chevy truck ambled up the drive.

“Frankie? Is that you, boy?” Old Mr. Willingston. He’d lived in the property next door to Frank’s grandad for as long as anyone could remember. I hadn’t seen him in years. Thought he must have moved into the city with everyone else. Or died. “Thought I saw headlights turning in here the other night. Figured I’d better come take a look. Owed your grandpa at least that much.”

The driver’s side door creaked open and Mr. Willingston looked like he could use a little oil himself as he lowered from the cab. I silently prayed to a god I didn’t believe in that Ophelia wouldn’t hear, or would at least be smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

“Well, well. It’s been some time, hasn’t it? Look at you boys. Sawyer . . . don’t you think I’ve forgotten about you. It was a real shame what happened. Missed seeing you kids around here these past years.”

“Thank you, Mr. Willingston. How’s your wife?” Frank could put on the charm when necessary.

“Oh, Louise passed on about a year ago now.” Loneliness crept into the old man’s gaze and I thought I understood how he felt. The life we’d been given . . . The path we’d chosen . . . It wasn’t going to end with me holding someone’s wrinkled hand in mine when I was eighty.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” My sympathy was genuine, but when Frank shot me a look I knew it was time to move the reunion along. “What can we help you with today?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thought I’d make sure vandals weren’t up to no good over here. Squatters have become a problem in the area. Punks turning good, hard-working people’s homes into drug dens. It’s not right. Couldn’t let it happen to your grandad’s place.”

“I appreciate that.” Frank took Mr. Willingston’s arm, in a seemingly friendly gesture, and began leading him back to his truck. “But as you can see, it’s just Sawyer and me. We’re here to keep the place in shape. Make some repairs. We’ll be here a few days, but we’ll be awfully busy. Next time, I promise we’ll find time to stop by and say hello.”

“Oh . . . well . . .” Frank released him to open the door with a smile. “Alrighty, then. Don’t let me bother you. You boys get to work. If you need a hand, you know where to find me. I might be old, but there’s a few more hammer swings in these old bones.” He chuckled as he dragged himself up behind the wheel. “Take care of yourselves.” He patted the door a couple times through his open window, before throwing it in reverse and pulling away.

Frank scowled at the taillights as Mr. Willingston turned out of the drive. The whole point of coming all the way out here was so that no one would see us. My stomach turned over and I became aware of just how empty it was. We’d been so distracted by everything we had going on that we hadn’t eaten all day. And neither had Ophelia.

“I’m gonna order pizza for dinner.” Because nothing said ‘sorry you got slapped’ like pepperoni and cheese.

Frank dug in his pocket and pulled out the car keys. “I’ll go—”

“No.” Plucking the keys from his hand, I squeezed to feel the cold bite of metal digging into my skin. “I’ll go.”

“You’re going?”

“Yeah.” I was a coward, running away, and I knew it, but I couldn’t go back in there. Not yet. The little Sparrow was starting to get to me. I needed a break. A minute to breathe and get my head on straight. “Can you handle that?”

Second thoughts crept in. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Can I
handle it
? You mean without beating on the girl? Who the fuck do you think I am? My father? I lost my goddamn temper, Sawyer, not my fucking mind.”