“Wake up, bitch.”

The sunlight isn't too bad, but my body is stiff after spending the whole night in the rocking chair. I wince as I struggle to wake up, when suddenly I'm doused in nearly ice cold water, and my eyes fly open, too shocked to scream.

Peter's standing in front of me, a hungover grin on his face, a bucket in his left hand, his hair hanging in limp cords down his face, obscuring some of the scars. It doesn't help with the overall look though, he just looks crazier than before. “That's better.”

“Wha... why?” I sputter, looking around the room. We're alone, Isis seems to have left in the middle of the night, and behind him I can see I was right, most of the land beyond the house seems to be a swampy mess. But I'm only kind of aware of this, I'm still trying to get the water out of my nose. I must have been leaning back in the chair when I got soaked.

“Rise and shine,” Peter explains, laughing maniacally. “Oh, and if you want to know, your little cunt buddy Isis is out, getting the last of what she needs for tonight's little family reunion. She's not going to be interrupting us while you and I have the long-awaited get to know you session.”

I snort, blowing out most of the rest of the water, and shake my head, clearing my vision the rest of the way as well. “You... you wouldn’t dare,” I huff, licking my lips. At least the water is helpful, my mouth feels like it's been packed with cotton and my lips are dry.

“Oh, still got some fight in you?” Peter retorts, chuckling. “Well, I know how to handle that. You know, I knew about you for years, I mean, Janice came to me as soon as she got pregnant. Good fuck, but one dumb bitch.”

“She made her mistakes,” I admit, trying to not let him get to me. For too many years the memories of what my mother did have haunted me, and I will not let them anymore. “She loved you, for one.”

“Like I said, she was one dumb bitch. Coming to me, rubbing her belly and acting like I suddenly had this obligation to take care of her. I was like, 'you've got a husband, let him take care of you. You're just my side piece.' She didn't like that, but she still couldn't say no to me.”

“You mentally screwed her up for the rest of her life,” I shoot back, still trying to control my temper. “Your evil screwed me up for a long time, too.”

“Who the fuck cares? I heard about that, back when I sent Vadim after you all. The social issues, the hermit-like behavior, the anxiety attacks. Actually, I found reading your shrink's files quite interesting. He was hesitant to give them up, but after three broken fingers, he remembered where he had them. Too bad you stopped seeing him five years ago, I think you two were making good progress,” Peter taunts, still grinning.

I make an image of Nathan in my mind. It helps me, I can find strength in it, and I don't feel the urge to scream or lose it like I did last night. “You know, I understand now what Jackson said about you.”

“What?” Peter asks, his smile changing, like he's slightly surprised I'm not shaken up by his taunting. “That he realizes he fucked up?”

“No, actually Jackson's happier than ever with his beautiful wife and daughter,” I answer, chuckling. “No... but one time, right around Halloween when everyone got together and we got dressed up and had a little party at the farm, I asked him about you. After all, I've never really gotten a chance to know you. And you know what he said? He told me, and I quote, 'Melissa, Peter DeLaCoeur is a spoiled brat of a child in a middle-aged man's body. If it wasn't for his ability to make business deals, he'd be nothing more than a pathetic loser who sits around watching women's wrestling and jacking off, or watching UFC fights and talking about how much of a badass he was back in high school.' Honestly, I think Jackson was being nice, or maybe you've regressed since then.”

Peter's face goes that same angry brick color it did last night, and he steps forward, his hand cocked. I have an instant to brace myself before his slap catches me hard on the cheek, just under the left eye and my head is slammed to the side. He may be jowly, overweight, and out of shape, but he’s still got two hundred and ten pounds of weight that he can put into a swing, and he knows how to slap. I can taste blood on my tongue, and I grin, spitting onto the wood floor. “I thought slapping was the way girls fight.”

“You wanna see me fight?” Peter yowls, cocking his arm back for a punch, but before he can, Isis grabs his wrist, pushing him away.

“What are you doing?” she asks. I see she's dressed for action again, and this time the gun in her hands isn't a pistol, but some sort of assault rifle. I don't know much about them though. “I told you to leave her alone.”

“You told me not to fuck her,” Peter counters, his eyes flickering to Isis' rifle. “Not to leave her alone. I was doing a father's duty.”

“You've never been her father, and you never will be,” Isis says, a hint of anger in her voice. “Back off. It’s time to get her ready to move anyway to the staging area. But if you touch her again, you will find that my FAMAS can put a hole in you just as easily as your offspring.”

Peter huffs, his fists clenching at his side, then nods. “Fine. I'll go get my fucking gun.”

He storms out of the room, and Isis rolls her eyes, shaking her head and muttering in French, something about killing an arrogant bastard. She kneels and takes out a knife and handcuffs, laying the knife to the side. “At least with me, your death will be... clean.”

“Why do you care how I die?” I ask, not angry but fascinated. I don't remember a lot of the French I studied years ago in my art studies, but I know that if Isis means what she just said, Peter's not going to survive this either.

“Perhaps you’re not the only woman in the room who was mistreated by the man who was supposed to be her father,” Isis says softly before her voice hardens. “Either way, it will not change your fate. Now, right hand first, time for the handcuffs again.”

She puts the cuff around my right wrist before undoing the strap, then with a solid but not painful joint lock brings it over to the other side, where she repeats the process before picking up the knife and going around to the back of my chair. She cuts the rope with a snapping sound, and suddenly my waist and legs are both free. “Stand up, it’s time.”

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, and Isis takes my right arm just above the elbow, pushing me along. I start to push back, but her index finger presses in, and my arm turns into a wave of fiery pain, and I whimper, my knees going weak.

“Don’t mistake my respect of your body and mind for weakness, Melissa,” Isis growls. “Now walk. We’re taking you closer to the Lafayette Cemetery, where the meeting is set for.”

I walk, and Isis lets off on the pressure, my arm still aching but at least the fire is gone. She steers me toward the kitchen. “Now come.”

Peter's in the kitchen, an M-16 I think in his hands, glowering when Isis brings me in. “You two cunts done having your Lifetime channel moment?”

Isis opens her mouth to reply when suddenly a ripple of gunfire tears apart the kitchen window and I duck, bullets and glass flying everywhere. Peter half-turns, ducking as well. “What the fuck?”

“We're under attack, you damn idiot!” Isis yells, cocking her rifle and pointing. “Go, cover the side of the house!”

Isis returns fire, ducking behind the kitchen cabinets and shooting out the shattered kitchen window. I can see a man running across the empty grass between the bayou swamp and the front of the house, and she shoots him, his head exploding in a wet rain of scarlet and his body dropping. I stare, horrified, and Isis glances back, her eyes wide and her lip curling. “Go! They'll be circling around!”

Peter nods and grabs me by the arm, dragging me with him even as I kick and fight, but he cracks me across the face again and I'm dazed, dragged along with him toward the back of the house. “They'll be coming here,” Peter gasps, his breath whistling in his chest, bringing his rifle up. I go to move away and he kicks me, knocking me to the ground and putting his foot on my neck and jabbing the barrel of his rifle against my head. “Don't move, and you might just see them go first.”

The gunfire continues, and someone starts screaming in pain, a high-pitched scream so high I can't tell if it's a man or a woman. I hear a crunching, massive explosion outside, then silence before the next volley of gunfire, and Isis is screaming in French. She doesn't sound hurt but rather angry and in full-on battle mode, and whoever's she's facing is in a world of pain.

Peter's muttering to himself, so fast and frantic I can't tell what he's saying, but suddenly a crash comes from the direction of the bedroom I'd been kept in, and the barrel of his rifle lifts away from my head slightly. “If they get me, I can still get you,” Peter rasps, giggling madly. He's totally over the edge, and I wonder how the man could be driven so insane, but then there's heavy footsteps in the bedroom coming toward the hallway, and Peter yells. “Stay back, or else I blow her fucking head off!”

“You do that, and you miss your chance at me... Pops,” Jackson says from the shadowed hallway, stepping out of the bedroom, a strange-looking gun in his hand. “You don't want to miss out on that, do you? After all, I'm the one who started all this shit for you.”

Peter gulps, and I can't see anything except Jackson walking toward me, and in the background more flashes and shots from the kitchen. But I feel Peter's foot relax just a little bit, and Jackson lowers his gun. “Come on, Pops. I'll even make it fair, you can have at least a chance.”

“You're right,” Peter hisses, taking his foot off my neck and stepping to the side. “You did start all of this.”

“No, I did,” Katrina says from the side door, a pistol shot cutting off the end of her words. Peter falls to the side, and I stare at his empty eyes as his body hits the floor, a neat hole in the middle of his forehead. I roll away in disgust, and Jackson's there, helping me to my feet. Katrina kicks in the door and helps me the rest of the way up. “You okay, 'Lissa?”

“Yeah,” I say, hugging Jackson. “Oh God, you guys came!”

“It ain't over yet,” Jackson says, turning and raising his rifle.

Katrina puts her arm around my shoulders and triggers a microphone on her shoulder. “We've got her.”

A crackle comes over the radio, and Nathan's voice comes back. “Isis is out of the kitchen, neutralizing her now.”