~ CHRISTOPHER ~
Saturday the 1st of July, 1989
I slipped into my father’s study, closing the door quietly, my family still fast asleep. I’d hardly slept all night, excited about running away with Catherine, but also worried about breaking into my father’s safe. Which was why I was up before five in the morning, making sure no one caught me.
I headed for the safe, bobbing down to unlock it, my family unaware I knew the combination. I turned the dial back and forth until the door clicked open. Piles of cash were stacked inside, more than enough to live on for a while. My father kept cash at the ready in case we needed to disappear without a trace, which was exactly what I wanted to do, my father just not counting on the fact I’d be the one running from him.
I stuffed the money into my backpack, stealing more than a few grand, my family loaded. I then opened a jewellery box, relieved to find my rosary. I pocketed it and popped open another jewellery box, hoping it was another rosary. And it was, just not the kind I expected to see. It was a Terra rosary, its green and wine-coloured beads stunning. I wondered how my parents had gotten it, and why they even wanted it, because they couldn’t use the rosary, neither of them Terras.
I ran my fingers over the beads, not afraid to touch them, the Terra rosary not dangerous by itself. My thoughts went to Stephen, making me wonder whether I should give it to him. Although I loved my auntie and uncle, they were wrong for not telling Stephen about his heritage. I also didn’t like that they were leaving him vulnerable, especially since there was still a Merge killer on the loose. Sì, Catherine’s sister may have died a while ago, but I still didn’t like that Stephen was walking around, not having a clue what monsters lay in wait. I flexed my shoulders, the scar tissue on my back pulling tight, what had happened to me not something I would allow to happen to Stephen.
I removed the Terra rosary from the jewellery box and pocketed it, returning the box to the safe. I closed the safe and set the dial, then went to leave the room, almost jumping out of my skin as I opened the door. My father was turning on the TV, a football match coming on. I went to retreat into the study, freezing as my grandfather entered the lounge.
His eyes instantly latched onto me. “What are you doing in there?!”
My father whipped his head around. I looked between the two, not knowing what to say, caught red-handed. My father stormed over to me, snatching the bag out of my hand. He unzipped it, his eyes widening at the cash inside.
“You’re stealing from me?”
I didn’t reply, nothing I could say would save me from this.
He threw the wads of bills at me, then pulled out one of my shirts, holding it in front of my face. “Do you know what this looks like?!” he yelled, his eyes going red.
“What do you care if I run away, you hate me anyway,” I said. “Or is it the money you’re so worried about? You always did care more about everything else than me.”
The slap came, making me yelp, my father hitting my old bruises.
He glowered at me, looking like he wanted to do a lot more than slap me. “You’re impossible, boy. Impossible!”
Wincing, I raised my hand to my cheek. “Then let me leave. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.”
He shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere, figlio. You’re staying right here, with your famiglia, where you belong.”
I glared at him. “I don’t belong here. And I don’t want to be here either. Why would I? You’re a child-abusing bastard.”
His eyes widened. “How dare you!”
I indicated to my face. “Look at my face, Papà. These bruises didn’t get here because you patted me on the fucking head!”
“You attacked me! I was defending myself.”
“Sì, the last two times, but what about all the other times? Like when I was ten. Our dog ran off while I was walking him, because I was too small to control him. I ran home in tears, wanting to be hugged and told that everything would be all right. But what did you do? You yelled at me, then hit me.”
A shadow of guilt passed over his face. “You were told not to walk him, he was a big dog. You deserved to be punished.”
“You hit me so hard you knocked me over! And what about when I was twelve? I stole some money from a classmate to buy some books. You didn’t ground me like a normal parent would, you strapped me until my legs were raw. And what about when I was fifteen? I accidentally put my foot on the accelerator instead of the brake while learning to drive, ending up crashing the car through the neighbour’s fence. Instead of being concerned about my safety, you dragged me out of the car and shoved me up against it, yelling at me that I was a useless merda who could do nothing right. You may not have hit me then, but that hurt more than all the punches and strikes you’ve heaped on me over the years. And you think I want to stay around for more?”
He didn’t reply, obviously knowing he didn’t have a leg to stand on.
My mother appeared in the lounge doorway, wearing her dressing gown, her expression sleepy and confused. “Why is everyone shouting? It’s five in the morning.”
I threw a glare at her. “You should know by now what’s happening, Mamma, you’ve seen me hit enough times. So you might as well go back to bed, since you won’t do anything about it.”
“Chris!” my grandfather boomed. “Don’t speak to your mother like that!” He went to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, giving her the comfort and support she didn’t deserve.
“I spoke the truth, Nonno, the truth,” I spat out, furious he cared more about her feelings than mine. “A mother is meant to protect their child, not allow them to get abused. I’ve asked her so many times to leave with me, even begged her with blood dripping down my face after Papà brutally punched me, but she refused to, choosing her abusive husband over her own child.”
She started crying, but I didn’t care. I was passed caring for people who didn’t love me enough to protect me.
“And you,” I said to my grandfather. “You were the one person who I actually thought genuinely loved me, yet you said you would possess me without a second thought, against my will, just to get what you wanted: to kill the girl I love.”
My grandfather’s face turned red with anger. “Because she’s going to try to kill me! Why can’t you see that?”
“Oh, I see everything clearly now, so clear I wish I could claw my eyes out.”
“She’s turned you against us!”
“No, Catherine didn’t have to do a thing, the three of you did that all on your own.”
“That siren has blinded you!”
“Stop calling her names!” I yelled back, finally losing it. “She’s not the demon, you are. You’re evil, so fucking evil! You probably lied to me about being an angel, because angels wouldn’t do what you do.” I indicated to my father, who was staring at me in stunned silence. “You too. You don’t even act half-angel, you’re all demon.” My glare shifted to my mother. “You also, because no angel would stand by and let their own son get abused.”
She burst into a fresh bout of tears.
Having had enough, I went to leave, but got yanked around, my father’s angry face right in front of mine. “You’re not going anywhere, boy.”
“I’m not a boy!” I yelled, trying to jerk free. But his grip was too strong, his fingers digging into my arm. “Let me go!”
“No!” he bellowed. “You’re going to listen to me for once in your goddamn life!”
He shoved me onto the couch. I went to get up, to get the hell away from him, but he shoved me back down. Something snapped inside of me, something that I’d held in for far too long, the years of abuse bursting forth with a red hot rage more intense than the fires of Hell. I bashed into him, taking the bastard down. My fists started flying, my mind overcome with a lust for blood. His blood. I wanted to paint his face with it, to make him suffer like he’d made me suffer.
My mother screamed, while my grandfather raced forward, knocking me off my father. I swung an elbow at him, connecting with his nose, causing him to topple off me. I went for my father again, so enraged I wanted to kill him, the demon in me screaming for it. But he deflected my punch, throwing his own, his knuckles connecting with my cheek. Though, I barely felt it, too caught up with my rage to feel pain, only wanting to cause it.
My grandfather barrelled into me from the side, tackling me to the floor. He landed on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. My father came at me too, scrambling over my legs. Nonno in turn grabbed my arms, forcing them to the floor, his bleeding nose dripping onto my face.
“Maria!” he hollered at my mother. “Get some rope!”
She continued screaming hysterically.
“Maria!” he boomed. “He’s going to hurt himself and us if you don’t do what I ask!”
She stopped screaming and ran out of the room, returning with some duct tape. “Will this do?” she cried.
“Yes! Tie his ankles and wrists.”
She stared at him in horror. “No! I will not do that to my own son!” she screamed, backing away.
“Maria!” my father barked. “You have to do it, otherwise he’ll attack us again. Please. It’s for his own good.”
Shaking all over, she moved forward. Peeling the duct tape back, she wrapped it around my wrists. I pleaded with her, tried to stop her, but my father and grandfather were holding me down. Breaking the tape, she moved down to my ankles, repeating the process. Once she’d finished, she dropped the roll and ran from the room crying.
I returned my attention to the two men who were supposed to love and protect me, and started cursing and screaming at them, thrashing about on the floor like a crazed person.
My father snapped at me. “Chris! Stop struggling, you can’t free yourself. You might as well calm down and listen to reason.”
“Reason!” I spat, my face burning with fury. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. You’re a demon! We’re all demons!”
“No, we’re not!” my grandfather bellowed.
“You are! You disgust me. I hate you, I fucking hate you!”
The strike came as expected, but it didn’t stop me from spilling more vitriol, if anything, the pain spurred me on, the words coming out of my mouth so vile that they would make the Devil proud. The things I said ... they should never have been said to family, not in a million years, but I kept screaming and shouting, nothing able to stop me from flinging my hatred at them.
“You pick up his legs,” my grandfather said to my father. “I’ll take his arms. We’ll lock him in the study.”
I continued to struggle against them as they lifted me, trying to make it as hard as possible for them to carry me out of the lounge and into the study. They swung me onto the couch and left the room, locking me in. I screamed at them, wanting them to burn in Hell for what they’d done to me. They returned a couple of minutes later with a gag. I clamped my mouth shut to stop my grandfather from putting it in, but my father held my nose, forcing me to open up. Then my grandfather stuffed the gag in, tying it at the back of my head. They stepped back to look at me. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see them, not even wanting to live, what they’d done destroying me.