Two hours ago, my father negotiated using me as payment for the hundred thousand dollars he owes to Senator Carduccio. I keep replaying the conversation over and over in my head, but it doesn’t make any more sense to me now, than it did at the time.
People are not property to be sold or bartered with, or at least that was my understanding. Until today I genuinely believed that. I know that my father is a bad man. I know that the violence he expresses toward me and my mother is wrong and completely unacceptable. But I think deep down I thought he loved me, the child he had helped to create.
I was wrong.
My ass and legs are numb, but I force myself to move from the spot I collapsed onto hours ago. Hearing my father clink glasses and celebrate selling me, rendered my limbs useless. It’s ironic really, my father has told me again and again that I’m worthless, but apparently he was wrong. I laugh dryly to myself; apparently my value is a cool one hundred thousand dollars.
I know exactly what the balance of my father’s bank account has been for the last year and never at any point has he that kind of money. So where did he put it and what did he spend it on?
I don’t know the answers to those questions, but I do know that I need to get away from this house. I no longer have the luxury of time to plan my escape. I need to go as soon as possible and get as far away as I can to somewhere my father will never find me.
Padding across my room I silently click the door shut and slide the lock across. My father has never allowed me to lock the door, but right now I don’t care about his rules and I need to make sure no one comes in. Rummaging at the back of my wardrobe I pull out the rucksack I used when I was in elementary school; it’s ancient and childish but it’s all I have.
Adrenaline courses through me and my hands shake as I grab my laptop and power cord and shove them into the bag. Dragging a couple of dresses and some underwear from my closet I push them on top of the laptop and quickly make my way to my bathroom. I grab some basic toiletries and throw them haphazardly into the bag along with my driver’s license and the small amount of cash I have hidden beneath my mattress.
Panicking, I spin around and scan the room, trying to decide what else I should take. My eyes fall to my dresser and a gasp escapes me. Rushing across the room I drop to my knees and quickly slide open the bottom drawer. Pushing my hand inside the dresser I pull out a framed photo of me, my mama, and Nicole, that was taken years ago. We’re smiling and laughing. I don’t remember where we were, or what we were doing, but we look carefree and even though that’s not the life we’ve actually lived, at least for the moment the picture captured we were happy.
I place the photo in the bag and pull the zip closed. Stepping back, I stare at the small bag. I can’t risk taking more than I can comfortably carry, but when it really comes down to it, this small bag is all I want to keep, a handful of things that I don’t want to leave behind.
Placing the rucksack back in my closet, I unlock the door and crawl onto my bed. I lie with my head on my pillow for five minutes, pulling in deep, controlled breaths and then exhaling slowly. A wordless tune plays in my head, constantly on loop and the familiar lullaby soothes me and allows me to force my tumultuous thoughts into a box. Falling apart is not a luxury I can afford right now. Once I’m away from Archer’s Creek and beyond my father’s reach, I’ll allow myself to break down and grieve the loss of my family, but for now I need to be strong.
An hour later I roll into a sitting position and brace my hands against my knees, my feet flat on the floor. The damaged skin on my legs pulls and the pain is a constant throb, but I ignore it. I stand up and make my way into my bathroom. I touch up my makeup, making sure all of the bruises on my face are still hidden and then make my way downstairs.
The smell of tomato and herbs hits me when I enter the family room. My mama is cooking. Where I hide inside my mind, Mama hides in the kitchen, and the more elaborate the meals, the more anguished she really is.
Several pans sit atop the huge range stove and Mama is busily stirring a wooden spoon into a mixing bowl. She looks up and smiles. “Angelique, grab me the cinnamon please.”
I nod and turn to the spice rack, finding the cinnamon and passing it to her. She takes it and spoons out a measure, adding it to the bowl. Moving to the stove, I start to stir the pan full of tomato sauce and the rich smell of oregano wafts upwards making my stomach growl. Mama chuckles. “The pasta should be about ready, drain it then make yourself a plate.”
Mechanically, I move around the kitchen, fetching a sieve and draining the pasta. “How many plates?” I ask.
“Just you, honey. Your father has gone out and I’ll have something later.”
I spoon some of the pasta into a bowl and pour the rich sauce on top. Mama hands me a fork and I eagerly dig in. Lifting a forkful to my mouth I groan appreciatively when the first piece hits my tongue and I continue to eat, watching Mama flit around the kitchen. The first tear takes me by surprise, the second hits the bowl of pasta and I blink rapidly hoping to prevent any more from falling. I’m leaving my home tonight and I don’t know when I’ll get to see her again.
A low sob escapes me, and Mama spins around. “Baby, what’s the matter?”
I can’t tell her. She’ll either think I’m making it up, or worse she already knows what my father has planned for me and is so brainwashed by him that she doesn’t understand how wrong it is. I’m so scared that it’s the latter that I just throw myself at her and let her hug me.
Her weak, thin arms hold me tightly against her and she hugs me like she used to when I was a child. We hold each other for a long time and when we break apart tears are running down her face too. Our gazes lock and without saying a word we say goodbye. I haven’t told her I’m leaving, but the peace that settles in her gray eyes tells me that somehow, she knows.
Her frail fingers cup my cheeks and she smiles weakly at me, then her hands fall from my face and she walks to the other side of the kitchen. Opening the cupboard that holds the first aid kit and medicines, she pulls down a brown pill bottle and opens it, taking out five tablets. I watch as she drops them into her pestle and mortar and grinds them into a fine powder.
My mouth falls open when she crosses to the stove and sprinkles the power into the red tomato sauce. With a small smile on her face she walks past the counter I’m sitting at and places the medicine bottle in front of me.
I lift the bottle and read the label. “Benzodiazpine, one tablet to be taken at night time.” Sleeping tablets, my mama just laced the food she plans to feed my father with sleeping tablets. She lifts the bottle from my hands and takes it back to the cupboard. Returning to me she pushes my bowl of pasta toward me and gently squeezes my shoulder.
“I’ll tell your Daddy you’re sick and that you won’t be joining us for dinner,” she whispers, a sad smile on her face.
I want to beg her to come with me, to run away too, but I don’t. Instead I eat my pasta then place my dish in the dishwasher and pull her into another tight hug.
“Be free,” she whispers into my ear, then pulls away and continues to cook.
I spend the rest of the afternoon in my room. I hear when my father comes home and wait patiently as the sun sets and day turns to night. Hours later I hear my parents climb the stairs and go to their room; it’s only 10pm but minutes later I hear my father’s snores echoing through the walls.
I wait silent and on edge until the clock hits 11pm and then I remove the bag from my closet and pull on my jacket. Taking a last look around my room I realize I have very few fond memories from this house and I’m not sad to leave. Despite the reason for my escape, this is a chance at a new life and excitement hums through me.
I don’t look back as I sneak down the stairs and out of the front door. Looping my arms through both straps of my backpack, I quickly walk down the street and away from my home. I anxiously check over my shoulder, my heart pounding with fear that my father might wake up and come after me. Archer’s Creek isn’t a big town, so I easily make it to the bus station ten minutes later. A small schedule is taped on the wall and my heart falls when I see that the last bus left at 10:30 pm and there isn’t another one until 7am tomorrow.
Panic starts to churn in my stomach. I can’t wait until the morning to get out of town. I don’t know how long the sleeping pills will last and I can’t risk still being in Archer’s Creek when my father wakes up and finds me missing. Next to the bus schedule is a business card for the town’s only taxi. I pull the card from the wall and try to remember if there’s still a payphone in town.
I think I remember seeing one at the convenience store a few blocks away, so with my head down I start the walk across town. It’s late and most of the streets are empty; the people I do see don’t give me a second glance and I sigh in relief when the store’s neon sign comes into view. I walk through the door and it beeps to inform the cashier of my entrance. Making my way to the back of the store I spot the payphone and quickly rush toward it.
I pull a small pile of change from my bag and lift the phone’s receiver. Silence. There’s no dial tone and nothing happens when I press the buttons.
“Phone hasn’t worked for about a year now,” the cashier says from his spot at the counter.
Closing my eyes, I will back the tears that are threatening to escape and slowly replace the receiver. I make my way back to the front of the store, where the cashier—an overweight man, with greasy hair and stains down the front of his gray sweater—is sat, his hand inside a huge bag of Cheetos.
“Is there another payphone anywhere in town?” I ask.
The cashier thinks about this for a minute. He lifts his finger to his ear, twists it inside the hole and then inspects the orange wax that’s now visible on his nail. “No, I can’t think of any,” he eventually says.
Disgusted, I nod and quickly leave the store. Hurrying around the corner, I eventually collapse onto a street bench. “What am I going to do now?” I say aloud. I should have considered that buses don’t run this late at night, but the last time I got a bus was the one that took me to school more than five years ago. I could go back and ask the cashier if he has a cell phone I could use, but I really don’t want to go back into the store with him.
Sitting on the bench, I try to decide how long it would take me to walk to the next town. They might have a working payphone, or at least I could wait there until the bus came along in the morning. A motorcycle engine roars loudly in the quiet night and I sit up straighter in my seat.
Daisy.
I could go to Daisy and use his cell phone to call a cab, or maybe I could ask him to take me to Houston. Daisy would help me, I’m absolutely certain of that. Even though we’ve only known each other for a very short space of time I know he would help me.
I’m up and walking in the direction of the Doomsday Sinners clubhouse before I even fully make the decision to go. Daisy had told me where it was in one of his emails, but he hadn’t needed to. Everyone in town knows where the clubhouse is, even me.
The club is only about two miles out of town, but the quiet country lanes don’t have any streetlamps and walking in the pitch black takes longer than I expect. It’s close to midnight by the time the lights of the clubhouse first come into view and I spot the high fence that circles the bikers’ compound. Huge security lights are hung on high poles, illuminating the metal gates that mark the entrance and my steps slow to an apprehensive crawl as I approach.
What if I was wrong about Daisy? What if he turns me away, or if I can’t get to see him at all? My heart races and nerves pulse through me as I step into the arc of light and toward the gates.
A small hut is situated to the left of the entrance and as I reach out to push the gate, a figure moves in the darkness from the direction of the hut. “Think you’re in the wrong place, darlin’. There’s no party here tonight.”
I jump at the voice and strain my eyes to make out what the figure looks like in the darkness. My voice is small and full of fear. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Daisy.”
A man steps into the light and openly appraises me. He’s maybe a few years older than me, tall and slim, but his eyes glint menacingly and I instinctively step back. “Get out of here, bitch. There’s no party tonight and we wouldn’t let you in dressed like that anyway.”
He starts to turn away, so I panic and shout. “I’m not here for a party. I need to see Daisy. Could you tell him I’m here please?”
The man smiles and laughs dryly. “Daisy isn’t here, darlin’, but you can come visit with me. I’ll audition you, see if you have something under that nasty dress the boys might like.” The look on his face is lascivious and his lips are twisted into a sneer.
Taking another step backward, I start to turn away, but my eyes are drawn to another figure moving in the darkness. When he moves into the light, this man is older and wearing a leather vest with colored patches on it. His eyes move from me to the young guy and back again. “What you got here, Slow?” He says to the young guy.
“This one wants in. I’ve offered to see if she’s got anything the guys might want.” The young guy says as he slides the lock across and starts to push open the gates.
My heart races and the urge to run builds in my chest. I take another step back and turn to the older man. “I’m looking for Daisy; he told me to come here.”
The older man’s face changes from leering to confused. “Daisy told you to come here?” he says stepping toward me.
“Yes,” I nod. My mind flashes back to Daisy’s emails and his offer for me to come to him. The words run through my head; he said if I had any trouble to tell them I was his. “I’m his,” I blurt loudly.
Both men stop and turn to look at me. “You’re Daisy’s?” the older guy says looking unconvinced.
“Yes,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster in my voice. “I’m Daisy’s. Could someone tell him I’m here please?”
The older guy pulls opens the gate and reaches for me. I flinch, but his hand wraps around my wrist and holds me tightly. “Let’s go find your man then, honey,” he says with a smirk and walks away, pulling me along behind him.
I stumble but manage to stay upright and hurry to keep up with the fast pace as he leads me across the dark courtyard and toward the main building. The windows are all lit up and I can hear music coming from inside. The guy pulls open a door and drags me through it and into a room filled with rowdy men and a few women.
I try not to stare, but my eyes dart from person to person, unsure where to look next. People are watching the guy pull me into the room and I see the curious stares and amused laughs. I search the faces for Daisy, but I don’t see him, and I question if coming here was a really stupid idea.
“Daisy,” the guy shouts. “Daisy, does this belong to you?” He coos.
Glancing around me I watch as more people stop what they’re doing and turn to stare at us. I look over my shoulder and toward the door we just entered through. Maybe I should try to break free and run for the exit? My eyes fall on the younger guy from the gatehouse. He’s standing behind me, his arms crossed and a salacious smirk on his face. I shudder. I hadn’t realized he had followed us.
“Daisy,” the older guy calls again in a singsong voice. “Daisy.” He turns back to me and drops my wrist. “Sorry, honey, doesn’t look like Daisy wants to claim you.”
Arms wrap around me from behind and the young guy’s voice speaks into my neck. “I’ll have her. Reckon this dress is hiding something wet and willing beneath it.”
I freeze. Coming here was a mistake.
“Let go of her, Slow. She don’t look like that kind of a girl. She’s practically still a child,” the older guy says, and I release a slow breath of air.
“Nah, she’s legal aren’t you, darlin’?” The younger guy says, amusement filling his tone.
“Let me go please and I’ll leave. I thought Daisy would be here, he told me to come,” I say, my voice trembling with fear.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” Daisy’s voice roars and I sag in relief.