Chapter Twenty-Two
“You really hate me that much, don’t you?” His words cut through the silence in the truck.
“Do we really have to sit here and talk about this, Trent?”
“No, I guess not. I deserve your hatred. This I know. A man can only hope, though. Right?”
He shrugs and starts up the truck. We are driving toward God knows what and a part of me screams with joy that I will see Turner soon. However, a bigger part of me is intimidated as all hell at the mere thought of what could happen to me before I get the chance.
After a short but very bumpy ride, we find ourselves parked outside of what has to be the most run-down house I have ever seen. The porch light is lit, chasing away the gloom and making every miserable inch of this place visible.
I gape at the front porch and the stairs that are missing several boards, which would cause an unwary person to fall right through. The white paint on the siding is chipped and peeling, several windows are broken, and the roof is covered in a thick layer of moss that appears to be growing up the side of the house.
I feel like I am staring at some haunted mansion. I am sure that once upon a time it was a beautiful little home, but this place is so bad now as to be unlivable. From what I can see of the yard, the grass has grown up so high it reaches over the top of the windowsills.
Oh, God. Did Trent grow up here like this? I envision a small boy running around here playing outside. Did he ever have anyone to play with? My heart breaks for the little boy who never deserved to have a life like this. And Turner. He’s been here for how long, now? Is there even running water in this place? Food? Obviously the electricity works, but good Lord almighty, how could anyone live this way? Tears spring to my eyes as I take it all in.
“The outside looks a lot worse than it does on the inside.”
I jerk my head around and face a somber looking Trent.
“Did you grow up here?” I sniff as I wipe away the tears from my face with the back of my hand.
“No. I grew up in Jackson, actually. This place used to be halfway decent when I was younger. Dad and I used to come out here and hunt all the time. Some of the very few times my dad was sober would be when he hunted. For whatever fucked up reason, that man was serious about his hunting. Especially deer and pheasant. I fucking hated it. But it was the only time I ever got to spend time with my real dad, you know?” He looks at the house as if lost in his memories before finally turning back toward me. His face turns serious as he opens his truck door. “You ready?”
I nod, still a little shaken.
“Stay close to me. And whatever you do, for the love of Christ, keep your mouth shut and only talk to him when he talks to you.”
Glaring at me, he steps out of the truck and shuts his door. I can’t move and I swallow the biggest lump in my throat as I try and force my unstable hands to reach for the door handle. Immediately Trent is right there opening the door for me, and places his hands on my shoulders as if he is trying to comfort me. Even though I hate having him touch me, at this moment in time he is the only comfort I have. He looks deeply into my eyes; searching for what, I have no idea.
“One more thing. I promise I will do anything I can to keep you safe, but if something happens to me, here is a spare key to the truck. You have got to promise me you will get the hell out of here and run, whether you have Turner with you or not. Promise me,” he commands, shaking my shoulders for emphasis.
“I- I don’t know if I can do that,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. He starts to shake my shoulders a little more vigorously.
“You have to promise me! I will get back in this truck and tie you down and we will leave, and I mean it if you DO. NOT. PROMISE. ME.”
Jesus God Almighty, what the hell are we walking into?
“I promise,” I say sullenly. One thing I know for certain; I will fight until my last breath before I walk out of here without my husband.
“Good girl.”
He releases his grip on my shoulders and grabs my hand as he helps me down. I grip tightly to his as he carefully leads me up the short, narrow path and the creaky stairs. As soon as we land on the top step, the door swings wide open and for the first time I come face to face with the man who created my husband.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my long lost son and the fucking princess herself,” he slurs slightly, wobbling.
James looks nothing like the man in the pictures I saw from years ago. His teeth are rotting, his face is pale, and oh God, his eyes. Even though they are bloodshot and halfway closed, they are the most terrifying pair of eyes I have ever seen. Eyes that say, ‘I know exactly what scares you, bitch, and it’s me.’ They bore into me with hostility and contempt. As skinny as he is you would think he would be easy to snap in half, but those eyes make you think twice about ever trying to fuck with him.
“I thought I told you to kill that fucking bitch, boy?” He straightens his posture as he glowers from me to Trent. “Does she have you fucking pussy whipped just like your fucking pussy ass brother? If so, maybe dear old dad should have a taste, too? Spread it around between the three of us before I fucking slice her into a million pieces.”
He rakes his eyes slowly up and down my body, allowing his gaze to linger on my chest. I cower closer to Trent and try and hide myself behind him as best as I can. I have never been so petrified in my life. And he can sense it as he stands there and laughs evilly.
“Bitch, he ain’t gonna save you from me.”
He lifts a bottle that I never saw in his hands to his dirty mouth and takes a heavy swig. I feel Trent’s body tense as I stand behind him. Is he just going to stand here and not say a damn word? I want in this house and I want to see Turner more than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life. I nudge him in his back slightly, trying to give him a hint. Finally he speaks.
“Dad, I told you on the phone I wasn’t going to do a damn thing to her no matter what you said to me, and I meant it. She gets out of here without a hair on her head touched or we will never be able to get out of this fucked up mess alive.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, you little bastard? You don’t call the shots here, I do. I brought you into this world, you fucking punk ass bitch, and I sure as fuck won’t hesitate to take you the fuck out of it.”
He spits all over the damn place when he spews his fowl words at his son. Even though I am scared shitless, I am about ready to tell this asshole where he can shove it. It’s no wonder this man I am clinging onto as if my life depends on it is the way he is. James Calloway is a repulsive human being. He evokes the deepest form of hatred in my being.
“You’re drunk, Dad. When was the last time you had something to eat?” Trent asks kindly.
I don’t know if he is being sincere or not. I am sure a part of him cares about this man standing in front of us, but who gives a flying fuck if he eats or not? I sure as hell don’t.
“What do you care boy? You gonna make me some food?”
James laughs as he turns around and staggers into the house. Trent grabs my hand and pulls me forward with him. When the smell of the inside of this house assaults my senses, I have to place my free hand over my nose. The acrid smell burns my nostrils and I can taste it deep in my throat. It smells old, dusty, and damp. Rancid, even. The door slams shut with a loud squeak and I jump. Trent squeezes my hand as if trying to reassure me.
We walk deeper into the room. There is a small kitchen table with a few mismatched chairs and a kitchen off to the right. Dirty dishes cover every surface in sight. No wonder it smells in here, it’s just as filthy on the inside as it is on the outside. The white fridge is covered in a thick layer of black dust.
There are piles of shit everywhere, from papers to empty pizza boxes, all strewn across the table. Beer bottles and cans and empty liquor bottles in clear plastic bags are piled up in one corner while in another corner sits a small round table with a bag of white powder, razor blades, and rolled up dollars. Holy shit, it’s cocaine! This is the shit pile my husband has been kept in. I feel my blood start to boil looking at this damn mess. This place needs to be burned to the damn ground with this smug ass bastard in it.
“So what do you propose we do now, boy? Now that this bitch has fucked it all up for us and that money is good as flushed down the fucking toilet?”
“Come on, Dad. You know it’s not her fault. Jesus, can’t you stay off of the damn booze for one damn day so we can figure out how to get the hell out of here before the cops show up?”
Trent speaks as if he is pleading for this piece of shit’s help.
“You hearing me, Trent? WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO NOW? I say we kill that bastard son of mine in the other room, and then kill his pretty little wife. After I fuck her, first.”
As soon as I hear him say Turner is in the other room, I lose all sense of reason. I loosen my grip on Trent and move in front of him.
“Where the hell is my husband?” I scream and start to storm towards the only hallway in the house.
“Clove! Get back here!” Trent bellows from behind me. I run the few short steps it takes to get to the only closed door, but before I can reach for the doorknob I am suddenly jerked from behind and lifted up off of the ground.
“Trent! Put me down, now! He’s in there. God, let me go! Please!” I cry as I kick and scream and try to claw at his arms. He’s too strong, though. He carries me back into the small living room and sets me down on the ratty, filthy couch.
“Sit down and shut your damn mouth.”
Trent points his finger at me. I hear unintelligible words spouting forth from the chair where his father is sitting.
“You are one crazy ass fucking bitch if you think I am letting you anywhere near him. Not until I am finished with you first.” James stands and staggers backwards bracing his hands on the arms of the chair.
“Fuck you! You’re the crazy one here, not me!”
I have had it with his insults. Fuck him! He wants to continue to call me a bitch? I will show him what this bitch can do.
“Fuck you, you fucking slobbering spineless dick! The money doesn’t even belong to you. It never has and it never will. You’re nothing but a little weasel who has hidden behind his drugs and booze all of his life. Who the hell do you think you are? You’ve all but destroyed both of your sons’ lives. What kind of person separates their child from their mother and their brother? Brings them up like you did Trent, showing them not one ounce of love whatsoever. You’re a real piece of work with your evil, corrupted, warped mind!”
A thunderous rage seeps out of James’ eyes, and his fists clench at his sides as I finish my little speech. When he speaks, I begin to realize I should have just done exactly what Trent told me to.
“This is my house, and women speak when they are told to speak, and not before. And they sure as fuck don’t call me crazy. But since you think I am crazy, let me show you just how crazy I can be.”
Before I can even blink, James strikes me right in the jaw with his fist. My head snaps back from the blow, slamming me into the wall. For the longest time I can’t move as pain radiates from my cheek and mouth and the taste of blood dissolves on my tongue.
“Get her the hell out of my face until I decide what the hell I am going to do with her.”
I open my eyes and his gaze is murderous and unblinking as a deadly viper. Trent quickly scoops me up into his arms and carries me down the short hallway. He stops at the open doorway directly across from the room I know Turner is in. I try to hear any kind of noise coming from that room and there is nothing. Could he be dead, or close to it? I panic and forget about my throbbing face. Trent carries me through the doorway and lays me calmly on top of a bed.
“Do you want to get yourself killed? Because you are heading in that very direction. I told you to keep quiet, and I meant it. You’re damn lucky he hasn’t killed you yet! He knows there is no reason to keep you alive so now, you’re stuck in this damn room until I can figure out what the hell to do.”
He turns to leave and I stamp down my anger for a brief minute or two.
“Trent, you have to go in there and make sure Turner is alive. Please?” I start crying and sobbing uncontrollably.
“Get your fucking ass out here now and leave that bitch!” James shouts.
“Fucking Christ. Stay put.” Trent slams the door shut, leaving me feeling all alone for the first time in days.
“Turn on the damn light!” I yell to no one. Great. Now I am sitting in the middle of a dirty fucking bed with who the hell knows what on this floor. I curve my body around, placing my feet on God only knows what. However, as I start to walk with my hands out trying to find the wall in hopes the light switch is by the door, I am assaulted with carpet. It feels soft and squishy underneath my barely there flip-flops. Finding the door, I scrabble my way until I finally find a light switch. When I flick it on, I am stunned to silence by what I see before me.
“Holy shit.”
There is a small, black-framed bed up against the wall, with a dark gray comforter and matching pillows, and a matching dresser, which I am currently propped up against. The room is spotless, except for the small amount of dust that has made its home on top of the dresser. The room is tiny, and as I take a few steps my mouth drops open and I collapse to the floor, gaping openly at the pictures above the bed and all across the entire length of the wall.
They are all of me. Me with Turner and my friends and family. Years . . . there are years of me in these pictures. I place my hand over my mouth to stifle my choking sobs as I try and gain some sort of composure and stand. Here is the proof of his obsession. Dear God, what is going on?
The walls start to close in on me as my eyes drop to a certain picture of Turner and me. This was right before he boarded that plane to take off for his business meeting. I reach for it and run my hands across Turner’s face. In the picture, he has his hand on the back of my neck, bending down to kiss me goodbye. I pluck the picture off of the wall and bring it to my chest, placing it directly across my heart. Then I cry in absolute silence for what feels like eternity.
My husband is right across the hall from me and I can’t even get to him. I am so afraid that he is really dead, or lying there badly injured. He must be. If something wasn’t wrong with him, there is no way Turner would have heard me screaming for him and not tried to get to me. I just have to find a way to get to him.
Knowing this is Trent’s room, I scan my prison looking for some kind of weapon. Both of those men underestimate the power of the love I truly have for Turner if they think they can keep me locked up in here until he, they, or who the hell ever decides my fate. Turner may never forgive me or want a damn thing to do with me after he finds out the debauchery I have sunk to with Trent; I can live with that, but what I cannot live with is not doing everything in my power to get him the hell out of here.
No sooner than I find what could possibly be a knife on top of the small dresser, I hear a key being turned in the lock. I shove the picture into my back pocket, realizing I have no time to grab the knife. I hear a rush of blood in my ears from my heart pumping overtime as the door slowly creaks open. I slide down the wall until my butt hits the floor.
Trent enters the room and follows the trail from the pictures to me sitting on the floor with his eyes. It’s in that moment I fear for my life as he stands there with a smile, holding a gun in his hands. When he lifts it in my direction I try and scream, but nothing comes out. Nothing comes out at all.
The world goes black.