Page 114 of Horror and Chill

Michael gasps, tries to thrash and kick, but the rope holds him down. Each strike forces a grunt out of him until the grunts become cries and then hoarse screams that rasp in his throat. Corwin leans in close, making him look at me between blows. “Do you see her? Do you see what you made and tried to break?”

Michael’s voice falters until it’s just broken breath, and then finally nothing at all. His head slumps forward, chin to chest.

“He’s out,” Evander says, stepping back. His chest rises slowly but steady.

That’s when Debra breaks. “What have you done?” she screams, her voice sharp and shaking. She thrashes in her chair, wrists straining against the rope. Her eyes are wild and wet,locked on Michael as if looking hard enough could undo the truth.

I look at her and feel nothing but the old echo of eighteen years of silence. I step closer, the leather of my skirt squeaking in the quiet between her ragged breaths. Her eyes flick to me, wide and frantic, searching for something that has never been there.

“What have I done?” My voice is low. “No. What didyoudo? You stood by while he drowned me in a bathtub, when he beat me over and over again, when he starved me. You handed me over when the church wanted to ‘pray’ over my body like it was theirs. You told him every word I said when I begged you to run. And then you watched him punish me for speaking.”

Debra shakes her head fast, too fast. “I was trying to keep the peace. I was trying to save you.”

“Save me?” I laugh, sharp enough to sting my own throat. “You didn’t save me. You sold me out. You were supposed to be a mother, but you were just another set of hands to hold me down.”

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Tears spill, sliding down her cheeks and soaking the collar of her prim dress. She looks at Michael’s slumped body, then back at me, like she can’t decide which one of us betrayed her more.

I lean in close enough that she can feel my breath on her face. “You ask what I’ve done? I survived you. And now I’m going to make sure no one else has to.”

Her chin trembles, lips parting like she wants to pray, but nothing comes out except the smallest sound, a wounded animal noise.

I straighten, the leather creaking at my waist. “Your turn, Debra. Time to pay.”

48

Corwin

I giveMichael a rough shake by the shoulders until his eyes snap open. He’s still strapped down in the chair, sweat rolling down his face. His chest heaves against the rope, but the knots are tight. He’s going nowhere. Debra is tied up opposite him, knees pressed together, eyes wide like a lamb knowing it’s going to slaughter. She shakes her head, whispering prayers.

I stand between them with a glass jar in my hand, the liquid inside sloshing slowly. They don’t know what it is, and that is half the fun. Let them wonder. Let them fear the unknown.

“Tell me again about obedience,” I say to Debra, my voice low. “Tell me again about how you broke a girl down until she couldn’t breathe without fear of your punishments and God.”

Her lips peel back from her teeth. She spits words like venom. Scripture. The same poison they used to drown Agatha with. Something about sparing the rod, about love being discipline. Garbage.

I do not let her finish. My fingers twist the cap. It comes loose with a click, and the smell hits before the first drop falls.

Michael jerks when the liquid touches him. I pour it over his thighs; the fluid slides into the raw lines already cut by the belt. A roar bursts from him, his legs thrash, ropes cutting deeper into his ankles.

“Oops.” Garron shrugs.

I tilt the jar again. Bleach drizzles down, clear and cruel, hissing against the torn flesh. The wounds bubble, froth rising white. His skin blooms red. The smell burns my nose.

He writhes in the chair; the ropes holding him down, his body trembling.

“Stop. STOP!” Debra cries. “Please, stop him. He’s your father.”

“He was never a father to her,” I snarl. “He was a monster with a Bible.”

Michael’s eyes bulge, bloodshot and furious. He doesn’t look at me, not really. His gaze slides past, landing on Agatha. He stares at her like she should be the one to step in, like she is supposed to save him. Like even tied and bleeding, he still believes he owns her.

I meet his gaze and feel something uncoil in my chest. I’m the devil he always swore he could keep out of his house. And tonight, the devil is home.

His breath hitches, a wet rattle in his throat. The fight drains from his face as his head lolls to the side, eyes rolling white. He’s gone under, the pain finally dragging him into unconsciousness.

Michael gets a break for a bit because it’s time to deal with Mommy. I step over to her, squatting so we’re eye level.

“Time to be quiet.” I bite my bottom lip.