Page 32 of The Oath We Give

CORALINE

“You’re safe now.”

Then why do I feel so exposed? Why do I feel like I’m leaving myself the further forward we walk?

I’m being removed from the protection of familiarity, thrust toward the unknown with little explanation. My feet drag, desperate to turn around, to go back. I don’t want to leave.

However, I’ve learned it’s always better to remain obedient than deal with the agony of punishment.

Two people in uniforms flank me, police officers, each with a hand curled around my upper arm.

“172 too Central. I need an ambulance to 1798 West Crew Lane. I have a female with severe lacerations to face and arms.”

“10-4, 172, rescue en route.”

Their voices are TV static, random noise that scratches against the air, crackling on my skin. A buzz that fills my ears with little purpose. I barely recognize them as words, only sounds.

I never thought seeing other people, anyone other than him, would be such a shock. It’s a foreign confusion to my regulated system that someone other than him could come down the steps and into the dimly lit basement.That someone other than him existed.

How long has it been since I’ve seen another face? How long has it been since I’ve seenmyface?

With painfully firm hands, they guide me onto the last step, then lead me through an open door and into a room pouring sunlight. I flinch, immediately shut my eyes, and tuck my head against my shoulder.

My body turns away from the harsh sun streaming into this new room. I take several moments to adjust, eyes bleary as I blink through the burning. I try to take in the space, only catching glimpses before my eyes are forced to shut once again.

The room comes to me in flashes between blinks.

Polished furniture, smart appliances, spotless interior decorations, and all the wealth seeping between. It’s a mosaic, a tiny piece of a larger picture. The upstairs portion of his home.

The placed I’ve lived beneath.

All this time, there was a home above me. People living their lives, bustling around, completely unaware of my presence just a few feet below.

I cast my gaze down as we move forward, staring at the soot and dirt covering my feet. Each step leaves a stain of filth on the gleaming hardwood floors. We pass several people on our walk to the front door, each of them blurring, unrecognizable, as I numbly allow my body to succumb to their direction. My tongue drags across my bottom lip, feeling dead skin and cracks along the seam.

When we approach the open front door, I can smell crisp air. It ambushes me the moment we step out of the house and onto the steps. It burns my throat as it enters, thirsty lungs gulping it down. My system rattles, the world spinning with the abrupt rush of oxygen.

How long has it been since I smelled fresh air?

My stomach lurches as my vision tries to adjust, my senses overwhelmed by the chaos outside, too many things happening at once. The police cars littering the brick driveway, the shouting, the sun.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up.

Above the whining sirens and noise is his voice, shouting, bitter, and furious, but it’s still a balm to my raging nerves.

“Step—” My voice is strangled by the dry hands on my throat, unable to deliver his name.

A hand tightens on my thin arm, a gentle squeeze in order to bring me some form of nonverbal comfort.”It’s okay. He’s leaving. We are taking him away. He will never hurt you again.”

I’m unsure which one says this because all I can focus on is the way my chest seizes with panic.

He’s leaving?

Fear—it latches its jaw, hinges on my heart, and gorges on what little remains. Its serrated teeth tear and gnaw at the organ that is barely beating.

Fear is a starved beast, no matter how often you feed it.

Across the lawn, Stephen is thrashing against several officers, resisting them as they attempt to shove him toward an open police car. Handcuffs are sealed behind his back, and his dirty-blond hair is disheveled, swaying as he struggles.