Page 54 of Tortured Souls

“Fuck, Sky, pull it together!” Slamming my hands on the steering wheel, I sit up in my seat and take a few deep breaths, focusing all my attention on each breath in and each breath out.

“You can do this. Your plan is solid. You’re almost done.”

I look down at the clock. 10:45 p.m. I am roughly twenty minutes away from my childhood home, and already within the boundary of the Hellstorms’ territory. Glenda informed me yesterday that my parents will be leaving for a trip tomorrow morning for their anniversary—twenty-two years, to be exact. I nearly gag. Their marriage is a joke, and no one knows that more than the two of them. My father has cheated on my mother from the beginning, sleeping with almost every woman who joins the club.An initiation, he tells them, and since they have nowhere else to go, they oblige and sleep with the filth of a man. Their new president.

The irony that I will be ending their lives on their anniversary is almost poetic. My mother is no saint either. No, she may be worse. The woman is incapable of feeling anything remotely close to love, even when it came to her own children. Heirs, that’s all we were to her. That was, until Seven was killed. A part of her died too. Her only son, even when she didn’t like him, she wept for him, putting on the face of the mourning mother. The second the funeral was over, so were the tears.

Glenda will be leaving the cellar door unlocked for me so I can enter the house. She’s also disarming the security system once everyone is asleep. She’s risking a hell of a lot for me, but her motivation is a brighter future, something she desperately hopes for. A future she will get once I succeed.

I made it. I’ve finally reached the dark and ominous road that leads to the dead end and my family’s home. I park my car at the entrance, off in the ditch, where it’s hard to see by passersby. Then again, no one would be traveling this road unless they were my father’s men.

Climbing out of the car, I’m hit with a gust of warm wind. It’s nice. The warmth from nature. It definitely doesn’t feel like I’m about to end someone’s life. You know, like in the movies where the night is cold and the creepy trees are blowing in the wind? Don’t forget the owl that scares the shit out of you when you least expect it. No, it doesn’t feel like that at all. It’s welcoming, almost. That is until I start my long journey through the woods along the road. The same woods I escaped from the last time I was here. A sharp contrast to that night.

Twenty minutes fly by and my nerves are ramping up. This is finally happening; the end is so close I can feel it coursing through my veins. The weight will be lifted, and the world will seem brighter.

I hope.

The moment I reach the wood line, I freeze. My parents’ home sits quietly in the middle of a small clearing. A house of horrors filled with memories I’ve tried to eliminate from my psyche my whole life. It’s beautiful, really. A white colonial two-story house with columns at the entrance that always remind me of the coliseum. I’ve never been, but I’ve seen pictures.

The greenhouse attached to the back of the house was always my favorite place to be. Especially at night, when I could look up and see all the stars on a clear night. Makes me almost feel sorrythat it will soon be tainted with red stains from Mom and Dad. Almost.

Inhaling a warm breath, I walk towards the house, gun in hand. Guards are posted up throughout the property, but I’d memorized their routes when I was younger so I could escape into the woods without being seen. All so I could get some fresh air without constantly being watched and preyed on. It’s rare that guards linger in the back of the property. They mostly stay towards the front, or inside the house, for that matter. Inside, they stay in the living room, or in the control room where they can monitor the security system in one place. And like clockwork, nine times out of ten the guard running the control room falls asleep. I pray tonight is no different.

I’m ready. I’ve been ready. The smile that’s forming across my face would look demented if anyone were here to see it. Reaching the cellar door, I slowly twist the knob and pray Glenda’s pulled through with her end of the bargain. Once the door opens and no alarm sounds, I take a deep sigh of relief.

Thank you, Glenda.

I quickly enter the house and close the door behind me. I want this over with. I don’t want to linger any longer than necessary. Get in, do business, get out. That’s the plan. Entering the kitchen, I close the basement door behind me. I silently creep up the back staircase that leads from the kitchen to the second floor. I pass rows of pictures that line the walls—pictures of my parents, their families, and a few of me and Seven. Just how they were before I left. Everything looks the same. It even has the same smell. Pine, lemon, and lavender mix together to form a beautiful aroma that plagues my mind with my childhood.

I need to hurry; I hate this fucking place. Making my way down the hallway I pass multiple rooms before I finally approach my parents. The door is cracked just a bit, makingme smile, relieved I don’t have to fiddle with the doorknob. Holstering my gun, I pull out two syringes I have prepared. Propofol, commonly used in hospitals by anesthesiologists to induce and maintain general anesthesia. It’s fast acting, so this will put them down in a matter of seconds.

The moment I spot their sleeping bodies huddled under the comforter, I waste no time. I creep along the plush carpet until I’m standing over them. Popping the caps off the syringes, I grab the corner of the blanket and slowly draw back the covers. Black hair comes into view first, and I wonder if my mother has dyed her hair since last I saw her. She always kept her hair blond, but seeing thick black strands fanned out across the sheet has me thinking she’s given up the blond. That is until she comes into view. No, not my mother.

“Glenda?”

Yanking the rest of the blankets down the bed, I see a lifeless Glenda sprawled out on my parents’ bed. Blood oozing from her nose and mouth. What the fuck?

“Looks like this wasn’t a part of your plan now, was it, Skylar?” My father’s raspy voice has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up instantly. Turning around, I come face-to-face with my father.

Sergio Sagan.

The devil himself. Two men I’ve never seen before stand beside him, their guns pointed directly at me as my father smiles his Cheshire Cat smile that I hate so much.

“Welcome home, my daughter. We’ve missed you greatly.” My upper lip curls with disgust at his words. He didn’t miss me; he doesn’t even fucking like me. I slowly move one of the syringes to my other hand so I can try to reach for my gun, hoping the dark can conceal me enough.

“Your mother has missed you.” I scoff at that comment.

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” I finally say.

“Now, now, Sky. Is that any way to speak to your father? We have a lot of catching up to do. So why don’t you drop those needles and we can have a civilized conversation?” All three of them take a step towards me, and I waste no more time. I drop the syringes and grab the handle of my gun. I’m not quick enough. The bigger guy is on me in an instant, wrapping his large bicep around my throat and choking me. I grab his arm, trying to pull him away from my neck, but he’s too strong.

“Well, since you didn’t want to act like an adult, I guess we’ll have to do it the hard way. Say goodnight, Sky.” The last face I see is my father’s, his dingy teeth smiling wide at me as my vision rapidly goes black, and I fall unconscious.

SAXON

My head is full of this incessant pounding, a banging against a door echoing through my brain. What the fuck is that pounding? Why can’t I open my eyes all the way? I feel as though someone has covered me with a weighted blanket that’s damn near fifty pounds, and I’m struggling to move.

“Saxon! Saxon, open the fucking door!” Who the hell is screaming?