Page 1 of Vengeance of Childhood Proportions (Till Death Do Us Part #7)

“Again!”

I flinched at the harshness in his voice. I knew Jason wouldn’t hurt me, but I couldn’t stop my reaction from the sheer volume of the order. Sweaty and bruised, I forced myself up onto my hands and knees on the soft mat.

The drip…drip…drip… of water from somewhere in the bunker echoed against the concrete walls as Jason paced circles around my prone form.

Everything hurt, but I was not in pain. I knew pain. Pain and I were old friends. My sore muscles, battered body, and tired mind were nothing compared to what I’d been through.

That had broken me.

This would make me stronger.

“Again!” he shouted when I did not get back onto my feet.

I wanted nothing more than to take a shower and go to bed, but I pushed that desire aside. I would not get my revenge by quitting.

Voices assailed me as I rose to my feet. I knew they were only in my head, but they came and went like someone was turning the volume of a speaker up and down inside my brain. The laughter sometimes would get so loud I couldn’t hear someone speaking in front of me.

I saw the recognition on his face before he struck.

Jason knew what I was hearing. He knew about the voices and he didn’t care.

I knew it wasn’t from cruelty that he attacked when I wasn’t ready.

He’d drilled it into me countless times that no opponent would wait for me to be ready, to have a clear head, to work through the pain…

Any weakness was their advantage and I refused to have any weaknesses.

Not anymore.

I’d been weak. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have fought. Two years ago, I’d tried to give up. I still remembered the utter despair permeating my soul as I placed the coarse rope around my neck. I would never forget the feel of the rough canvas under my feet as I stepped off my desk chair.

I’d done the math. I didn’t want to prolong my pain. I had even weighed myself that morning to verify that I had the right length of rope for my size.

But I’d miscalculated. Not in the type of rope or my measurements, but the fact that my ceiling fan would be able to hold my dangling weight. Poor construction work and cheap drywall were the only reasons I was still alive today.

I blocked Jason’s attack. He’d been training me since the day he’d walked me out of the mental institution on my eighteenth birthday.

He was like a father to me, replacing my parents who had dropped me off at the psych ward and then promptly moved out of state to be further away from me and the scandal that was my existence.

One year. It wasn’t enough. I needed to be perfectly honed and ready for any contingency. I would have my revenge.

Time was on my side, after all. No one actually believed a ghost could come after them.

Christopher.

John.

Roman.

Hannah.

Rachel.

Emmet.

Andy.

Amber.

Jesse.

Kaylee.

Sam.

Jerald.

Jerome.

Alicia.

Wyatt.

With every hit, I ran through the names in my head.

They may have moved on with their lives, forgotten me, but I would never forget them.

I would descend upon them when they least expected it.

Not when they were ready, but when I was.

I would remind them of every unwanted touch, every invasion of my body and my psyche, every utterance of laughter at my humiliation and pain…

They would die by my hand. Like I had at theirs.