Two years later
September 12, 2016

I woke to the sound of my own scream, the remnants of the nightmare clawing at my mind like monster I couldn't escape. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and my breath hitched with each gasp. The more I tried to breathe, the harder it became.

Micaela had been missing for three days. Three days I haven't seen or heard from her. No calls, no texts, nothing. I shut my eyes, forcing myself to breathe properly, and yanked the blankets away from my body. I tiptoed out of my room and into the hallway. I eyed Ashton's door, a physical ache rippling through my chest. Dad sent him away months ago. Ashton didn't want to go, he even begged Dad not to send him but we were fourteen. He didn't have a choice.

I stood in the dim hallway, the cold floor beneath my feet sending a shiver up my spine. The house felt wrong—too quiet, too empty. It used to be filled with Micaela's laughter, Ashton's music blaring from his room, and even the sounds of Dad yelling. Now, everything was muffled, like the air itself was too thick to breathe in.

I stared at Ashton's door. His room hadn't been touched since he left—still the same posters on the walls, his sneakers by the door. Our father sent him
to a academy, one of those troubled teens program a year ago. I missed him so much. I had no contact with him, my father deeming him troubled and worthless. I'd sometimes sneak in just to feel close to him, to remember what it felt like when we were all together. Before everything started falling apart. I wanted to knock, to imagine him answering, his messy hair and lopsided grin telling me everything was fine. But it wasn't. It hadn't been for a long time.

The house felt like a stranger's, and without Micaela or Ashton, I was alone with him, with my father.
It terrified me.

I turned my gaze to the staircase, listening for any sound from downstairs. The floorboards creaked when Royce moved around, like the house itself was warning me. I hadn't heard him tonight, but that didn't mean he wasn't awake. He was always there, even when he wasn't physically around, his presence was suffocating.

A knot formed in my stomach as I took a step back, my eyes darting to the shadows at the end of the hallway. It felt like Royce could appear out of the darkness at any moment, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall, his voice demanding to know why I was out of bed. I imagined the cold, hard edge in his eyes as he looked at me.

My fingers tightened around the edge of my shirt, twisting it nervously. A part of me wanted to run to the front door, to leave this house and never come back, but the other part—stronger, louder—kept whispering Royce's warnings, his voice like a storm in my mind.

I swallowed as I passed his bedroom and stopped at my sister's room, hesitating. Micaela hated me going into her room without her permission. But she's been gone for three days.

Three days, three days, three days.

I gripped the handle and opened the door.

A chilly breeze rustled my hair as I entered, her window wide open. Her canopy bed was unmade, my sister no where in sight. My heartbeat thrummed in my ears as I took in her room. Clothes were scattered across the floor which I had to step over to reach to her nightstand, her lamp still on. I didn't want to pry, to search through her belongings, but this was different - she hadn't been home in days, something wasn't right and I could feel it in my bones.

I found her journal, a leather bound book with its edges worn and soft from years of writing and adding photos, quotes, and stickers. My hand hovered over it, hesitation knotting in my stomach.

I pushed down the guilt and opened it, flipping through the pages, searching for the last entry, fingers trembling.

September 10 2016

I'm afraid. I'm afraid all the time. I throw up. I can't sleep. I listen to every creak of the house at night, wondering if it's him. I try and stay out of his way, but it's like he comes searching for us sometimes. It feels like there is no escape.

The worst is that he knows we're afraid of him, and it amuses him. He thrives on it—on the way we flinch, the way our voices catch when he's near. It's like a game to him, one where we're the pawns, and he always wins.

I am saving up some money. It's not much but it'll get us started. I have a plan. Jaime and Cameron don't know yet and they'd likely try and talk me out of it, but they don't understand. They try their best to help, but Royce has chains around their necks too.

Everything feels hopeless but I won't give up. I can't, not when my sister  -

The entry stopped and I flipped through the next few pages, but there was nothing more written. I wiped my tears away and held her journal tight to my chest. She wouldn't leave me behind, and in my heart, I knew something must have happened. Something terrible.

+++

"This is Cameron Monroe, leave your name and number, and I'll get back to-"

I ended the call, taking a deep breath. I tried Jaime, my oldest brother, hands trembling as I found his name. "You've reached Jaime Monroe. Leave a message-"

Why aren't they answering any messages and calls?
Cameron might be on call, as he was a paramedic. I haven't seen them in weeks. When my father forbid him from seeing Micaela, Ashton, and I, we hadn't seen him for months until Jaime brought the three of us over to his house for a sleepover and Cameron stayed the weekend with us. For two years, we've been staying with Jaime on weekends and spending time with Cameron, our father not knowing. But I haven't heard from them in almost a month. I couldn't rely on them, not anymore.

I paced in front of my father's office, wringing my hands. He didn't like it when we bothered him but this was important, Micaela is missing. I had to ask if he knew anything, no matter how afraid I was of him. I raised and forced my fist to knock, the sound echoing too loud. It made my stomach lurch as I waited for an answer.

"Come in," he said and I twisted the door knob, opening the door to his office. My father sat behind a large, oak desk, glancing up from his laptop. He studied me with cold, unblinking. "What do you want?"

"Micaela isn't home ... she hasn't been for three days," I said, swallowing hard. "I'm worried about her."

He sighed, glancing back at the laptop screen. "I'm sure she's fine."

"It's been three days," I pressed.

"She's fine, don't worry about her."

"But-"

"I have paperwork to do and you're wasting my time," he snapped, glaring at me with cold eyes. "Maybe she just left you, like your mother left you. I don't care, neither should you. They were weak anyway."

"No, she wouldn't leave me with you," I hissed, sucking in a deep breath as the words spilled from my mouth. His jaw twitched, but his face stayed emotionless. "I know you hurt her, I will figure it out, and when I do, I'll make sure you pay."

He stood up and walked around his desk in quick, inescapable strides. I could only stumble backwards, turning to run, but he caught a fistful of hair. He yanked me back, and I screamed, terrified. He threw me against the bookcase, pain exploded from my tailbone as it hit the wooden ledge.

My father gripped my throat, his fingers squeezing. "I can kill you right now and no one will care. You're pathetic and weak."

I struggled to breathe. "Cam and Jaime-"

He laughed a cold, mechanical laugh. "Your brothers don't care for you," he said and I whispered "no," tears in my eyes. "They don't love you. You're weak and pathetic, just look at yourself, what is there to love?"

He chuckled, squeezing tighter. "You're so much like her, your mother, weak and timid. But I have plans for you, sweetheart, because you will be nothing like her - I will make sure of that."

I had to do something. I had to free myself somehow.

"Now that Micaela is gone, it's just me and you, sweetheart. You will never escape me." I coughed and coughed, gasping for breath, and out of the corner of my eye noticed it - a lion paper weight on the ledge. I reached for it, my father too busy ranting, slewing insults to notice. "From now on, you're not to leave-"

My fingers grasped the iron and I swung with everything I had, hitting him square on the temple. The crack was sickening, a sound I'd never forget. His words cut off mid-sentence, replaced by a stunned grunt, and then he crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood trickled down his cheek, staining his white dress shirt red. 

I stumbled back, the heavy paperweight still clutched in my shaking hands. My chest heaved as I stared down at him, my father—Royce Monroe, the monster I'd feared my entire life—lying motionless at my feet.

For a moment, everything was silent except for the ragged sound of my breathing. I half expected him to jump up, his rage even worse than before, but he didn't move. I dropped the paperweight with a dull thud, and it rolled a few inches before stopping. My hands felt strange—numb and buzzing at the same time—like they didn't belong to me anymore.

I swallowed hard, forcing the panic down. He wasn't dead—at least, I didn't think he was. But he was out cold, and that was all I needed. All I had wanted for so long was a chance, just one chance to escape his grasp. Now it was here, staring at me, daring me to take it.
I yanked the door open. I didn't look back. I couldn't.

I ran. My bare feet slapped against the cold, hard floor as I raced through the house, past the pictures on the walls, the memories I didn't want to carry anymore. All of them a facade, masking what really happened. My mind screamed at me to grab something—anything—but there was no time. My father would wake up, and when he did, he'd come after me.

+++

— thank you for reading!

Happy New Year.

What's your favourite holiday tradition? Are you making resolutions?

I don't have any but my family and I are playing a Crokinole tournament tomorrow night - my mom and I against my dad and uncle. It's quiet and cozy, just the way I like it.

Charlie 🧡