13. Camryn

THIRTEEN

CAMRYN

With the flashlight stuffed in my back pocket, I lower the steps to the attic.

Staring up at the imposing hole, I wonder, not for the first time, if this is such a good idea after all, but then I grit my teeth and climb up. I need answers, and up there is where I discovered the damn doll.

My head pops through the hole, and I peer around. It's too dark to see, so I reach behind me to retrieve the flashlight. Sweeping it across the room, I'm careful not to disturb the sea of sleeping bats overhead.

I climb up the rest of the way and kneel on the dirty floor. The flashlight flickers in my hand, so I slap it against my palm and then crawl forward on one hand, shining the light on the stacked crates in the corner. My spine shudders, and not just from the chilly air up here, but the sensation of being watched crawling over my skin.

I settle in front of the crates and place the flashlight beside me on the floor. Scanning the dark corners, I suppress the urge to take my flashlight and run. It's just me here, no one else, or so I tell myself as I pull one of the crates closer to me.

A layer of dust coats the book on top, so I blow it off.

"Jesus…" I cough, wafting the air, waiting for the dust to settle before opening the first page.

I reach for the flashlight and scan the faded handwriting, turning the page. My initial excitement soon fades when I realize it's a recipe collection.

After putting it back down, I reach for the next book, surprised to find old photographs glued to the pages—photographs of this house in its heyday before years of neglect took its toll.

It's hard to imagine what it must have looked like with a fresh lick of paint and flowers in bloom outside. Nothing at all like the sorry affair it has become.

I turn the page and pause on a picture of Wilfred's farm. Adjusting my clammy grip on the flashlight, I quickly glance around the attic, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

Behind two mustached men, deep in discussion, sits a little girl in a tattered dress on the porch, with dark braids. She clutches a doll to her chest, but it's her eyes that have ice slithering across my arms. They're staring at me through time and space, dark pools of black that seem to grow larger the longer I look at the photograph.

I quickly shut the book and gulp down a breath. "The doll…" My brow pinches as I open the book and shine the light on the photograph.

Sure enough, it's the same creepy doll that I found up here the other week. I flip to another page, and my gaze locks on a photograph of our house. A woman is barely visible through a gap in the curtains on the second floor.

It's the same woman I had a vision of the first time I ventured into the woods.

I squint, trying to make out the grainy image.

I'm sure it's her. It has to be. She has the same bun and severe expression.

I continue flicking through the photographs until I pause on two smiling faces beside the chicken coop in Wilfred's yard. Two young men in mucky overalls. One of them is Wilfred in his younger days. But I can't tear my gaze away from the guy to the right, nearest to the chicken coop.

With one arm slung over his friend's shoulder, he holds the carcass of a dead hen, which dangles from his fingertips, headless and limp. A bloody axe is barely visible in the long tufts of grass and dandelions by their feet.

How old is this photograph? I look for a date stamp but come up blank, then focus on the young men again.

With such undeniable similarities, the man with the hen must be related to my mysterious axe-wielding stranger in the woods. They have the same smile dimples, eyes, and dark hair.

I'm just about to turn another page when the bats take flight in a blur of commotion. I scream, dropping the book and the flashlight. The air shifts around me. Wings and claws tangle in my hair. Panic beats at my chest, only made worse by the bite of pain in my arms and legs.

Curling into a ball, I bury my face in the crook of my arm while the bats fly overhead. And then, silence falls like a thick blanket on my tender body.

The air stills.

In fact, it's so still that you could hear a pin drop over my trembling exhales.

I don't move. I barely dare inhale a shaky breath. The flashlight has gone out, and the thickening shadows feed on the muted light. When another sob cuts through the sudden stillness, the darkness crawls closer to where I lie, bleeding and bruised, in the fetal position on the gritty floor.

I slowly push up to a sitting position and reach for the flashlight, but it's broken. I rattle it again, but nothing happens. With a sigh, I collect the book and descend the steps.

The heat instantly swallows me up as my bare feet connect with the floor. I move to close the attic, but my attention snags on my scratched, bleeding arms. Countless more little cuts decorate my tanned legs. I'm a roadmap of beaded trails of blood.

Now that I've seen the destruction painted on my body, the stinging sensation threatens to buckle my legs, and it's by some miracle that I manage to make it to my bedroom unscathed without anyone noticing me.

"What's up, sweetheart?" Keith asks, startling me, as he enters the kitchen, dressed in a creased shirt and slacks. He retrieves a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and grabs a glass from the cupboard. Smooth without pulp. I'm the picky one who doesn't like bits.

I wait while he pours himself a drink with his back to me.

"Why are you crying?" he asks.

I quickly wipe my wet cheeks. "I'm not crying."

He turns and leans against the counter, loosening his tie. "Is this about your mom?"

Shame heats my cheeks, and I try to hide behind strands of my hair.

"I think you need to talk to her about the ballet."

I should win the ‘Worst Daughter of the Year' award for wanting to give up on my mom's dream for me. She has dedicated so much time and energy to getting me the best trainers and the best chances, and I don't want to do it anymore.

Keith frowns at the window, and I follow his line of sight to see a leaf twirl against the glass, which strikes me as odd. We live in the city. My street has no trees, and the nearest park is a ten-minute bus journey away. The leaf must have traveled a far distance.

My stepdad opens the window to let in the summer breeze and traffic sounds. Someone shouts outside, then laughs.

"You're too hard on yourself," he says, crossing his arms, tired after a long day at work. "She will understand. Give her a chance."

Silence stretches between us. Mom left an hour ago for a night shift at the hospital, and Dominic and his brother are out somewhere.

Another gust of wind drifts in from the window, filling the kitchen with scents from the food truck down the street. My stomach rumbles on cue.

Movement in my periphery fills my vision, and I turn my head to see the leaf from earlier flutter beside Keith on the kitchen counter. He snatches it up, crushes it in his palm, and hums low in his throat.

When he lifts his gaze, I blink. His eyes are black.

It happens so fast—there and gone.

Throwing the ruined leaf in the sink, he then crouches in front of me. I search his eyes as he tucks my hair behind my ear, but they're their usual color. I'm imagining things.

"What's going on inside that head of yours?" His big hand lands on my thigh, making me stiffen. "You can talk to me, Camryn."

I hold my breath when he reaches up with his free hand, touching my chin. Keith has never flirted with or looked at me before now. I don't know what to do. It feels wrong—it is wrong —but I've been so down lately. I have no friends, my mom is upset with me for skipping ballet classes, and I… I don't know. His touch feels… nice . The way he looks at me feels nice. Like I'm not a disappointment. Someone to ignore in the school halls. Someone to laugh at.

Another gentle breeze swirls around us. Keith's lips brush against mine, and my heart slows to a heavy thud.

Is that…sulfur I smell?

My clouded thoughts crash together like warring waves at sea. A voice deep inside urges me to stop this, but whispers in the wind drown it out.

Whispers?

I gasp, glancing around the room to locate the sound, but Keith guides me back to his lips. His fingers slide higher on my thigh and dip, touching me where no stepdad should touch their wife's daughter. "Your desire tastes delicious," he whispers before kissing me.

A warm hand over my mouth and nose startles me awake, and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

The headboard slams against the wall as Dominic moves on top of me, his hard length rubbing every inch of my clenching walls. The sensation is so mind-blowing, so soul-destroying, that I scream beneath his firm grip on my mouth.

"Fuck, you're so tight!" His dark hair falls over his devastating eyes. "This fucking cunt will be the death of me." Pistoning his hips, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into my cheeks as my lungs scream with my need to breathe.

When the instinct to survive overwhelms me, he lets go of my mouth and grabs me by the throat before biting down hard on my lip. The taste of coppery blood floods my mouth as he bites again and grinds his cock deep, fucking me so hard I feel him everywhere. "You want to die like this, with my cock inside you, baby?"

I nod, my pussy spasming around his length.

"Don't tempt me, Sis. I'd gladly watch the life slip from your eyes and fuck your lifeless corpse. Maybe we should try it?" He chuckles. "Pretend to be dead for me while I stuff this warm cunt full of cum." Tossing me over onto my front like I'm nothing more than a ragdoll, he enters me from behind and fucks me hard into the mattress. "No, I like your fight and the torment in your eyes."

He slips his dick out and thrusts it through my ass crack. "I like it even more when you cry for me." On his hands and knees, his fingers curled around my nape, he pounds my pussy until wretched sobs tear from my lungs.

"You want more, Sis?"

"Yes, p-please," I choke out against the damp sheet.

"You think this little tight pussy can handle it?"

This time when I nod, he lifts me up against his sweaty chest and holds me to him with his grip on my throat and his lips pressed to my ear. The bed rocks against the wall as he yanks down my tank top to palm my tits, tweaking my tender nipples until the pain becomes too much.

I'm a mess.

Chuckling, he rains slaps on my pussy.

My knees shake and my cries grow hoarse.

"You think you deserve to come?" He pinches my clit, and I gasp as I tremble against him. "Answer me!"

"No, I'll never deserve it."

His breathy laugh warms my core and the bruised organ in my chest. "And why not?"

I croak, "Because I'm a filthy whore who hurt you."

"You can't hurt me." The humor fades from his voice. "I'd have to care about you first."

His toxic words are like a punch to the gut. I want to fight him. I want to spin around and slap his stupid face, so that's what I do.

I strike his cheek, scrambling off the bed, then run for the door, my heart thrashing as I escape into the dark hallway. Grotesque shadows chase me while I sprint like a darting rabbit downstairs with no destination in mind. I need to be away from Dominic and his poisoned daggers.

I make the mistake of glancing back when his footsteps pound the stairs behind me. Stumbling on the last step, my jaw smacks off the floor in a hard blow. My teeth sink into my fleshy tongue, and blood floods my mouth. But all that pales when he grabs hold of my ankle and drags me across the floor like a damn caveman.

"I'm so fucking fed up with you running away and fighting me at every fucking turn. Unless it's not already obvious to you, Sis, you're mine. You belong to me, so stop with the theatrics."

My nails scratch the floor. I sob and cry, but I don't scream. Somewhere in the most depraved depths of me, I want him to hurt me. I want him to cut out the guilt I harbor from the crash and the affair—an affair I don't even understand myself.

Lashing out, I kick at his hand and manage to free myself. Before I can jump to my feet, he hauls me up by my hair and bares his gleaming teeth. "Are you fucking done?"

"I'll never be done," I hiss.

He shoves me into a room and kicks the door shut. "Then you'll never get to come. How about that?"

"How about I never let you fuck me?" I sneer, inching back, skirting around a piano. We're in the sun lounge with nothing but stars overhead.

While I'm sure this room was once a beautiful sight, it's now a scene straight out of a nightmare, with glass shards on the floor, tendrils of ivy escaping through the broken roof and crawling along the walls, and upturned furniture. The only piece that's seemingly unharmed is the piano. When Dominic presses a single note, I dig my nails into my palms, the sound as haunted as the woods outside.

"Whether you let me fuck you or not is of no relevance to me. I'll have you whenever I fucking please, and we both know you'll love every second. This"—he waves a hand between us as he stalks closer—"is what turns you on. This festering guilt, shame, and hatred. I could make sweet and gentle love to you if you want, but we both know you'd soon beg me to choke you unconscious and stuff you full of cum while you're out cold because that, Camryn, is what gets you hot and bothered. You're sick, just like me."

I spin on my feet and run for the door, but he catches me before I can make it two steps. He sits me down on top of the piano, causing the clashing notes to ring out in a chaotic symphony.

With his hands on my hips, he lowers himself on the chair and brings his mouth inches from my soaking pussy. "Is this what you want, Sis? Romance?" His lips twist with a wicked smile and he places a soft, featherlight kiss on the inside of my thigh.

I hold my breath as his eyes find mine again, dark and hungry.

"Or do you want me to make you bleed?"

"Hurt me," I whimper. "Please…"

Not a single emotion crosses his face. Not an ounce of satisfaction at seeing me crumble before his eyes.

Turning his head, he bites me hard. My loud gasp rings out amongst the ivy and debris. I swallow a sob, shifting on top of the piano keys. More clanging notes chase the chaotic storm brewing inside me. But then as I lift my gaze, terror seizes me at the sight of a woman with a severe bun watching us from the shadows.

Noticing me stiffening, Dominic peers up at me and then turns to look behind him. I suck in a breath when she steps out from the shadows, her long skirt trailing the dirty floor.