3. Chapter Two

The cold autumn winds rustle the leaves of every tree in the neighbourhood, the sun hanging low in the sky and casting brilliant rays of light through the various colours of leaves adorning each large, towering tree.

The bus ride over was chilly, but beautiful. It's a charming late afternoon in the middle of fall, the city painted in the stunning spectrum of rustic hues and pale, yet warm shades. The sky is clear and blue, which means the warmth of the sun is a pleasant contrast against the bite of the cool wind.

I am in a pretty decent mood as I wander up the long driveway that leads to my parents' modest, two story brick house. Although it's an old structure, my parents have maintained my childhood home with a lot of love and care. It shows, despite its age.

As I reach the middle of the driveway, dread begins to bloom inside of me like disease taking root. Although my bus ride over here was enjoyable, nothing ruins my mood quite like knowing my abuser is just behind the door I now have to walk through.

Before I can spiral down into the unforgiving depths of my anxiety, something unusual catches my attention on the periphery of my vision.

A massive bird is perched in the gnarled branches of my parent's ancient maple tree, sitting at the center of their front yard. An owl, oversized and unusually dark, sits silently among the vibrant red leaves.

The raptor's beautiful feathers are dark like black smoke, with pale grey speckles catching the beams of sunlight as they break through the leaves. What bothers me the most are the two massive, black globes of eyes like infinite voids set in its pale face.

I am struck by both the sight of it, and the oddity of seeing it out in broad daylight in the middle of suburbia. This has to be the largest owl I have ever seen, watching me with its unnerving gaze, as still as a statue.

If its head wasn't following me as I moved, I'd almost believe it was a lifelike decoration my dad stuffed up there himself. He loves birds, and he has a few special figurines of his favourite types on the mantel in the living room. A cardinal, a blue jay, a yellowhammer, a starling, and a swallow. I remember each one, because my mom and I bought them for him as gifts for holidays over the years.

As I watch the unusual owl, a shiver travels from the nape of my neck all the way down my spine. Pulling my dark grey cardigan tightly around me, I keep my eyes on the bird as I will my feet to move and keep walking up to the front door.

I wish it would do something normal, like flutter its wings or hop along the branches, but it doesn't. I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong with it, like it's another omen promising the coming of something bad.

"Today just keeps getting weirder," I murmur out loud as I step up onto the modest, covered porch. With a narrowed gaze, I offer the owl another few seconds of my attention before a noise pulls me away.

The door opens, though I can't remember knocking, and my mother ushers me inside.

"Oh, honeybee, it's so chilly out. Come in!" she says, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead as we move. I step into the entry way of their cozy two story home on the outskirts of North York.

"The sun is still warm, though. I'm looking forward to curling up with a book and a blanket tonight," I tell her with a smile, and the smile she returns is beaming and full of adoration.

"Oh, and a hot cup of tea!" she exclaims excitedly, taking my bag from me and setting it on the tall side table on the right. It must be genetic, because my mom's love of tea rivals my own. I'm fairly certain we both polish off anywhere from three to five cups of the steamy brew every single day.

"Don't worry, we'll send you back with a belly full of home cooking, and it will be perfect!"

My sweet mother. She is the epitome of gentleness and warmth. If she knew what her brother did to me whenever she left me at his house for him to babysit me, she'd never be able to recover from it. I am almost certain that confessing his crimes to her would give her a very real heart attack.

I never had it in me to be the reason my mom develops something heavy like depression. Not to mention the risk of my uncle killing her, like he always promised he would do, if she ever found out about the abominable things he was doing to me.

"Come say hello to your father!" she says with excitement in her voice, guiding me deeper into their home with a gentle hand on my back. I walk through the entryway and into the living room, the cozy modern feel is as welcoming as Mom is.

The warm beige walls are adorned with black framed photos of birds, and many photographs of me and my brothers. The bay window is open wide, the brown and honey coloured curtains fixed to the sides to let in all the gorgeous evening light.

I find Dad sitting in his favourite recliner in one corner of the room, pointing at the TV with a scowl on his face, raving about the football game he is currently watching with my brothers Josh and Sam, my grandpa Rick, and him.

I choose not to look at Uncle Jake. "Hey, Dad," I say, only to be met with my dad's cheesy grin.

"Hey, Selene!"

As he rises from his chair to come greet me, he opens his arms for a hug and I immediately step into them. His soft cotton argyle sweater vest smells like his woodsy cologne, and I bury my face in his shoulder to delay the inevitability of saying hi to everyone else. "Happy birthday, Dad."

"Thanks sweetheart, I'm glad you came," he tells me, giving me one more squeeze before releasing me.

My dad loves me, of course he does, but I am also certain that he would catch a murder charge if he knew what his wife's brother did to his only daughter. Telling my family what happened to me would cause too much damage, and that's the main reason I've kept my uncle's secret for so long.

I love my family, and the last thing I want to do is destroy them all with the truth of what happened to me. Even if it means enduring the monster's presence at family gatherings.

I smile up at him as I exit the safety of his embrace, leaning around him to wave to the small group of people sitting on the big, comfortable tan sectional facing the wall mounted TV.

"Hey, guys."

My two older brothers greet me with a wave before turning their attention back to the game everyone is watching, while my uncle just stares at me without uttering a single word. Nobody notices, because he is notorious for being quiet and keeping to himself when we all get together. I only offer him a split second of a glance before turning my attention to my grandpa.

"Hey, babydoll," he says with a soft smile, his kind eyes full of warmth and happiness. He loves spending time with us all like this, he's always bragging to everyone about how amazing his grand-kids are.

"Hi Grandpa," I greet him warmly as I step into his arms for a hug. My grandpa is a good, kind soul that really loves the outdoors. He's the sole reason Dad developed a love of bird watching, who in turn passed that same hobby on to me.

Once I am done saying hello to the people that matter, Mom wraps an arm around my shoulders and ushers me into the kitchen, where my aunt and grandma are busy putting our dinner together. I greet them both before pulling the requested supplies from my bag, depositing them on the counter before stepping aside to wash up at the kitchen sink so I can help with the remaining cooking and baking.

As we settle into our appointed tasks in preparation of family dinner, the conversation between us flows easily. Mom tells us about the pottery class she runs every Saturday, and grandma gives my mom and my Aunt Claire a cookie recipe she tried recently that was a huge hit at her church a few weekends ago.

I listen to them chat away while I prepare a tray of honey oatmeal cookies to put in the oven, nodding and smiling when necessary, trying not to focus on who is lurking in the living room just beyond the kitchen doorway.

I subtly touch the protection spell bag in my pocket several times, any time I feel I need to refocus and clear my head. It's also helping to keep my anxiety down, which I am grateful for. I believe in the magic, and I believe in the love of my ancestors, so I force myself to believe that I am safe because I have it with me.

When dinner is finally ready, I help Mom finish setting the table before she calls everyone in to eat. We gather around the one of a kind, old oak table in the dining room, and I take the chair closest to the exit.

Of course, Uncle Jake decides to sit across from me at the table. As much as I try to set myself up to maintain the utmost distance, he always finds a way to achieve the closest proximity to me that he can without garnering any attention from the rest of our family.

My stomach twists and flips as dread and anxiety finally overwhelm me, but I still manage to put a decent amount of food on my plate despite my trembling hands. I will not let him see me upset, and I won't let the rest of my family think anything is wrong. I'm not a child anymore, and I can handle this.

I can handle this.

I can.

Nausea slams into me. I take a deep breath in an effort to calm my frantic heart. My hand drops to my hip, slipping into my pocket to grip the spell bag contained within. I hold it until my heart stops racing, and my stomach settles. Only a few moments, moments that I keep my eyes on Mom as she explains what food we've prepared tonight.

The spell is working, my nerves are soothed by the protective forces I've manifested to get me through today. When my hand returns to the table, I feel in control again.

Mom says a quick prayer, thanking God for our food, and for Dad's good health. Although I don't pray with my family, I do say a private thank you to the magic I keep in my pocket.

When we all finally begin to eat, a foot bumps mine under the table. I freeze as though the brutal winds of winter have descended upon me, my gaze lifting to the man sitting across from me. He's watching me while he eats, his arrogant brown gaze narrowed ever so slightly. Just enough to tell me he is upset that I haven't spoken to him.

My mind represses the nightmarish memories most of the time, but my body remembers. It always remembers.

Pain sparks at the base of my spine, rippling through me like a bolt of electricity. I flinch, and try desperately to hide the swell of emotion, but a memory assaults me against my will.

"Honeybee." He groans the pet name into my ear.Sweaty hands leave my waist, reaching forward to grip my throat. Tears fall from my eyes like acid rain, leaving hot trails all over my face. I can't stop him. I'm so small, and he is too big. He never listens when I cry and beg him to stop.

"You tell anyone about this, and I'll kill your mom and dad. I'll kill your brothers, too. The police might catch me, but everyone will be dead first."

My body hurts so much. I hate when he babysits me.

"Do you want to be all alone with no family, Selene?"

I shake my head and cry. I don't want to be alone. I want to be safe.

"Then don't you tell anybody."

I was only six years old. What feels like fire-breathing dragons with knives for wings rip around inside my stomach like a destructive tornado, and what little food I've eaten so far threatens to leave me. I swallow the agony down, deep down where I can hide it from everyone around me.

"Excuse me," I say quietly, getting up from my seat and heading straight for the bathroom. When I shut the door behind me, my numb fingertips struggle to lock it. Once it clicks securely into place, I turn away and lean back against the door so I can slide all the way down until I am sitting, drawing my knees up to my chest.

Silent tears fall so fast and thick that I struggle to catch my breath and stay quiet. I let it out as quietly as I can. I let several years of trauma induced misery fall from my eyes in silence.

It takes every ounce of strength in me to stay quiet despite the violence of the tears pouring from my eyes. The effort drains every bit of energy from my body.

In an instant, my soul feels like a lifeless desert. Scarred from scorching winds, fracturing rocks, and devastating earthquakes leaving fissures like gaping wounds. My chest aches so profoundly I feel like I'm having a heart attack, but death never comes, and the suffering remains the same.

I close my eyes and rock back and forth, desperate to soothe myself.

When I can breathe again, I stand up and turn towards the sink, turning cool water on to splash across my face. I pat myself dry with a towel from the rack and then stare up at my reflection.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my protection spell bag and open it up. Reaching inside, I grab some of the contents between three shaky fingers and sprinkle it in a circle around me. The dried herbs and glittering dust fall around me like a spectral shield.

"I need you. Hear my voice and protect me," I say quietly, taking another smaller pinch of the mixture and sprinkling it directly over me. "Please. Hear my voice and protect me. As I will it, so it shall be."

I take a few more minutes to put myself back together before I finish up and head back to the dining room, only to see Dad shaking my uncle's hand and Mom escorting him to the door.

"What's going on?" I ask my brother Josh as I sit back down at the table, turning my head to face him so he can hear my hushed words.

"Jake's going home. He got all pale and dizzy suddenly, says he feels sick," Josh shrugs, like he doesn't care either way.

I glance down at my plate as my parents say goodbye to my uncle, and he promptly exits the house. My hand falls to my lap, and I clutch at the bump where my spell bag sits within the denim pocket. I squeeze my eyes shut and say a quiet thank you in my head, before we all settle back in to finish dinner.

***

"Thank you for coming, sweetheart," Dad says as I give him another hug.

"Happy birthday, Dad," I say for the second time, genuine love for my father evident in my voice.

Mom embraces me and gives me a gentle squeeze, "Please text me when you're home so I know you're safe."

I hug her back, "Of course, Mom. Thanks for dinner, it was amazing as usual."

"Love you," my parents say in unison as I head back down their driveway and turn down the street in the direction of the bus stop. "Love you too!" I call back with a wave.

The bus ride home is quiet, and unusually empty for this time of day, except for one guy wearing black pants and a matching hoodie sitting behind me somewhere at the back.

I looked at him briefly when I first got on the bus, only to be met with his blank stare. Knowing that it's never a good idea to stare at strangers on the bus, I quickly looked away and took one of the seats somewhere between the middle and the front. I tried not to pay him any attention, just in case he turned out to be a creep.

Sitting farther towards the front of the bus doesn't make me feel any better, however. The longer I sit in my seat, the more on edge I begin to feel. The energy in here just feels wrong, like something foul is hiding somewhere in here, making the atmosphere dense and unpleasant.

I'm trying my best to convince myself that I'm just overreacting. The guy is probably totally innocent, and it's getting late in the evening so I'm just feeling unsettled after my run in with my uncle.

With a deep sigh, I pull out my phone so that I can scan through a couple of previously ignored text messages from my friends. Arianna wants to meet for lunch next week, so I shoot off a message letting her know my schedule. I'm working full time at a local used book store, and my hours tend to be pretty stable, which helps when making plans ahead of time.

Despite spending about five minutes engaged in texting my friends, I can't seem to shake the unnerving feeling that has taken up residence here on the bus. I feel compelled to look behind me, the feeling so intense that my skin crawls.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I shift my body and make it seem as though I am simply repositioning myself to get more comfortable. Turning my head, I glance behind me to check on the stranger riding the bus with me.

He's moved three rows of seats closer to me. I'm sure of it. There are only two rows separating us now.

My skin is suddenly covered in goosebumps as my stomach tenses, a feeling of dread washing over me. I really don't like how close he's gotten. What reason could he possibly have for crowding me on an otherwise empty bus?

Not to mention, he's staring at me with an empty look on his expressionless face. Before I can think to control my own expression, my gaze narrows suspiciously at him. Why is he staring at me like that? How can one man's eyes feel so intense and yet oddly empty at the same time?

"I'm sorry, do I know you from somewhere?" I ask him boldly, forcing my voice to carry some semblance of confidence despite feeling so apprehensive. I can only assume we've met before considering how peculiar he is acting right now. It's not normal to watch someone as closely as he is watching me unless you know the person.

The stranger doesn't answer me. In fact, he doesn't respond like his brain has processed the interaction whatsoever. He's like a statue locked in place, his eyes affixed directly on mine, his facial features seemingly frozen in time.

"Hello?" I call out a little louder, but still he doesn't answer me. We hit a rough patch on the road that causes his body to bounce slightly, and I watch him for a moment as he sways with the movement of the bus.

It really bothers me that I've addressed this man twice and he hasn't reacted to me at all. Maybe he has some sort of condition, or is deaf and unwilling to engage with a stranger on the bus. I want to believe either of those things, but even if that were the case it is completely unnatural to sit there like a statue and stare at a stranger endlessly.

Giving up on my hopes of getting any sort of response out of him, I turn away. It feels a lot like turning my back on a dangerous predator, but what else am I supposed to do at this point? I focus my attention out the window, watching the dark city as it passes me by. I contemplate all the benign reasons someone would act the way this man is behaving, hoping one of them is the truth.

No matter how hard I try to comfort myself with positive thinking, I cannot shake the uneasy tension between us. The immense relief I feel when I see that we are approaching my stop is enough to make me giddy. I quickly reach up to tug on the cable that alerts the driver to my upcoming stop.

As the bus driver pulls up along the curb, I stand up and grab my bag, turning to glance at the man one more time. He hasn't moved this time, but he is still watching me. Nothing about him has changed, he still wears the same hyper-focused expression on his otherwise ordinary face.

I force myself to look away, crossing the narrow aisle towards the door and stepping down and out onto the sidewalk.

When I turn to glance back at the bus, I startle so badly that I stumble backwards. There he is, sitting at the window seat closest to me, which is the exact opposite side of where he was just sitting when I got off.

He is still staring. His eyes are wide, empty and fixated on me. The rest of his face is lax, expressionless. He reminds me of a mannequin, and it makes me so uncomfortable to just stand here and watch him.

There is something seriously wrong with this man. Normal people just do not behave like this.

My autonomic nervous system blares a warning alarm, and my heart begins to pound within the cage of my chest. I hold his stare as the bus pulls away from the curb and carries on its way. The man's eyes follow me unapologetically, and I am suddenly struck with a surge of anger.

I'm getting really tired of people making me feel unsafe today.