Chapter 10

10

W hen I went down to have breakfast, Abby's right cheek was even more swollen and red than it had been. I stared at her, wanting desperately to ask her what happened, but she glanced at me and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. "Later," she mouthed. Then her mouth twitched up with just the faintest hint of a smirk.

Great, so she'd tell me later, but I had a feeling our father had been at it again, and I kind of wanted to maim the man. He'd always been strict with our family, and there had been physical punishments, but not as frequently as he'd been dealing out recently. It was escalating, and I wondered if he was getting too cocky or if he was in a panic. I had a feeling his behavior could have been attributed to either scenario.

I let it go, though, since Abby seemed satisfied with it for some reason. Instead, I forced myself to eat the plain oatmeal our mother had dropped in front of us with a clatter. She'd never been a ray of sunshine, but she'd never been so perpetually angry. What was going on with their little pack of perverts to be causing the changes in their already horrible personalities?

When lunchtime came, Abby waited for me outside my classroom, as had been the norm the last few days. "Come on, let's hurry," she said. "I have something to show you."

Bewildered, I followed her to the cafeteria. Instead of heading for our usual spot outside with our trays, she took me to a door at the end of a dark hall. She opened it, and there were stairs going down. "This way," was all she said before she descended.

At the bottom of the stairs was a basement full of supplies. Most of what was stored was janitorial items, but there were also old desks and cabinets. She dropped her tray onto one of the old desks and motioned for me to do the same. "Okay," I said after obediently taking a seat, "so why are we in a creepy basement?"

She grinned at me. "Well, I was talking to Gus," she said.

"Who?"

Abby rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "The head janitor," she explained.

I wasn't sure why she was exasperated, considering I had doubts that most normal teenagers went out of their way to learn the name of the janitorial staff. Honestly, though, neither of us was a typical teenager, so what did I know? "Okay, so what did you talk to him about?"

"I told him we wanted to play a little prank," she said, her tone so smug I almost laughed. "And I told him we needed to pick a lock at home to do that—a very secure lock. Guess what? The chemicals are behind a door with a heavy-duty doorknob that looks almost exactly like the one on the study door. And Gus can teach you how to pick it."

My mouth dropped. How on earth had she managed to pull all this off? "He what ?"

"He says he had to learn because the key sometimes gets lost," she said with a shrug. "So he had to learn to do it. He offered to teach you the trick to it, saying he was glad at least the two of us were acting like regular kids for once. I think how we've all been raised to act bothers him."

Considering how many of our fellow students were raging holier-than-thou jerks, I didn't blame him for that. We were not in a healthy environment, even at school.

"Hurry up and eat," Abby ordered, interrupting my train of thought. "He'll be here in five minutes."

Thus, the last twenty minutes of our half-hour break involved my sister and I crouched in front of a door, with a man who looked older than God showing us the proper way to pick a lock. I finally managed to do it once before the warning bell rang, and he told us to return the next day to practice some more.

"I have no idea how you managed to find exactly what we needed like that," I told Abby as we took our trays back to the cafeteria. "However you managed it, though, you're amazing. I never would have thought of checking with a janitor."

"I've talked to Gus a lot," Abby told me with a sad smile. "When I didn't want to sit with those girls before you and I started hanging out. So I already knew he could probably help us. His kids and grandkids live pretty far away, and his wife is in assisted living for dementia patients. She only occasionally recognizes him, so I think he's glad for the company."

I made a mental note to talk to Gus more often, and to ask Beelzebub to give him good dreams.

"Okay, so what about your face?" I asked her. "You never did tell me what happened."

"And I'm not going to," she answered, raising an eyebrow at me. "Yet. It can wait until after school. When we're at the library."

It sounded like she wanted Rose to hear the story, too, so I had a feeling I'd been correct about our father hitting her again. I seethed at the thought, wanting to punch the guy myself. Unfortunately, that would cause more problems than it would solve, so I let it go and simply nodded. "Okay," I said. "As long as you'll tell me at some point."

"Oh yeah," she said, grinning. "It'll be great."

I had no idea what was great about having someone hit you in the face, but we had to hurry back to our classrooms at that point, so I left that comment unsaid. Instead, I concentrated on getting through the day. I may have also done that by doodling in my notebook and completely ignoring my classes, but at that point, my graduation was already guaranteed, so I didn't care.

As promised, Rose was waiting in the library's small conference room. She gave us a small smile tinged with relief as we entered, then gestured at the door with a jerk of her chin. "Shut the door," she said. "I'm glad you could make it." She stared at us, her brow furrowing after a moment. "Abby, what happened to your face? Unless it always looks a little swollen on that side, and the dream didn't convey that."

"No, it doesn't, and I've been trying to get an answer out of her all day," I sighed as I sat at the room's table.

"You would have just been mad all day," Abby pointed out as she dug through her backpack. She pulled out the purple case I'd handed her that morning and held it up triumphantly. "I started recording before I asked our father if we could go to the library. No video since it was in my pocket, but I'm betting we've got audio."

Before either of us could respond, she swiped at her phone, and the room was suddenly subjected to our father's stern, cold voice after we heard Abby ask if we could go to the library again.

"I didn't raise you to be smart. I raised you to obey your parents, God, and future husband."

"I'm sorry, Father, but it's important to me. Didn't Mother say it would be best if I graduated with good marks before I got married?"

There was the sickening thud of flesh hitting flesh, immediately followed by the sound of Abby crying out in pain.

"You are not to talk back to me!"

"You punched me! Father, why would you punch me in the face like that?"

Another thud. "I told you not to talk back! I punched you because you're being a disrespectful whore that doesn't listen to the will of her father!" There was a long, chilly silence punctuated only by Abby's soft sniffles. "Fine. You may go. But I'll remember this, Abigail."

From that point, we could hear everyone coming down for breakfast, our father giving us a sermon about ungrateful children going to Hell, and everyone leaving the house. Once I recognized the sounds of the school, it wasn't long until we could hear Abby enter another room with an odd echo—probably a bathroom—and the recording stopped.

"So," she said, turning her grin at Rose, "how's this for proof that he's an abusive bastard?"

"Abby," I protested in shock.

"Oh, come on," she shot back with a snort. "That's what he is. And I've got a recording with him admitting that he punched me."

"That was incredibly reckless," Rose admonished her. "And, off the record, I also think that was incredibly brave. But please, I beg you, don't do that again."

"You can use what I got?" Abby asked her.

"I can use what you got," Rose confirmed. "I've also got other news for you. Your grandfather's been in touch with me, and he'll be here?—"

There was a knock on the door, and without waiting for an answer it opened to admit our grandfather, wearing his 'Byron' guise. It was still unnerving how much Gabe and I looked like him. He was wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, likely in an attempt to look like a respectable human being, but the look on his face was one big sulk. He dropped into a chair, scowling.

"Gabe told our grandmother what you said, didn't he?" I asked him.

Beelzebub let out a grunt. Yeah, that was what I thought.

"As I was saying," Rose said as she very obviously hid a laugh behind a cough, "your grandfather says he's found a place, and he's ready to take you in at a moment's notice."

I stood up, feeling my heart pound in panic. "But I still need to?—"

Rose held up a hand, and I went silent. When I'd retaken my seat, she continued. "You have tomorrow," she continued. "I will report this at the end of the day before I leave work. I have to report this as soon as possible, so this is already stretching it. Do you think you can do it?"

"I need a little more time to practice lock-picking," I admitted. "But I think I can do it tomorrow night if you can delay it that long." I made a face as I thought about it. "If they catch me, I'll have to use the card."

"Do you even know how to get to Denny's?" Abby asked me.

I held up my phone. "Yeah, I figured out the best route on foot. I made sure to look for a path that would be difficult for them to catch me via car because of traffic. I think I'll be okay." I let out a humorless snort. "And hey, if they catch me and beat me to death, at least I know where I'll end up afterward."

"Stop that," Abby admonished. "I'll be your lookout."

"No, you won't," I argued back. "I don't want them to get a hold of you."

"Stop being a dumbass," she growled.

"Abby!" I protested.

"Oh fuck that noise," she spat. "I'm tired of having them tell me how to talk, walk, and act. If I want to swear like a fucking sailor, I will swear like a fucking sailor."

"Or like your older brother," our grandfather muttered.

"Anyway," Abby said, ignoring Beelzebub, "didn't we agree to have each other's backs? I will be helping you. But if we have to run, I don't think I want to use the card if I can help it."

This caught our grandfather's attention. "Oh? Why not?"

Abby shrugged, giving us a sheepish smile. "I think I'd rather be surprised when I die if I can manage it."

Beelzebub's brow gained a crease at that. "You... don't want to spoil the surprise of what the afterlife is like? So you'll risk your life instead of saving yourself?"

"Look, I realize it sounds stupid, but it's how I feel. If I think I'm in mortal peril, I'll do it, but I'd rather figure out another way."

Our grandfather rubbed at his face, probably as exasperated as I was at Abby's stubbornness. "I can't help you directly when you break into their office," he said. "I'm at the mercy of higher-ups that treat the rules of what we can and cannot do when it comes to mortals like they're playing Calvinball."

I frowned. "What's Calvinball?"

Beelzebub stared at me in something akin to horror, which made no sense. "Okay, here's what you're going to do. If you end up downstairs before you come to the house I've secured, ask your brother to let you borrow his Calvin and Hobbes collection."

"Uhh... Okay?"

He nodded in satisfaction as if we'd solved a significant problem. I still didn't get it, but I figured more answers weren't forthcoming. "It means that they change the rules constantly with seemingly no rhyme or reason. It's just whatever benefits them for reasons no one can figure out. Right now, my hands are tied. I might be able to get away with waiting someplace nearby, but I'd have to find out. Abigail, is there someplace you know of that you can hide if you have to run?"

Abby thought about it for a minute. "Well, the garden in front of the library," she said. "Or the park, but they'd expect that, and that doesn't seem especially safe."

An idea popped into my head, and I grinned. "Why not the school?" I asked. "It's just as close, and I bet Gus would loan you the key if you gave him the whole story."

My sister's eyes went wide. "You're a genius," she exclaimed.

"Just so long as you've got a hiding place," our grandfather said. "Once you're safe, give me a call. I'll put the number for the phone I got for use in the living world in your contacts. I'll pick you up. I'll put the address for the house in there, too, but it'll be too far for you to get to without a car."

Abby nodded, immediately holding her phone out to Beelzebub before she seemed to hesitate. She looked at Rose and grimaced. "You need the phone, don't you? For the recording?"

"Send the file to me," Rose answered. "I'm betting law enforcement will take your phone, but I'm not investigating a criminal act. I'm doing my job by helping you survive. Maybe it's not what I should be doing by the letter of the law, but I know better than most what it's like to be stuck under the thumb of someone who holds power over whether you live or die."

I'll admit I felt a little better having someone on our side who knew what it was like to have abusive parents, but I wouldn't wish those circumstances on anyone, especially someone as caring as Rose. "Well, what now?" I asked.

"Now you get ready to break into your parents' office and find what you can," our grandfather told me. "And maybe get everything you want to keep into your backpack."

"Yeah," I mumbled. "There's not much of that. I should have returned my library books today, just in case."

"Really? You're likely putting yourself in mortal peril, and you're worried about library books?"

I rolled my eyes. "Hey, those fines add up, old man."

Beelzebub growled at me for the nickname, but otherwise let me get away with it. I had a feeling he was more of a marshmallow inside than he let on. "At any rate, it's something I can control, so yeah, I'll worry about it. I guess I'll put them in my bag tonight and see if I can return them later. I mean, if nothing else and I really do decide to stay down there until my eighteenth birthday hits, I can get Gabe to let you know I need you to do it, right?"

My grandfather snorted. "So now I'm your errand boy?" He opened the briefcase he'd brought and pulled out a tin I immediately recognized. "Speaking of errands, Gabe told me to bring these to you or he'd do something unmentionable to me."

"Oh wow," I breathed, tearing the plastic ring seal away and yanking off the lid, practically inhaling a butter cookie.

"What are those?" Abby asked, leaning closer in curiosity.

I shoved a cookie into her hand, my mouth too full to answer, and she took a healthy bite. "Oh wow ," she said, echoing my sentiments. "Oh my god. We won the sibling lottery."

We'd absolutely won the sibling lottery when it came to Gabe, but I was too busy eating to answer.

Beelzebub narrowed his eyes at us. "I thought Gabe said they were feeding you better?"

"They're not starving us, per se," Abby said around a mouthful of cookie. "We got a bowl of oatmeal this morning. We get lunch at school, which has to follow state standards, right? And whatever for dinner. So we're not malnourished, just..."

"Just maybe not fed as much as a growing kid should get," I said, muffled by cookie.

Our grandfather made a face. "Swallow first, please, both of you. That's just gross."

I gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry," I apologized when it was safe to do so. "But yeah, we aren't in danger of dying or anything. We just always seem to be hungry. So I figured it was just a thing we had to go through."

"Like a puberty thing," Abby added.

"And they call me a demon," Beelzebub grumbled. "You kids need a goddamn burger."

"I wouldn't say no," Abby told him with a grin. "Maybe for our celebratory dinner?"

"Or something," he promised. "We'll figure it out. Shit, this means I need to buy furniture and cookware and stuff, doesn't it?"

Rose let out a guffaw. "Really? You bought a house and didn't consider putting anything in it?"

Beelzebub sighed. "Things work differently down there. It's far more convenient. You're the social worker, can you give me a list or something of what I need to have in the house?"

"You can't have your wife help you?" she asked, giving him a smirk.

"Sure, when she's talking to me again," our grandfather muttered.

I let out a laugh. Gabe had stirred the pot extra hard, it seemed. "I think she'd cave the moment you ask for help," I told him. "Tell her you want to have the house ready for your grandkids. If she's anything like what Gabe's told me, she'll at least want to be sure we're comfortable." I grinned at him, unable to resist one more dig. "Even if she'd make you sleep on the couch until you apologize for calling us ugly."

Beelzebub started to protest again, and we laughed. I soaked in as much happiness and warmth as possible, determined to take that feeling home with me in an effort to drive off the coldness of the family that had raised me.