Chapter 14

Chapter

Fourteen

ANI

Another long day and night passes, and I can clearly see that Phoenix is doing his best to avoid me. He claims work is keeping him busy, but I know better. We got too close, too fast, and I’ve scared him the fuck away. I can’t say I blame the man. It’s scared me, too.

Before I can wallow any more in my thoughts, my phone rings, and I know it’s Daphne before I even answer. She’s the only one who has this number. Frankly, she’s the only person I know. The realization of just how alone I am is truly sinking in.

“Hi, sis.” I try to keep the sadness out of my voice.

“It’s official,” she announces. “We are moving into the house! It’s ours. My dream house is ours.”

“I’m so happy for you. You deserve this.”

She pauses. Since I’ve not been able to hide the underlying sadness in my tone, she has picked up on it. “What’s wrong? How are you feeling?”

“Nothing. I’m good.” I swallow to try to mask my voice some more. “And I’m extremely happy for you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fully recovered. In fact, I’ve spent the day looking for some work.”

“On Heathens Hollow?”

“I considered Seattle, but I have no real experience, and I think I have a better chance getting something on the island,” I say .

“Let me help you,” she offers. “I’m sure Apollo can get you something at Medusa. Even if it’s not the best job, it will get your foot in the door, and you can work your way up.”

“Daphne… I’m not going to accept?—”

“Just think about it,” she says. “You can talk to Apollo tonight. He’s heading to Olympus to check on things. I’d come, but I’m meeting with the interior designer for the house first thing in the morning, and I want to get some concepts together. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I don’t want you worrying about me.” Will she ever listen to my request? “I’m fine. Truly.”

“I feel like such a bad sister,” she says. “I’ve been so preoccupied with my life—s”

“Stop. I kept telling you that you were smothering me. And you were. I have to learn to stand on my own two feet. I know you mean well, but you need to give me space.”

There’s a pause on her end. I know my sister well enough that she’s wanting to tell me something but summoning the courage to do so.

“Spill it,” I say. “What did you really call to tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure the right time to tell you, considering everything you’re going through, but…” There’s another pause. “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh my god,” I squeal as elation erupts inside me. “Oh my god!”

I wish she was standing right in front of me so I can hug her.

“It’s still early, but Apollo and I decided to tell our family only. Get further along before we really tell people.”

“I’m so happy for you. I really am.” I know why she has been hesitant about telling me. The fact that Mark made me lose that baby nearly destroyed me. But I truly have healed in both body and mind. “I’m not sad, Daph. I don’t want you walking on eggshells around me. Everything happens for a reason. I wasn’t meant to have that baby, and I’ve come to terms with that. My time will come. But for now, it’s your time. And I can’t wait to be an auntie.”

“I can’t wait. Truly. And Apollo is over the moon. He’s such a doting father already. He talks to my belly. I’m really happy. Really happy.”

“A shopping trip is in our future,” I offer. “But first get that house set up. Save the nursery for me, though. I want to help.”

“Deal. And please consider my offer about the job, and we can talk more about it in a couple of days. You aren’t in any rush to make any big decisions right now. Take this time to figure out what you want. You get a chance at starting over. What do you want your new future to look like? ”

We say our goodbyes, and I’m left pondering my sister’s question. What do I want my future to look like?

Growing up, I never had any big dreams or ambitions. I simply wanted to be a wife, maybe a mother, and live a comfortable life. I didn’t shoot big, and I’m still not sure I want to. I simply want to feel safe, secure, and know I have the ability to support myself. But even that right now feels as if I’m shooting for the stars.

Needing a distraction and to focus my mind on anything but me and my fucked-up situation, I return to my trusty hole in the floor and pull out a journal so I can read some more of Freya’s story. I pick up a different journal in the hope that maybe something good is in another diary entry since the other one was dark as fuck.

After settling on my bed, I dive in.

Dear Diary,

I watched my son whip himself beneath the tree of forgiveness today. The willow tree on the edge of the cliff has become a staple in our family. I hate it.

It’s not the first time I’ve peered down from my bedroom window at one of my children punishing themselves for one of their crimes. Troy didn’t believe in punishing the children. He believed it was on them to conduct their own penance. So like a highly devout Catholic priest, Phoenix rained the leather down upon his bare back. The sound of the leather striking his skin echoed through the night air, and I could feel the pain in my own chest. Watching him take on this burden as his penance was heartbreaking. He shed tears with each lash and no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t stop him.

I wanted desperately to run down, to stop him from this self-inflicted torture. But something kept me from doing so, some force stopped me from interfering. I heard a voice whisper into my ear that this was how it was meant to be.

It was the way of the Godwin family.

But even as I watched, I could feel a darkness gathering around the tree. Its tendrils snaking towards my son and wrapping around him as if to embrace him in a cold embrace. I felt an eerie chill run down my spine as I watched Phoenix take his last lash of the whip, standing tall before the tree as if nothing was amiss.

The sensation of dread only grew as I watched the night sky darken, casting a menacing shadow across the entire yard. It was as if the gods were watching, waiting for something to unfold. Something that I could only guess would be far more sinister than any punishment Phoenix could ever dream up for himself.

I watched in horror as Phoenix spread rice from the nearby bucket along the ground. His back was still red from the earlier beating, but he didn’t seem to be deterred by that. Instead, he calmly pulled up his pants to his lower thigh and kneeled down on the ground.

His movements were deliberate and smooth, almost as if this was a ritual he had done many times before.

My son was so brave in the face of pain and remorse. He acknowledged his mistakes and sought atonement for them through self-sacrifice. I found myself inexplicably proud of him for this even though I wanted nothing more than to run out there and stop him from hurting himself further.

Maybe I’m just as demented as his father.

He began to mutter words I could not understand. He lifted his arms towards the heavens above, his eyes closed in concentration, his body shaking and wracked with sobs. I could feel the emotions emanating from him, feel his sorrow and remorse as if they were my own. His anguished plea cut through the night air, a plea for forgiveness that would not be granted.

And then, with a heavy heart, I turned away from the window and went to bed, hoping that whatever future awaited my son, it would be one he could bear.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

What kind of mother would allow this? What kind of father would expect this? What could a boy do that would make him feel he needed to seek penance? Although I grew up in an abusive household, something about this seems so much worse. I feel for Phoenix, but it also helps me understand him more. Maybe that’s why our connection is so strong. The pain of our past is pulling us together.

Not wanting to read any more about Phoenix and the abuse he went through, I skip a few pages of the journal, with the intention of reading something else. Anything other than the awful tree of forgiveness that remains on the property even now.

Why hasn’t anyone chopped it down?

Dear Diary,

I watched my husband attack his brother today. I wasn’t surprised as I’ve always seen the hatred Troy has for Leander. But today... if it wasn’t for Ares stepping in between the two of them, I fear they would have fought to the death.

The tension in the room was palpable and everyone in the family was on edge, expecting a fight to break out at any moment. We all breathed a collective sigh of relief when Ares stepped in and stopped the violence.

But I feel as if this is just the beginning of something terrible. I feel a darkness looming over us, like a storm cloud waiting to unleash its full power. I’m afraid what will come next.

“Medusa Enterprises is mine,” Troy said. “Mine.”

“And Poseidon is mine,” Leander boomed back. “You stay in Seattle, and I’ll stay in Heathens Hollow.”

“Poseidon is only a division of Medusa Enterprises,” Troy said as he took a menacing step toward Leander.

“I don’t give a fuck. You manage your part of the business, and I’ll manage mine,” Leander countered.

I could feel the hatred between them, and it was so thick that I almost couldn’t breathe. The thought of these two coming to blows was terrifying. Troy had always been hot-tempered, but Leander was no slouch either. I knew that if they did actually fight, one of them could easily get seriously hurt.

And then Apollo stepped in. He said something calming, something that made both brothers pause and take a deep breath. He spoke in a gentle yet firm tone, reminding them that they were Godwins and that they needed to be more reasonable. There was plenty of the family legacy to go around. Apollo reminded them that their father, Cronus, wouldn’t want them to divide the family empire. That they should fight their enemies united.

I was thankful that Apollo and Ares were there, but I was still filled with so much dread. I have a feeling that this won’t be the last time I’ll see Troy and Leander face off.

Damn. This family is fucked up.

Growing up on Heathens Hollow, where Poseidon is the main industry for the workers here, we have always known that Leander Godwin is the king. He isn’t a man to mess with, and everyone knows that Poseidon isn’t exactly on the up and up, though no one, not even the sheriff will question him.

I glance up at the clock. I’ve been reading for longer than I intended, but it’s so captivating. It’s truly a book I can’t put down. I don’t know if it’s just that I’m entertained or if I’m actually trying to find out more about Phoenix. Maybe deep down, I’m trying to find something that can help me connect to the man more, rather than having him push me away.

Dear Diary,

My son hasn’t left his room in days. I know it’s normal for pre-teen boys to be moody, sullen, even distant. But Phoenix is different. He hasn’t left the house in I don’t know how long, and he seems content to simply be locked away within the walls of Olympus Manor.

I don’t know what it is about this house, but it feels as if I’m suffocating. I want nothing more than to leave... even though I can’t. And Phoenix wants nothing more than to stay. He seems to get comfort from the darkness of our home.

I don’t understand what’s happening. I try to talk to Phoenix, to get him to open up and tell me what’s wrong. But he just closes himself off. I can see the sadness in his eyes, but I can’t seem to reach him. He’s too far away.

My heart aches for him, yet I know I can’t fix it. I have to stand by helplessly as my son struggles through this pain that he won’t or can’t put into words. No matter how hard I try, my words always fall on deaf ears. It’s as if he’s surrounded by invisible walls that I can never seem to break down.

Sometimes I hate this place. The walls seem to be closing in on me more and more each day. I can feel the darkness of its secrets seeping out from the shadows. I want nothing more than to leave, to escape this feeling of being caged. But at the same time, I’m not ready to leave my children.

My son’s always watching. Studying. Maybe Phoenix knows something that I don’t. Maybe he knows why we can’t seem to escape this place. All I know is that his sadness seems to be rooted in this house, and I don’t know how to help him.

I’ve tried to be strong for him, but it’s hard. I feel like I’m failing as a parent, like I’m not able to provide him with the comfort he needs. I just wish I knew what was going on inside his head. I’m just trying to do my best, and yet it’s not enough.

I fear for the future. I fear for what will happen to my son when we finally leave this place. Will he be able to find the happiness he deserves? Or will the darkness of this house follow us wherever we go?

As soon as I’ve closed the journal, I place it back in the hole. Wiping a tear that falls from my eye, I fight the urge to run upstairs to the attic to give the man a hug and tell him I’ll be the sunshine to his midnight, but I’m not sure that’s even possible.