Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
The dogs I have a plan for, but she needs to go the opposite way. She needs to run without being followed.
“No, Jay,” she cries.
“We need to go now,” I tell her again and although the small girl’s expression is only one of fear, she grips my hand tightly and finally moves. I don’t give her a second chance, or myself one either. Every step is one more step away from losing her forever. One more step toward my death.
But it’s for her. And it’s worth it.
My life is so meaningless, but this gives me something.
I have to tug her wrist as we run up the cellar steps. The dogs are just outside the kitchen in the crate. The gate is closed, but they can get out. They have before. The lock on it isn’t much at all. I’ll have to hold it if I can’t find anything to shove between the handles and strengthen the lock.
I stare out of the kitchen door only for a moment, knowing it’s time to say goodbye.
“Jay, what do we do?” she asks me in a strangled voice.
“You need to run first, little bird.” I stare at the dogs as they snarl and I tell her, “You have to go first. Straight through the field and into the woods. Keep going straight.” I ignore her as she objects.
There’s a road, it’s a dirt road, but I’ve seen cars go by on it more than once. “Follow the road and I’ll be right behind you,” I lie to her.
I turn my back to the dogs and face her, managing a smile. How that’s possible, I don’t know. The tears in her eyes make me feel weak. Like I’ve failed her, but this is all I can offer.
I wish I had more.
“Promise me, you’ll run no matter what you hear?” I ask her and it only makes her more scared. I hate myself for doing this to her, but it’s the only way I know.
At the sound of the cellar doors smashing open in the basement beneath us, I quickly turn, gripping her wrist and pulling her with me as I rip the kitchen door open and yell at her to run.
* * *
***
* * *
Clunk, the sound is so sharp. So crystal clear. The pain from the excruciating hit immediate, but also numbing.
I open my eyes and see my father. The memory flashes in my vision over and over. I’m on the ground, my hands in the mix of dirt and grass. It’s so cold.
She’s gone. She’s safe. She left me.
My head falls back, and I cry. For the first time in so long, I cry without the tears being forced at the hands of my father.
“You fucking prick,” my father sneers at me and I back away. Shuffling backward in the grass, the heels of my bare feet digging into the freezing cold mud.
It’s not fast enough. No matter how much I’d like to pretend, I’m not bigger than him, not stronger than him.
I’m weak.
I’m only a child.
He raises the shovel up high in the air, and I don’t try to block it this time, I don’t do anything but sit there in a numb fear with the vision of her running away.
I only got a glimpse before Father came in. The dogs were furious, barking so loud and viciously. But I locked them in. I pushed a stick through the cages. I couldn’t breathe until he ran from me to go to them.
In that moment, her foolish wish was also mine. I wanted her to be a bird and fly up so high. High enough that no one could touch her. Not the dogs, not my father.
I only wanted her to be safe.
But then my father came back. He dragged me out here and he’s making me watch as he digs the hole.
The shovel raises up high again, and this time something’s different. The sharp clunk as it smashes against my head, the hot blood that drips down my forehead.
I can’t feel any of it.
It’s not me.
My head hurts as I stare down at the boy. My hands can feel the metal in my hand, the wood of the handle as I watch the boy yank it away from the man.
It’s not me though.
I stare in horror as he slams the shovel into the man’s gut. He’s a small boy, like me. He’s skinny though, he’s dirty. And he’s a murderer.
His chest heaves as he beats the man several times with the shovel. Blood splatters on the ground. Over and over, even as the man lies dead and limp, the boy doesn’t stop.
The boy is angry, and he’s not well. I feel so sorry for him, but I’m too terrified to move.
I stay on the ground and watch as he slowly drags the man to the pit. It’s not much, but he’s tired and the boy can’t do anything other than move the man to the shallow grave.