His Slave

46. Oh The Trauma

TW: mentions of gore, overdose, child neglect.

I wake in the middle of the night, shivering. I reach my hand out, searching the sheets for James but I don't find him. Where did he go?

I glance around the dark room, cast in strange shadows let in from the open curtains. But the room is lighter than it normally is at this hour.

Wait. What time is it?

I disregard the time, deciding to head towards the kitchen, since James is probably there. I throw the covers off my body, getting out of bed. Slowly, I walk towards the bedroom door. When I step into the hallway, I realize with a start that it should be much lighter out here given the glass dome that adorns the top of Harrington Manor like a crown. Why is it so light in James' room and so dark out here?

"Hello, Erin."

That voice... it sounds so familiar. A cold shiver runs through me as I whirl around to face whoever spoke.

There's nobody behind me. "Who's there?" I snap, trying to hide the shake in my voice.

There's a thunderous boom behind me and I yelp, turning around but, again, the hall is empty. "Who's there?" I hiss through gritted teeth, trying hard to hold back my tears.

"Just me," the voice speaks and this time I can't tell where the words are coming from.

I turn in a circle as panic spikes in my chest. "Show yourself, coward!" I snap, not willing to play this game any longer.

Finally, a figure steps out of the shadows. He is tall with broad shoulders, dressed in a fine navy suit but when I try to get a good look at his face, I can't. It's like his features are simultaneously there and not. Details lying just beyond my reach.

I swallow hard, taking a step back. Though I've never met him before, there is a realization deep inside of me that the man before me is my father.

"Hello, Erin," he greets in a thick, refined tone of voice that exudes authority and prestige.

I glance around nervously, realizing for the first time that I am dressed in a long pink nightgown with white lace trim. How did I get end up in this? I don't own any nightgowns.

"How are you, my dear?" My father asks.

"Where's mom?" I ask in return and it's like I'm not the one speaking. Like I don't have control over my own voice. My mother is dead. Why did I just ask for her?

And suddenly my mother's body is lying there, lifeless, in the expanse between us. Blood gushes from a wound in her throat and I let out a shriek.

"No!" I scream, clamping my hands over my mouth in horror.

Then, a bunch of enormous, brightly colored rodents appear and begin to feast on my mother's corpse.

My stomach lurches as I watch them peel away pieces of her flesh and nibble at her fingers. Oh god. I try to swallow back the bile rising in my throat, but it's no use. I double over, vomiting up my dinner all over the floor at my feet.

My father takes a step towards me, then, and I realize he's holding an enormous kitchen knife dripping with fresh blood.

"Everything will be just fine," he tells me, taking another step towards me. The vision of my father begins to blur and shift, like he's slowly fading out of focus.

"You killed your mother," he hisses at me. His teeth begin to grow into long fangs, his voice warping into a demonic whisper.

"It's your fault she's dead!" He snaps, taking another step toward me.