Red Leather (Book 2)

Chapter 20

I laughed, remembering it just as clearly. I made sure to punish Sundae severely by hiding away all of his toys, bed and doggy treats. It was my own special way of training him.

I suddenly felt the need to bring up a different topic. "Was Mom happy, Daddy? In this house? Did she ever have any weird habits?"

We rarely talked about my mother, and as I sensed Daddy tense up at the onslaught of emotions raging inside him, I wondered whether I had taken it too far.

After a long, weary sigh, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Your mother hated it here," he admitted gruffly. "I blamed it on the pregnancy – you were a very difficult fetus, you know. Made your mother throw up constantly. Once you started kicking, you'd kick for 24 hours straight and refuse to let her sleep."

I smiled. It was nice to know that even as a half-formed infant, I still felt the need to cause havoc and gain attention. I turned to him, resting my head on his shoulder. "Was else about Mom do you remember?"

He looked away, the pain of my mother's memory being too much. "She had an unstable past, I think. She hardly talked about it. But I want you to know that she was a good person." He gripped me tighter to him. "A wonderful woman."

"What kind of past?" I asked, wanting to know. Needing to know.

He closed his eyes briefly. "She had been bipolar for most of her life. The doctors said it'd been triggered by a horrific childhood. But I loved every bit of her, from the casserole she made to the plates she'd shatter because it was too dry."

"Mom smashed dishes?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

He rolled his eyes. "And mirrors, too. Chairs, tables, cups, laptops – anything she could find during a fit of rage. But when she was calm..." he gazed off into the distance again, shaking his head in wonder. "She was wonderful – funny, sweet, kind, smart, thoughtful. Glorious. And I lived for those moments, Rhea, I really did."

I didn't correct him for calling me Rhea. I decided to say nothing, and held back all of the colourful things that I wanted to say. Like how Mom must have been a crazy bitch. Or how he was weak and easily manipulated for having loved her, when he could have loved somebody who was normal.

But Daddy had me now. And as I stood there, hugging him as tightly as I could to chase away the bad memories, I promised that he would never received such treatment from me. I was far from normal, but there was no way he would find out otherwise.

I waited until just before midnight, when Daddy was fast asleep and the house deadly quiet, to expertly sneak out through the window and down a cluster of trees, my beanie preventing my hair from getting in the way.

Too much time had been wasted already.

Having memorized my plan, I caught a night bus 3 blocks away that would take me into the heart of the city and away from the beach. Several forms of transport later, I ended up at the edge of another suburban neighbourhood. A glance at the street sign told me I was at the right place.

Briarwood Drive.

Tugging the beanie tighter over my head, I shoved my hands into my pocket and walked around leisurely, not wanting to attract any attention lest the neighbours were out at night. Once my eyes settled and I could see perfectly in the dark, I spotted Michael Newman's house and eyed its dry front law and wooden floorboards, trying to picture Chloe hiding inside somewhere, asleep and having no idea that I was a mere 20 yards away from her. Even if she weren't inside the house, I would still carry on with the plan. The bitch needed to be sent a message. And if I couldn't get to her, I'd get to her family.