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.
Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I try to run from him but suddenly my feet are stuck to the floor and I can't move. I let out a gut-wrenching scream as my father closes the distance between us, lifting the knife high in the air above me as he repeats his words. "Your fault!"
I shoot awake, sweat dripping from my forehead. My heart is pounding in my chest. I glance out the rain-streaked window to catch a glimpse of bright lightning splintering across the sky, followed by an echoing crack of thunder.
I shudder, trying to steady my breathing. God, what a terrible nightmare. Everything felt so real. If it weren't for the neon rats, I wouldn't be so sure it was a dream.
I run a shaky hand through my messy hair. It's a pitiful attempt to calm myself down, but then I feel James' fingers intertwine with mine. The gesture begins to calm my nerves immediately.
"Erin? Are you okay?" He asks me, his voice still heavy with sleep.
I swallow back the terror that's trying to drown me. My father who I have never met just showed up in my dream, murdered my mother, and blamed me for it. I think he was going to murder me too.
No. I am not okay.
"I... had a bad dream," I choke out, barely managing to hold back my tears.
James sits up, pulling me into his lap. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asks me, stroking my hair.
I meet his gaze in the darkness. "I don't know," I reply quietly, my words hesitant.
James lets out a soft sigh, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his thumb and index finger before meeting my gaze again. "Come on. Let's go get some coffee and you can tell me everything," he says.
I decide that sharing my dream with him would be better than keeping it all trapped inside so I nod in agreement.
We get out of bed, holding hands as we walk down the hall to the kitchen. I'm still shaking when James tells me I should sit down. I slide into my usual seat while he goes to make coffee. He hums absently as he makes up my coffee and then his own, bringing them over to the table.
I take the coffee from him, nodding in thanks as he takes his seat across from me. After we've both downed a few sips and woken up a bit, James laces his fingers with mine from across the table, gently running his thumb over the back of my hand.
"What happened in your dream?" He asks me gently.
Now that I've calmed down a little it isn't so frightening, so I take a deep breath and begin to explain what happened, leaving no detail out. A few tears slip out as I tell the dream, but by the end I'm nearly on the verge of breaking down.
Why did this dream affect me so badly? I've had nightmares before. Nothing as vivid as this one though.
James lets out a disbelieving laugh. "I used to have dreams eerily similar to that when I was younger. Only my mother was the one trying to kill me," James says, and it sounds like he's in shock. "And I don't recall there being any neon forest creatures," he adds with a chuckle.
My eyes get wide. "You did?" I ask in surprise. Why would he have dreams like that?
The smile fades from his lips and James stares down at his coffee for a long, silent moment before he finally speaks. "If I'm going to tell you the story, I might as well start from the beginning."
He lifts his gaze to mine and I can see the grief in his violet eyes. "Since you used to work for the Daltons, I'm assuming you've met my mother?" He asks me.
I nod.
"Then you know that she's not the kindest person," he adds with a strangled laugh.
I have to stifle my own laughter. That's an understatement.
"My father was almost 40 when he married my mother. He had been waiting for the right woman, and he loved her very much. I don't think my mother ever loved him in the same way. She was always putting so much pressure on him. Always taking expensive trips without my father and I," he says, shaking his head. "I think she just loves the money."
"How sad," I remark, taking a sip of my coffee.
James nods. "It is sad," he agrees.
"When I was growing up, my mother was always arguing with my father. And he loved her so much, he happily did whatever she said. But my father was under a lot of stress from running Persona Industries, and from my mother."
"When I was eight he nearly lost the company and stress from that endeavor caused him to develope a pretty severe ulcer and he needed medication for it," he continues, and even though he's close enough to hold my hand, he sounds like he's a million miles away.
"When my grandfather passed away, my father took it really hard, and his health started deteriorating altogether. So many doctors visits. So many medications," he adds, pausing to take a sip of his coffee.
"Back when I first told you about my father's death, I mentioned ocular albinism and how most people who get it have vision problems. Well, my father had pretty bad vision problems from the disorder. He couldn't read small lettering, and he couldn't legally drive," he continues, the sadness in his voice tearing at my heart.
"Well, one day when I was eleven, my dad was having a rough day. I remember thinking that his breathing was strained when he asked me to hand him his ulcer medications. I did, and he popped two of the pills and swallowed them dry."
James closes his eyes, swallowing hard as if he's reliving the moment in his head. Finally, he opens them again, tears glistening in his eyes.
"Except he didn't take his ulcer meds. I had accidentally handed him his extra strength pain pills. He had already taken so many of them that day," James explains, his last few words coming out in a whisper. He returns to staring down at the coffee cup in his hands.
"The official report released by the coroner said my father died of a heart attack. But the actual cause of my father's death was an overdose of pain pills," James adds. He's become catatonic, staring off into space.
"I didn't mean to."
"Hey," I protest, pulling him from his grief. I level him with a pointed look, squeezing his hand tight.
"That was not your fault. You were a child. He shouldn't have asked a child to help him with something as important as medications," I tell him, my words soothing and gentle yet deathly serious. "You couldn't have known."
"I know now that it wasn't my fault, but I blamed myself for a long time. My mother blamed me for his death. She stopped talking to me, stopped spending any time with me. I wasn't her son anymore. Just a child that lived in her house and ate her food," he says solemnly.
Tears spring to my eyes. Oh my poor James. "Your mother is a horrible person," I breathe out, unable to contain the words. "I'm starting to see why you didn't want to go on vacation with her," I state, making him laugh.
"And I'm surprised she made the deal with Anna," I add, glowering as if Elizabeth Harrington herself was in the room right now.
James scoffs. "My mother only agreed to help Anna because my stepfather said it would be good for PR," he says, rolling his eyes.
Ah. That makes perfect sense.
"Anyways, I started having nightmares where I killed my father and my mother would always come after me. They would always end right as I was about to die, and they wouldn't go away. I think they started happening because of how she was treating me," he says.
"She... didn't even sit next to me at his funeral," he breathes out, his voice stretched so thin, it sounds like the grief might break him.
"Did she ever apologize?" I ask curiously. "For treating you that way?"
James grimaces. "Not exactly. After what happened, I threw myself into my schoolwork to distract myself from the pain, so I rarely ever saw her."
"That's how you graduated early," I reply in realization.
James nods.
"A couple years later we had to attend a family reunion, and as we were greeting family members whose names I couldn't even remember, they would ask her questions about me that she couldn't answer. She realized then that she had never been very present in my life, and I guess the guilt ate at her enough because she started making more of an effort to be my mother," he tells me.
"It was too late for me though. I had gotten through the last two years since my father had died all by myself, without anyone to care for me. I would be fine on my own," he says, slamming his fist down on the table in determination.
I'm beginning to understand why James is the way he is. Or at least, used to be. My heart is breaking. Elizabeth Harrington better pray she never crosses paths with me again.
"Shortly after that, my mother married my stepfather without even telling me. I think she thought I needed a replacement father, or something," he says, shaking his head.
"You don't like your stepfather?" I ask, drinking down the rest of my coffee.
James shrugs. "William is... fine, I guess," he replies hesitantly.
"But he's not your father, even though he tries to act like it?" I interject, sensing that's what he's trying to say.
"Exactly," James agrees, sounding a little relieved. "It's exactly like that."
"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I'm so sorry."
James smiles at me. "Don't apologize, Erin. It's not your fault, and they're not sorry. Don't ever be sorry for things that aren't your doing," he adds.
I quirk an eyebrow at him in confusion. "Didn't you get me in trouble with the court for things you did?" I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
James gives me an innocent puppy dog look. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," he replies in a tone that suggests he absolutely knows what I'm referring to.
Most people would still be angry about that, but somehow, I'm not.
"Arrogant bastard," I retort, though my words are laced with affection.
James just shakes his head. "Careful, slave" he teases, his eyes alight with devious intentions.
"Yes, Master," I reply, a sheepish grin plastered across my lips. We share a laugh as I grab his coffee cup, getting up. I make us both a second cup of coffee, rejoining him at the table.
A comfortable silence opens up between us, filled only with yawns and sips of coffee.
Finally, I break the silence. "What was your father's name?" I ask.
"Felix," James replies softly. "It means lucky," he adds, lifting his right arm. For the first time I notice a tiny four-leaf clover tattooed on the inside of his wrist. How had I not noticed that before?
Tentatively, I trace my fingers over the tattooed flesh before lacing my fingers with his again.
"If I may ask, how... exactly did you end up in the debt program?" James asks me carefully, knowing it's a touchy subject for me.
I sigh. "Well, my mother was an orphan. She never got adopted and on her eighteenth birthday she was kicked out with no place to go. It didn't take long before she found herself in trouble," I begin to explain, pausing to take a sip of my coffee. James does the same, humming in satisfaction.
"She managed to get a job at a café and in lieu of payment, they agreed to let her live in the basement, and eat the leftover pastries and sandwiches. I guess my father used to go there every day, and they fell in love."
I take another sip of my coffee before continuing. "When he heard about her situation, he took her in. Things were perfect between them until she got pregnant. He had never wanted kids, but he put up with it for my brother. Four years later, she got pregnant again, and I guess he couldn't handle the thought of having a female child because he kicked my mother and brother out. You can... pretty much figure out the rest from there," I finish simply.
James narrows his eyes. "Your father is a bastard," he says and I nod in agreement as he takes a sip of his coffee.
"God. I don't think anyone makes a better cup of coffee than you," he praises. "You could put professional baristas to shame," he adds, chuckling.
And right then, an idea starts to form. I've been thinking about finding a passion to pursue, and everyone tells me I make the best coffees. And besides, if I'm going to help debtors obtain equal rights and better treatment, I'm going to need a stream of income.
This could work.
"Erin? Is everything okay?" James asks me, concern lacing his words.
I shake myself from my thoughts before nodding. "I'm fine," I reply.
"What are you thinking about?" He asks curiously, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand again.
I can envision everything perfectly in my head. And as far as I know, there's no law against a debtor starting a business so long as they get permission and funding from their patron. This just might work. I meet his gaze and give James a determined smile before answering.
"I want to open a coffee shop."
A/N: Yeah.... this one got a little dark. What did you all think? I hope you're still enjoying the story! Thank you for continuing to read His Slave! It means the world to me! 🤍