The HUSH Series: (HUSH, HUSHED and JANE.)

by Sandra Raine

  Bree instantly lit up in her seat with excitement at the very sight of our house while I recoiled in mine. She quickly opened the car door to jump out but Justin had gently seized her arm.

  "Let's wait for Jane okay, sweetheart?" he then said with a playful wink. Bree giggled, and I cringed.

  "What's going on, Dominic?" I demanded fretfully as I crossed to Dominic in hastened steps just as he was stepping off his Hummer. Dominic said nothing. Instead, he slammed the driver's side door and took an abrupt hold of my hand and spun me back around toward the direction of my house, mustering, "Shh," from the side of his mouth. "Just do as you're told." he then urged. And the urgency in his tone caused me to fret that much more.

  "C'mon, Jane," Bree, too, urged, slipping her hand out of Justin's and into mine. I strained a smile and followed Bree's lead nervously while Justin paved the way into my house with Dominic and Josh following closely behind.

  The atmosphere in my house was basking in a fervor that caused me more concern than ever, particularly when Bree and I were led straight into the formal living room where not only our parents awaited us, but Doug was present. Then, to my dismay, Tanya, Bob Ray, Helena Ray, and then lastly to my horror, Henry Church.

  "Oh, God!' I mustered to my absolute shock as my knees slightly buckled from beneath me while my hand slowly slipped from Bree's with my feet literally stumbling back. Josh quickly caught my balance and forced me back to my feet. And just by the weight in both my parents' expression made me come to the understanding that they were aware of. . .something.

  When a minute had passed, my mother carefully, but graciously, rose from her seat on the sofa. Then, within a bout of fury, she grabbed Bree's arm and yanked her from my side to her side.

  "Ouch, mommy!" Bree wailed suddenly.

  "You hush up, young lady!" she then sneered at Bree.

  "Mom, it's not Bree's fault - " I began to say but my head swiftly spun right before settling back in the center. I touched my cheek and stared at my mother in a state of bewilderment 'cause she had never hit me before. And in spite of the burning sensation, and possibility of another hard slap, I opened my mouth to question my mother's actions but I was instead confronted by a set of pursed ruby lips.

  "Just what in the hell were you thinking, Jane?!" my mother then shouted as a hint of revolt clung to her use of my name causing me to feel remorse ‘cause I had obviously hurt her by stealing Bree in the middle of the night. "What if something would've happened to Bree, then what, Missy?"

  "CeCe," my father suddenly, yet casually intervened my mother with a gentle touch to her shoulder. She then turned around with her expression softening a bit. God, how she loved my father because he was the only one who could cushion her anger.

  "Why don't you and Helena take Bree into the kitchen and make sure she gets something good to eat, huh? Are you hungry, sweetie, yes?" my father then said to Bree with a comforting smile. Bree ignored our father and hesitantly glanced up at me. I nodded then Bree nodded at our father who then forced a smile 'cause he didn't quite take well to Bree's seeking permission to eat from me.

  "Come, sweetheart." my mother, too, then said forcing a smile. Taking Bree gently by the hand, she then eased herself and Bree toward the north end of the house with Helena strolling by their side, remarking about the painting sitting on the mantle my parents' purchased from Sotheby's a couple of years ago.

  Once the women's voices trailed off and disappeared, my father then turned his his attention back onto me and said something that not only unnerved me, it made me understand the purpose of Dominic, of Tanya, Bob Ray, Justin, Josh and Henry Church: "They say you're being much too difficult to control now?"

  My father not only sounding [unconventionally] disappointed, his embarrassment for their lack of "control" actually struck an unsettling chord with him, prompting him to say, "Don't you love your life? Don't you love all your pretty little things, your apartment size bedroom with all its beautiful and expensive furnishings; your car, your credit cards, your money? Don't you love what you have, sweetheart? I mean, don't you love "working". . .for me?"

  I immediately took a harrowing step back and held on to whatever life I still had inside me. 'Cause the man standing before me wasn't my father. No. That man was the Devil.

  Chapter 51

  I was stranded in a fucked up world; a world void of human conscience and morality of how far one human soul can be abused. I realized now, and what I have always been, the absolute center of my father's sick and perverse world beginning with the expensive throw rug I had been staring down at for the last few minutes. I bought that rug six months ago. Wait! let me rephrase: My innocence bought that rug six months ago.

  "Sweetheart," my father crooned proudly as if I was his best little whore in the whole wide world. My head then suddenly erected with such a brilliant force that the action alone left my father somewhat bemused 'cause he just stood there, smirking. I mean, was this fucking funny to him 'cause I didn't hear myself fucking laughing?

  "Why don't you just call me Diamond, Mr. Parker." I challenged beneath a disgruntled tone reeking of informality.

  "Damn," Justin remarked, shaking his head in total disgust.

  "A damn shame, is more like it. Wouldn't you agree, Justin?" my father then replied in a tone that was condescending. "Difficult," he then added more along the lines of shame rather than regret. "Look at me, Jane!" My father snapped. "You think you're the only one who's contributed to our little business here? You think Doug and the others haven't contributed?"

  I expected to see a form of pride on the faces of my oppressors like Soldiers serving their country, but instead I only found sorrow, shame and humiliation 'cause unlike me they had been stripped of their souls, of their spirits 'cause no such mortal life had been embedded on their faces to accommodate such human emotions; in fact there was nothing [left] that gave way to once having been human. These people, while still children in my eyes 'cause that's what they probably were before they were betrayed into this life, then after, manipulated, drugged, raped, and lastly, forced to slave into this seedy underworld of sex and trafficking from those they absolutely trusted now me with my father. I realized. . .I mean. . .I understood that my oppressors weren't the evil I had painted them out to be; my oppressors were just victims, like me. And I couldn't help but to weep for them. Then, I did something my father never saw coming: I wiped my tears away and laughed. Why? 'Cause I didn't know if my father's previous words were an act of confession to perhaps once being a victim himself? Or, perhaps, his guilty soul was just crying out for help?

  "Do you find something amusing, Jane?" My father inquired.

  "No," I replied straight-faced 'cause I knew he was already irked by my sarcasm. "Just a little curious, I guess."

  "About what?"

  "About the business you and Bob Ray have chosen."

  "Ah!" My father gasped as he stole a glance over his shoulder toward the direction of Bob Ray who was seated cross-legged on the loveseat, looking gentlemanly suave with one arm dangling over the sofa back and the other casually relaxing above his right knee.

  "Quite observant, isn't she?" My father praised leaving Bob Ray to nod in agreement. "None of us are monsters here, sweetheart, if that's what you wish to believe - "

  "But we are your children. . .dad. . .and, and Mr. Ray's children, too. I mean. . .we're blood." And just having said that left me with this immense terror clinging desperately inside me when it began to occur to me that my father, along with Bob Ray had neither a sympathetic and compassionate bone in their bodies for the little bodies that they've fathered and nurtured, and the only reason we were even conceived in the first place was to fund their sickened lifestyles.

  "I do see you point, sweetheart. And yes. . .Doug, Dominic, Tanya. . .they were all hesitant at first but with a little coaching and some persuasion they eventually gave in once they got a taste for the wealthier side of its purpose. So you see, Jane, this little job that you're doing don't look at it as a
bad thing, look at it as a good thing, a profitable thing because you're providing for your family and eventually it does end. But considering your sister's age - "

  Oh, God, no! "Bree's only nine, dad."

  "Yes. But soon she'll be thirteen."

  "I don't have three years. . .if that's where you're heading. . .with Bree."

  "Well, sweetheart," my father interceded, sighing out pained and frustrated for me. He grasped my shoulders and gave them a gentle, yet unremorseful squeeze. "You need to try and make it three years. And that's not a request."

  "Andrew," Henry Church casually cleared his throat to intervene. My father and I both looked to Henry for some kind of objection but instead he said, "I thought we," and he quickly paused to cast a glance at Bob Ray who continued to sit there listening in silence and making no objection to Henry Church's inquisition, "had an agreement about Jane's age. Now you're pushing for three more years? What happened to - "

  "I understand your concern, Henry," my father politely interrupted, "but with the Czech heat, and Jenna's unfortunate dilemma we have no choice in the matter to pursue additional time with Jane."

  "But Jane is not Jenna. Nor is she the others. She's your daughter. You agreed to an age limit as we did with Tanya."

  "Yes. And because she's my daughter I will see fit to what I think that limit is. And I think the additional time is necessary. And not just for me but for all of us, particularly our partners to the north, to the west and to the east."

  "We don't contribute to their fortunes, Andy. They have their own girls. And their own set of rules. If they learn of your intent then our business will be threatened. We have an age limit here. And we should adhere to it. . .while you're still in control."

  My father fell silent for a moment. It was obvious he was ingesting Henry Church's concern, that I could see, yet I was confused 'cause the conversation was so foreign to me. The only thing I was getting out of it was Henry Church not to particularly fond of the idea of my father prostituting me for the next three years, and there was an age limit, and matured females wasn't in the cards. Then, there was the word "Czech". . .I had heard it once before back in Vegas between Justin and Henry. Then, Henry Church must've said something 'cause all of a sudden my father began pacing his space, back and forth like a Lion readying for battle forcing me to take a cautious step back from him.

  "As Jane's father, Henry, you have no additional say in this matter. So if I were you I would concentrate all this energy you obviously have for Jane onto what matters most like those in Vegas." My father stopped pacing and spun a ninety degree to where he was now facing me instead of Henry Church. The aromatic whiff off his angst spoor immediately choked my senses particularly when he glared at me through hazed and wild eyes right before seizing one of my arms and thrusting me against Henry Church who then staggered back trying hard to contain his inner rage for his eyes were just as hazed and wild.

  "Do you honestly believe you've earned your right to speak here after that stint you tried to pull with Dominic. . .showing up at his place looking to buy her out from beneath me? I mean, we all know you have a hard on for my daughter, Henry, but then again, who doesn't? I mean look at her!" My father instigated, tightening his grasp around my arm and thrusting me continually against Henry Church as if I were a piece of meat. "Look at her, Henry! She's every man's fantasy including yours! She's white. She's beautiful. She's wild. And she belongs to no one BUT me. I mean, your little perverse fantasies with Jane, Henry, are nothing but pipe dreams including your fucking marriage and that fictional fucking family you've created. And please don't insult my intelligence by telling me you were in love and that's why you got married. Seriously, you're no different from Dominic, Doug, Justin and Josh who have no conscience about banging little girls 'cause that's exactly what you did with Kelly. The only place you fucked up with her was by getting her pregnant. At least Dominic had the decency to abort his problem, you however, grew a fucking conscience and married that little spic-of-a-bitch, and may I add, without consulting with any of us first! I mean, we all know you only did it 'cause you knew what we would do to her if you hadn't. So why don't you do all of us a favor, huh, Henry, including yourself. . .Take Jane up to her room and show her what kind of a man you truly are because I can assure you that once she gets the real taste of you she won't think you any different than those fucking pricks out there once you're done fucking her ten ways from Sunday!"

  The air around the air conditioned room suddenly grew excruciatingly hot, particularly with Henry Church 'cause he had just been standing there fuming and raging quietly beneath his breath from the second my father stole center stage and grandstanded him. And instead of challenging my father's rage, Henry Church took a deep and disturbing breath and stepped around the both of us, all the while shaking his head and thinking. I mean, Henry did open his mouth in the end to say something in protest to my father's ill insults and uncompromising behavior but the golden silence had obviously gotten the better of him.

  "Who's the Czech, dad?" I then found the strength and the nerve to ask. And I only did it to break the intensity raging from my father against Henry Church 'cause a great part of me felt fear and pity for him; fear, 'cause my father could very seriously hurt him; pity, 'cause he felt helpless in protecting me from my father.

  "No, no, no. no, Jane, I am not about to have that conversation with you." my father argued in a state of comical disbelief. "I mean, it's already unfortunate to have heard what you have already heard, and that is all you'll be privileged to hear from this point on. And do you want to know why that is, sweetheart, I mean, since you've taken it upon yourself to ask without my consent. . .because you haven't exactly earned your right to ask questions unlike the one's standing before you who have, nor have you earned the shred of an oncoming opinion. Either way, they have all earned that right because they did as they were told - right down to the science of a T whereas you haven't." Right at that moment I could feel the extraordinary fabrics from the expensive throw rug beneath the soles of my tennis shoes parting ways and swallowing me in. And the more and more I refused to surface, to surface and survive, to survive by breathing in the oxygen to live, the more my father pulled me back up to his hell to die. "So if I were you, Diamond, I'd keep my fucking mouth shut."

  "Jane has given her fair share and then some for this business," Dominic suddenly vouched. "I believe she has earned the right."

  "Is that so?" My father observed as he cast a rigorous gaze onto Dominic that was far beyond chastising. "Do you, too, honestly believe you've earned your right to speak here today after all the fucking shit that has gone on between you and Jane?" Dominic, not finding a rock big enough to crawl under, just stood there allowing my father to center all his rage upon him, especially when he stomped across the room and settled himself comfortably in front of Dominic who then started to choke 'cause he literally stopped breathing.

  "Phoning me in the middle of the fucking night! Babbling! Bawling about how you lost all control over Jane, and you didn't know what to do. You had one job, Dominic, ONE!" My father yelled, probing a stern finger against Dominic's protruding temple while Bob Ray did nothing to defend his son from my father who continued to berate Dominic. And this enraged me.

  "One job!" my father repeated. ". . .To break her down. To take total control of her. To not allow her to think, or to express an opinion. That was your job, and you fucked it all up! And how? By laying up in her room, getting emotionally involved, AND getting her fucking pregnant!"

  My father, like the calm before the storm, silenced himself. But then it is only seconds after, and from within a bout of a regretted thought, when he indirectly surmised. "I should have never put you in charge of Jane." And my father was no longer looking at Dominic, he was now looking at me as if their failure to break me, to control me was all my fault. "I would have had better results with Justin and Josh. Wouldn't you agree, Jane?" my father said strolling back to me, one hand in pocket, the other swaying languidly by
his side as if he were strolling through the Garden of Eden.

  "You shouldn't blame Dominic for your shortcomings for me being as stubborn as you are!" I spat. And if I could have spat saliva in his face, I would have done that, too. But since I was limited on arguments and opinions, that was the best I could do. . .for Dominic. But my father, unfortunately, felt otherwise 'cause he raised his hand and backhanded me down onto the floor.

  When the stars cleared, and I was no longer dazed from the hit something warm and wet trickled down from my nose. I quickly dabbed at the stream of blood and stared at it in a state of degradation realizing that this was how everything started - the breaking down process.

  I meant to look up at my father through somber and shamed eyes; to let him know how much he had hurt me, how he was continuing to hurt me. How his trust had stabbed my heart and shattered what little morale I had left in me; a morale I had once blamed strictly on Dominic, on Tanya, on the "cousins" until now. . ."You will respect me, sweetheart," my father seethed calmly as he gently knelt down in front of me, his eyes staring past all my misfortunes. "Just because you're daddy's little girl doesn't mean it gives you the right to deem yourself superior to me or to those standing behind me," he then lulled, stroking my bruised cheek and my hair right before he seized my face into the stern of his hand and oppressed whatever color still remained to bleed from within me. I whimpered, and my father chuckled 'cause he knew that I now understood.

  "Good. Now stand the fuck up." I choked back my tears, and slowly stood back up to my feet despite all my trembling. My father sensing a sense of triumph from bestowing fear into me at last lessens his hold on my face. A touch of that fear then breezed past my trembling lips particularly when he stole a gentle kiss. I then cringed from my father's touch thinking that there would be no way I was going to survive him, let alone, escaping his prison. . .not like this.