by Amity Green
“Please know, Savannah, I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Then why did you do these things?”
He sighed, looking at his gleaming, black shoes. “I have never cared about the outcome before. You have changed me.” He gestured to his chest with a hand. “Even this image is what I have learned from you. You give me strength.”
Tears welled and cascaded, heat and moisture fogging her glasses. She pulled them away with a frustrated swipe. A clean spot on the side of her tee shirt worked to dry the lenses while she gulped breaths to get a grip. She adjusted the spectacles and glared at him. He stole from her imagination, using her thoughts to look and sound so perfect. He spoke more and more like a real guy, leaching off her perceptions since she’d first seen him chasing her, transforming from a mountain lion to a man— from one vicious predator into another.
“You hurt my sister, and I’ll find my own pencil.”
“That’s a bluff.”
“A bluff is a tactic any warrior can do.” She pulled the door open and stood aside. “Reading a bluff is something a monster like you will never be capable of.”
“You do not value your life?”
“The good parts of my life, the things that make it valuable to me, are disappearing a little too fast.”
“I do not believe you would do it.”
“Try me.”
“I love—”
“Shut up!” she screamed. “You don’t love anything. You don’t know how.”
“Please Savannah, you will know me. I do know love, as I love my Father. You will see this in me, in time,” he pleaded.
She dropped her gaze to the floor, realizing she had to protect what was left of her family from his games. On a whim, the monster could turn on her little sister out of vengeance. He begged her. They both wanted something from the other, and for her it was her sister’s safety. She had to make a deal.
“Molly will leave so she will be safe,” she stated.
“Your word?” His eyes bored into hers, searching.
“I’ll stay.”
He nodded. “Done.”
A cold knot bound her lungs, making it hard to get a full breath. This is how people end up losing their souls. Savannah swung the door wide and stepped back for him to leave, but Witcher had already gone.
She sprinted across the hall pounding wildly on Molly’s door.
“Molly! Open the door!”
“What’s wrong? Savannah? Is it just you? Where’s Dad?” Molly asked from inside.
“It’s me. Only me. Please open up. We need to leave.”
“We can’t. We don’t have a way to get out.”
“Just open up, Molly, please.” Savannah placed her cheek against the cool, wooden door. “I need to see you.”
Molly’s dresser slid across the wood planks inside. The door handle rattled. Molly peeked out.
“Hi,” Savannah whispered. “Either come out here, or let me in.”
“I heard you screaming at him,” she mouthed.
“He’s not here. I don’t know where he is right now.”
Molly backed up and opened the door just wide enough for Savannah to slip through.
Savannah hugged her sister hard, trying to hide the way her body trembled. “You’re leaving here. I’m taking you to the Williams’.” She grabbed Molly’s backpack and dumped it out. A pencil rolled forward, stopping at her feet.
Molly looked up from the pencil to Savannah.
Searching her little sister’s gaze revealed fear and a little bit of guilt. Savannah grabbed the pencil and snapped it in half. She looked away, opened a dresser drawer, and started stuffing Molly’s clothes into the bag.
“What about you?” Molly asked. Her voice was so small, sounding too young. “I’ll come too, but I have to finish up a couple things first.”
“Dad’s letting us go?”
The question stilled Savannah’s movements. Of course Molly would think their father had done it all. Maybe she’d written off the attack in her bedroom as a nightmare or a figment of her imagination. It had been Witcher in her room that night, before he’d gained enough strength to appear in physical form. Molly didn’t know about him. Without a second guess, Savannah decided to leave it that way.
“Yeah. Dad says we can leave. I can’t find the keys to the truck. I’m getting you out of here first, then I’ll come back for the rest of the horses and to get my stuff.”
Molly nodded and shook her pillow from the case. She crammed two stuffed bears and all the framed photos from the top of her dresser inside and met Savannah at the door.
“Where will we go?”
“We’ll figure that out when the time comes. Ready?”
“Yeah.” Molly nodded.
* * *
The Williams’ house sat under a protective outcropping of pines, about two hundred feet away from the main road. From Savannah’s angle, the place looked a lot like she imagined Disneyland did from the window of a family car. She kicked free of a stirrup and slid to the gravel drive.
Molly got down and untied the pillow case from a leather concho strap on the saddle. Her mare danced a little as Savannah handed Molly her backpack.
Savannah unbuckled the saddle bag and handed her own wallet to Molly, which she’d filled with all the cash she could find. “Tell them Dad said it’s okay for you to stay the night. Don’t say anything about going home all day tomorrow. If Kim’s parents ask, just say it’s okay for you to go to hang out until Monday.”
“When are you coming?” Molly steadied her horse, waiting for an answer.
“I’ll be at school to get you. Take both of these bags with you Monday. Wait for me before you get on the bus after class, okay?”
Molly nodded, wide-eyed.
“Don’t get on the bus, Molly. It’s real important.”
“Okay.”
“All right. Head on over.” Savannah grabbed the reins and turned both horses toward home. Molly’s face paled and her chin quivered. She held her breath, the way she’d always done when she tried not to cry.
“It’s going to be okay, Molly. I’ll see you at school, I promise.”
“Just come now, please?”
“What about the animals? And I need my clothes. I’ll be fine. Go up there and play some games with Kim. I’ll see you before you know it.” She tried to smile but looked away to hide the fail. “Go on.”
“I love you, Vannie.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
She watched until the front door opened and Molly waved and went inside. The ride home went too fast, despite Savannah keeping Mabeline at a walk, pulling the other horse along. The mare worked herself into a lather, tossing her head and snorting the whole way. Their father had told her about how horses sensed their rider’s emotions, like fear or nervousness. Savannah shook her head. If that was the case, it was a wonder the horse didn’t keel over from a full blown heart attack.
Each hoof beat drew her closer to Witcher. Meeting Molly at school Monday was a fine fantasy. Reality set in once she made it back to the barn and their house loomed, rather than being a beacon of security. Savannah hung her saddle and brushed Mabeline down.
She wasn’t safe and neither was Molly.
Savannah secured the remaining horses for the night and walked through the house, finding no one. There was no sign of her dad. She looked through the screen door to the front yard.
“Witcher,” she yelled.
There was no response. A calf brayed for its mother down the draw. She called over and over, but heard nothing else. Outside the front door, dusk greeted the horizon with lavender streaks, and stars awakening in the sky. Shaky with exhaustion, Savannah went out, jumping when the screen door slammed behind her. She fell onto the porch swing, dazed with the realization that Molly was actually gone and she was alone, just there, waiting for a monster to appear.
Soon, full night claimed the day. It had been the longest in her young life.
“I believe we have a case
of mistaken identity.” The voice poured softly from the darkness, followed by the smell of rotten flesh.
Savannah pushed off the porch decking with her toes, setting the swing in motion. The wind exhaled, rocking the chime into song. “I know what you are. You belong in hell.”
“Don’t be cruel, Savannah.”
“Oh, my God,” she shouted. “You have no idea what cruel is.”
“What’s my Father got to do with it?”
Who was she to judge where such a monster came from? Demons and angels might have been cast from the same of the Almighty’s molds. “You said you loved your Father, but apparently not enough to act as He does. Isn’t that in the Bible somewhere?” She didn’t look for him, just shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still the … thing responsible for all this.”
“Fault, like beauty, is in the eye.” He stepped onto the bottom stair. The suit was gone, but he wore dress pants and a black shirt.
“You did this,” she said, surprised at her ability to hold back tears. “You broke my family.”
“They aren’t strong, like you. For that I am sorry, Savannah.”
“Stop saying my name!” she screamed. “I never told you my name. Quit acting like you know me. You’re not even a person.”
“You’re upset, understandably.” He sat beside her.
Savannah fixed her gaze on the siding of the house and scooted to the far edge of the swing. He took the hint and stood again, but in front of her so she couldn’t avoid seeing him.
“I am not this ‘Witcher’ you think I am.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied through a locked jaw.
“I only state this because of your fixation with titles.”
Savannah huffed, shaking her head. “The angel Stella talked about.” She looked at her boots.
“I am he.”
“That,” she said, turning to face him, “you are a that, not a he. You’re an ‘it’. Not an angel anymore. You’re the opposite.”
“You’re wrong. I am many things, and many people. I feel hate and love, just as you do.”
“Why …?” She let the questions drift off, not knowing which to ask first. There was so much she didn’t understand. Questions ranged from why he’d come and went on from there.
“Why what?”
“Why haven’t you done anything to me? You’ve hurt everyone else.”
“I didn’t hurt your father.”
“You don’t think it tore him apart to do the things you made him do to Molly?”
“You don’t understand. We gave her pleasure many times. Jack found pleasure, as well.”
Savannah closed her eyes, unable to deal with the thought or visual of what he described. She looked past him, to the night sky. Finally, she was able to continue. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. That’s wrong. You hurt them both,” she said and got to her feet. “Why didn’t you do it to me, instead of Molly?”
“With her, it wasn’t my choice.”
“Don’t you even blame that on my dad. He would never do something like this. He’s a good man.”
“It’s innate,” he snapped. “Don’t forget, your good father, you and your sister … you’re just animals no matter what credit you give yourselves at this point.” He approached. “I’ve witnessed eons of what you prefer to call refinement while humanity attempted to leave the trail of evolution behind.” He smiled, bringing his arms out to his sides like a span of wings. “I have always been here. Even when you were but fish.” He dropped his arms, grin fading.
“Except for you,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “You ask why I didn’t try with you. I did try.”
She huffed and shook her head.
“And you, beautiful girl, are untouchable. You’re special to me in ways you do not understand. You have a gift that I cannot live without.”
She eyed him doubtfully, unable to remember a single instance.
“Sounds more like a curse than a gift. You’ve done nothing but torture my family and I.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, so softly it was barely audible over the sound of the breeze in the wind chime. He extended his hand to touch her cheek.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, dodging his reach. “Leave me alone.”
He let his arm drop. “There were times I was made to return to darkness. There is always one here,” he said and gestured to the world around them with a sweep of an upturned palm, “who beckons and welcomes me back to the light.”
“It wasn’t my sister,” Savannah shouted. “And it’s damned sure not me.” She leaned back against the wall. “You made a mistake. No one wants you here.”
“Your good father does,” he taunted. Savannah looked away, refusing his words.
He moved to stand in front of her, so she averted her gaze again. No matter the things her father had become capable of, the old Jack Caleman, her real dad, loved her better than anyone else could have.
“You made him do it.”
“Not quite,” he said, his breath smooth against her hair. “I allowed him these things. I simply gave him disregard for what held him back from finishing what he started.”
She shook her head, leaning away from him.
“Look at me,” he said.
She continued to look away. So what if he knocked her out and dragged her to the couch again? Think of him and he’ll think of you. Aunt Stella’s words made more and more sense all the time.
Averting her gaze was one thing, but being able to ignore him was completely different. Maybe he’d have to leave her alone if she refused to acknowledge him. He only said things to rattle her. He didn’t really know her dad. To him, Dad was just a tool to carry out his horrors.
“Look … at … me,” he commanded.
Savannah pulled away from the wall and walked into the house, letting the screen bounce and swing.
Inside, he waited by the stairs. “You shouldn’t have left Molly. You gave me this power over you. It is not I who deserves your scorn, but only yourself.”
She gritted her teeth but managed to keep her eyes off him on her way to her room. Upstairs, she closed her bedroom door out of habit. She turned the lock even though there was no keeping him—it—out. The other predator, that used to be her father, she could hide from, at least briefly. Whatever or whoever had come for Molly, Witcher, in whatever guise, would come for her. She’d never be able to trust, or even look at her father the same again.
She curled in bed, Witcher’s words ringing in her mind. He was right, she shouldn’t have left Molly alone. In that, she was at fault for what happened. Still, how could she have known? Molly saw the way their dad whipped her and heard the argument that followed. She’d likely heard Dad lie to the police. Maybe knowing they couldn’t get help from the law was more than she could handle, and so Molly had the thoughts of killing herself. Witcher picked up on that. Rather than being able to tell the police the whole story, Molly had been terrorized. Savannah had counted on Molly being there when the police showed up. Her sister would have told them everything in order to get help. Molly never had the chance.
The Caleman family was a memory. Their real dad was gone to her. She’d likely never see Chaz or Mother again. Another day and Molly would have been dead, unable to bear anymore. Her little brother’s cries had sounded horrified that day, the last time she saw him. And her poor little sister. She didn’t know the extent of what had been happening to Molly since they’d moved from the ranch, but it was coming through Dad. Why hadn’t he tried the same things with her? If he had, she would have gone to their mother with the truth, too. Maybe Witcher took advantage of Molly being smaller and younger. She wouldn’t be able to fight him off. Her sister’s heart had been crushed by what he’d done, and would continue to do to her.
Savannah hadn’t seen their father, in any form, for over a day. She had to wonder if he’d realized the horrible things he’d done and in turn, done away with himself. Considering that a good outcome made her hate hers
elf on a deep level.
Angry tears worked differently than tears from being sad or hurt. Savannah wiped her face on the bed sheet. There was no shame in getting mad about what happened to her siblings. It fueled something inside her. She’d never let herself be a victim before. The oldest sibling had the responsibility to look out for the others. She couldn’t do that anymore, which was nothing more than a failure. All that was left was to get revenge for what had been done to her family and make sure it stopped, for good.
She turned her back to the doorway to quit staring at it, in expectation of something demonic and hellish walking through. When they were younger, she and Molly had always laughed at ghost stories and the people who believed in stuff like that. In Sunday school and church service, they’d learned about Lucifer being cast out of heaven by God to live in hell with his demons. She was dealing with one of them. Angel or demon, no matter what he called himself, he’d always simply be “Witcher”. She had a hard time picturing him as an angel. They were beautiful, light, and pure. Witcher was dark and so mean and wrong that oily, scaled things slithered inside him.
The air chilled slightly and the smell of death signaled she wasn’t alone. Her body stiffened.
“I love you, Savannah.” His voice came over her shoulder. A weight rested on the mattress at her back. Her bedding was pulled up over her curled form. She didn’t respond and refused to warm up despite the heavy layer of blankets. He rolled close, his chest against her back, hips against her bottom, and his breath in her ear.
“Get out.” She scooted away.
Minutes later the mattress bounded back where he’d been. Her body relaxed, but her mind refused to rest.
***
Chapter 13
When Jack Caleman stopped beating on the door and then shouldered through into Savannah’s bedroom, he snarled at the gun barrel pointed in his direction.
Savannah leveled the shotgun at his chest and squeezed the trigger. A hole the size of her fist stunned him. Smooth and with confidence, she pumped another round into the chamber, like he’d taught her when she was just big enough to heft the weapon. Savannah raised the barrel to eye the shot and squeezed the trigger with cool deliberation as she stepped toward him and fired another hole into his abdomen. Shreds of his shirt hung bloody. The animalistic snarl fell away and was replaced by confusion.
