by Kim Faulks
Bethany stared at her with wide eyes, her hand trembling. She swallowed, and cast her gaze to the floor. “Y…You're right, m… mother.”
Rachel smiled. “That's better. Living in this family maybe tough at times, Bethany, but we get through it. We're fortunate to have money and power. Never underestimate those two things. They alone can fuel the world. Now, go upstairs. I'll be up there to fix you up in a minute. I'll have to explain this to your grandfather.”
Bethany raced up the stairs and into her bedroom next to hers. This moment was bound to happen at some point. But her daughter was coping. Rachel had a harder time coming to terms with the responsibilities of this family when she found her place. Her daughter was smarter, tougher. She took after her father.
Rachel knocked once and pushed open the door. Her father was busy putting on his tie. He stilled as he watched her enter alone. His brow raised, his question spoken without words.
“Bethany’s had a crisis of sorts.”
“Has she? Is she okay?”
Rachel nodded, her hands clenched automatically. “She's fine. I sent her to her room. She understands how this is. She just needs some space to work it out.”
Her father’s smile was a ghost. The emotion never reached his eyes. “Of course. Tell her I love her and she can have all the time she needs... well, to a point.”
“I understand.” Rachel turned to leave.
She stilled with her hand on the door as her father called. “Rachel.”
“Yes, Father?”
“You know Daddy loves you, don’t you?”
Her chest tightened and tears sprang to her eyes. “I know, and I love you, too.”
His voice hardened slightly. If it had been anyone else, they’d never have detected the change. But Rachel Banks wasn't just anyone. She knew her father better than God himself. “Then, I’ll see you upstairs later.”
Rachel dipped her head and twisted the door handle. “Yes, Father.”
Her mind was weighted, a burden, too many memories and too many thoughts of their future as she climbed the stairs. She didn't see her daughter waiting for her at the top until it was too late.
Bethany's eyes were red from crying. She wiped her hand across her nose, the trail of blood still fresh on her skin. Rachel thought that their discussion would’ve helped her see reason, that it would’ve helped her make sense of all this.
“I won't go to him anymore. I won't and you can't make me.” Bethany lifted the shotgun, which wavered in the air and pointed at her.
“What are you doing, Bethany? Put the gun down. Do what I say, I'm your mother!”
Her daughter’s gaze was hard, controlled, and the gun became still as she answered. “No, I don’t have a mother anymore.” Rachel stared as Bethany’s tiny finger slid over the metal trigger and squeezed.
Rachel came to in that filthy room, crying and holding her stomach. She opened her eyes to stare at her daughter... but this wasn’t her daughter. The tight blonde curls and innocent face slowly seemed to fade. She was now hideous and bald. Rachel tried to lift her head, but she felt weighed down. “Wait. I don't understand.”
The monster’s eyes widened and her pale lips slid over her razor teeth as she smiled. Her head bobbed as she grabbed fists of her dress and danced. “We're going to go now, Mommy. We're going to go down, down, down.”
“No, get away from me! What is this place?”
The glowing red eyes focused on her, drawing her deeper inside. The child’s lips curled into a hideous grin. “This room is called a lot of things... but I like to call it the secrets room.”
Rachel’s gut clenched in warning. She pushed the monster in front of her away. “You're not my child. You're not my Bethany.”
“It won't matter where you're going. You’ll love it. It's a lot like this place, only warmer.”
The monster dropped her head close enough that drool fell on Rachel’s cheek. She could smell its fetid breath and the faint smell of blood clung to its skin. Rachel tried to push herself up but she was so tired… so tired. Rachel couldn’t move, she was helpless as the demon dipped its head to kiss her, but at the last second, moved past her lips to suckle at her neck. A sharp sting of pain and a loud pop sounded inside her head. Rachel’s heart fluttered. That frightened, trapped little bird fought free and flew from her chest. The thing lifted its head and smiled, its face covered with the stark red of her blood.
Rachel screamed.
I CAN’T BREATHE…. I. CAN’T. Breathe… Morgan's lungs were on fire. She kicked and clawed, using what precious oxygen she had left. Colton’s hands squeezed, and with each gasp she made, his grip tightened.
Panic raged inside, urging her to fight… fight. She opened her mouth and tried to inhale. Her stomach bowed in from the strain and her chest burned. But no matter how desperate she was to live, the room slowly darkened.
No, please, not like this. She swung her fist in one last attempt to survive, but her blow was no more than a soft slap in the darkening air. Her hold on this world slipped.
Her pain dulled. Morgan floated, tethered to no one and nothing. Her body now existed separately from her, as though she’d slipped her skin, and her flesh and bones were no longer hers to command. With the last trace of awareness, Morgan felt her hand slide from her stomach to lie, palm up, on the floor.
The beat in her chest dulled, skipped… and then marched no more. Like a fog, death moved in and wrapped around her. At the end of her existence, Morgan found the demon she was most afraid of—the one who’d been waiting, with knife in hand, ready to carve out her soul.
That demon was her.
She sunk like a stone in an endless, dark well and returned to a memory. To a night that had haunted her all this time. It seemed only fitting that her descent into Hell be accompanied by this one memory, the one which had sealed her soul’s fate.
The sweet scent of jasmine drew her deeper into the memory and to the person she’d once been, but the heady scent was wasted on Morgan. All she could smell and taste was the next hit. The next lick of white fire she needed, like the drug was oxygen itself. Without it, she couldn’t survive. Without it, she’d die.
When the last high had left her body, she’d locked herself in her bathroom. She was determined to make it through one night without giving in. Just one night is all I need. One fucking night and everything will be okay. Morgan shivered, lying on the cold tiles, while the last traces of H left her to burn.
She made it through one minute. She cowered and shook through one hour, but she was weak. She was so fucking weak. And no matter hard she pleaded with herself to keep going, she just couldn't. Her body screamed with pain. Ants crawled underneath her skin and buried deep into her flesh. She tore at her arms. Her nails left her bloody and raw.
She just needed a taste. Something to take the edge off. Something to scratch the itch. Morgan opened the door and crawled to where her phone sat. She called every number she knew. No one would sell to her, even when she begged the use of her body in return.
Their laughter was cruel. She wasn’t anything special anymore. She had nothing they wanted. Nothing she could use… but money... money was different. Everyone wanted money. She had to find something to sell.
In a daze, Morgan stumbled out of the grubby apartment and onto the street. She passed the darkened shops. Her reflection in their windows was haunting. She looked dirty. Her hair was wild and uncombed, but her eyes were what scared Morgan the most. They were dark and hard—the eyes of a killer. She looked away and kept her focus on the ground.
Her teeth chattered and she wrapped her arms around herself as she walked. Not because she was cold, but because she was coming apart. The lights of passing cars blurred into one, their horns a warning she’d strayed too far into the middle of the road.
She couldn't remember how long she’d been walking, or where she was going. All her thoughts centered on the one last hit to get her through. Then she’d get help and she’d be okay.
Eve
n after all the drugs, the sex, and the fucked up things she’d done, she still had hope. She believed that somehow, underneath all this shit, she could still be saved.
As her feet found a familiar path, she realized something important—something so profound that it stopped her where she stood—in this moment there was another desire, one far greater than the one gripping her now. In a blinding moment of clarity, Morgan closed her eyes and turned her attention inward.
If you’re there, God, I need to feel you. Just give me one sign. One sign that this isn’t over for me. Please, I’m begging you.
For what felt like an endless moment there was nothing but desperation and hopelessness, and then a star exploded inside her, blinding her with its brilliance. For the first time in a long time, she felt something… no, she felt someone was with her. The strange sensation hummed inside her chest, like an electric current. Morgan released her arms to press her hand against her breast and the source of the energy. Her tears fell and splashed against her arm. She stared down at the glistening drops as they fell away. What’s happening to me?
Morgan turned to the stars and searched for the answer. The feeling in her chest thrummed, sending ripples throughout her body. Her breath was trapped, and she held on to this moment, finally making the connection.
For the first time, in a long time, Morgan wasn’t alone. There was someone else here with her, inside of her, and this realization dropped her to the ground.
The concrete was harsh as her knees hit the pavement. The night air, cold against her skin, but none of this mattered now, inside her mind. Inside her spirit, she felt a connection stronger than anything she'd ever known. She’d been alone for so long, floundering through life—not caring about the things she'd done. She'd wasted it by snorting, injecting, swallowing her future.
Could this be my last chance? If only I could make it through... if only….
With this seed of doubt, the connection left her and the crushing loneliness returned. Her tears ran hot and drenched her shirt. The tears were for a different reason now. She tried to resurrect the feeling, pressing hard against the hollow of her chest until her hand ached from the pressure. But there was nothing. No presence. No hope. Nothing.
No… no, no, no. She pushed up from the ground. Please come back, please, please, please. Her veins throbbed and the weight of her demise pulsed with the same beat that pushed her over the edge. She clutched her chest, trying her best to comfort the hollow, but who was she kidding? She deserved no comfort. She deserved no kindness. Pain was all she should expect. But if I can just get this one last hit… maybe… maybe it will come back to me? The familiar houses around her urged her forward. Morgan pushed everything else from her mind. She needed money. It'd be just this once. She'd repay the money. She’d make everything all right.
The two-story house loomed in the night. The windows were yellow and warm, calling forth forgotten memories. Morgan recalled the happier times, but that person seemed to have little in common with her, so she shrugged them off, listening to the laughter fade with a tear and pushed through the gate. She trod the well-worn path down the side of the house and made her way around to the rear. The key would be in the same place it’d been all these years. Her parents were nothing, if not predictable. She reached up and worked her fingers along the ledge of doorframe until she touched the metal teeth. She slipped the key home. The snap of the lock echoed in the night. In her mind, this was already over, the deed done, the H in her veins. Morgan licked her lips and felt her vein twitch as the door sprang free and she slipped inside.
The house was quiet, except for the buzz of the fish tank. The shimmering, blue glow reached into the kitchen from the doorway to her right, so she veered to the left. Memories were the only things that waited for her in there. She was after gold, or money, not the past. Her foot seemed to rebel, her steps jerked to a stop.
Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. If I asked them for the money… begged them, even? She shook her head and stepped forward. Don’t be fucking stupid. They’re not gonna help me, they’ll just send me off to rehab. They don’t want me in their life anymore… they’ve made that perfectly clear.
The weight of this thought settled deep inside. The hurt was still so raw. Just get this over with. I fucking think too much. She exited the kitchen to stop at the bottom of the stairs. To return felt so strange. Like nothing had changed, and yet, everything had. She wasn’t the same person anymore. She hadn’t known happiness for a long goddamn time. For Morgan there was only survival, and to do that, she needed drugs.
Morgan climbed the stairs until a noise stopped her halfway. She hovered with one foot over the step, listening to the darkness, and the soft hum of the house. It’s just your fucking nerves. Get this over with—too many ghosts live here.
Even under her withdrawal haze, she knew no one would be here. Her parents were at the same place they were every Friday night, the local bingo game until after nine. They were predictable to a fault. The familiar creak of the floorboard echoed through the house. It felt like yesterday she’d walked these halls. The shadowed doorway of her old room beckoned and Morgan’s breath caught. She wouldn’t go in there… too many memories… too much hurt.
She headed for her parent’s room at the end of the hall. The house smelled of fried chicken and lemon polish—nothing here had changed—nothing except her. Morgan lifted and jerked on her mother’s top dresser drawer. The drawer slides groaned, deep and sorrowful in the dark. Her fingers were fast, shifting the embroidered handkerchiefs her mother used aside, to unearth the wooden box underneath.
She made no attempt to cover her tracks, throwing the clothes to the floor. She lifted the box free and opened the lid to reveal the jewelry her mother kept over the years—jewelry that at one time would’ve been handed down to her.
Tears blurred her sight, distorting the shine of the diamonds in the moonlight. Memories of herself as a child came back, dressing up with her mother’s clothes and her jewelry. Her mother’s heels were far too big for her small feet. She’d run, stumbled, and then fell as she headed toward the kitchen. Her mother had taken one look at her as she wiped her hands on a tea towel and burst out laughing. She had Morgan pose for a photo. That photo was still here, somewhere.
She reached in and pulled the gold free. In an hour, these chains would be all gone, sold, melted, and that photo would be the only proof of their existence. Her hands shook, her hunger was ravenous. She rocked, grabbing the edge of the cabinet. She felt crushed under the weight and torn from the trauma of her betrayal, but the need was still there, burning, shredding her veins from the inside out. The only way to stave off the hunger was the drug. She wouldn’t survive. She couldn’t even get through a night… the thought of a week, a month. Jesus, she shuddered. She’d rather live in Hell.
She grabbed a handful of her mother’s heirlooms and shoved them into the pocket of her jeans. The tight fabric wouldn’t hold much, but it would be enough to get her one hit and one hit was all she needed. Her hands shook at the thought.
Morgan left the drawer open, the clothes strewn across the floor and her mother’s jewelry box bare. Her father would call the police, when he saw they’d been broken into. She could almost see her mother’s tear-streaked face. A pain stabbed her heart.
It wasn’t too late to stop. It wasn’t too late to ask their forgiveness and plead for help….
Yes, it was.
She left behind the mess in the bedroom and headed for the stairs, until a loud snap cut through the darkness. Morgan stared into the blackness. Her foot was poised on the end of the first step, although her grip on the banister kept her from moving.
Just do it, for fuck’s sake… a tear slid down her face and fell into the corner of her mouth. She licked the salty drop and swallowed before forcing her hand to relax. The emptiness waited for her, in more ways than one. Her sneaker squealed on the lacquered floor and she slipped. Morgan fumbled for the railing. Her fingers skimmed the worn wood, but she was
too late.
She tumbled down the entire flight, only stopping when she hit the foyer floor. Her heart boomed as fear sent a ripple through her gut. Something was wrong. A shadow moved in the dark, and through her hammering heart, she picked up the soft shuffle of a shoe on the rug. Morgan was helpless to stop. She should turn and run out the front door. Instead, in a daze, she stepped forward until she entered the cozy den.
“Stop right there. I have a gun aimed at you.”
His words meant nothing, but the voice froze her. She opened her mouth to say something, but there was nothing, only the hiss of air. Morgan shuffled backwards.
“I said, stop right there you son of a bitch, or I’ll pull this goddamn trigger.”
Her heart was shredded, the wound raw and savage, worse than the withdrawal that ravaged her—worse than anything she’d ever endured.
Do it. Morgan closed her eyes, waiting for the crack of the gun, waiting for the end to come. Pull the trigger. The click sounded, but it was tiny and there was no pain, only light.
“Morgan? Morgan, is that you?”
She opened her eyes and stared at the twin barrels of the gun and then at her father. How long since she’d seen him? His face looked ashen in the yellow light. His eyes were sunken, black pools. His hair was plastered to his forehead by a sheen of sweat. Her once vibrant father now looked… old and sick. She felt herself jerk as though she’d been slapped. He was no longer the sturdy man she remembered. That man was gone.
She licked her lips. “Yeah, Dad, it’s me.”
The shotgun wavered in the air, as though he could barely hold it. Morgan wanted to go to him, but like the fool she was, she didn’t.
“Is everything alright? What are you doing here?”
Her heart ached with the sound of those words. What are you doing here? As though he’d forgotten the day he told her to leave and never come back. In a way, her father’s love was her first withdrawal. He’d taken it away and so began her spiral. There was no blame here. Her life was the result of her choices. It was all on her. This man had done the best he could and in this moment, standing here, Morgan had nothing but regret.
