“Damn,” Rheanna said. “Damn damn damn!”
She walked past a boy and a girl pressed against a locker, their faces locked together. They stopped and raised their eyebrows as she stomped by. Rheanna stuck her tongue out at them, cocked her head, and rolled her eyes as dramatically as she could.
It felt good to be wicked, Rheanna Goodwine thought.
So much for virtue.
iv
Hello, angel, salvation, my only friend…
School was the best medicine now. School was the angel delivering her from the ruthless hands of her father. School was Heaven, redemption in an otherwise brutal land.
The world, Jeanie Masterson knew, was brutal. Life was the twisted, demented reason she flirted while donning the ever-smiling face.
Ironic, she thought, the way it worked, and the one thing she abstained from. She used the same thing that often mistreated her to make her happy…only in a different way.
Demons come in many forms, Jeanie thought.
That demon was her father.
Life could be good when it wanted to be.
It can also be bloody and cruel.
Life, for Jeanie Masterson, was a stage, and she played the part to perfection. Every aspect of her life was irrevocably false. She didn’t want it to be, of course, but she didn’t have a choice.
Jeanie had learned—as the greatest of thespians—to deceive her audience. Life had grabbed her by the throat. Time away from home was the only thing she lived for now. She dreaded walking through the door, up those stairs. Excuses to stay away gave her a modicum of peace, the reason she remained in the hallways, flirting with every boy in school. Flirtation wasn’t so bad, she thought. As much as it reminded her of her father, there was an aspect of touching that had to be good, and she was looking for it now.
Jeanie had learned to make herself numb, a current she could now switch off and on at will. She’d mastered that particular talent. At times, she couldn’t even hear herself screaming.
Life was not hellish, she told herself. She based her performance on how well she deceived her audience, comedy shrouded by horror.
School granted her freedom, but not the freedom she sought. She wanted, with reason, to be ultimately free, free from home, from Ellishome, from the brutal hands of her father. Jeanie plotted a thousand different ways in which to do this. One plan in particular sparked her fancy, made her eyes glow. Sometime in the near future…she hoped to see it through.
As much as she loved Rheanna and Masie, Jeanie walked a tightrope. When she dropped them off at night, fear crept into her heart. Now, when they were gone, she could not pretend. The stage grew dark, and the curtains drew back, revealing the nightmare.
Jeanie, of course, never invited people over to her house. She made excuses. “Dad’s been working on the kitchen.” “We’re fumigating.” She had a million of them. Thankfully, Masie and Rheanna eventually stopped asking. They accepted Jeanie’s house was—for whatever reason—off-limits.
Her life—if she’d have known—mirrored Gavin Lolly’s, and similar to Gavin, Jeanie took a deep breath when approaching the house, quietly closing the car door behind her, a feeling of dread slipping into her heart. The walk was the most agonizing part of the day, the gentle click when the door shut behind her, her feet padding quickly up the stairs to her bedroom. Jeanie would take off her shoes before ascending the stairs. They made less noise that way. Sometimes, she avoided the house altogether or simply stayed out in the car. Her father always went to work eventually. She could go home then.
Her room was still accessible to her father, though. He’d broken the lock on the door once. Jeanie had taken one of the chairs from the dining room and wedged it under the knob. Sometimes, he’d bang on the door for hours. Once, he tore it completely off its hinges. She’d spent the next day fixing it, trying to make it stronger. She needed a door of steel; she needed a vault.
Her father was a good actor, too. He played the role just as well. He attended church. He paid his tithing. He was a good carpenter, had plenty of friends. No one suspected Donald Masterson of molesting his daughter.
The rule of the house, the law of the land, was he could do anything he wanted. He could touch her wherever and whenever he pleased. Jeanie’s role was to accept it without protest. Molesting her made her father happy. And she wanted her father to be happy, didn’t she? Did her dead mother want her to resist? Did her dead mother want Jeanie to make Daddy unhappy?
Mother, she thought. What would mother think, dead now for seven years? Her mother had fallen down the very steps Jeanie ascended night after night to her room, breaking her neck. Jeanie hadn’t been home when it happened; she knew it wasn’t an accident.
Sleeping terrified her. Sleeping was the most dangerous part of her life. When she should feel safe under the covers, she wasn’t. Jeanie was at her most vulnerable while asleep. He’d pried the molding off the door with a crowbar once, making a gap next to the knob. He could slip the crowbar inside and work the chair free, then open the door. Her bedroom was on the second floor. She didn’t have time to jump out the window. She hadn’t heard him prying the molding off until it was too late. Jeanie had slept lightly ever since.
Before she knew it, his hands—demon hands—were all over her.
Stubble grazed and burned her cheek, the smell of whiskey on his breath. He indulged in cocaine whenever he got the chance (she’d found a vial of it downstairs once), and wondered if the cocaine drove him more than the whiskey.
Jeanie Masterson no longer kicked and screamed. She closed her eyes and flicked a switch inside. Some nights, the switch was easy to make. She could put herself, almost automatically, in a place where she couldn’t feel him.
Sometimes, though, the switch wasn’t easy. Faulty wiring perhaps. One time, she even threw up on him, receiving the worst beating of her life.
Jeanie told herself it wasn’t her father, like Gavin with his mother. Her father loved her. Her father would never do those things.
And the horror was, she wanted to love him, to make him happy, see him smile. Her father was in there somewhere, hiding away in his unctuous, cocaine-ridden flesh. He was pleading for help, she told herself. He wanted help. Her father wanted out! He wanted to kill the demon running the show!
Jeanie was afraid her father was dead now. The demon had killed him, and now it was trying to kill her.
Never scream, he once told her. Never tell anyone. If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.
That was the demon talking, but Jeanie wasn’t stupid. She listened. The demon was capable of more than just hurting and killing her. The demon could do a whole lot worse.
She ought to be ashamed, he’d said. Her mother had let him do it. Why should she be any different?
Do it for me, he’d said. Do it for your mother.
When he violated her, Jeanie hid in the tunnel of her mind. She was alone. Darkness swam over her father. He had freedom as well. He could do anything he wanted. Salvation came with the thought of his demise, knowing someday, she would kill him. Jeanie made this vow within herself while he groped at her in the dark. When he said horrible things like, This is what your mother wants.
Mother, can you hear him? Jeanie would think. I know this isn’t true. Mother? Are you there?
Reason enough to kill him, her father blaspheming the name of her mother, dishonoring her memory. Jeanie would kill her father for her mother.
Make Ellishome a memory, Jeanie thought.
Her abuse and torture would end. The opportunity would present itself. She just had to be patient. Soon, she’d be free from the hands of her father…
Sometimes hope gets bludgeoned, she thought, crushed under the boot-heel of Life.
Redemption was not here, not now, impossible to leave, that she’d never be free the way she wanted.
The lunatic hands of my father…
My job. My saving dreams…the money saved will allow my dreams to come true. I don’t need much.
Guilt and shame plagued Jeanie Masterson, dirty hands all over her, knowing the demon must—in some twisted, unnatural way—be her fault. She’d done this to herself.
When the events at school dwindled to inactivity, Jeanie had driven the Mustang out of town, and parked at the banks of Warton’s Pond. Being here now, of course, reminded her of Seth. If she could do anything, she’d teach Seth about the importance of life and its sacred miracle: that there was such a thing as love in its purest, most radiant form. It became a rule. She was compelled to teach Seth, something deeply ingrained in Jeanie Masterson. She must simply rise above the clutches of her father and be stronger than the demon. It was why she loved to flirt, to tease, and embarrass him so much. It was her way of telling Seth how beautiful he was to her. He was unblemished, angelic. Jeanie wanted Seth to realize he could keep this quality forever, that her unending expressions of wholesome love would not only keep the demon at bay, but his youth intact.
Living with the demon had taught her this.
Proving to Seth how lovable and adorable he was gave Jeanie hope. Seth had an unfaltering purity, and Jeanie could see it.
The radio was on. The day was cool, more clouds in the sky. A breeze swirled through the open window. She could smell the water of Warton’s Pond.
When Jeanie thought about Seth, she was overwhelmed with love. She thought it might be similar to the love Masie felt for him, or even his mother.
Seth deserved the world, every good memory he could get. For Jeanie, making memories for Seth had become her responsibility. She was here to make him realize life was not always evil; it wasn’t always decay, demonic laughter, deception, and wickedness. The smallest amount of beauty overshadowed the vilest, darkest sin. Seth needed to understand this concept, and Jeanie needed to teach it to him. He needed to believe it.
“Seth,” she said, not realizing until now (as she sat in the car with the radio on in the coming dusk) that she was crying. She hated herself for it. It was a weakness she couldn’t afford.
She wiped tears from her cheeks, not making a sound. “Seth. Bright child. Beautiful. Light and hope.” Jeanie felt—when she said these words—that they were magic.
A child’s word—
She didn’t realize the power she held. Making room to love Seth would give Jeanie the freedom she longed for.
Never forget, Seth. If Masie wasn’t your big sister, I would be. I will be everything I can for you, for no other reason than because I love you. You are me. We are love. The kind of love I have. The kind of love I show. It is good enough. And it is all for you. The people I want to give it to don’t want it, Seth, so I’m giving it to you. You can have it all.
Jeanie wiped her eyes. What horror had come into Ellishome had shown its face. She saw it in the face of her father. She’d come home once, watching him snore in his chair. And for a split-second, his face turned into a dirty, earth-stained skull.
Her deliverance was near, and she had to stay strong. She had to be patient a while longer.
For Seth.
She would miss Masie and Rheanna. But as much as she loved them, she’d miss Seth most of all.
She made a promise to herself, a promise she would not break. Jeanie Masterson would kill her father, make him burn. Make him scream. Make him suffer for all the hell and horror he’d put her through. She would do it for herself. She would do it for Seth.
But more importantly…she would do it for her mother.
v
Mustering the courage to talk to Masie took longer than Rudy had thought. Throughout the week, he couldn’t find the time he needed. She was always busy. He saw her with Jeanie. He saw her with Rheanna. He just wanted to catch her alone. It wasn’t meant to be, it seemed, and he was ready to give up.
Rudy couldn’t get over how elementary it felt to him. He didn’t just need a friend, he told himself. He was a lovesick sap, swooned by high school love. The thought made him slightly ill. It wasn’t about love, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. The problem, no matter what he said or how it seemed, was that he’d appear a lovesick sap, pining for connection in the eyes of Masie Auburn. Rudy wanted to curl into a ball and strangle himself.
You can’t give up that easily, he thought. Quit being so stupid.
His palms were sweating, his heart pounding against the walls of his chest. Why was he doing this? He thought of every excuse to talk himself out of it, but he had to try. He had to see…
He couldn’t stop thinking about her was the funny thing, couldn’t help thinking she was exactly what he needed. Did he want more? Did he need more? Time would tell, but for now, he had to do this one thing.
The bell had rung minutes ago. Rudy stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall across from Masie’s locker. He was trying to belong again, but he felt just the opposite.
Kids moved by. Amazing how many people ignored him. Tate Anderson, one of the school jocks—wearing a silver and blue letter-jacket—stole a paper from Sheldon Fritzwater. Tate held the paper above Sheldon’s head while the boy reached up, jumping for what was, obviously, a piece of homework…or perhaps a love note.
Becky Blankenship leaned against a locker, nodding at a boy standing next to her. Becky had a pretty smile, Rudy thought. The boy leaned in and kissed her cheek. Someone hollered from the end of the hallway, making noises similar to a mating call.
Rudy took a deep breath and sighed. He wasn’t in the mood today. He should’ve brought some books, a folder to rifle through. Standing here with his hands in his pockets made him feel awkward and uncomfortable.
A paper airplane sailed through the air. Torrey Appleby shouted, “Hey, Anderson! Give the kid his homework!” Tate laughed, succumbed, and handed Sheldon his paper, but not before making a few scathing remarks.
Rudy’s feelings about school for the last week proved exactly how he felt: he hated it here. He didn’t care if he graduated or not. He wasn’t a jock, didn’t participate in school sports. He didn’t smoke, do drugs, and wasn’t a fan of drinking. He didn’t hang out with the stoners, and he certainly wasn’t one of the ‘geeky’ crowd. Rudy could’ve been the athletic type, he supposed. He had the build. But sports—other than pitch-and-hit—didn’t interest him. His only appreciation was for classic rock-and-roll music. He could’ve been a stoner only his clean-cut hair didn’t warrant initiation. His dress was baggy: tattered jeans, and worn rock-and-roll shirts. Today he was wearing one with Jimi Hendrix on the front, smoke curling into his face. No, he wasn’t feeling it anymore, and he wondered if he ever would.
He prepared himself for the worst, convinced himself Masie would decline his proposal. Still, he forced himself to stick to the plan. For him, for Sadie, for his family.
Just don’t look defeated when she shoots you down. Like a broken puppy.
Rudy didn’t think he’d have a problem with that. He was used to rejection.
Don’t you realize how ridiculous this is? Someone to talk to? Is that the line you’re going to use? You think she’s gonna buy that?
Masie emerged from his right down the hallway. Rudy barely glanced in her direction, hoping she’d stop at her locker. His heart leapt into his chest. He was unbearably nervous suddenly. He straightened, blood rushing up under his neck and cheeks. She was coming his way, but she hadn’t noticed him yet.
She’s ignoring you, he thought. Can you blame her? You look like a creep just standing here looking at everyone.
“Hey, Rudy, get to class and quit lollygaggin’!” someone shouted.
He turned. It was Lance Hollister, cocking a pistol-shaped finger at him. Lance gave him a huge grin, and Rudy nodded, pretending to play along, then waved him away. Good Christ, could he have picked a worse time to do this?
A short, perky blonde girl said hello to Masie, and Masie smiled at her.
He should’ve grabbed his books. Something to make him blend in, feel a part of the crowd. Standing here in the hallway with nothing to do, hands in his pockets was the worst idea he could’ve had.
/> Masie wore tight blue jeans with a white belt today. A tight, white T-shirt with pink flowers on the sleeves hugged her chest. Her hair was down, no ponytail today. Rudy could barely see her naval under the bottom of the shirt.
She stopped at her locker and dialed the combination. Rudy looked both ways along the hallway. Too many kids, he thought.
Masie put a lime green folder into her locker, an algebra book. She grabbed her textbook for geography. Rudy recognized its deep, sea-blue cover.
Another blonde girl Rudy didn’t recognize stopped and said something to Masie, touching her on the arm. Masie smiled and said, “I know,” and the girl walked away, laughing.
He had to catch her now while she was alone. The kids were beginning to scatter already.
For the millionth time, he told himself to forget it. Did he realize how foolish this was?
Masie shut her locker, turned, and looked directly at him. Their eyes met, and she smiled.
Rudy tried to smile in return, but it was difficult. He nodded instead. Something caught in his throat. He realized he was choking on his own spit and coughed loudly, putting his fist to his mouth. Tears came into his eyes.
God, you’re an idiot! he thought.
Masie was glowing today. On Tuesday, she’d looked casual in her sweatshirt and jeans. Today, she’d spent more time in front of the mirror…not that she needed it.
Masie turned, blushed, and continued down the hallway to his left.
He felt like a teenage stalker. He couldn’t give up now, though, and forced himself to move. Something nudged him in the back to get going. His heart leapt into his throat again, and he closed his eyes, trying to think of what to say. She was walking too fast, late for class, apparently.
It’s no big deal. Just ask her. No big deal. It’s better than looking like a jackass, which you are doing quite well, I might add.
“Masie?” Rudy said, trying to catch up.
She did not stop. He was right. She was avoiding him.
“Masie?” Rudy said again, louder.
She stopped and turned, raising her eyebrows.
Snapdragon Book I: My Enemy Page 22
