That day my social worker visited me at the girls’ home and told me that it would be entirely up to me if I testified or not, I took it for what it was: a lie. I didn’t have a choice. My mom couldn’t speak up for herself. She couldn’t defend herself. So, that left me.
I told them the truth. I pointed them to the bruises on her skin, the unhealed welts on her back. I told them what I knew of the day. How she planned to leave him. How he wouldn’t let us.
Immediately after my testimony, I spent my last night in the group home before they found a family willing to take me in.
They were decent people but I knew they weren’t foster parents because they love kids or wanted to make a difference. They were in it for the government aide and the income tax money. I knew from the beginning they weren’t going to be a family to me.
I was on my own. I took care of myself and stayed out of their and the other kids’ way and I survived. It wasn’t ideal for a thirteen-year-old girl but I had given up on normalcy the moment my mom died.
One of my first few nights with the Thatchers, I sat at the table with a newspaper looking for someone who would hire a teenager when the six o’clock news came on and I heard his name attached with two words. Only then, did I really allow myself to fall apart.
Cameron Wade: not guilty.
The state of Pennsylvania found Cameron Wade to be the victim.
Not Cameron Wade, the abuser, the killer, the pathetic excuse for a man.
Cameron Wade, the victim.
He didn’t hurt my mother night after night until finally he went too far.
No, he was a victim of robbery. A woman he offered shelter to turned on him, draining his bank account but not before she tried to kill him.
Him. The media. Everyone painted my mother as a villain. And I was her mini-me, the daughter Cameron Wade never even bothered looking for.
My mother wasn’t the villain in Cameron Wade’s life but I sure as hell planned to be.
I stayed put in New Hazle, only applying to schools near and around Philadelphia. I trained my body and my mind to be the strongest and the wisest. And it was all for this moment.
When you want something for such a long time, when it’s finally within your grasp, you’re mad at your hands for being shaky when you finally go to grab it. That’s exactly how I was feeling.
I should have my head held high. My body should’ve been as solid as a rock. My breaths should’ve been coming out even. My hands should’ve been steady. But what my mind wanted and what my body was doing were two completely different things.
The door swung open and I sat up straighter, knowing it could be him. It wasn’t.
Two older men walked in. Both of them were tall, at least over six-foot. One guy’s skin was the palest I’d ever seen while the others was a rich brown color. I couldn’t make out their facial features from where I sat but I could tell both of them were stunningly beautiful. The entire bar turned quiet at their entrance. The darker of the two rapped his knuckles against the bar and ordered a drink. Demanded a drink. The white man remained silent, his eyes glued to the bartop.
The door opened again and my father walked in, the two handsome newcomers immediately forgotten. I watched him as he slapped the backs of people sitting at booths before making his way to the bar, plopping down on his normal stool and ordering a bottle of beer and a shot of whiskey.
The once quiet bar turned loud at his arrival. He griped about the workweek. Drank. Played a couple rounds of pool with some fellow lowlifes. Drank. Flirted with every woman he could find willing. Drank. After four long, excruciating hours, the bartender cut him off right before the bar closed for the night.
During the workweek, he never stayed past eleven. But tonight, a night when he didn’t have work the next morning, I guessed was different. I chose this night to kill him, just for that reason. By the time anyone noticed him missing, I would be in a different country with a different name.
I sucked in a deep breath of air when Cameron staggered to his feet and threw a handful of twenties on top of the bar and all but spun out of the bar. I waited as long as I possibly could without seeming suspicious and followed after him, grabbing my backpack and leaving a tip on the table. When I made it outside into the thick, humid air, Cameron’s car was gone. I ran the couple of blocks between the bar and his house.
I slowed to a walk as my childhood home came into view. I could see myself running off of the school bus, flinging that heavy wooden door open, but staring at it now, it felt unfamiliar in a way a stranger’s house would.
I found Cameron stumbling out of his car, his steps sluggish until he reached the short sidewalk leading up to the front door and face-planted into the cement sidewalk. His body lay there motionless on the ground for so long, I began to think he lost consciousness. I didn’t move from my spot, hidden in the darkness of the night and dead trees across the street.
When he finally mustered enough energy to pick himself up off of the ground, he staggered up the sidewalk, tripping on every step of the porch until he slammed himself up against the door.
I’ve always kept my distance from him. Always across the room at Hank’s or across the lot in the parking garage or hidden in the darkness outside of his house. Up until now, I watched. Not tonight. Tonight, he and I were going to be officially reacquainted.
Stepping out of the secluded darkness, I followed him inside, seeing he only made it past the door before falling again. I quietly shut the door behind me and squeezed my eyes shut, affording myself one last moment of just Annie, stuck in between who I was and who I would be once this night ended.
I tried not to think about the last time I was in this house. I tried not to think about the last words my mama said to me in this house. The past decade of my life had all been leading up to this moment and it was finally here.
I couldn’t mess it up.
When I opened my eyes again, I stood there in shock, and equally if not more, in disturbance. It felt like I was standing in the middle of a memory, not real life.
I stood inside my childhood home, a place I left ten years ago without a second glance, where not a single thing had changed. The same old ratty brown sofa sat in the middle of the floor, perfectly aligned with the black entertainment stand.
Keeping one eye on the slobbering man on the floor, I looked past the open living room into the kitchen and there it was. The apple wallpaper. My mom was obsessed with decorating her kitchen with apples. Dishtowels. Potholders. Said wallpaper. Fake apples. Her kitchen and me, the things that made her the happiest.
I shook off the memory as best as I could, and looked down at the pathetic excuse of a man. No longer in a drunken slumber but in a state of shock as he stared up at me, eyes wide. His lips moved but they made no sound.
His little girl returned home at last.
My lips tilted, sending his eyes into a panic, looking from me to the door behind me. How ironic, that when he held my mom within an inch of her life, her eyes, the same deep blue as mine, pleading with him to just let her go and here I stood before him with those same eyes ten years later, planning on doing the same thing to him. I didn’t hold back my smirk any longer when he held his body up on unsteady elbows, his movements turning frantic.
“Cat got your tongue, Father?”
“A-A-Annie.”
I frowned down at him, a trace of a smile still shaping my lips as I walked the length of his body on the floor, stopping just short of his propped up elbow and kicking it until his body collapsed, his other elbow not strong enough to keep holding him up. He groaned as his back hit the wooden floor.
I walked the length of his body and I could feel his eyes follow my every move. I wondered what he saw in mine. Did he see how badly I wanted to kill him? How long I spent leading up to this moment? How the hate I had for him filled up more space in my body than the blood that pumped through me?
“Time to go to sleep,” I murmured as my feet aligned perfectly with his head. I tipped his h
ead to the side with the toe of my Vans, my foot following his face, resting gently on the side of his cheek, knowing the city grime would leave a pretty print on his face. He held his breath, his chest as still as the tense air between us. I lifted my foot from his face and heard the deep inhale of relief he took before I slammed my foot down on his temple as hard as I could. He wanted to scream; his mouth opened wide to do so but before the noise could escape him, he blacked out.
Once I was sure his body was lifeless for the time being, I set up shop. I tossed my backpack onto the couch and drug his body into the space between the couch and the TV stand before transferring him onto the bare coffee table. I zip-tied his wrists and ankles to each leg of the coffee table and I waited.
I wasn’t sure how long he was out, but after the third time of taking my gun apart and putting it back together, he finally regained consciousness.
The first few blinks, he laid still, staring blankly at the ceiling.
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t announce my presence. I waited. I waited until the memories of the night caught up to him, until his blinking increased and he started to realize that this wasn’t his normal drunken daze.
He groaned loudly, twisting his head against the table, his eyes squeezing shut in pain. He lifted his hands up to rub at his temple only for the ties to halt any mobility.
His eyes snapped open and found me on the couch almost instantly. I wiggled my fingers in way of greeting.
He sat up. Or tried to. The zip-ties along his puny wrists and ankles made it impossible. “Wh-what do you want?”
I didn’t answer him. I blatantly ignored him as I pretended to look around the house. After a couple of minutes, his body started to thrash from side to side on the table, struggling to get free.
Taking a ponytail band from my wrist, I gathered up my hair into a loose bun before looking to the man in front of me. “Wh-what are you doing here?” he sputtered, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes when I gave in and gave him the attention he had always craved so much of.
His tears did not make me sad. They sure as hell didn’t make me feel guilty. They made me nauseous. He should’ve considered himself lucky that I was giving him time to adjust to this new reality. My mom didn’t have the chance to beg for her life. He did, not that it would make a difference.
I hitched a shoulder nonchalantly. “This is my house as much as it is yours.”
His lips trembled. His mouth opening and then closing like his motions were stuck on a loop. “Ann-Ann-Annie, I’m so sor—”
Before he even got that word out, my gun was in my hand, dangerously close to touching the clammy skin at his temple. “Finish that sentence and you’re dead.”
He wisely shut his mouth, but I didn’t lower my gun. My heart pounded against my chest, warmth flooded my body, but my arms were strong and steady. I could do this. I was going to do this.
“Most fathers support their daughter’s dreams,” I informed him, cocking my head to the side so I could see him clearly. “My dreams, I have to tell you, are a bit different. My dream for the past ten years has always been you. Finding you. And then killing you.”
He choked on a sob and I fought hard to not roll my eyes at his theatrics.
“You cannot be this upset. You killed her in cold blood. You killed my mother in cold blood. What did you think would happen? That I would run away and leave my past behind me? That I would not seek justice?”
He rolled his head to the side, away from me. That wasn’t going to work. Reaching down into my shoe, I gripped one of my hunting knives. Teetering on the edge of the couch, I raised the knife to my eye-level and slammed it down as hard as I could into his thigh.
“Fuuuuuck,” he screamed out.
“You haven’t seen me since I was a little girl,” I said once he faced me again. “It’s rude not to pay attention to me.”
His lips kept on quivering, but he didn’t make a sound. I reached over and pulled the knife out of his leg, wiping the blood off on the arm of the couch. After placing it back where it belonged, I grabbed a Sharpie I found in the kitchen and leaned forward. Taking pieces of his greasy hair, I swept it off to the side, exposing his temple. The Sharpie made a perfect x.
“That’s the spot,” I murmured, grazing the muzzle against his marked skin. “Now all I need are the words.” I released one hand from the gun and tapped a single finger against my own temple. “What were your famous words that day? Ah, don’t tell me.” I pinned him with a glare of such hatred he flinched, his head knocking into the table. “You think you can leave me? I own you. You’re nobody without me. And I’m going to make sure of it.”
My heart thrashed against my chest and I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood, trying like hell to keep the emotion out of my voice and hidden from my face. I inched the gun until the coolness of the gun felt the thump of his hard skin. My finger on the trigger. All I had to do was pull my index finger back once and he was as good as gone. Everything I worked for would finally become worth it.
Closing my eyes and taking one last deep breath, I placed my hand back on the gun and readjusted the steel in my hand. This was it. He was going straight to Hell for what he did and I was going to be the one who sent him there.
Before I got the chance to press my finger against the trigger, someone’s hand covered mine on the gun and I felt my arm go limp as the rest of my body turned rigid. I swung my eyes from the man I was destined to kill to a man I had never seen before.
One word played over and over in my head as I took in the stranger: fuck.
My heart and mind flew into panic mode but my eyes didn’t get the memo. I drunk in the sight of him like he was the last thing I would ever see. Seeing as how he caught me trying to kill someone, it might very well be.
He was older. I didn’t know how much older. He fit the bill for tall, dark, and handsome like he was the model for it. Dark brown hair, cut on the sides and a few inches longer on the top. Piercing brown eyes that matched his skin tone like the two were twins. His full lips were parted, giving me a sneak peek of straight white teeth and a pink tongue. I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, staring at him, but as the seconds, that felt like long excruciating years, went by, his hand grew firmer on the gun that no longer pointed at Cameron but the man himself.
“Who are you,” he asked, no, demanded. His voice a mixture of rough and quiet. I’d never, not once in my life, been affected by a man’s presence, but the sound of his voice paired with those intense brown eyes focused solely on me sent shivers racing down my arms, only concealed by the light blonde hair there.
“Who are you,” I countered, embarrassed by how high my voice climbed.
His eyes locked with mine and a smile slowly took up his face, revealing two identical dimples in the center of his cheeks. Between his eyes and that smile, I already figured out, that this man was going to be a problem if his hand over my fully loaded gun wasn’t the first sign. The way his eyes glinted in amusement bothered me because I knew, immediately, he had cast me aside. To him, I wasn’t a threat. I was cute.
I wasn’t either at the moment. What I was, simply, was panicked. I wasn’t a killer. I couldn’t kill my father and him. This was a one-time thing only. It was a coupon; after one use, it expired.
“I don’t want to hurt you, girl. I just want to know who you are and what you think you’re doing.”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I grumbled, my annoyance at his obvious condescendence outweighing my panic.
Chuckling, low and soft from his chest, he said, “I can’t let you kill him.”
Frowning, I tried to take control of the gun and get some space between me and Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome. Much to my avail, I got nowhere. Not when I used a small portion of my strength and not when I used all of it. He had me pinned, his hand on the gun overpowering mine and consequently, my entire body. I curled my finger over the trigger once more and glared up into his eyes. “Girl,” he growled, “don’t even thi
nk about it.”
“He deserves to die,” I grit out behind clenched teeth.
“I know, bonita. But it won’t be you who will be doing the killing.”
My teeth ground at the Spanish endearment directed toward me. I wasn’t beautiful or pretty. Or at least I didn’t want to be, not in this moment when this man hit pause on the night that I’ve been dreaming about.
And then it hit me, what he was saying. He wasn’t going to let me kill him; he was going to do it himself. I should’ve felt relief, elation, happiness. But all I felt was sick. No, this was the destination of my journey. Everything I’ve ever done since I found myself motherless was for this exact moment. Like hell he was going to take it away from me. “I don’t know why you’re here but I am going to be the one to end him.”
“It’s cute how you think you’re the one in control here.”
My nostrils flared and my eyes closed into slits as I looked into his eyes. He didn’t seem intimidated by my anger. Probably because he had about a half a foot and at least one hundred pounds on me. But I was the one with a gun.
I dug in my heels and stood up straight, my eyes parallel with his collarbone. I still had a good grip on the gun even with his hand still covering the cool steel in a vicious hold. I looked up at him. He was already looking down at me, his eyes squinting, suspicious of me, of my next move. As he should be.
“Come down here for a second,” I whispered before looking at my victim whose lips were moving in a rushed prayer. “I want to tell you something privately.”
He scowled, not moving an inch, staring into my eyes like they told him everything my lips wouldn’t. It took every ounce of strength in my body not to falter. Not to look away from his intense gaze, to not fidget under his scrutiny. Finally, after moments of our silent standoff, he leaned down and I didn’t waste any time.
I kissed him.
My top lip caught between the two of his. It surprised me how soft his lips were. It surprised me that the touch of his lips against mine shot sparks throughout my body.
His lips were frozen against mine. But I surged on, stepping closer. My stomach pressed against his, the gun still in between us. I pressed on his lips harder and his lips parted in surprise. I took advantage and feasted on his mouth.
Hijacked Page 4
