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Authors: C. L. Scholey
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back and hips. She pulled his arms more snugly to herself. Damien lowered her back down and settled her head onto her pillow. He caressed a few tendrils of hair away from her cheek. He pulled her covers up, enveloping her in a dark world of seeming safety, but she remained unsure.
“I hurt all over, Salvator,” Chloe sobbed. She felt so vulnerable without her vision, without Damien’s arms wrapped around her. Her head was pounding, her ribs ached. It seemed all of her bones throbbed, as her mind cried out its misery and fear.
An odd feeling of entrapment encompassed her. Even if she wanted to leave she would be unable to. There would be no escape to anywhere that wasn’t supervised, controlled.
“Chloe, I’m going to give you something to help you sleep, to help with the pain you’re in. Don’t be afraid, someone will always be close by. Trust me, honey. You trust me, don’t you?” Dirk soothed.
Chloe nodded with a soft affirmative, then felt her arm held gently but firmly in large hands. She felt the coolness over her inner arm from a sterilizing pad and Dirk slipped a needle into her vein.
A fuzzy sensation flowed into her mind as the liquid flew through her blood. She grew groggy; her tongue felt thick, her limbs heavy, her thoughts a sea of rolling fog. The tenacious grip on her surroundings slipped.
Her father had drugged the frightened woman before he had killed her. How would he have known to do that, how much to give her? Had Dirk taught him? Who had taught Dirk?
Her mind battled the thought. She was loved, wanted. Not one of their hits, a mark. She quashed the thought angrily. Her father was the evil one. Instead a distant, hazy memory of when she was younger drifted into her confused mind.
She was six and her bones hurt. She didn’t understand why her father had been so angry, she had done nothing wrong. She had been playing with her dolly on her bed, chatting to it about her upcoming birthday, the cake and presents promised to her. James was giving her a white Shetland pony; Dirk had promised her a porcelain doll to add to her collection.
Chloe’s father had stormed into her room, bursting through her door, and he grabbed her up from the bed, a crazed, angry look on his face. His furious eyes settled onto her and he pounced. Her mother, her face bloodied and ashen, was screaming at him, terrified. She pleaded it wasn’t worth it, they would work it out.
Chloe had added her own howls of terror when her father struck her behind the head painfully, pulling at her hair, slamming her onto the bed. His slap to her face had drawn a fine line of blood from her tiny nose. Her mother was pulling at his arms, begging him to stop, saying she was sorry.
Chloe’s father had never hit her before, even when she was naughty. Why would he hurt her now? Why now? And why did he look like he was crying? Her daddy never cried.
Chloe had been vaguely aware when the agony of the blows had ceased, and yet her body felt as though on fire. She was covered in a blanket and Granny was racing her to James’ home. She was too afraid to even whimper. No noise! The words slammed into her head like an explosion.
The hurt of her father’s betrayal confused and hurt her far worse than the beating. Didn’t Daddy love her anymore? She had cleaned her room like he said; she had been quiet like he asked. Didn’t he want to play with her later like he said he would? He had promised. But she wouldn’t be able to play now; it hurt too much to move.
“She needs to go to a hospital.” Samantha’s voice sounded frantic to Chloe. Chloe shook her head. Samantha was dead, she had been for over three years now.
“You know as well as I do what will happen. The police would be called, Child Services. I can’t risk it; we are under enough scrutiny because of his ranting. He thinks he’s invincible because of his connections with me.
“He botched the last hit, Samantha. He took out the wrong man! Brutally killed an innocent in
“I hurt all over, Salvator,” Chloe sobbed. She felt so vulnerable without her vision, without Damien’s arms wrapped around her. Her head was pounding, her ribs ached. It seemed all of her bones throbbed, as her mind cried out its misery and fear.
An odd feeling of entrapment encompassed her. Even if she wanted to leave she would be unable to. There would be no escape to anywhere that wasn’t supervised, controlled.
“Chloe, I’m going to give you something to help you sleep, to help with the pain you’re in. Don’t be afraid, someone will always be close by. Trust me, honey. You trust me, don’t you?” Dirk soothed.
Chloe nodded with a soft affirmative, then felt her arm held gently but firmly in large hands. She felt the coolness over her inner arm from a sterilizing pad and Dirk slipped a needle into her vein.
A fuzzy sensation flowed into her mind as the liquid flew through her blood. She grew groggy; her tongue felt thick, her limbs heavy, her thoughts a sea of rolling fog. The tenacious grip on her surroundings slipped.
Her father had drugged the frightened woman before he had killed her. How would he have known to do that, how much to give her? Had Dirk taught him? Who had taught Dirk?
Her mind battled the thought. She was loved, wanted. Not one of their hits, a mark. She quashed the thought angrily. Her father was the evil one. Instead a distant, hazy memory of when she was younger drifted into her confused mind.
She was six and her bones hurt. She didn’t understand why her father had been so angry, she had done nothing wrong. She had been playing with her dolly on her bed, chatting to it about her upcoming birthday, the cake and presents promised to her. James was giving her a white Shetland pony; Dirk had promised her a porcelain doll to add to her collection.
Chloe’s father had stormed into her room, bursting through her door, and he grabbed her up from the bed, a crazed, angry look on his face. His furious eyes settled onto her and he pounced. Her mother, her face bloodied and ashen, was screaming at him, terrified. She pleaded it wasn’t worth it, they would work it out.
Chloe had added her own howls of terror when her father struck her behind the head painfully, pulling at her hair, slamming her onto the bed. His slap to her face had drawn a fine line of blood from her tiny nose. Her mother was pulling at his arms, begging him to stop, saying she was sorry.
Chloe’s father had never hit her before, even when she was naughty. Why would he hurt her now? Why now? And why did he look like he was crying? Her daddy never cried.
Chloe had been vaguely aware when the agony of the blows had ceased, and yet her body felt as though on fire. She was covered in a blanket and Granny was racing her to James’ home. She was too afraid to even whimper. No noise! The words slammed into her head like an explosion.
The hurt of her father’s betrayal confused and hurt her far worse than the beating. Didn’t Daddy love her anymore? She had cleaned her room like he said; she had been quiet like he asked. Didn’t he want to play with her later like he said he would? He had promised. But she wouldn’t be able to play now; it hurt too much to move.
“She needs to go to a hospital.” Samantha’s voice sounded frantic to Chloe. Chloe shook her head. Samantha was dead, she had been for over three years now.
“You know as well as I do what will happen. The police would be called, Child Services. I can’t risk it; we are under enough scrutiny because of his ranting. He thinks he’s invincible because of his connections with me.
“He botched the last hit, Samantha. He took out the wrong man! Brutally killed an innocent in
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