Prologue
Abigail
WHEN I WAS EIGHT YEARSold, my grandmother died. I remember standing in the yard of our small country church after her memorial service as the church bells in the tower rang out.
“What are the bells for?” I had asked my mother.
“Those bells are ringing so that Jesus will welcome Nana home, honey bunches,” she’d told me.
“Because she’s in heaven now?” I answered her.
“That’s right, honey.” She had smiled at me, her honey blonde curls blowing in the breeze.
For the rest of my life I thought that I would hear those church bells on the day that I died. That is until Brandon had walked into my life. After we were married, I had often questioned whether I would hear church bells or hell’s bells on the day that I died.
Today I know for sure.
Today all of my questions on life and love and fairness were answered when I opened the front door to Tanner’s home and realized that a demon stood on the front steps. A demon who took not only my person, but my hopes and dreams and crushed them under his boot heels.
I should have known only princesses get happily ever afters with men who are kind and sweet and strong like Tanner—a man I could love for all of my days and who would love me back unconditionally.
Former strippers from the trailer parks do not.
“Hello, wife. Did you miss me?” he had asked when I opened the door.
I never stood a chance against him before, trying to overpower him now would be pointless. My only hope now is to buy enough time until Tanner gets back. I knew that I had to try no matter how hopeless.
It doesn’t take my husband long to best me, but then again, I always knew that he would. The minute I opened the front door and saw him standing on Tanner’s front porch, I knew that I would lose. I tried my best to slam the door in his face but he blocked it with his foot in the door before shoving me back. When the wood panel of the door slammed open I didn’t even flinch. Years of being married to Brandon had conditioned me to not give a response to a variety of things.
It wasn’t the first time my husband had put his hands on me, but I knew without a doubt that it would be the last.
Knowing that this would be my last chance at freedom, at the life that I had dared to live these last few weeks, I fought him with rabid determination, but it wasn’t enough. As much as I kicked and hit and dodged, Brandon blocked better, hit harder, and kicked more aggressively. By the time I had made it to the kitchen, he had me cornered.
When he landed his last blow I fell to my knees.
His lips move as he speaks but all I see is movement. It’s kind of like when a parent talks in one of those old cartoons all “whomp, whomp whomp.” He pauses as if he’s asked me a question, but I wasn’t listening. I just nod from where I kneel in front of him. My body bruised and bloody. He holds a gun to my bowed head and I know there is no escape this time. Not so long ago, I made a deal with the devil and now he’s here to collect.
When the gunshot echoes through the dark room, I know that I was wrong all those years ago. It wasn’t church bells I would hear on the day that I died, it was hell’s bells because the demon had come to drag me straight back. My only regret is having married him six years ago.
