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“Ma’am, you’re ready to push.”
“Why here?” I whispered out to no one in particular. “Why here?” I scream, just as a contraction hits. I pushed roughly, until my stomach rolled over in pain and my pelvic bone felt like it was shattering under the heavy pressure that was being lumped on it.
“One more push, ma’am. That’s it. I can see its little head.”
Breathing in jaggedly, I gave one last scream and push. With a pop, a bright, burning ring of fire around my crotch, and a wet river flowing between my thighs, I pushed until all the pressure I was feeling was no more. A soft cry sounded out and my maid smiled, wrapping the baby in a throw. “Ma’am, you have yourself a daughter.”
“What?” I smiled, love filling my being. I would have loved my child regardless, but knowing it was a daughter filled me with a different kind of love. The same amount, just different feelings.
The room cut silent. “Repeat what you just said,” Humphrey demanded, moving up the stone step. “Did you just say daughter?” he questioned her, his head tilted. I saw the look pass in his eyes, and I knew instantly right then and there that something was wrong. So very wrong. Husband was livid, absolutely spewing. A girl? A girl had no place for him in his world.
The maid nodded, fear flashing over her face. She looked toward me frantically. “Yes—yes, um….”
He snatched the baby from her hands, and I rose from the stone bed. “Humphrey! Give me my baby right now.”
He took her down, one step at a time. “No. No girls.”
“What do you mean?” I screamed at him, blood dripping down my thighs and my body swaying from side to side.
“Girls that are born from the first nine,” he seethed, turning to face me, “are to be taken care of. Sit down, wife, and do as you’re told.”
“No!” I screamed, stumbling down the step. “Humphrey!” Everything blurred and spun, the cold walls going in circles in my brain.
“Ma’am,” my maid said, her face coming into view in threes. “Ma’am, sit down so I can tidy you up.” Her voice echoed and repeated. My eyes closed and my head tilted back as everything under me fell. I dropped onto my back, smacking the back of my head. Tilting my head up at the dark sky, I watched as the full moon blared down at me.
“How odd,” I whispered to my maid in a daze. “How odd that in this old cave, there’s a hole in the roof.”
I gasp, slamming the book closed. “Oh my God!” I hiss.
“What?” Tatum’s shoving popcorn in her mouth, totally engrossed in the story.
“I know this place that she was talking about, Tatum!” I yell. “We need to go—now!”
“Why?” She stands from the sofa, shoving some Ugg boots on.
“Because I think this place, this cave that Katsia was talking about… I think it’s at Bishop’s cabin, and how cool is it that we could go see it? Maybe I could study it a bit more.”
Tatum stops. “That’s just weird. Maybe it’s a coincidence. That would be so trippy if it was.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “But I still want to show him this book and read the rest, see if maybe it is, and then we can all go and have a look!” I can barely contain my excitement.
“History really gets you going, huh?” Tatum teases, throwing her hair into a high ponytail.
“Yes, and more importantly, it’s taking my mind off Ally.”
She nods. “All right then, my history goddess, let’s go!” She smiles sadly.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “My dad used to read me old stories when I was a kid. That’s all.”
“Oh, well that’s really nice. Why does that make you sad?”
She stops, seeming to think of her memories, and then exhales. “I trust you, and I know you care about me.”
“I do.”
“My parents haven’t been home in months. They’re fine, though, because I’ve opened bank statements and seen they’re still spending money. I called the penthouse that kept showing up on these statements and got them to put me through to them. Sure enough, my mom answered. My trust account is still large and I still have access to it. The mortgage and bills still get paid. But they just don’t care, Madi.”
I’m shocked. My mouth hangs open in utter shock, but most importantly, I’m hurt. Hurt for Tatum. “I’m sorry, Tate. Do they usually do this?”
She shakes her head. “I mean, they were always out, but they wouldn’t leave for longer than a week.”
“How long’s it been?” I run my hand up and down her arm as a tear slips out the corner of her eye.
“Two hundred and eleven days.”
“Oh my God!” I whisper, disgusted, and it’s right here when I decide I hate her parents.
“Anyway,” she shakes me off, “let’s go see if Bishop’s cabin has some creepy history on its land!”
