Page 95 of A Future To Remember

I had the vague memory of trying to buoy her spirits, convince her that I’d find a way out for both of us, but as the months passed and the abuse never lessened, she’d stopped looking at me with any hint of hope, her eyes more vacant than anything else. A grim acceptance of her fate.

“You shoulda left more wood out,” Wade snapped at his brother. I opened my eyes, my gaze traveling to the hearth where the fire had died out well over a day ago. The chain that bound me to the wall extended just far enough to allow me to tend to the fire, and I’d tried to make the wood last, but there just hadn’t been enough to see us through.

Wally snarled at his brother in return.

Wade thumbed over his shoulder. “She’s your problem, bro. Bury her out back, and we’ll pick up another one next week.”

Wally issued a stream of expletives before roughly hauling up Ivy’s rigid body, still clad in my red sweater, while he dragged her out of the cabin.

Wade went over to the rear window after his brother left with Ivy, and from my angle, I could see his brother drop her like a sack and reach for a shovel. Wade’s laughter was one of the sickest sounds I’d ever heard.

He then went outside and returned with some wood before getting a fire going, and soon the cabin was warm again. I was still shivering but not nearly so violently.

Wade sat in his chair and stared at the flames of the fire for a long time, listlessly sipping from a beer can while we warmed up, the faint sound of a shovel, digging into the dirt, drifting in from outside.

With a grunt, Wade got up and headed back to the window to look out at his brother again, while I silently mourned Ivy’s loss. Wade knocked hard on the pane and yelled, “You need to bury her deeper, you fuckin’ moron! We’re gonna smell that when it starts to warm up!”

I heard his brother’s muffled reply, “It’s late! I’ll redo it tomorrow, asshole!”

Wade shook his head before abandoning the scene to come stumbling back over to me. He hovered there above me and I cowered. I hated him to within an inch of my soul, but I couldn’t let him see it. It was always worse when he saw my rage and hate.

He then lifted his key ring, dangling it in front of me, and said, “Time for you to earn your keep, you fucking ho. And tonight you’ll get double duty. What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t share?”

While I suppressed a shudder, he leaned over and began to undo the shackle that secured my left foot to the wall, but he was unsteady on his feet and wobbled. His foul body odor wafted over me, and if I’d had any food in my stomach, I would’ve lost it.

But then something caught my eye: Wade had a gun tucked into his waistband. He and his brother always kept their guns near the door, but tonight, he’d forgotten and still had it on him.

I waited with held breath until he worked the lock of the shackle free, and as it fell away and he reached for me, I, in turn, reached for the gun, yanking it free. I pulled the trigger without even pausing to aim. Immediately after the gunshot, there was a sharp bark of pain.

Wade veered several steps backward wildly, clutching his side and staring at me as if he couldn’t believe what’d just happened.

Meanwhile, my hand was shaking so violently that I could barely hold onto the weapon. He took a step forward toward me, and I fired again, but my aim was off and Wade merely ducked. He then straightened, one hand clamped to his side, where blood seeped through his fingers, before he charged at me with bared teeth and murder in his eyes.

Closing the distance quickly, he curled his free hand into a fist, winding it back. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to wince, flinch, or duck away. Instead, I took aim and pulled the trigger for a third time. Wade’s head ricocheted violently backward, the velocity of the bullet through his skull lifting him off his feet and sending him backward to land with a floorboard-shuddering thud next to the Barcalounger near his bed.

In the next moment, the door to the cabin slammed open and I spun around. Wally stood there wide-eyed and blinking, staring at me like he couldn’t figure out what was unfolding.

I backed up several feet toward the fireplace and didn’t wait for understanding to dawn on him. Willing my hand to stop its violent trembling, I aimed at him and pulled the trigger, but there was only a click as the pistol’s chambers rotated but no bullet ejected from the muzzle.

I pulled the trigger again and again, but the same clicking sounds were the only thing coming out of the gun.

As it became clear that I was out of bullets, Wally mimicked his brother in that same bared-teeth expression, and he let out a howl of rage that I knew meant only pain for me.

In desperation, I threw the gun at him, and it struck him in the forehead. He cried out and put a hand to his head while I looked around wildly for anything I could use as a weapon.

I was near the fireplace, and I saw the head of a hatchet buried in a log that Wade had brought in for the fire.

I lunged for it, rocking it free, then turned around at the sound of pounding footsteps. I raised the hatchet overhead with both hands, and I threw it at him with all my might.

It struck Wally dead center in the chest, bringing him up short. He stared at me again with wide, shocked eyes. Then he stood up tall, nearly on tiptoe, and walked with stilted steps over to me, grabbing me by the neck and lifting me off my feet.

His hand closed around my throat, and my air was cut off. I scratched at his hand and kicked at him with my feet, but he was too strong. He wobbled with me a few steps, like we were engaged in a macabre dance, and then his eyes grew vacant, his grip loosened, and he fell forward, right on top of me.

We hit the ground hard, and my head bounced against the floorboards. The room swam and stars danced at the corner of my vision. It seemed like forever before I could gather my wits.

When I finally did, Wally was still on top of me, and I struggled to inhale against the bulk of him and the handle of the hatchet, which had been digging into me, but somehow, after a long couple of moments, I managed to push him off me and onto his back.

The hatchet lay buried deep in the center of his chest and his eyes were closed. At that time, I didn’t know if he was alive or dead, but there was so much blood covering him and me, I suspected that if he wasn’t deceased, he soon would be.