Page 54 of Inflict

Sitting on a bench in the upstairs hallway, staring blankly out the window, was his father’s slave. Connor had decided to stop calling her a maid, when she so clearly wasn’t there to clean or care for the house. He wasn’t going to live in that delusion, because it did feck all for him to do so, except to ease his guilty conscience.

He knew better than to converse with the girl when his father could come up at any moment, as it would get her in far more trouble than him, but Connor couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was her thin frame—not quite as thin as Evelyn’s—or her reddish-blonde hair hanging in curls down her back that made him pause. Had she been wearing white, the girl could have passed for Evelyn from behind.

It took him a second, and a few flashbacks of memories, to realize nearly every girl that had come into their home over the years all had similar traits where their appearances were concerned. All blonde, some a strawberry-blonde, and a bit on the petite side. Green eyes, though he remembered one or two with blue eyes, but especially pretty and daintily featured.

And that was … disturbing.

Connor took the risk, stepping up behind the girl and saying a quiet, “Hello.”

She stiffened all over, her gaze catching his reflection in the window. She didn’t talk, though.

“I know you can speak,” he said. “I’ve heard you do it with Sean.”

“You’re not him.”

Connor nodded. “Good thing, lass.”

The girl looked like she wanted to agree, but instead, her lips tightened shut even more.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Terri.”

“How’d you find yourself here?”

She just stared at his reflection, suddenly silent again.

Connor knew, just by Terri’s lack of conversation and her blank stare, that he wasn’t going to get anything from her. Nothing more than she had already given to him, anyway. Maybe on another day, he could try again. That was, if the girl survived that long. Connor had never quite figured out just what it was that set his father off to dispose of one of his slaves before acquiring a new one.

“Someone might see you sitting by the window,” Connor said as he turned to go back towards his father’s office. “Be careful about that, lass.”

Terri smiled, though it faded fast. “Maybe that’s the point.”

Inside his father’s office, Connor opted to stand and wait for Sean, instead of taking one of the two high-back chairs resting in front of the looming desk. He never felt comfortable in this room, and for many good reasons. He’d seen more than enough things happen in this office over the years that turned him away from the space, and he tried to spend as little time inside of it as was possible.

It didn’t help that it was also his father’s favorite room, for whatever reason.

Whatever Sean liked, Connor didn’t.

Simple.

He looked over the familiar paintings and photographs on the office walls, noting the lot of them were of the old country, rolling hills and jutting cliffs leading into crashing waves. Sean often proclaimed to despise Ireland, though he never gave a proper reason why, and yet he held images of his motherland close.

The one thing that had always been missing from their home—from the walls, his father’s discussions, and even Connor’s memories—were things belonging to his mother. Not a single item in the house had been hers, apparently. There were no pictures. Sean never spoke of her, except to tell his son she had been perfect.

Connor didn’t even know her name. He’d learned over time to stop asking. The men around them, those that might have answers, were just as tight-lipped about his mamaí and what had come of her after he was born.

“Cad é seo, Connor?”

He spun fast on his heel, only to find his father standing in the office doorway, staring at him with curiosity.

“Is it a new thing for you to stare at walls?” Sean asked.

“The picture,” Connor replied, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “I wondered who took it.”

Sean didn’t give an answer, instead waving at the chair closest to his son. “Sit.”

“I’ll stand.”