Page 1 of Promise of Punishment

STAB HIM TO DEATH

April

Fable, 17

I hate the rain.

The darkness. The thunder and lightning. And him.

It always brings him.

Storm clouds loom over the historic farmhouse in the distance, stirring a dread I haven’t felt in three months. But his Bentley isn’t parked out front, just Mom’s old Mercedes, so he couldn’t be home.

“Are you sure this is close enough?” Amara, my bestie’s mom, asks from behind the wheel. “I could drop you at the house. I’m already here.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want you to be late to work because of me.”

She probably is. Driving me home wasn’t the plan. I was prepared to make the hour-long journey on foot, but the storm rolled in off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard earlier than the forecast predicted.

Last night was my first sleepover. I’d never had one before, too afraid to leave Mom alone. She wouldn’t trust me to stay with just anyone either. Amara is her best friend and co-worker. They both clean houses for wealthy families who don’t like their employees to be late. Or sick, or have a life, or any personal issues. They want robots.

“You better hur—” Thunder booms, swallowing Amara’s word and shaking the car.

I flinch and stare at the angry sky as shivers slide over my skin. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

“Thanks again for having me over and for the ride.” I hop out and run.

My sneakers crunch gravel, and wind lashes me with debris. I’m halfway up the long driveway when the clouds open as quickly as I could unzip my hoodie. Lightning flashes, brightening the darkened sky, followed by a violent thunderclap. A squeal tears from my throat, and my gaze catches on something silver jutting out from behind the house.

Dad’s Bentley. No!

I run faster, reaching the front porch and taking the stairs two at a time. My wet fingers feel clumsy as I dig the key from my backpack and unlock the bolt. When I shove open the door, my blood runs cold.

The vase and pedestal near the staircase lays smashed on the floor, crystal shards scattered everywhere. A Tiffany lamp hangs off the couch cushion by its cord, and Mom’s jacket trails toward the kitchen archway like she tore free of it trying to escape.

Mom! I drop my backpack and run. The heavy rain drowns out the thud of my shoes as I follow the trail of destruction.

Lightning flickers, throwing white slashes across the wood-paneled walls. A squeal claws up my throat. I choke it back and skid to a halt at the archway. The air hits me first, sweat and alcohol.

Dad is on his knees, straddling Mom’s motionless body. Purple bruises bloom across her tan skin. Angry finger marks band her neck, and her eyes are swollen into slits.

My heart plummets.

He finally did it. He killed her, and I wasn’t here to protect her.

“I told you this would happen,” he grumbles, his voice calm and empty as he stares down at her battered face. “I warned you.”

A broken moan slips through Mom’s cracked lips.

She’s alive!

He slowly shakes his head. “I’m sorry, my love. Death is the only way.” His thick fingers lock around her throat.

Ice floods my veins, and something inside me snaps. My gaze catches on the chef’s knife lying on the counter. A second later, it’s in my hand, the blade sinking into my dad’s back. I rip it free and drive it into him again and again, wishing with all my heart he would die.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! ” The words tear from me, ragged and choked with hot tears.

He roars and elbows me hard in the stomach. I stumble backward, crashing into the lower cabinets.