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I caught a glimpse of Lucas in the door, grinning, before I couldn't pay attention to anything but the pain.
That night, I lay in bed, trying to sleep despite the terrible pain. My Nancy Drew book was still lying with its spine open on the floor where it had fallen, and its pages were probably getting creased. I finally managed to get out of bed and pick it up, trying to read by the street light that came in through the window because I didn't dare get caught with my light on. Every once in a while, a car would come down the street and my page would get brighter for a moment with their headlights; I'd read frantically, skimming the page as fast as I could. I put the book under the pillow next to me, raising it just enough to hold the page up so I could drop it and hide the book at a moment's notice.
It was only because I was still awake that I heard the door creak open. I went still, letting the pillow fall, pretending to be asleep.
Lucas came to the side of my bed. He peeled back the blanket and the sheets, and I froze, pretending I was still asleep.
How many times had he come into my room like this?
He didn't touch me again, just touched the front of his pants, then pulled his manhood out. I kept my eyes closed, wanting to scream as he jerked his hand up and down along his pale thing.
Then suddenly, he made a short, desperate sound.
I opened my eyes to see him frozen, one hand still gripping himself, his eyes and mouth wide with horror.
A bright red smile had been cut across his throat, and the man with the knife was standing right behind him. The man touched the knife to his lips, warning me not to make a sound.
Gently, he eased Lucas's dying body onto the bed beside me.
I scrambled back and off the bed, staring at the stranger.
"It's all right," the man whispered. "I'm sorry it took me so long to find you. But nobody's ever going to get the chance to hurt you again."
He reached out his hand to me. I wasn't sure what to do, but his eyes were kind.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
"They call me The Demon," he whispered back. "But you can call me Dad, if you want."
"Where are we going?"
A grin spread across his face. "That's my girl. Wherever you want, darling, that's where we're going. But first, we have to make one more stop..."
I took his hand. He frowned at the sight of the bruises on my body and said, "Why don't you pack a bag while I go have a talk with that woman who pretended to be your mom?"
"Okay," I answered in a trembling, but hope filled voice.
I was putting my books into my suitcase when I heard the faintest start of a scream, so quiet that I didn't think it reached outside the house. I froze for a second, then went on, getting my favorite t-shirts.
He came back in for me, and took my suitcase out to the car while I got dressed in real clothes instead of my pajamas. Then he picked me up, as if I were a little doll, and carried me out into the hallway.
"Don't look," he whispered to me. "Close your eyes."
But I didn't want to keep my eyes closed anymore, and I shook my head, wondering if he would hurt me like everyone else had if I didn't obey him.
But he just smiled.
He carried me into the hallway, where my mother lay half-in and half-out of her bedroom, the carpet stained dark with blood in the dim light.
"You were always only pretending to be sweet and helpless, Gabriela," he whispered in my ear.
"I was?"
"You forgot who you really were, sweet child, because you had to forget. That was the only way for us to keep you safe. But you've always been something more than anyone could realize. You've always been fierce."
I tried to understand what he was saying. Had I always known deep down that I was his daughter, that someday he would come back and claim me? That I was never really helpless, no matter how I felt?
I could leave behind Gabriela, the scared little girl who was locked in closets and beaten with anything handy. She was nothing but a ghost in the house that I was leaving behind, along with the bodies. She wasn't ever real.
