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Chapter 1
“You stupid fucking whore! You thought you could speak to another man withoutmypermission? I bet you flirted with him, teased him, didn’t you? Begged him for any scrap of attention. Well, I’ll give you some fucking attention!” he grunted as he pinned her down, the delicate bones in her wrist cracking and grinding as he squeezed them together with one meaty, clammy hand. He used the other to unbuckle his pants, his acrid breath wafting in her face. The stench of vodka and Marlboros brought bile creeping up her throat, threatening to spill out. She swallowed it back but only so she could open her mouth to explain.
“No, I wasn’t! I was just being polite, I-”
She barely had time to register the sharp sting across her cheek from his slap before his fist connected with her stomach. She lost her breath, trying to crunch herself into a ball to cope with the pain but he wouldn’t let her. He wanted her to feel every second of it, scraping against her nerves, like only a man who was completely evil could.
He gripped her chin roughly, forcing her to face him. “Your lame fucking excuses don’t mean shit. I don’t know why you bother, who would want to even talk to you?” He laughed in her face, spittle escaping and plastering to her cheeks and she flinched at the contact. “You’re so pathetic, it’s disgusting. Jesus, even just looking at you makes my skin crawl. I wouldn’t touch you but you need to be taught a lesson.”
He prised her legs apart. She tried to fight him but she was so weak now from lack of food. She squeezed her eyes closed asthe bile crept higher and higher. He spat into his hand and then it disappeared under her torn dress…
“No!” Rebelle cried, so loudly the sound dragged her out of the nightmare. Only it wasn’t a nightmare, it was a memory, her most hated one. Tears ran down her cheeks as her breath sawed in and out, her eyes still adjusting to the dark.
Her stomach turned violently, and she managed to pull herself out of the sleeping bag she was tucked into, rolling out onto the concrete floor that hurt her so much to sleep on, and retched in the darkness. The sound of several dogs howling covered up the choking sounds she made as her body tried to expel the phantom food in her belly.
Once she was finished, her small body aching from the effort, she felt around in the dark for the candle and matches she kept close by.
The striking of the match echoed around the storeroom, bouncing off the brick walls and cool concrete floor. She held the match to the wick of the thick, white candle next to her, her hands shaking so much it took a few tries before the room brightened with light. She blew out the match, her breathing still ragged, her eyes still leaking those anguished tears as she sat for a moment trying to pull herself together.
The howling continued but the sound didn’t bother her, she found it comforting. It sounded like home. She took a few deep steadying breaths, the scent of roses wafting from the candle, before getting up and brushing aside the curtain, an old sheet someone discarded at the laundromat. It shielded the storeroom-slash-bedroom from the rest of the animal shelter.
Taking the candle, she went towards the kitchen, which also doubled as an office; she moved slowly, not wanting to risk the flame dying out and having to waste another precious match. She rummaged in the drawers and found a spare cloth andshuffled back, mopping up the little pool of saliva her body felt she didn’t need.
On the way back, she turned towards the row of kennels housing the dogs. There were five pens along the wall the storeroom was located on. Five pens in total and all of them full. Not to mention the two cats that lived in the kitchen.
The dog kennels were newly designed with an open top and a half-size barn door style plexiglass entrance. Each one contained a cute wooden dog bed with a very snuggly cushion, food and water bowls and a handful of chew toys to keep them occupied when she wasn’t socializing or exercising them.
Rebelle walked past each pen, pausing to soothe the wailing beasts which helped to comfort herself.
The first kennel had Alfie, a Border Collie mix that Rebelle had spotted wandering down the highway with a slight limp one day and promptly pulled over and rescued. The second kennel contained Doug the Pug who had been abandoned at the vet that Rebelle worked closely with. Despite Doug’s snorting and the gross problem of his eye popping out of its socket when he got excited, Rebelle had taken to him and insisted he come to the shelter.
Kennel three held Bruiser and Beast, two Chihuahua brothers whose owner had surrendered them to Rebelle when she discovered she had terminal cancer and could no longer look after them.
A white fluffy curiosity of a canine, Sasha, lived in kennel four. She had no discernible breed, was grumpy as hell and liked no one. Rebelle had taken pity on Sasha as Rebelle didn’t like anyone either. And kennel five was occupied by Bryan, an elderly Irish Wolfhound who also came from the vet after being seized by the SPCA from some disgusting human who didn’t know how to look after animals properly. That was also where the two cats who patroled the kitchen had come from.
Rebelle crooned at them all, convincing each of them that she was fine, except Sasha who didn’t care. When she reached Bryan’s kennel, he leapt up, hooking his giant paws over the pen door to get to her. His sad face mirrored her own and she held the candle aloft as she buried her face in the coarse fur of his neck to stifle a sob. The rough rasp of his tongue on her neck snapped her out of her misery pretty quickly and he looked repentant as she scolded him.
She shuddered, wiping at her neck. “You know I don’t like it when you do that.”
She said goodnight to the dogs, not bothering with the cats as she knew they wouldn’t be concerned by her trauma. Cats weren’t bothered by anything, that was why she loved the heartless little bastards so much.
Rebelle shuffled back to the storeroom and got into her sleeping bag and lay there. She couldn’t shake off her nightmare, her memory.
Why is it always in the dead of night that my brain strikes? Sensing weakness and pouncing like it’s stalking prey, a lion tracking a helpless deer.
Rebelle’s mind attacked, flashing back over her life, showing her how it had fractured and how she ended up there and wondering which of her wounds to claw at first.
It all started when her father introduced her to Marcus Black, the new Sheriff of Citrus Pines. Her father had been the deputy and would never progress to anything more; drunks can never hide what they are for too long. Rebelle was sure it was his alcoholism that put her mom in the ground and was the reason her twin sister ran away all those years ago. Evil couldn’t hide itself for too long either, but Marcus managed it for years.
He was charming the first time she met him. The next time he came by, he brought her flowers. Her father wasn’t home so Rebelle, charmed by the gift and the attention, let him in. Whenher father came home he didn’t seem happy to see his sheriff there waiting but he never said a word; just kept his mouth shut and was more cordial than Rebelle had ever seen him.
Marcus came around a few more times with more gifts, more compliments and more attention. Each time her father came home, she could feel the tension in the room rising, but that good ol’ southern hospitality reigned supreme, and Rebelle could never work out what was wrong with her father.
When Rebelle turned eighteen, Marcus proposed. She was unsure about accepting, she didn’t really know him that well. But her father’s drinking grew even more out of control and Rebelle didn’t think she could witness it much longer.
Marcus spun fairytales about taking her away from Citrus Pines, he was proving himself at work and making people take notice. He was going places and taking her with him. He knew how much she cared about animals and promised to help her get started in a career as a veterinarian.
There was nothing in this town for her and Marcus painted such a pretty picture of their future together. He was ten years older, with much more life experience than her so he must know better, right?
