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“How so?”
“She’s always helping other women and never giving Ahnah attention. Or me... She’s a terrible mother.”
“I think you might be too hard on her.”
Josiah snarled. “Of course you’d stick up for her. You just want in the sack with her.”
Recognized as his father or not, that was enough. “Now, hold up,” he said, reining in some of his temper. “I get teenage boy rebellion, but your mom has done nothing but provide for you, putting a roof over your head and food in your stomach all by herself—”
“Because my father is a class-A piece of garbage who couldn’t care less about me or my mom.”
Ty gritted his teeth. “Did she tell you that?”
“No. But he is. If he wanted me, he’d come find me.”
Balling a fist, he mentally counted to ten. “What if he didn’t know about you? What if he’s none of those things, and he’s as in the dark about you as you’ve been about him?”
Josiah jerked his head, the motion sweeping his bangs from his eyes. “It doesn’t even matter. I’m over it. I’m over him. I don’t need or want him in my life. He could walk in today and I’d shut him down, kick him out and not even care.”
Untrue. His emotions were fueled by affliction and suffering, but they sawed through Ty like a rusty serrated knife. Ty sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for the demand to leave the room, but Josiah covered his face with his pillow again and turned to the wall. This kid had big, valid feelings, and Bexley had bound Ty’s hands.
He noticed Josiah’s laptop, Discord open on the screen, and caught Bexley’s name with a derogatory word for women—one Ty absolutely hated and always had—next to it. It was a message from a friend named Abe. The kid he’d gone to meet at the arcade the other night. Josiah had been griping about Bexley in typical teenage fashion. She never lets me do this or that. She thinks I’m a child. But Abe’s words held vitriol.
“Josiah, I know you think your mom doesn’t love you or give you enough freedom and that your father doesn’t care about you or want you. And your aunt is missing. You have a lot to juggle on your plate, but hold tight and some of these problems will be solved. And, as far as me and your mom, you need to have greater respect for her and know that I am not staying here for illicit reasons. And if you bring that idea up again, we’ll have to have more of a man-to-man talk than a man-to-boy. You feel me?”
Josiah grunted from underneath the pillow.
“I also have to wonder if this Abe guy is a good influence.”
Tossing the pillow, Josiah sat up and slammed his laptop shut. “Why are you looking at my chat?”
“It was open, and profanity linked to your mom caught my eye.”
“Well, it’s none of your business, and maybe you don’t want to sleep with my mom, but just know that dating her will never work. She’ll break your heart. She has no follow-through. Dated a few decent guys but in the end dumped them.” He strode toward his bathroom. “I don’t see you being any different.”
Ty stood, sensing his time was up. “You’re short-changing her.” With that, he slipped out the door and down the hall into the main living space of the home. Bexley stood at the stove, a teakettle steaming.
“He wants a dad, Bexley. He’s angry and hates me and doesn’t even know me. Thanks for that. Not to mention his friends are trash.” He left the kitchen and went out on the porch. He had a pair of puppet strings to discuss with the team. But right now, he felt more like Bexley’s Pinocchio than the killer’s.
Kipos Island
Tuesday, September 4
The girl in the room next to mine has danced every single time he’s asked them to. She now wears several open blooms on her upper back and arm. I have no idea what they are. Who she is. Who anyone is or how long they’ve been here other than the number of flowers tattooed on their flesh. More flowers, been here longer. Less tattoos, less time.
My entire back and right arm are now covered in little pink buds. They’re exquisite and well-done and I hate them.
When we’re alone in our rooms, I’ve been whispering to the new girl. I tell her we can fight him. We have the numbers. Escape isn’t possible. We’re on camera and the house is powered by his phone, so sneaking around will never happen. It’s a crushing blow, but if we were to gang up on him, we could overpower him and kill him. It doesn’t appear the new girl is on board. She never responds.
I hear doors opening and closing. He’s leading us like sheep to his sick pasture. One by one escorting us to iron bars where he expects us to perform for his perverted pleasure. I rub my right wrist that’s surely fractured, and the fresh throbbing pain in my groin reminds me if I do not succumb to his wishes, he’ll continue to break me, to burn me.
The moment I dance it’ll signal my defeat and his victory, and I’ve lost everything else. I’ve lost my clothing, my rights, my dignity. My freedom. My family. I’m losing hope now too. How much longer can I hold out, hang on?
His footsteps grow closer and I know it’s my turn. The door unlocks, and he steps inside in a tailored suit, loosened tie and shiny shoes. He could be a cover model. My stomach pitches. I hold out my arm for him to unlock me.
“Will you plan to bloom today? Is this display a show of surrender, submission?” he asks, with delight in his voice and cheery surprise in his eyes. His phone is poking from his suit coat and it’s now or never.
I make my move and shove him. Then, using the iron cuff, I wallop him against the side of his face, cutting his cheek. I swing again, but he blocks the blow. His fist slams into my gut so hard I lose my breath, and the grilled chicken from last night threatens to come up.
