Highway Part 38

Highway Chapter 20(continued)

My father's grin as he stood over my mother. The bruise on my brother’s face. His laughter at our pain. They all conflicted with what was happening. Wasn’t I a daddy’s girl? I was his princess he said, even though I didn’t deserve it. Why was I having flashbacks about him?

They kept going in my mind, all of the times he hurt us.A bruise, a scrape, a cut. Once, a broken arm. I was confused, my vision fogged up like an early morning horizon. Then, the night with Matt. The yelling. What had he said?

“Don’t you ever say something like that again!”

What had I said? I had told him about my brother, about the truth. My head began to clear as I recalled that night, and the dream. The memories came back better than before, showing me all of it, down to every detail. My brother had been looking at me before I had said anything. I might have called to him, but he was more worried than I was.

Then my father had stabbed him, and tried to make it seem like a ruse. How could I think him a good man? He was running a slave operation here for girls, and he beat his employees. He had messed with me psychologically, and I had fallen prey to it. But the vicious storm outside filled my vision with light, and I began to think.

Matt was right. I hadn’t killed him, and I needed to stop blaming myself. My brother had loved me too much for me to fall into a trap as simple as this.

“No,” I said, so softly he couldn’t quite hear.

“What?” he asked, tilting his head.

“No!” I said, this time much louder.

I pulled out the comb from under my dress, slamming it into his shoulder where my head had just laid. I shoved him as violently as I could, and he ran into the corner of the desk. He looked at me in shock, sliding down to the ground.

“I did not kill him, and you know it. You’re nothing than a murderer and a sick psycho!” I snarled, “I will never let you control me. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not the same little girl you can manipulate anymore. If my brother could almost kill you when he was my age, I can finish the job.”

I stood several feet away, my head held high in pride and contempt for him. He was bleeding profusely from the shoulder now, but it hadn’t been sharp enough to do any serious damage. I had wanted to go for his face, but it was too late now.

He pulled out the comb, and stood shakily. He began to laugh, a crazed high pitched laugh that increased in frequency. Just like mad scientists on television, my father was laughing uncontrollably. He walked to the other side of his desk, still chuckling.

Without a split second in between, his voice dropped.

“You really got me there,” he said, his voice deadly quiet, “You think you can take me? Ha! What a laughable comment. Tell me, Veronica, if you remember everything, do you recall this?”

He held up a knife, glittering in the moonlight. Was that?

He nodded to me, saying, “This is the very same knife I had that night. I brought it as a… memento you could say. It gave me satisfaction every time my scar would hurt.”

He was walking towards me now, slowly as if he had all the time in the world. Then quick like a snake, he shot out with the knife, slicing a spot on my cheek. It stung, but it wasn’t my major concern. He still had the knife poised and ready.

Had he truly lost his mind? He laughed at my reaction, and leaned close to my face, before violently ripping off his eye patch. He grabbed my face, rubbing his cheek against mine. It felt like sandpaper as it grinded up against my skin, the gaping hole molding around my cheek.

I screamed louder than I ever had before.

“Do you feel that, Veronica?” He screamed, “Feel how rough it is? That’s what I live with everyday! Feel what your brother did!”

I struggled to get away, my stomach churning. This was absolutely disgusting! I kneed him in his groin, but missed slightly. I jolted away, slamming into a wall.

I looked frantically for a weapon. Why didn’t he keep anything else on hand? The only weapons in this complex were with henchmen. Come to think of it, where was the man who had brought me? He had probably gotten tired of waiting and had gone to get a drink.

My father was advancing now, still keeping a slow pace. I knew his reflexes were fast now, so I kept myself springy and ready, in case he jumped again.

“I think your mother’s face doesn’t quite suit you,” he said, sounding strangely lost, “I think you need to look more like me. I know! I’ll give you a scar to match! Then we can look alike, father and daughter!”

Something in his brain had snapped, more than before. He had an intense look in his eye, one of a dog with rabies. Did he plan on carving a lash into my face? What was I going to do? He had the only real weapon in the room, and he had a tight grip on it.

“Come here,” he soothed, “It’ll only hurt a little. Then you can be just like me.”

I circled with him, avoiding various items lying around. If I tripped, it would be over.

“Go to hell, you worthless, bottom feeding, piece of insignificant pond scum!” I shouted to him, hoping to make him lose his focus.

We continued our dance, him lunging and me withdrawing. I continued to taunt him, to make him even more enraged.

I blocked him with his desk, both of us running around the other side. He wasn’t tall enough to reach across, so he just twisted with me. We were at an awkward stalemate, neither of us moving. My heart was racing so loud I almost couldn’t hear the thunder outside.

Thump thump! Thump thump! Thump thump!

The noise filed the room, my heart beating in an opposite rhythm of his. There wasn’t anywhere left for me to go, and I couldn’t find where the comb had been. My father winced as he shuffled along with me and had to lean on his shoulder. It made me satisfied that I had caused him pain and made him bleed, even if it wasn’t serious.

Just as he looked like he was about to lunge forward with his knife to cut me, we heard the door click. We both froze, our joints becoming rigid.

Who was at the door? I couldn’t take on two different people. As the figure came into view, my heart exploded with joy.

Standing there, sopping wet and ruffled in appearance, was Matt. He surveyed the situation, and I felt how strong he was, both in mind and body. He would be able to take these people, and he would save me.

He smiled at me, giving me a wink.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said with a grin, “You wouldn’t believe the storm out there.”