Chapter 1
Carleigh closed the door behind her and stopped mid-stride when she recognized the heavy footsteps. Her body tensed, then began to tremble. The brassy taste of fear filled her mouth. She slid her backpack around, pressed it protectively against her stomach, and became statue-still.
Appearing to concentrate on the bare floor in front of him, a man with a weathered complexion and muttonchops tramped down the hallway. His right hand clutched a Budweiser, left hand a cigarette.
Dean.
She took a step backward. A floorboard creaked. She sucked in a sharp breath.
Dean's head snapped up and he slowly arched one eyebrow. “Well, now.”
Carleigh squeezed her backpack and focused her eyes on the wall behind him.
Dean inhaled a long drag from his cigarette and came to within a foot of where she stood. “Didn’t hear you come in, precious.”
The stench of nicotine and alcohol assaulted her nostrils. But she held her position, feet and hands frozen in place.
Dean tucked the Marlboro between his lips, reached out a calloused finger, and stroked the side of her face. “Where you been?”
Recoiling from his touch, she jumped sideways. Hatred lurked behind his eyes, as obvious to Carleigh as his gold-capped teeth. He pulled back his finger. “That how it’s gonna be?” He took another deep drag and drained his beer. “Don’t think so.” He held up the can and crushed it. “Listen here, young lady, we ain’t finished. Not by a long shot.”
Carleigh flinched, but kept her gaze steady. She thought about running but knew
it would be futile. Even inebriated, he’d catch up with her. She’d learned that the last time he came home wasted. A shudder ran down her spine. She lowered her gaze to a spot on the floor.
Dean exhaled a cloud of smoke in her face. With a snicker, he chucked the beer can across the room.
Carleigh looked up and saw him heading toward the door. Good riddance.
But before he reached the end of the hall, he paused and turned to her. Carleigh could hear her heart pounding. He folded his arms across his chest and shot her a razor-sharp look. “You tell your momma, I’ll be back. Tell her we got…unsettled business.”
Carleigh's throat muscles constricted. Business, no doubt, meant money or drugs. Regardless, Dean certainly would return. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry, the room too warm.
Two men appeared at the door. Muscular. Bullnecked. Matching Neanderthal brows. “That everything?” one of the men asked.
Dean motioned toward the kitchen with his thumb. “Two more. Rest is garbage.” He let out a soft laugh. “Let ’em have it.”
Carleigh looked down and dug her fingernails into her palms. After everything Dean had done, did he have to shame them as well?
The men went into the kitchen, and each came out carrying a large cardboard box. As they walked through the foyer, she heard them mutter something about her and share garbled laughs. From the corner of her eye she caught them gawking at her breasts, just like Dean always did. She hunched her shoulders, moved her backpack to cover her upper body, and kept quiet. Experience had taught her the less she said to adults, the better.
Dean finished his cigarette, flicked it onto the floor, and crushed it beneath his heel. While it smoldered he pulled out another smoke and popped it between his lips. Outside, a loud car horn honked repeatedly. He pushed back his sleeve and checked his watch. “Time to go.”
But instead of leaving, he walked back to Carleigh in what to her were agonizingly slow steps. When he was inches away, he leaned down and whispered, “Don’t forget what I told you.” He pressed his finger against her cheek and ran it alongside her mouth.
Carleigh remained still as Dean moved his ragged fingernail across her neck, her collarbone, then lower. He was so close, she saw the gray roots in his beard. His hand paused in the valley between her breasts. She felt his breath hot on her shoulder. Her legs quivered but she willed herself to remain steady, her heart not to beat as it slammed in her chest, her diaphragm not to expand as her lungs filled with air, her hands not to shake. She closed her eyes and forced down the panic rising from her abdomen.
Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.
She felt him pull away.
“Remember what I said,” he snarled as his boots slapped the linoleum on the foyer floor. “Tell your momma I’ll be back.”
___________________________________________________________
Robert L. Bacon
theperfectwrite.com
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