Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
When I had eaten my bread and half of the soup, I rose to my feet. “Thank you for lunch. I need to lie down a bit. I’m tired. Enjoy the rest of your meal.”
My bodyguards rose a few inches from their chairs, then sank down in unison when I turned. I walked out in unhurried steps even as my pulse spiked. The moment I stood in the entrance hall, I sucked in a deep breath.
I wished I had time for a pep talk, but I couldn’t risk my bodyguards finding out what I’d done. My gaze moved past the kitchen door to the heavy steel of the very door that led down into the basement. It wasn’t the first time I’d gone down there after my escape, but I’d never been alone and never with the intention to kill my father.
I took a step closer, then another. Laughter rang out in the kitchen, reminding me of the very real danger of being caught before I managed to follow through with my plan. I couldn’t falter. I needed to gather my courage and do what needed to be done.
My pulse raced in my veins as I walked purposely toward the door and opened it. The darkness of the stairwell gaped menacingly before me. Fear clawed at my chest and made my throat tight. I took a step down, then another, goose bumps rising on my skin from the cold and the terror taking hold of me.
I could do this. For Nestore. For me. For both of us.
When I reached the last step, I paused and sucked in several quick breaths.
“Those are female steps,” a raspy, old voice said from the dark.
I jumped, my heart jerking against my rib cage as if it was trying to get out.
“It’s you, Amelia. My daughter.”
I shuddered and finally took the last step down into the basement. The stench of feces, blood, and urine permeated the dank air. Horrid memories scratched at the forefront of my mind, wanting to take over.
My eyes took a moment to get used to the dim light down here, and when they did, I noticed Father’s hunched figure on the cot in the last cell.
Rattling breathing filled the room. The shuffling of my shoes and my own rapid breathing caused a pause in my father’s. The strong stench of decay filled my nose, triggering revulsion and memories from a past neither Nestore nor I could escape. I crossed the distance with purposeful steps but stopped two arm’s length from the bars. The gun felt cool against my belly. It steadied me, but at the same time, the idea of using it terrified me.
“Have you finally come to save me from your husband’s brutal hands?”
I was glad for the dim light so I couldn’t make out more than the schemes of my father’s face. “No. Whatever Nestore has done to you, you deserved it. You turned him into the brutal hand that now tortures you. Without your cruelty, none of this would have happened.”
“Spoken like your pitiless husband. What has become of you, Amelia?”
“You locked me in a basement. You had me tortured and humiliated. That’s what happened. You happened.”
“Then why are you here if not to free me? Do you want an apology for what I’ve done? Do you want to see me cower with repentance?”
I smiled bitterly even as my heart clenched tightly. How could this man be my father? His blood ran in my veins. The idea alone made me feel sick to my stomach.
I reached under my dress and pulled out the gun from my waistband.
Father sat up straighter and cackled. “Have you come to kill me?”
I swallowed. “Yes.” The admittance felt good.
He cackled again. “Your husband will punish you if he finds out. He doesn’t want me dead. You’d be doing me a favor.”
I didn’t want to do this for him.
Was he manipulating me?
It didn’t matter. My decision was made. I wouldn’t back out now. I wouldn’t get another chance. My fingers around the gun tightened as I approached the bars. My heartbeat pounded so loudly, it echoed in my ears.
I didn’t look into my father’s eyes. I didn’t want a last goodbye. There was nothing left to say between us. Yet I couldn’t move. I felt suspended between my need to end this and my fear of what this murder would do to me.
It would save Nestore.
I put the barrel through the bars, aimed down at the cot, and squeezing my eyes shut, I fired until the click click of the chamber told me I had run out of bullets. I gasped for breath when the last shot faded, and silence reigned around me. The rattling breathing was no more.
An act of pity? Or an act of selfishness? Or an act of love for Nestore?
Maybe a little of all three. I couldn’t think clearly anymore.