Prologue
Five Years Ago
I stared at the stain on my white blouse. The cranberry color seeped through the thin fabric, highlighting the outline of my beige bra.
Tears of indignation filled my eyes as I spun in a wide circle.
“Hello? Can anyone hear me?”
The last thing I remembered was walking home from school. And then, a car had pulled up alongside me, and four figures bedecked in superhero costumes had jumped out. Their scrawny, childlike frames made me think that they were approximately my age—thirteen. I wondered which of them had stolen his parents’ car.
With more force than necessary, they’d wrenched my hands behind my back and shoved a burlap sack over my head. I’d thrashed and screamed helplessly, but only raucous laughter filled the air.
And now, I was here.
They had untied me and removed the sack, but that didn’t mean I could escape. One glance confirmed I was in the men’s locker room, adjacent to the middle school’s football stadium. The pungent stench of sweat and piss barraged my sensitive nose. Lockers lined one wall opposite the showers, with wooden benches spread out before them.
Feeling dizzy, I lunged towards the door and tried the handle. Locked, of course.
“Let me out!” I screamed, pounding my fists against the distressed wood. Panic coursed through my veins as the ramifications of what they had done fully caught up to me.
I was trapped.
Desperate, I raced towards the nearest window and attempted to dislodge it from its casing. Unsurprisingly, it was stuck. I was pretty sure it hadn’t been opened once in the last five years. I pressed my fingers beneath the pane, ignoring the blood from my ravaged fingernails, and sought to pry it open. Sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped down my nose.
Fear engulfed me in an icy embrace as a sob lodged itself in my throat. I pressed my forehead against the glass, desperate to soothe my frayed nerves.
Be calm. Be calm. Be calm.
“Look at the little baby,” a cold voice sneered from behind me. I spun, unsurprised to find my four kidnappers. Spider-Man had removed his mask, and I found myself standing face to face with my middle school tormenter.
“Let me go,” I pleaded, tears blurring my vision. His lips curled up into a cruel, malevolent smirk, though his eyes remained impish. The combination caused the tiny hairs on my arms to stand on end. Rage and fear swarmed through me, like I’d kicked over an angry hornet’s nest.
If I was only a few years older…I could blast all of these assholes into oblivion. But for now, all I could do was be the foolish prey to their beasts. The mouse caught in their painstakingly constructed traps.
“Not until you submit.” He took a menacing step forward. “Not until you know that we don’t accept freaks in our town.”
Chapter 1
Now
There’s a distinct difference between the California air and Michigan’s. For one, it’s not nearly as humid, despite being the end of August. For two, it feels almost…cleaner. Less industrialized.
I stare out my window at the busy tourist town. Behind sun-kissed stands, Lake Michigan spreads as far as the eye can see. The sunlight glimmers on the serene surface, making it appear as if it’s constructed out of thousands of diamonds. Families are happily playing in the water, sunbathing on the land, and moving from food stand to food stand. The entire atmosphere evokes feelings of love and joy.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful this place is,” I whisper, pressing my face against the car window.
“Just wait until it snows,” my driver, Charles, exclaims with a snort. “It won’t be beautiful then.”
“I love the snow.” Absently, I lift my finger and trace the outline of a happy family relaxing beneath an umbrella. The wife is sunbathing, a paperback forgotten on her chest. The husband is building sandcastles with two little girls, their faces alight with happiness.
What must it be like to be that carefree? That happy? To know you are loved? Sure, this family probably has some demons—as we all do—but I can’t ignore the pang of jealousy that spears me as I watch them.
It isn’t long until they’re completely out of sight.
I can tell when we leave the tourist hotspot. The once congregated buildings begin to space out, until we’re surrounded completely by fields. Interspersed are magnificent country ranches.
“Has Mother called yet?” I ask, turning away from the rolling landscape to face Charles fully. In the rearview mirror, I see his face pinch and eyes shadow over. I know what he’s going to say even before he says it.
“No. I’m sorry, Miss Peony.”
I swallow down the bitter disappointment, focusing once more on the landscape. We drive through what appears to be a downtown area with cobblestone streets, quaint shops and restaurants, and numerous benches. I remember running down this exact sidewalk…
“You can’t run from me forever,” a cold voice shouted as my footsteps pounded against the asphalt of the street. Up above, I spotted the bright lights of Mama’s House, the local diner.
Just a little farther…
“Found you,” he whispered in my ear.
I pull myself out of the memories that threaten to drag me under and consume me. Vigorously shaking my head, I shove them in a steel casket and bury it miles beneath the surface, never to be seen or heard from again.
As we drive out of town, I begin to pay closer attention to my surroundings. The family-owned grocery store in desperate need of repair. The dog park with rusted fences and precariously tilting steel benches.
High Groves Middle School.
My eyes narrow at the unassuming brick building as the car passes it. I know, logically, that I’ll now be attending the high school across town, but I can’t stop the stab of hate and anger that bombards me.
“Your nana is expecting you,” Charles says conversationally. “She set up a room for you in the attic.”
“She didn’t have to do that,” I murmur awkwardly, anxiously chewing on my lower lip. I haven’t seen Nana in years, and I can’t deny the flicker of self-consciousness that reverberates through me.
We pull up in front of wrought iron gates, and Charles steps out of the car to manually open them. I attempt to peer around the boughs of trees, desperate to catch a glimpse of my childhood home.
It’s only when Charles enters the car once more and begins the trek up the curving driveway, do I see the gothic mansion nestled snugly in the middle of a secluded forest.
It’s four stories high with numerous gables and turrets. Two gargoyles perch on the roof, their stone faces sending pinpricks of fear racing down my spine. The brown paint on the walls has faded in some spots, though I can’t decide if it’s from inconsistent weather or time itself. Leaves cover the front steps and porch, already turning hues of black and brown instead of their normal orange and yellow.
My memories of this place depict it as being grand and elegant, plucked straight out of a fairy tale. Was I really that blind to the desolate home towering before me?
“Can I help you with your bags?” Charles asks, already hurrying around the car to open my door for me. His face is weathered by age, deep lines carved down both of his cheeks and around his eyes. When he walks, his back hunches over, almost as if there’s a weight pressing down on the middle of his spine.