Page 46 of Desecrated Saints
“Ready to go in the water? Let’s wake up Mummy, come on.”
I hug myself tight while watching my dad leading child-me back up the beach, where an umbrella has been hammered into the sand. Mum’s staring up at the cloudless sky with a blank expression, lost in her thoughts. My mouth dries up when I see who sits next to her.
He’s far younger than I remember him, his blonde hair short and well-trimmed. He grew a ponytail later in his rebellious youth. With a bright smile and dimples, the sight of my brother makes my heart seize with agony.
“Who’s ready to go for a swim?” Dad cheers.
Logan shoves the rest of his ice cream in his mouth. “Me, me, me!”
Ruffling his hair, Dad kneels beside Mum and gives her a shake. “Mel? You okay?”
“Yes, of course.”
Reaching into his backpack, Dad retrieves a camera and starts rolling. Mum forces herself to stand, wiping the dark shadows from her face. By the time he turns the lens on us, she’s cuddling child-me from behind, tugging on my platinum pigtails.
“Smile for the camera! Show us your big teeth.”
The words have me clutching my head, the awful reminder threatening to tear me to shreds. I watch the memory play out, trapped behind an invisible barrier. It’s the exact same one that Augustus threw in my face in the dungeon, using it to break my remaining sanity down to its last atom.
“My beautiful wife.” Dad sighs happily.
“Don’t get all soppy on me now, Ian. Come on, let’s take her to the sea.”
I scream through the hands I have clenched over my mouth. Watching from afar, Logan films them skipping through the sand, swinging child-me between them. Seeing it from this angle reopens the festering wounds that want nothing more than to rip me open.
“Brooke?”
Glancing up, I find the younger version of Logan looking right at me. I’ve infected this happy memory with the inevitability of the future, and he’s staring with accusations buried in his grey irises.
“You shouldn’t be here, kiddo. I told you to forget, move on.”
“I c-can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see you.”
Thick trails of blood begin to weep from his eyes, gushing down his cheeks and staining the white sand beneath his feet. Logan becomes a grotesque painting of human suffering. I rush to help him, but my hands pass through his body like they’re parting shadows, unable to grab hold of something that doesn’t exist.
“Devil child. You’re next, Brooke.”
Her voice sends a chill down my spine. Mum now stands mere inches away. At her feet, two twisted and broken bodies lay, no longer smiling as they enjoy the seaside. Dad’s neck is cracked and misshapen, while bloodied handprints mark the strangled throat of my childhood self.
“Blackwood is inevitable. Return or face the consequences.”
“No! I can’t go back. Not now, not ever.”
Her lips brush my ear, laced with the stench of rotting flesh. “You’re nothing more than a monster, Brooke. A lying, remorseless murderer. Exactly what I birthed you to be.”
Letting out a bloodcurdling scream, the last thing I see is her cruel gaze burning my insides, an undeniable figment of the inevitable. She is my past, my present, and my future.
I’ll never be anything more than a child of insanity.
A child… of Blackwood.
* * *
Lighting the cigarette with trembling hands, I blow smoke out. The cold workshop beneath me is silent as the rest of the guys sleep. I made sure to swallow my screams rather than wake everyone up.
Still kidding yourself, Miss West?
Gulping hard, I stare resolutely ahead. I won’t entertain the smirking, shadowy version of Augustus lingering behind me.