Once upon a time I selected a Darkfest prompt and didn't get it submitted on time. This little tale of unhappiness has been collecting dust in my hard drive ever since. Halloween seemed like the perfect time to share it!
This story deals with mental illness and violence. If that's not your thing, please pass.
MariainNYC made the banner so long ago. I appreciate her patience in seeing it come to light.
Special thanks to Kitchmill and StoryPainter from PTB who made this much better. I'm constantly messing with things, so any errors are my own. A huge shout out to CindyWindy who helped me get the ending right. :) She's awesome.
"Bells, you forgot your phone again. I need to be able to reach you."
Charlie walked in while I was folding the last of my laundry. I could hear the admonishment in his tone. Ever since I got back from Italy, he'd been overprotective. I mean, I understood that I scared him, but he'd been going overboard for weeks.
"I expect you to carry this all the time," he said, waving the phone at me until I took it. He watched while I tucked it into my pocket. When he'd brought the phone home, Charlie had explained that it had a GPS chip embedded. I couldn't help but think of it as my tiny, electronic leash.
"You're home early," I said, stating the obvious. His hair was wet, and he smelled faintly of bait, so I guessed the fishing wasn't good. "Maybe we can watch a movie or something?" I asked, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.
For the last couple weeks, I'd been complaining to Renee about this new overly-strict Charlie. She'd suggested spending more quality time with him. She'd then gone into a long discussion about how men process fear differently than women. According to my mother, men were more comfortable with anger and control than fear, and I needed to give him time. It was typical Renee advice. Normally, I'd appreciate it, but right now, I didn't think it would help.
The truth was I hadn't told Renee everything. If she had any idea how controlling Charlie had become, she'd be giving him an earful, and that would only make things worse. It just seemed smart to pretend everything was fine and wait for him to ease up. I knew I deserved to be grounded; I just never expected to feel like a prisoner.
A movie might be a decent way to pass the afternoon. Edward and the rest of the Cullens had left for Alaska that morning. They didn't get to see the Denali clan over spring break and decided this was a good time for a weekend visit. It wasn't like I could spend time with them anyway. Charlie had made that clear. He couldn't keep me from seeing Edward at school, but that boy was not welcome in his house. I shook my head at the unfairness of it all; no one was allowed in, and I wasn't allowed out.
My father stood next to the dresser and watched as I put my clothes away. He was utterly silent, observing my every move. By the time I was done, the hair on the back of my neck was standing up. I turned away from his silent stare, straightening the comforter, and when I looked back up, his eyes were focused somewhere else.
"You okay, Dad?" I asked. I walked around the bed, focusing on what he found so fascinating.
There was a white speck on the rug under the window. It was a paint chip about the size of a dime with irregular edges. I started to reach for it, but Charlie pushed my hand away. He lifted it gently and held it in the palm of his hand. His eyebrows narrowed, and then he stood.
He walked to the window and flicked the latch. It opened soundlessly on hinges that Edward oiled faithfully. Leaning out, Charlie held the chip in one hand and scanned the window ledge. The paint below the window was smooth except for one crushed area where the wood was exposed. Like a perfect puzzle piece, the missing paint from the window ledge matched the chip in his hand.
"Have you been using this window?" he asked, staring intensely as he waited for an answer.
"No! Well ... yes. Sometimes, when I get too warm. You know, it gets hot up here sometimes." I was babbling, but I couldn't seem to help it. I'd always been the world's worst liar.
"Think back. When was the last time?" His voice had that tone he used when he was questioning someone after an incident at work. I hated that voice; it meant something horrible had happened.
"I don't know. A few nights ago, maybe." We both knew I was lying. It had been a cool spring, and the furnace ran every night.
He didn't reply. Keeping the chip cupped in his palm, he retraced his steps to the side of my bed then circled back to the window. It was as though he was measuring the distance, but his eyes weren't focused. After three trips back and forth, he stopped near the desk.
Right about now, I'd expect Charlie to blow out a sigh and rub his hand across the top of his head. Every time I saw that expression, I relaxed a bit. It was his body language for I can't stop you from doing what you're doing, but I can let you know I don't like it. The problem was he didn't do that this time. He just kept staring at me. It was a relief when he finally started talking.
"Bells, before you went to get him, we talked about you going to stay with Renee. I let you talk me out of it before, but I've changed my mind. It's time for you to go." His voice didn't hold the concern it had held earlier this spring. Now, it was kind of hollow.
"What? No! What are you talking about?" I couldn't believe he was bringing this up again. I wasn't going anywhere. Even if he had proof Edward was sneaking in, I wasn't letting him send me away.
He looked down at the white fleck, still cradled in his palm, before looking back at me. His professional voice got a little more intense—slower and deeper. "I know Edward managed to make you think everything is fine, but something is wrong here. We need to get you away before he hurts you again."
"Dad, please. I'm happy. I'm not fighting you on the grounding, and I'm following all your rules. There's no reason to ship me off to Mom's."
He stared back at me. While they were normally an older, wiser version of mine, something was missing from my father's eyes. Charlie might have been looking my way, but his gaze went right through me.
"Are you refusing to go?" he asked. There was no emotion in his voice.
"Yes. Please don't ask again. I won't go." I couldn't remember ever blatantly defying him, but what he was asking was unthinkable.
"Stay here. Do not leave your room!" He turned on his heel and stomped down the stairs.
"But ..." I called after him.
His muffled voice carried up the stairwell. "Don't leave your room!"
Charlie rarely issued orders, so I sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Even if he had figured out Edward snuck into my room every night, what was the worst that could happen? He had to know Renee would be more relaxed about this kind of thing. Sending me to Jacksonville only meant Edward would follow.
I heard Charlie making noises outside and went to investigate. He was next to the tree stump below my window. Charlie had cut the tree down just after my return from Italy. He'd told me it was beginning to rot, but I didn't believe him. When I asked Edward, he'd confirmed Charlie wanted to remove all possible entrances into the house.
Charlie looked down, inspecting the grass before placing his boots into two indentations next to the stump. That didn't look good. He paced around the yard, going in circles, looking from the stump, to my window, to the chip still cradled in his hand. I watched him, wondering what the neighbors were thinking. At one point, he went into the cruiser and fiddled with some of the equipment, watching the screen mounted to the dashboard and talking to himself.
When my phone rang, I was a bit disappointed to see it was Alice, but I answered right away. She didn't waste time with a greeting.
"Is Charlie with you?"
I thought about teasing her for starting the conversation that way, but something in her voice stopped me. "No, but he's acting really weird." From downstairs, I heard rummaging and a loud bang, as though Charlie had dropped something.
"I had a vision of you in the cruiser a few minutes ago, and then everything went blank." Alice was talking so fast the words were blurring together. I had to concentrate to make out what she was saying.
"That's not unusual. I ride in the cruiser sometimes." I tried to sound calm, but her intensity was scaring me.
"No, sweetie. You were in the back of the cruiser."
I was too stunned to speak, and the line was silent when Charlie called up the stairs.
"Bella, please come down here. I have something I want to show you." That hollow tone was back in his voice, like he was talking to a delinquent he'd pulled over for speeding.
"Just a second, please. I'm on the phone."
"Hang up. Now." He was louder and sounded angry.
When Alice started talking again, her words were even faster than before. "Bella, you're going to be nervous, but you need to stay calm. I'm trying to see what's going to happen, but Charlie's kind of a mess right now. He's not thinking clearly, and he's not making decisions." She paused then started again, emphasizing every word. "No matter what you do, keep him calm and don't leave the house with him!"
"Isabella Marie! Now!" Charlie's voice rocketed up the stairwell.
"Alice, I've never heard him this angry." It occurred to me that I sounded like a frightened four-year-old.
She didn't answer, and for two full seconds the line was quiet. I started thinking we'd been disconnected. "Bella!" She was frantically yelling now. "Hide your phone, stuff it in your underwear—somewhere Charlie won't search. Do it right now!"
I heard Charlie stomping up the stairs. I flipped the phone shut, turned the ringer off and quickly shoved it down the front of my pants just as he threw the door open.
"I told you to come downstairs!" His eyes were wide and there was a glint of something feral. "When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it. Am I clear?" My stoic father had been replaced by a manic-looking, demanding stranger. He gave an exaggerated sigh, and it was like he deflated somehow. "Never mind, Bells. It's not your fault I can't trust you anymore. Don't worry, though. I'll fix this."
He was making no sense. This reaction was too intense for thinking Edward was sneaking into my room. I didn't understand, and I opened my mouth to tell him so when I saw what was in his hand.
Disbelief rolled though me. My entire life, he'd kept the weapons locked up or out of reach. What the hell was going on?
I recognized it from television; he was holding a Taser. As he pointed it at me, I raised my arms. It was a reflex, and I felt so stupid, but the reaction was almost inborn after so many years of watching television and movie characters put their hands up.
My heart pounded, and my ears roared. Maybe if I could get him back into officer mode, he'd realize what he was doing. I decided to try being cooperative and helpful.
"Hey, Dad. Whatever that is, I think you should put it down. It might go off." I lowered my hands and took a tentative step toward him. "Why don't you show me where the safety is?" It wasn't much in the way of a distraction, but it was the best I could come up with.
"No." He extended his arm and muttered, "I'm sorry, Bells. I've got to protect you, even from yourself."
I turned to run, but in the back of my mind, I knew it made no difference. It wasn't like there was anywhere for me to go. I heard the snap of the trigger just before the pain registered. It was indescribable, like nothing I've felt before. Every muscle in my body seemed to seize, and I collapsed on the floor, barely registering the snapping, electrical sound.
When the sound stopped, I scrambled frantically. Instinct told me to get back on my feet. It was a primal need. I had to defend myself, but every neuron was scrambled. My muscle control was gone, and I collapsed on the floor scrambling like a newborn foal.
Charlie's boots stomped toward me, and his knee pressed into the middle of my back. He held me down while he yanked the Taser prongs from my skin. The tug of the metal barbs reminded me of childhood days fishing with Charlie. I was always clumsy, and anytime I went with him, I ended up with a fishhook stuck somewhere. I'd cry until he got the hook out. I always wanted him to kiss it and make it better, but he would just ruffle my hair and tell me to be a big girl.
The oozing sensation of warm blood on torn skin brought me back to the present.
Charlie rolled me over and grabbed my wrists, bringing them together in front of me. I barely registered the cool metal before I heard the locks click. My eyes were finally back under my control, and I frantically searched his face for some part of the father I loved. He had no expression as he secured me with practiced efficiency.
Pulling something out of his back pocket, Charlie ran his hand down my leg. Immediately, I started thrashing and kicking. Part of me knew it was useless, but I couldn't stop. He made a grunting sound before moving his knee to my thighs, forcing me to be still. I panted from exertion and terror, and I barely registered the sound of the zip tie closing around my ankles.
Charlie stood and looked down at me. It had probably taken him less than two minutes to bring me down and truss me like a turkey.
"Charlie—Dad, let me up. Please, God. What are you doing?" I asked, hoping I was coherent, but I was probably just whimpering. He just looked down with no expression on his face. Like a small animal looking up at a predator, I couldn't tear my gaze away from those flat eyes.
He turned away, not looking at me when he spoke. "There. Now we can leave. We need to make some time." Charlie stepped over me and pulled the comforter off my bed, spreading it on the floor.
"Charlie, please!" It always bothered him when I called him by his given name, and maybe irritating him would get him to acknowledge me.
He paused for a second, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd managed to bring him back from whatever kind of break this was. He'd let me go, and I could stay with the Cullens until he came to his senses.
Instead, his eyes scanned the room, finally stopping on the floor near the dresser. There was a single dirty, black sock. Scooping it up, he twisted it into a ball and jammed it into my screeching mouth.
He worked quickly after that, rolling me into the comforter and carrying me down the stairs, hoisted over his shoulder like a rolled-up carpet. The last time Charlie had carried me was when Sam brought me out of the woods. Even through the misery of that day, some part of me had registered Charlie's care and attention.
I wished I felt it now.
Our story continues tomorrow. Thanks for reading!