Gun Shy(97)

He looked down and with his dark eyes glinting in the moonlight he kicked over the top of the ladder, sending me sailing back into the grass and the heavy metal to land on top of me.

When I connected with the ground, the air was force-fully pushed from my lungs. Thankfully, my backpack had protected me from suffering any major injuries. Other than the wind being knocked out of me, I was bruised and battered, but in one piece.

“You’re leaving everything you’ve ever known. You won’t survive out there and I won’t come looking for you. You’ll be dead to me, Sawyer. Dead!” Father swayed slightly and then he lost his footing completely. His hands waving in the air as he attempted to regain his balance, but it was no use. He began to fall.

I was shaking with adrenaline as I pushed myself to my feet. I stood just in time for him to land right where I had.

I could barely register the sound of snapping bone over my heart hammering in my ears.

Father groaned in pain and grabbed at his leg which was jutting out from his body at an unnatural angle.

Help, obey, and serve your father.

Not anymore.

I turned around and without the worry of him chasing me I strolled casually toward the back fence.

“Fuck, you!” he roared after me. “Don’t you dare come back here. You will rot in the depths of hell for this!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t ever be coming back,” I called in a calm tone that surprised even myself. I risked a glance back and watched as he tried to get up, only to fall again when his leg didn’t cooperate.

Father might’ve actually meant what he said, although it wasn’t true. He might have thought he had no intention of coming for me, but again, I knew better. I patted my pocket, the one that held the deed.

Too bad he was never going to find me.

I lifted my long skirt and started to climb over the tall fence. At the top, I paused.

When Father spotted me looking back at him writhing around on the grass, he went silent. For a moment, we were locked in a war of unspoken words. There had been a time for words. There had been a time when I’d have felt sympathy for him. A time when I would’ve rushed to his side without question.

Those times were long gone. “Help me,” Father begged. I tore my eyes from his and dropped down to the other side of the fence. “Saaaawyer!” his screams echoed through the alley over and over again. The anger he had momentarily shoved aside to beg for my help was back in full force.

It always was.

The door to Rusty squealed when I opened it and leapt inside, tossing my bag to the passenger seat. Getting him and Blue into the alley was nothing short of a miracle. Now there I was, starting the engine. The loud noise thankfully drowning out my father’s cries.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew I would still hear him. No engine would ever be loud enough to mask him completely. No amount of distance between us would ever truly silence him.

But I was going to try anyway.

I blew out a long-held breath. Twenty-one years long-held, and shifted the truck into drive. I took off into the night. Before I turned down the road that led to the highway I glanced in the rearview mirror and whispered the last words I’d ever speak to the man who had become a monster.

“Goodbye, Father.”



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T.M. FRAZIER resides in sunny southwest Florida with her husband and daughter. She loves music, reading, traveling, and annoying Mr. Frazier.

To keep up to date with everything T.M. Frazier-related, visit her website at www.tmfrazierbooks.com