Bury Me(20)

“Oh my God. Oh Ravenna, I’m so sorry. I’ve never done anything like that before. I’m so sorry,” she pleads as tears pool in her eyes.

Lies.

She stood in front of me once before, in the spare bedroom with the dark blue quilt I prefer and pale blue walls, her face red with fury as she smacked me across the face and called me names. The thunder boomed outside and the rain beat against the window as she stormed out of the room and told me I wasn’t allowed to come out as she slammed the door behind her.

Even with the depressing way she always looks at me and the way she keeps trying to make me into someone I’m clearly not with the braiding of my hair and the pink bedspread, I still had a small glimmer of hope she would be honest with me and stand up for me after the argument I heard her having with my father. Those hopes flew out the window like that stupid, ugly blanket as soon as she smacked me and lied about never doing anything like that before.

“Get. Out.”

I watch the tears fall down her cheeks, and I don’t even care that I’ve made her cry.

“Ravenna, please,” she begs through her tears. “I’m so sorry. I never—”

“GET OUT!” I scream, cutting her off as I point to my door.

She quickly jumps up from my bed and much like my father earlier in the day, backs out of the room with a look of fear on her face.

Good. They should fear me. If they aren’t going to help me, they damn well better be afraid of the day I finally figure everything out. The only thing that shocks me about the exchange with my mother is that she never mentioned what happened with my father. There’s no way she would have just swept that under the rug. It would have been the perfect opportunity for her to remind me how good and sweet I’m supposed to be. As husband and wife, two people who supposedly love each other, shouldn’t my father have told her what I said? Shouldn’t he have been concerned enough about my odd statement about secrets being hidden that he went to her for help, so they could tackle the problem as a team? Not only are they keeping things from me, they’re keeping things from each other.

“My name is Ravenna Duskin. I’m eighteen years old, I live in a prison, and I will find out the truth, even if it destroys everyone around me.”





Chapter 8





“But, sir. We came all the way out here today just to fill in that hole,” Ike complains.

“I said go home and tell the rest of the men their services won’t be needed tonight either,” my father replies firmly.

Keeping my back pressed to the wall right outside the door leading down to the basement, I stay as still as possible, so no one knows I’m there as the two men argue on the stairs below. I came out of my hiding place when I heard voices, and I know I should have stayed where I was, but I had to know what was going on. I had to know what my father would do to try and fix the problem that he created. Now that I know, it makes me want to laugh. For the last few weeks I’ve seen him ripping into Ike almost every day about filling the hole in the basement and how it should have been done by now. It’s quite hilarious that all of a sudden he’s changed his mind, and now he looks like a fool.

You won’t be able to hide your secrets forever, Daddy dearest.

“I don’t understand, Mr. Duskin. You’ve been asking us to fill in the hole in the sub-basement for months. I’ve been making calls for weeks to get an order of fill-dirt in and I had to call in a lot of favors to have it delivered on a Sunday,” Ike explains.

“How many times do I have to tell you?!” my father bellows, his voice bouncing off of the stone walls in the small stairwell. “I’ve changed my mind. The hole stays.”

“But, sir—”

“GET OUT THIS INSTANT IF YOU WANT TO CONTINUE WORKING HERE!” my father interrupts, his voice rising above the storm that rages outside. “Your stupidity and carelessness has already done enough damage. Figure out a way to fix this mess instead of making things worse.”

I hear a few mumbled curses and the shuffling of feet on the stairs, one set moving farther down them into the basement and the other coming up closer to me. I move as quickly and quietly as possible across the hall to the artifact museum, but I’m not fast enough.

“What are you running from, little girl?” Ike asks.

I slowly turn in the doorway of the museum and watch him close the basement door behind him, before walking down the hallway toward me. He’s a tall man in his mid-forties, well over six feet, and his arms are the size of tree stumps. He’s wearing dark blue coveralls and a t-shirt that probably used to be white at one time, but is so saturated with dirt and sweat that it looks grey. He’s been a groundskeeper here for over ten years and my father recently started letting him do a tour every once in a while when we’re busy. He thinks that makes him special. He thinks that makes him an authority on everything that happens here, but he doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know what I’m capable of. He’s been watching me for weeks, sticking his nose in my business, no matter where I am or what I’m doing, and I’ve had enough.