Bury Me(47)

I think about the things my mother rambled about, her sins and weaknesses, and how she made a mistake, and everyone suffered because of it. One of the things she said sticks out in my mind, and I can hear her pained voice in my head as she pleaded with me.

“You need to find him. You need to talk to him. You’ll see him, and you’ll understand. It will all make sense then.”

I’ve been assuming she was referring to Dr. Thomas. It’s the only thing that made sense since she went off the deep end only hours after Dr. Beall told me about him.

Everything clicks together in my mind, and I’m surprised it never occurred to me before now. The distance between my father and I, and the feelings I’ve had that he’s never really loved me and even seems to hate the very sight of me. How I don’t remember a happy childhood and all of the sweet family photos that look fake and forced. Memories of being somewhere other than here, filled with misery and pain, and the suitcase in the spare bedroom filled with my clothes. The dreams and memories of staying in that room and at some point, coming back and being reminded by Ike of the rules around the house, like I was a guest.

I’m pretty sure this file proves there’s a reason my father doesn’t like me and a reason for my parents’ strained relationship, probably going on for much longer than after my accident. Most likely for eighteen years.

Dated exactly nine months before I was born, I reread the reason for the transfer request written in my father’s handwriting, read it out loud in the quiet room, just so I can hear myself say it to make sure it’s real and I’m not seeing things.

“I, Tanner Duskin, warden of Gallow’s Hill, hereby request a transfer of prisoner A45295, Tobias A. Duskin, for bribing and threatening two Gallow’s Hill guards in order to receive special treatment of unauthorized time away from his cell, occurring during nighttime lockdown several times a month and continuing for six months. During this time, Tobias Duskin privately met with Mrs. Claudia Duskin.”

Putting the paper back inside the file, I push myself up from the floor and slide it back into the safe, closing the door and spinning the dial to lock it.

I hear my father’s rusty brakes screech to a stop outside, and take one last look around the office to make sure everything is how he left it and then quickly exit the room, locking myself inside the spare bedroom. Leaning my back against the door, I listen as my father pounds up the stairs, goes into his office, and slams the door closed.

“My name is Ravenna Duskin. I’m eighteen years old, I live in a prison, and I think I just found out who my real father is.”





Chapter 17





“Jesus, Ravenna, how are you not completely breaking down right now?” Nolan asks as we stand behind the counter in the souvenir room.

I really wanted to make him suffer more and ignore him for a few more days for not telling me he was the one who carried me out of the woods, but it’s not very easy trying to solve a mystery all by myself when my mind is keeping so much information from me, and the things I do figure out just create more questions. Also, it’s so pathetic that he continues coming back here to be with me, considering I’m not exactly the most enjoyable person to be around, that I have no choice but to feel sorry for him. How miserable is his life that he spent two years pining for me when I was nothing but a complete snob who wouldn’t even look in his direction? And now that I am paying him attention, it mostly involves constantly making him stop touching me or keeping him at a distance so he doesn’t even think about touching me. Then there’s the whole figuring out things about me that are getting increasingly worse, making it more than obvious he should probably get far away from me as quickly as possible.

His mother seriously needs to die soon so he can finally stop hovering over her, get out of that house, and see that there are much better options than me out there. For now, I guess I’ll just be content with the fact that he does keep coming back, since he’s the only confidant I have. Now that he no longer feels guilty every time he’s around me and doesn’t have to avoid my questions about that night in the woods, he never seems to stop talking, eager to help me try and figure out the rest of the mysteries I can’t fully remember yet.

“What’s the point in breaking down?” I ask, replying to his question. “I’ve already lost my mind so having a breakdown would just be repetitive.”

My voice is filled with sarcasm as I flip the pages of the book in front of me a little too forcefully, accidentally ripping one in half. Luckily it isn’t one I need.