These Deadly Games(66)
I could only reach the lookout point on foot, so I ditched my car in the castle’s parking lot and headed for the familiar trail Dad and I used to hike all the time.
Something deep in my heart twisted, the part of me that missed him … at least, the old him. I missed how he’d point out the castle where he and Mom got hitched, like he was still giddy she’d said, “I do.” How he’d grin so widely, layers of dimples creased his cheeks. How he’d cover my scraped knees with Mickey Mouse Band-Aids, and when I complained they were babyish, he’d slap one on his arm and say, “No one’s too old for the mouse.”
It was all uphill to the lookout point, and I sucked wind as I jogged the dirt path. Taking my time was a luxury I couldn’t afford. It was starting to drizzle, the frigid droplets like tiny pellets of ice on my scalp. I flipped up my hood. The silver clouds had darkened, threatening to break open. I only passed one hiker, a middle-aged woman walking her golden retriever. She gave my outfit a funny look—who goes for a run in jeans?—but I couldn’t care less.
A stitch formed under my rib cage, and I dug my fingers into my abdomen through Mom’s puffer coat, trying to relieve the stabbing pain. Nothing worked, so I hunched over, running through it. Mind over matter.
Finally, there it was. Hermit Thrush’s Nest—the scenic overlook point past a break in the trees, where a waist-high stone barrier stretched in an arc across the cliffside. On one side of the structure, a huge, flattened boulder jutted from the ridge, where daring selfie-aficionados could capture the perfect shot with a backdrop of Hanover Lake snaking through Newboro’s rolling hills, littered with pine trees. The lake was a dull, murky brown under a clouded sky, and the sight of the water below flooded my mind with memories.
I won a game here once.
One I wished I’d never had to play.
After Mom refused to go the police about Dad, I’d decided to take matters into my own hands. I couldn’t let him hurt Caelyn. Mom’s biggest hesitation was that the cops wouldn’t believe her, so I figured I needed to collect evidence. Evidence Dad couldn’t refute. After all, seeing was believing.
So I did what I did best.
I turned it into a game.
Ten points for the pic of Mom’s collarbone bruise (snapped as she napped on the sofa). Five points for the shot of a suspicious dent in the wall (under the missing picture frame). Fifteen points for the audio of a screaming match culminating in a crisp slap (snagged outside their bedroom door). Twenty points for the video of him yanking her from the sink as she drained his whiskey (recorded via a webcam on the fridge). Bonus ten points for the photo of the resulting welt (taken during a pretend selfie).
A hundred points, I’d decided. I’d get that many, then go to the police.
But one Sunday morning, around the seventy-point mark, Dad stopped me on my way out the door after Mom kissed me goodbye on the cheek. “Where are you going?”
“To Matty’s. We’re going to play MortalDusk.” I’d avoided having my friends over since that time Matty and Akira overheard one of Dad’s outbursts. They’d both hugged me extra long before leaving. It should’ve felt comforting, but I was mortified.
“Well, hey, what about our Sunday morning hike?”
I gripped the backpack strap digging into my shoulder. “We haven’t done that in months.”
“All the more reason to go.”
Mom piped up, “She has plans, Danny—”
“She can break them. C’mon, spending one morning with your old man won’t kill you.”
Mom and I exchanged a look, like we weren’t so sure. That alone killed me.
I kept quiet most of our hike. I could tell my silence bugged Dad—he’d remark on the chipmunks darting past, or the dewy smell foretelling rain, then glance at me expectantly. But I kept my mouth shut, thinking about that look Mom and I exchanged. No girl should wonder whether she was safe with her father. And if he’d brought Caelyn instead, I’d be going berserk with worry.
“What’s the matter with you?” Dad finally asked as we reached the lookout point.
Right then, I knew it was time. I had enough points to face the final boss.
“I want you to leave,” I said so quietly Dad had to ask, “Say that again?” Or maybe he’d heard but couldn’t believe it. “I want you to leave,” I repeated. “Leave us. Leave Mom.”
He looked genuinely shocked. “What? Why would you say that?”
“Why do you think? You’ve been hurting her. Hitting her. And I’m not so sure you won’t hurt me or Cae. All you do now is drink and gamble, and you won’t get help. So I want you to leave.”
Dad’s face went beet red so fast I took a few steps back. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to bring this up on a steep cliff. As my eyes darted between him and the stone wall, he seemed to realize what I was wondering. Whether he would hurt me. His face crumpled, shock morphing to pain. “Crystal, I would never…” He seemed lost for words. “I’ll get help, okay? I’ll stop drinking. I’ll go to one of those rehab facilities.” His eyes filled with remorse.
“It’s too late.” I screwed up my face, tears streaming in full force, though I didn’t remember starting to cry. “You already told Mom you’d get help, but you didn’t. You never do.”