Part 1
The trickiest traps begin with an illusion of freedom.
Chapter 1
Maya Rivers
I sit back in the trees, watching the dilapidated house of horrors at the bottom of the hill. It’s still standing despite the years of neglect. Trash bags cover shattered windows we never had the money to replace and the roof barely has a shingle left in sight. Tall weeds snake up the loose and broken siding of the exterior walls, threatening to swallow the house whole. It should be condemned.
The broken foundation is resemblant to my broken soul. I was always destined to end up poor, white trash—just like my father. I used to dream of the day I would escape my fate, but dreams are merely illusions generated by a desperate mind.
You can’t dream your way out of your destiny.
Even with hard work, having a father like mine made escaping impossible. If I ran, he would find me. I had nowhere to go, and didn’t want to live on the streets, so I resigned myself to trying to survive by keeping the monster at bay.
Until now…
A warm breeze wraps around me, reminding me of my mother’s warm embrace that always chased my demons away. I close my eyes, bow my head, and slowly inhale the earthy forest scent of the incoming rain.
I quietly whisper a prayer into the wind. “I’m sorry, Mama, there’s no other way out. I can’t live like this.” A stabbing pain slices through my heart. “Please forgive me for what I’ve done and am about to do.” Tears stream down my cheeks.
I’ll see her soon—I hope.
After letting out another small sniffle, I gather myself and choke back my emotions. I refuse to live another minute of fear and sadness. Tonight, I took matters into my own hands. The booming thunder won’t even hide my path of destruction.
The porch light glows faintly the distance. I left as Daddy was starting to wake from his drug and alcohol-induced stupor. Soon, he will reach for his Zippo to light his first cigarette. A smile creeps across my face.
I extinguished the pilot on the stove but left the gas running. Then, I bolted—getting far enough away from the house where I could watch the show. He will not hurt me any longer. I considered staying in the house, but I owe it to myself to watch justice being served.
It’s been several minutes—the gas should have had enough time to fill the house. A sinking feeling settles in my gut, I hope he didn’t go back to sleep. He will still die, but not in the way he deserves.
BOOM!
The sounds ripples through the air, sending shock waves through my body, and knocking me to the ground. My ears ring and I struggle to catch my breath. Dazed, I open my eyes to a magnificent sight.
Flames from the explosion light up the night sky, illuminating everything in their path like daylight bursting through the dawn. A plume of smoke dances around particles of obliterated debris now raining down.
Mission accomplished. There’s no way he survived that blast. He deserved to suffer for all the physical and sexualabuse I’ve suffered at his hands, but sometimes justice has to be served quickly.
May he never rest in peace, but rot in purgatory instead. An eternity in the deepest, darkest pits of hell won’t be enough time for me to forgive him for making my twenty-three years on Earth a living hell, but it’s a start.
The police and first responders will be here shortly. Not that it matters, because tonight, it all ends for me too. I just have to get out of here without being seen.
The only visible light is from the flames and lightning cracking across the sky. It’s ok though, I don’t need much light. I know where I am going. I turn and make a run for the old Whiskey Rivers Bridge.
The path leading there is an old, country dirt road that’s hardly ever traveled. It should be condemned but that doesn’t stop local teenagers from coming here to fish, drink, or get high.
Legend says the bridge is haunted. Some swear on certain nights you can see a man hanging from the bridge, or walking across it with his lantern, trying to lure you in to your own death.
Personally, I think it’s a tale our parents told us to keep us away from the rickety death trap, even though the tales stem from actual historical events.
Pelting rain stings my skin as I run through the trees towards the road. Branches and briars are knives slicing my skin as I pass through thick brush. Let them cut me—let them spill my blood. It doesn’t bother me. This is nothing compared to the pain I’ve felt inside for so many years.
My life is over once I get to the bridge anyway.
My foot slips in the red clay mud, causing me to stumble and fall to my hands and knees. I bow my head, the rain plastering my hair to my face. My lungs are tight and burning with defiance as I try to slow my ragged breaths.
Get up, Maya. Looking up, I let out a tattered sigh of relief when I see the bridge in the distance. Not much farther.
