Page 9 of Volatile Waters

Leaving the knife where it stood, Father stumbled backward, staring at the woman he’d just murdered as if she might rise at any moment and damn him deeper into hell. I think he already knew it was too late; we all had been damned for some time.

Do we reap what we sow?

I was to learn the answer one day. So was he.

A cry that shook my very spine bellowed against the walls of the room. The voice was tiny but promised revenge. I could hear it, and so could my father. “Kill it!” he screamed to my uncle who was wrapping the infant in a towel.

Uncle, whose mannerisms mirrored a destroyed man, pale skin splattered with blood, solemnly held the bundle out to his brother. Wanting far from the curse, Father’s back slammed against a wall as if desiring to disappear. “Do not touch me with that filth.”

In a tranced state, Uncle said, “I will not murder this child. If you want it done, grab the knife from her mother’s chest and seal your curse.”

Father’s eyes raced to Seafoam, then to Uncle, then to the American. He growled to Harold, “Take it. And I want her in the trade by two.”

“Sex trade?” asked an exasperated Harold, eyes full of horror.

Father glared at the infant. “My rage for her mother is hers to inherit. Men pay high dollar to fuck such young bodies.”

Harold screamed, “You’ve gone mad! No way!”

Father flew from the wall and went face to face with Harold. “Don’t forget, Marina has never been paid for. I still own her and will do as I please with her.” Harold grabbed his chest, where the flame for his slave burned bright. Father pounced on the weakness. “Take the heathen, have her trained, and I will let ‘Harry’s’ heart continue to beat. Do not think the American Junior title fooled me. As does Marina, your youngest son belongs to me, too.”

Harold’s betrayal was now revealed, and he knew it. His eyes filled with tears that lingered, refusing to fall. I could see the water vibrating as his whole body shook in parental fear. “Please. He’s only three.”

Father snarled his upper lip. “Ripe age for DarkNet.”

Harold winced as his skin grayed, then he surrendered. “I will take the girl.”

“At least, one of your sons will be saved.”

A broken voice croaked from Harold’s mouth. “And my eldest?”

Father trembled with anger and… the curse. “Already gone.”

As his tears finally tumbled, a sob broke from the American because he was well aware my father made no false threats. While Harold was caught up in the horrendous acts happening at my home, a caring older brother had left the hotel room, for only minutes, to retrieve a hot cup of cocoa for his toddler sibling. It was the window needed. The young man never had a chance and was gunned down on the sidewalk by the waiting handler, as Harold Junior watched from above.

With a bag full of needed baby supplies and a fake birth certificate, which would one day be a threat strong enough to bring her back into our lies, Harold Thompson Senior headed to the parked car where his wife had been waiting, unaware of the tragedies and crimes her husband just witnessed. Sliding behind the driver and into the backseat, he handed his wife a crying infant, hoping it could replace the son his wife didn’t even know had just been lost, and he prayed she would someday forgive him.