Page 30 of Wild Devil

Many explanations don’t exist for why he could be holding people captive in a crawl space below a country estate. My heart breaks with every passing second. I don’t know how I keep standing. Keep from breaking.

But I do.

“You will be married tonight,” he says cryptically, drawing my attention to yet another obstacle in the way of my freedom. I’m not sure why, but his tone makes my heart race. It was almost as if he was mocking these impending nuptials. What the hell happened between the last time we spoke and now? Something terrifying. Looking at him more closely, I am alarmed by the changes I detect.

I don’t think he’s slept for days. In their too-large eye sockets are two lifeless dark irises devoid of light. His wrinkled suit hangs on him, a stark contrast to his usually polished appearance. With pale skin stretched taunt over hollow bones, he appears skeletal from this angle, bathed in the light filtering in through lacey curtains. I can’t even explain in words what seeing him like this does to me. Once upon a time, I believed the devil was the only being in existence who could ever look so haggard.

“You will be married tonight,” he says harshly, “but your freedom will begin after. Once you are stripped of your shackles and your need for earthly flesh. I see that now. Only purity can save you.”

I wince in grim anticipation. I’ve never heard him talk like this. As if I were made of glass, he peers right through me with every word he says.

“When I’m married to Colton, I’ll belong to him,” I counter, raising my voice to match his booming cadence. “That’s what he told me. A wife belongs to her husband?—”

“You are my flesh, and you will never belong to another,” he snarls over me. “Not in your current state while you are corrupted and possessed with evil. The imposter festering inside you must be driven out. I’ll see to that.”

“Do you think Colton will let you? I won’t answer to you after tonight. I’ll answer only to him. It’s what you taught me, after all. A good wife should be obedient.”

If I had insulted him like that a few days ago, I’m sure he would have slapped me. The fact that he does nothing, but smile terrifies me more than any violence I’ve experienced since this nightmare began. In his anger, he reacts out of rage and impulse.

This is something different. From my experience, he’s too calm, and that only signals danger.

“You won’t be his wife for very long,” he says with a knowing glance that snakes up and down the length of my body. “You were mine first, Abagail. Don’t think I’d let you go so easily.”

Abagail. The hairs on the back of my neck stand upright. Again, his use of my mother’s name seems ominous. The way he said it… There was no detached arrogance in his voice, the way he normally spoke of her. No, this seemed more personal. As if…

As if he thinks I really am her.

“Father,” I say, softening my tone. “What are you saying? Are you calling off my marriage to Colton?”

Before I can feel hope, he shakes his head, raising an eyebrow. “Oh no, you demon,” he hisses, jabbing a spindly finger in my direction. “Your twisted scheme can only be circumvented through this sham. You’ll get to watch it unravel from your cursed grave. And I will be here to drive you out of the soul of this child that you have corrupted.”

“What are you saying?” I rasp. “It’s me. It’s me, Frey. I’m not Abagail!”

“We shall see,” he says with that chilling half-smile. “Enjoy walking in your stolen skin. I wonder what you will look like once it’s all peeled away, and your ruse has finally been exposed...”

My blood runs cold. Since this nightmare began, I’ve only felt anger and hatred toward my father. Rage for what he did to Hale. Confusion and pain for his supposed role in my mother’s death. Maybe in the beginning, I even felt guilty for lying to him. Until that point, I never had before.

The only thing I feel now is a sick sense of dread. It’s too late to turn back now. Despite my best efforts, my father will not wake up and see the error of his ways. I don’t know a way for us to ever reconcile. Not only have I lost Hale, but I’ve lost the last remnants of the only family I’ve ever known.

There is no denying the obvious truth—if I stay here, I won’t survive long enough for Daze to save me.

“Catherine,” my father commands. In the blink of an eye, she appears at the mouth of the doorway. “Show her to her room. Prepare her. Now.”

“Yes, Michael.” Taking my hand, she gently leads me up a winding staircase and down a long hallway. When we enter a room near the very end, I remember the razor blade in my grasp. I should hide it, but a part of me is too dazed to even care. I can’t get my father’s face out of my head. The look in his eye…

It was as if I was already dead.

“What do you think?” Catherine asks nervously. She crosses the room to a massive bed draped in white sheets. I swallow hard at the sight of its stern, wooden headboard, and unforgiving frame. Even Daze’s shitty mattress-on-the-floor setup held more appeal. There is no way I could even sleep here, let alone endure Colton’s touch.

“Frances?”

I blink to awareness and realize that Catherine’s been speaking to me all this time. “What do you think of it?” she asks, nodding downward.

As if on cue, I finally spot the dress lying in wait for me on the bed, and my heart sinks. This is not the white dress I had in mind when the thought of marrying Colton didn’t disgust me only weeks ago. In my wildest dreams, I imagined myself wearing a beautiful ivory dress.

As if to mock those expectations, the gown I find sprawling before me is, every single inch, composed of black.

“Your father insisted on the color,” Catherine explains. Her hands tremble as she fingers the ebony skirt with a smile that never reaches her eyes. “I know it’s probably not what you had in mind, but you’re so beautiful, anything you wear will look just stunning. Should we clean you up first?”

---