Page 110 of Black Castle

Rolling her neck to work out the stiff muscles, she finally drags herself out of bed. It’s the first day of school after winter break. She doesn’t want to be the last to walk into class.

The house is eerily quiet as she steps into the hallway. Subconsciously, she glances at Isadora’s door, the emptiness inside echoing.

Today makes it fourteen days since Isadora suddenly disappeared without a word. On the fifth day, Vivienne wanted to know if she was still in Pennsylvania, so she called her office, and her assistant, Zara, the Turkish junior detective placed under her, said she had taken a leave.

For some reason, Vivienne thought Isadora was scared. Maybe her pulse had stopped when she passed out and Isadora assumed she had killed her. But then again, she would have known. She was her only guardian. If she was dead, Isadora would have been contacted. She would have known if she really killed her or not.

So if she wasn’t scared that she went overboard with the last beating and decided to run away, where did she go?

Vivienne internally winces at her reflection in the mirror. If not for her being someone who was already used to putting on makeup, she would end up at school today as the only girl who came back from a three-week break looking like a zombie. Her eyes are hollow, dark bags looking like bruises under her eyes.

Her lips press in a thin line and she shakes her head, not so impressed. She can’t imagine the amount of concealer she is going to need to cover that today.

She pulls off her clothes and steps into the shower. Steam rises around her, fogging the air. She tilts her head back, letting the scalding heat burn the remnant of the dream off her skin.

But the memories are strong now, flashing behind her closed eyes. The darkness, the hands, their wicked words.

“I hope you know you deserve this.”

“Your father took many lives. Hopefully, your pussy can pay the price.”

“Maybe if you stop screaming like a banshee, you might actually enjoy being gang-banged like this.”

“I should fill you up with my seed. But what’s the guarantee you won’t infect the child with your family’s curse?”

“Hold down her fucking hands, I wanna come so fucking hard in her mouth since her cunt is off limit.”

“Fucking daughter of a monster. You deserve everything you’re getting.” The words are layered with spite. “You deserve being forced to take four cocks in your tight, little cunt.”

But she was just ten.

She sucks in a sharp breath, her warm tears mixing with the hot water cascading down her face. Her father’s sin was never meant to be hers to bear. And yet, the world and fate itself thought so. And over time, she started believing so too. Because even the Holy book said it. And the Holy book doesn’t lie, does it? The sins of the father shall be visited on the child.’ Those are God’s words, aren’t they? So if the maker of heavens and earth thinks she deserves it, who is she to disagree?

So she will take it. Whatever the world throws at her. She will take it all. Because she’s the only child of her father. She can’t clearly share the wage now, can she? She will take it all.

She stays under the spray until the water turns cold. Then she forces herself out, wrapping a thin white towel around her body.

The routine is automatic, like that of a robot would—lotion, deodorant, brushing her hair into something presentable for the first day of school.

By the time she sits in front of the mirror, the uniform she ironed till the edges became as sharp as a blade last night, clings to her skin. She unscrews the cap of her cherry red lipstick, bringing it to her lips. Then a loud knock on the front door causes her to still.

She glances at her door, which is left open, peeking into the hallway. She didn’t hear any car pull up at her house. So it’s definitely not Kenji because Kenji wouldn’t bother coming in, he would just start blaring his horn.

Then she wonders if it’s Isadora. Wherever she ran off to after nearly killing her, maybe she has gotten tired of that place and decided to come back home.

“Is anybody in this house at all?” she hears the person murmur just behind the door, the voice thick with a familiar accent.

Placing her lipstick down after lining her lips, she runs her fingers through her wavy hair which she packed in a half bun, the top held together with a black claw lip.

The sound of her ankle boots echoes with a dull thud as she walks down the hallway to the living room. The knock comes again, this time, louder.

As she pulls the door open, her lips part in shock. The person standing behind the door is the last person she expects to see at their house, so early in the morning nearly after twelve years.

Carla Rivera.

The last time Vivienne saw her was at her dad and Isadora’s wedding. And even as a seven-year-old child, she couldn’t help but notice Carla was the unhappiest mother of the bride she had ever seen that day.

What is she doing here?

---