Page 14 of The Sanguine Selection
These are things Papa would have done for me but he's not here to help me right now, and I have a choice to make. I quiver with indecision but another cry from Papa spurs me into motion. Dashing into the common room, I grab the spare bucket that Papa uses to fill with extra water or plants he forages. Acknowledging the foolishness of what I'm about to do, I peek out the iced-encrusted window.
It's too murky to see anything as night casts darkness across the land surrounding my small home. Everything is a blanket of black under the obsidian sky. After a minute when I don't detect any motion, I creep to the front door, easing it open. To my infinite relief, nothing springs out of the shadows to attack me. With haste, I lean over the jamb and scoop up some snow that’s blown against the side of the house. Slamming the door shut again, I latch the wooden lock in place, praying it's enough to keep out whatever chased me.
Armed with my supplies, I return to Papa’s room, eyeing his wound in trepidation. It needs to be cleaned, but the extent of damage is far beyond my measly healing skills. With a gentle hand, I dip the rags in the snow, allowing it to melt against the warmth of the fabric before bringing it to his forehead. I rest it there for a moment and then wash down one cheek and then the other. Finally, I wrap the cool compress around his neck.
Papa’s eyes crack open, staring sightlessly past me. Panic wells up inside my chest, but I tamp it down, choking back my tears as I clean his arms. I’m afraid to touch his torso—of the pain I might cause him—but steady my hands and lean forward. When the rag touches his flesh, Papa doesn’t even flinch, and my gaze flies to his face. He’s staring at me, studying my features, unnerving me even more.
“Natalya?”
I shake my head. “No, Papa, it’s Oxana, your daughter. Natalya was your wife.”
His eyes narrow. “I would know my Lya anywhere. So beautiful, so fucking beautiful. Taken from me forthem.”
“Them? Themwho?”
His eyes darken, lips pulling back and baring his teeth as he seethes. “The coven. They wanted her blood but also her body—your body. To strip you down, lay you bare, and fuck what’s mine.”
A gasp escapes my lips at his crass words. Although I’ve heard Papa mutter his fair share of curses, he’s never used them in direct conversation with me. He raised me the way he thought my mother would approve, and even though we were dirt poor, he still was determined that I would become a lady. And while I’m proficient in most day-to-day tasks, I’m largely ignorant of the world around me, and how men and women interact.
“Papa, you don’t know what you’re saying—Idon’t know what you’re saying—”
His anger melts away, and the look on his face is pure disgust. “You don’t remember how we used to fuck, Natalya? How much you loved my body covering yours as I thrust in and out of your heat? Or did they turn you against me, using your body in a way that I could never fulfill?”
His words are desperate and bitter, confusing me even more. “No one’s… used me. It’s me, Oxana. I’ve never left this house, remember?”
It’s a lie, but one Papa doesn’t know, and he’s too ill to see through my deception. Not that I’m trying. My mind whirls, wondering what he means about covering his body over Mama’s. His words are as foreign to me as if he were speaking in another language altogether, but even I am not naive enough to mistake the illicit meaning inside of them. What did he and Mama used to do when he covered his body with hers and why did she go somewhere else? Who was this coven? What did they want—did they kill Mama?
“Yes.” Papa’s rasp draws my attention back to him. He's staring at me again but his eyes are clear, his face relaxed of the feverish intent from when he last spoke.
I place a trembling hand on his feverish cheek. “Papa, do you know who I am?”
With much effort, he places his hand on top of mine and squeezes lightly. “You’re Oxana, my daughter.”
My shoulders sag in relief and a sob escapes me. “Yes, I am. Before, you thought I was—”
“Your mother. I’m sorry. You look so very much like her, and my mind is…confused.”
The tension in the room grows as I hold my breath waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't. A day ago, I would’ve been too meek to risk Papa’s anger, but so much has happened. His very life hangs in the balance, and I can't live in the shadows of his lies anymore.
“What were you answering ‘yes’ to?” I prod.
To my surprise, he answers. “When you ask if they killed her.”
My hand flies to my mouth, shocked at his words, for I hadn't even realized that I had asked that question out aloud. All this time, I thought somethingnaturaltook Momma from us, and that's why Papa wouldn't let me out of the house. The dangers that lie beyond our front door were grim but part of our everyday life, such as the perils of wild animals, the bitter coldness, or even sickness.
I pull away from Papa, easing off the bed. “Who is this coven? Who are they?Whatare they?” My father shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes. They spill down his cheek, but still, he does not answer me. “Papa! I’m not a child, and I'm done with yourfuckingsecrets!”
He stares at me, shock painting his features as it seeps into mine. I've never sworn aloud before, but the harsh word feels right, emphasizing the desperation I feel inside.
Papa keels over with a coughing fit. Clots of blood fly from his lungs and he gasps for air, clenching the bite marks with a wince as he catches his breath. Papa looks at me with such sadness that my own heart begins to break. “I… I cannot tell you, my child. My time is dwindling here with you—”
My anger drains at this, deflating me. “No! We'll get help!”
He shakes his head. So fucking stubborn. “There is no help for what ails me.You…you must kill me.”
I gape at the sheer absurdity of his words. Yes, he’s sick, but there’s no illness on this earth that would merit those words. Kill him!? I wonder if perhaps he's not as lucid as I think for him to even ask me to do such a thing. It is a cruelty that I could never act upon, but my father just sighs as if he asked me for a glass of water instead of the magnitude of what he did.
“You have to kill me, Oxana—it’s the only way to save yourself and others.”
