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A quick glance back at the house had my scarred chest rising and falling faster. I fogged the window with a stuttering breath, and my fingers cleared it instantly.
“Yes.”
“Do we need a safe word?”
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”
He nodded, trusting me more than I did myself, and then he opened the car door to start the final nightmare.
Mercer carried me over the threshold. The sound of the kettle screaming blocked out the noise of the front door clicking shut. My uncle was down the hall, pattering around in the kitchen where another candle lit up the room.
Wet footprints trailed behind us as Mercer carried me through the dark and up the stairs to the room where he’d taken me from weeks ago.
That was my request.
To end the nightmare where it began.
Mercer turned on the bedroom light, the yellow hue from an old bulb lighting up the room before he sat me on the bed. Fast feet took him around the room, wet shoes soaking my pink carpet. Ironically, it didn’t bother me so much here.
An unauthentic laugh danced on my lips, induced by the nerves I was feeling. My permanent itch was back again, my arms protected from raw skin by my loosely-fitted jacket.
He bent down to examine the trinkets and odd collectibles I always loved as they sat collecting dust on my entertainment stand. His fingers felt over the fuzzy, brightly-colored hair of a miniature troll.
He shot me a side-eye glance, judging my treasures.
“Hey...I like what I like.”
“You have questionable taste.”
“Clearly.” I nodded in his direction.
“What in the hell?” My uncle’s voice echoed in my ears. And so did the sound of his slippers dragging over the carpeted stairs as he moved closer. My head snapped to the door, waiting for the monster to darken the hall.
I eyed Mercer in time to see him pocket the pink-haired doll.
He brought a long finger to his lips, backing into my open closet. The clothes Uncle Sam deemed slutty were still on the floor from his last temper tantrum. He didn’t like that I owned skirts and dresses. He didn’t like the idea of me showing skin to anyone else. Not that I ever saw anyone else or dressed myself.
“Who the fuc...” Uncle Sam appeared in the doorway, his words trailing off as he spotted me on the bed. Shock swirled around him and settled on his sweat-glistened face. Luckily, he forgot all about the wet footsteps he followed up here as he stepped inside.
He always was a stupid man.
The smell of cheap lemon deodorant entered my flaring nostrils. The memories it brought would have choked me to death if I wasn’t so focused on the light bouncing off the giant kitchen knife in his hand. His wild hair stuck out, the brown color a hard contrast to his shocking white face. He looked like the bogeyman.
“Feebee! Where did you come from?”
“Hi, Uncle Sam.”
“I thought you were taken.”
“By who?” The shock jumped to my face.
“Never mind. I was clearly wrong. The good thing is you’re home now.” He completely ignored my question.
“Did you look for me?” was my next question, only because I didn’t want to say there was nothing good about being here, not while he had that giant knife in his hand.
“Well, I didn’t think I’d find you.” He stepped closer, his giant slipper flopping onto one of Mercer’s footprints.
“Did you try?”
