Home Sweet Home
Eying the cottage, which was intended to be her prison, Zorah felt her stomach heaving with the possibility of what could have been. There wasn’t another house for miles. There were no neighbors who could have seen the comings and goings of the priest. They hadn’t seen another car since they’d left the interstate aside from the ones in their convoy.
What genuinely concerned her was the placement of metal bars on the windows. Made to look like decorative touches to the outside of the house, every window and doors were protected by wrought iron. It was, she realized now, why her family was calling this the prison. It was well and truly intended to be a place she would never escape.
“We would like to get you inside before he arrives, Zorah.” Chester’s quiet voice broke her thoughts.
It was after dinner now. The sun was still up but it wouldn’t be long before it set.
“Any word on my mother or on the affair being exposed?” Zorah asked quietly not quite ready to step inside whatever house of horrors this was meant to be.
“Sidonia’s aunt was made aware of the situation. She’s sitting on the information. I believe Doris was sending her another bit of juicy gossip within the hour. It is likely going to be the straw which breaks the camel’s back.” Chester smirked. “It’s a video of her husband telling Zipporah he loves her and only her and the only reason he is still with his wife is because of the money she makes. It seems he can’t give Zipporah the life he dreams of giving her. They were planning to wait until you were twenty-five to steal your inheritance from you. Zipporah seems to think the inheritance was joint but it’s not. It is solely in your name, or it was. Your uncle has used most of it since he has the power to execute the estate, likely to refurbish this hellhole.”
Zorah sniffed, “well, should we go see what my money bought?”
“Let’s.” Chester motioned to the driver to open Zorah’s car door, and he was already alighting the vehicle. As they reached the front door, he held his hand up, “if at any time, sweetie, you can’t do this, you let me know. If you get partway through and it’s too much, we leave. If you’re almost done and it’s too much, we leave. If you walk through these doors and feel you need to turn right back around, we leave.”
“I know.” She squeezed his hand grateful for his presence. She knew Icaro wanted to be the one with her, but his father ordered him to assist with the retrieval of Ippocrate. There were concerns he might have an escape plan in place in the event he found out Icaro was in town with Zorah. She found herself entering a small hallway where coats could be hung on coat hooks and a rubber mat for boots sat. A small sign over the coat hooks reading “there is no fear in love.” She sneered, “what the hell?” She reached up and yanked it off the wall and threw it across the room. “I bought it so I can do with it what I want, right?”
“Yes. It is eventually going to explode in a wonderful display.”
“With him in it?” she asked coldly as her eyes drifted into the interior of the house.
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” She was finding her anger harder and harder to turn off and a burning desire to cause physical harm to another human being, though not an emotion she’d ever experienced, was presenting itself to the forefront of her brain. Entering the small living area, she was unhappy to note how much to her taste it was. It was perfect. If ever, before Icaro, she’d dreamed of a house where she could raise a family, this living room with a wide view into the open kitchen with the cozy furniture and the warm fireplace, was exactly what she would have pictured. He was ruining her fantasies. Walking to the kitchen she found it with the latest appliances and as she opened and closed drawers and cabinets, she knew her father was watching her intently.
“What are you looking for, Zorah?” his question was soft.
“Knife, scissors, something sharp.”
“He likely removed such things for now until he could feel you could be trusted to not hurt him or yourself with them.”
“He knew I was suicidal,” she saw her father’s eyes widen. “I have struggled with depression and suicide ideation my entire life. I often think of the easiest way out of a situation and more times than I can count, it is death. This though,” she tapped her chest, “this feeling in here and seeing this is telling me how much I really want to live. I want to live. I want to be alive.”
“I am very glad to hear this.”
One of the guards which accompanied them held out a Swiss Army knife. “Would this help?”
“Yes.” Zorah took it, found the blade, and marched back to the plush sofa and stuck the knife into the upholstery and tore it wide open. She then stabbed each of the cushions and the big leather recliner chair she jabbed it until it resembled an oversized pincushion. By the time she was done, she was huffing and puffing angrily from exertion with tears rolling down her cheeks. She let out an impatient scream as she swept her hand across a side table and sent the lamp, and a book went flying with it.
She dropped to her knees, stared at the open leather-bound book, and felt her heart aching as she picked it up and read the words which felt they were screaming at her to be read.
“Zorah,” Chester’s voice was soft, “maybe we should go. This seems to be a lot for you.”
She didn’t reply at first as she stared at the open pages of the book in her hand and then quietly, she read out loud.
“Deuteronomy 32:35, It is mine to avenge; I will repay. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.”
The guard’s voice held a quality of surprise yet clearly he was impressed, “it’s as if God himself is telling you to do your worst.”
She knew what she needed to do.
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