Chapter Five

Willow sat in the chair, trying not to move. Trying not to scream. There was no clue available to determine her situation. Only assumption. Something was in her ears, over her eyes, and in her mouth. Voices echoed all around her, but she could not discern their words. The loss of senses gave the illusion of being buried alive—one of her biggest fears. It could not beat her.

Instead, she would focus on other things. Like, how long had she been like this? What could be happening? It had to be a bomb. For that reason alone, she would be still. One wrong movement and that could be it. Though she had hated her time at S.I.U., she was thankful now for every moment in the pit. Harding had often made the team stay overnight in an underground tunnel filled with insects and other creatures. The point was to help with claustrophobia and to learn to blank out pain. Coming out always took a week or two of medical treatment, but it got easier. Today, it helped.

Though exhausted, sleep was beyond her. Fear was enough, but it was not everything. Her back muscles burned, her neck ached, and her feet tingled and were numb. Inhale through the nose. Exhale into the rag. Inhale through the nose. Exhale into the rag. Once again, she tried to focus on her heartbeat and not her situation. It was not enough. Anxiety rose in her chest. What else could she think about to distract herself? Maybe she could pray. Maybe Harding wasn’t the only one to prepare her for today. Growing up in church may also have prepared her. At the time, she only went to church to get away from her angry alcoholic father. When the church bus started stopping on her street, Willow took it.

It was nice to see all those happy people. And the donuts and candy weren’t bad either. But what had she learned those days that might help right now? There was a Psalm she liked. Was it twenty-three or four? Something about overcoming evil… What were the words? She couldn’t remember all them, but what she could remember instantly gave her peace. She cited them in her head and tried to repeat them in a whisper. It helped some until the room grew uncomfortable—stifling hot.

Sweat began to bead on her brow and dripped down her back and face. Inhale, exhale. Slow your breathing.

Something was wrong. Loud thunderous sounds echoed in her ears. Stars began to form before her eyes, and she thought she might pass out. Memories flooded her mind. Was this the flash before she died? No, it was the reality that this all was happening because of one decision so long ago. One moment in time. It only took a few seconds to completely change the course of her life.

It still played clear in her thoughts. July Fourth—a national holiday—supposed to be a day to celebrate. Her dad was drunker that usual. For some dumb reason, he decided Willow needed to stay close to home that night—something about there being too much partying and too many drunk drivers out there. Not that being home with an abusive alcoholic father was much safer. But he dictated, and she obeyed, per usual.

Right after sunset, he began to have one his tirades. Being yelled at and demeaned, Willow retreated to her room and locked it with a chair. It didn’t take but a moment for him to react. He stumbled outside her door and started banging and cursing. Fear clutched her throat, and sobs wracked her body. For a moment, she folded to the ground and allowed it to have her. Then something happened. Boldness, a desire to fight like never before, sent a thought that would change everything, one she probably should have ignored.

“Dad, if you calm down, I’ll make you dinner.”

The knocking stopped. He let out a few choice words, and then, his footsteps retreated down the hall, followed by the sound of the TV being turned on.

Willow slipped into the hall and peered over to her father on the couch. Occupied. It was her only chance. She ran for the stairs and down them into the basement. Flicking on the light, she quickly glanced around for any kind of weapon. Her gaze caught anti-freeze. The memory of some woman killing her family with anti-freeze occurred to her, but then she dismissed it. That would take entirely too long. Her eye caught sight of an axe that sat against the side of a workbench. Could she do this? Kill her own father? But she had to, didn’t she? There was no other way out. It was the only way she would ever be free.

She lifted it with both hands. It was heavier than she anticipated. A quick swing determined it was not too heavy. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her breathing labored. Stars fluttered through her vision. Don’t black out.

At the top of the stairs, she could hear some military movie playing in the background. Something he always watched. She peeked out. His head lay against the back of the sofa. She moved toward him. Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to find a place in her core to do this, but it only screamed “no.” She proceeded to lower the axe. No way could she take his life. It wasn’t in her to murder someone, especially her dad.

“I brought beer.” The screen door opened, revealing Mrs. Tyler from next door. The widow often came over to spoon with her dad, despite their obvious age difference. Her wrinkled mouth dropped as she looked from the axe to Willow to the man on the couch. She backed up, stuttering, while pulling out her cell phone.

Her father pivoted around. His eyes went wide, then fierce. He leapt over the couch in one leap. Willow ran for her room again, axe still in hand.

“Come here, you little—!”

She slammed the door before the curses fell.

The door pushed open.

She leaned against it, pushing it back.

His hand came through the crack. She swung the axe, slicing a knuckle. He pulled back with a yelp; she slammed the door and then pushed the chair under the handle. She inched back and folded to the ground, still clutching the weapon in her hands, silently praying for help. Tears burned her cheeks. It seemed like seconds later, sirens sounded in the street. Red and blue lights flickered through the open blinds and around her room.

A new knock pounded on the door. “This is the police. Open up!”

Willow placed the axe on the bed and crossed to the door. “Show me a badge under the door, and I’ll open it.”

“Lady, do you see the lights? Open the door, or we’ll kick it in.”

Willow steeled herself for anything. With trembling hands, she moved the chair. The door popped open, and two tall men in uniform stood there brandishing weapons pointed at her head.

“On your knees, now!” one commanded.

She dropped, no longer afraid. It had to be bad when being locked up by the police felt better than being at home. They drug her out and into the back of a car. At the station, they took her statement and assured her she would be freed. Maybe she would have been, but Greenstone came for her. He said she was lost and needed a family. The story he spun said he would provide her a new way to live. A better way. Later, the truth would come out. The fact she could kill her own father seemed to put her on the S.I.U. radar. Little did they know she wasn’t strong enough to do it; that given time, she would have put the axe down and made him dinner.

A sharp pain shot up Willow’s back, bringing her back to the present situation. All memory returned to being stuck in a hard metal chair, ready to die. Her whole life seemed to revolve around bad circumstances. Only for a short time in her entire life had she felt any sense of happiness. Her new family—Laura and her husband, Bryce—had taken her in, with no questions and no suspicions. Not once had they asked why she came to S.I.U. in the first place. The entire thing with them seemed surreal. Too happy. Of course, it couldn’t last. No bliss ever did.

Though she hated to admit defeat, today she felt vanquished. Soon the bomb would take her life. What happened next, she didn’t know. Her heart would miss her dear friends Teddy and Helena. She had become such great friends with both. That hurt worse than the idea of death. At least in death, there wasn’t any pain. Joining God would at last be the freedom she always sought. Maybe even joy. But not for those who would mourn her. Teddy would take it the worst. His tender heart always made her smile. Today, it made her sad. Fresh tears seeped into the rag around her eyes.

Truthfully, she didn’t really know what would happen after the bomb took her. Visions of Sunday school skits and Bible stories came back to her memory. She focused on that and the thoughts of heaven. Whatever it took, she needed to get ready.