Fear Itself

Soon enough, it was time for me to return home for the day, and I spent my spare twenty minutes sprawled on top of my bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying my imaginings of Sam’s stories in my head. They were all so fantastic, so marvelous, and so wonderful. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear my father come in the door. He was talking to me, but I wasn’t listening. He didn’t find it strange, I guess, or perhaps he suffered a long day at work because his voice seemed so blank and monotonous in comparison to my vibrant, vivid thoughts.

Then, I heard his footsteps near the door. I forced myself to sit up, and my eyes shot wide when I heard the familiar tugging sound and the subsequent sound of a ladder spilling out from the ceiling. “I’ll make dinner in a bit, Pumpkin,” my father informed me. “I’ve got to go in the attic first.”

I was dead meat. There was no way I was getting out of this one. I couldn’t even stop him from going up; I could hear his feet against the creaking rungs as he moved up. Even when I rushed and scrambled out of bed, I was too late. The ladder was empty, and my father’s feet made thudding sounds that traveled through the ceilings. I tried to track the movement, tried to remember what was where and how the attic was set up. As long as he kept moving, it was probable he didn’t notice anything was askew, and if he never noticed I had touched anything, then I was surely going to be okay. Perhaps we would get through the evening without an argument. It seemed I was getting ahead of myself, however, as the sound of my father’s footsteps soon stopped, and my heart froze in my chest. I thought I might stop breathing and drop dead right there in those moments of silence if it weren’t for my father’s voice calling me to attention.

“Thalia,” he said slowly, addressing me. “Were you in the attic?”

I suddenly decided that death would be more pleasant than the conversation that was about to ensue.

“No?” I replied, grimacing, wanting to kick myself for not sounding sure when I answered. Lying seemed like the worst possible thing to do, considering my father could see right through me most of the time. He also didn’t seem amused when he marched back down. He let the ladder escape back into the ceiling, and he stood before me, face fixed in silent fury, arms crossed over his chest.

“Let me rephrase that question,” he said coldly. “What were you doing in the attic, Thalia?”

“Nothing,” I stammered, mouth hanging open as I searched for words I would never find. I was caught in a lie, and I knew it when my father interjected.

“There’s something missing from your mother’s box,” he cut in. “I think you know exactly what it is, and I think you’re lying to me. I didn’t raise a liar, Thalia, so you better own up fast, or you can kiss all of your books goodbye.”

“It was a Bible,” I murmured.

“I can’t hear you, Thalia. What was that?” my father pried. I knew that he heard me. He just wanted me to feel worse about what I had done. This was typically how the arguments went.

“A Bible,” I repeated, raising my voice so he could hear me, but I refused to look at him.

“And why would you take that?” my father intimidated, prodding for answers he already knew.

“I…” I was fumbling. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t tell him that I had retrieved it for a friend, an impoverished one, no less, somebody who wasn’t supposed to have it. While my comprehension of the situation between my father and the Brotherhood wasn’t the greatest, I knew better than to tell him I had handed over an illegal book to the man who kidnapped me. “I… I was just curious,” I explained nervously, shrugging and letting my eyes drift to the floor.

“There’s nothing to be curious about, Thalia. That book is nothing but rubbish,” he contended. He extended an arm to me, palm up. “Bring it here. Give it back, and we can just forget about this.”

“Um, that’s the funny thing, Dad,” I chuckled awkwardly under my breath. “I… I don’t have it.”

I couldn’t look at him, but I imagined his face was fixed in shocked outrage. “What do you mean you don’t have it? What did you do with it?” he hissed. His tone was broken by a mocking, sarcastic laugh. “Don’t tell me. Another polar bear broke in and took the Bible too. Did it jump out the window with Ralph? Is that it?”

“No, I… I just… it’s gone, I—“

“What, Thalia?” my father pressed, no longer laughing. I glanced up briefly to see a suspicious look on his face, as if he had some idea of what actually happened… he just either didn’t want to believe it or needed to hear it from me first.

“I gave it away,” I whispered.

“You what?” he responded, clearly angry. There was a moment of silence where I just stared at my feet. “Thalia, you had no right to go through her things let alone give them away. Who did you give it to?” I didn’t answer him. Couldn’t answer him. What was I supposed to say? I felt my lips trembling both in sorrow and in fear. “Thalia,” he repeated, slower now. “Who did you give it to?” I clenched my eyes shut and kept my head down, but I could hear the scowl in his voice. “Fine. So be it,” he said before marching off down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Dad?” I called, lifting my head. There was no way this was good. He never answered me. He merely came back up the steps. “Dad—“ I tried to stop him, but he shoved right past me.

“If you refuse to tell me, I refuse to let you keep these,” he told me with little emotion behind his voice. He began shoving books in the bag, and I could feel the tears stinging my eyes as I watched them tumble down.

“Dad!” I shouted. “Stop it!” Liquid spilled across my cheeks as I protested; he stopped, but he didn’t stop because I was crying. He stopped because he noticed the empty holes in my bookcase where books once stood.

“Where are these?” he asked, turning his head to me, pointing at the holes. “Did you give these away too?”

“Dad,” I sobbed, voice cracking. “Dad, please—“

“Clearly,” he grunted a little as he pulled the remainder of my books from shelf. “You don’t appreciate what you have. So until you do, you’ll get nothing. Are we clear, Thalia?”

I sobbed and sobbed as I watched him heave the bag over his shoulder. “Dad!” I cried.

“Are we clear?” he merely repeated coldly, standing by my dresser.

“Yes,” I sputtered out through my tears, nodding. “Yes, we’re clear.”

“Brilliant,” he muttered with disdain, tugging open the top drawer of dresser and taking my small box of bobby pins. “I’ll be taking these with me. Wouldn’t want you getting into anymore trouble.” He headed for the door, and just before exiting, he looked to me scornfully. “You will never leave this house again, Thalia. Ever.” The door shut, and I heard it click. Locked. He locked me in my room again without my books. I threw myself down on the bed and sobbed for the next couple hours, even refusing dinner when he brought it for me.