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The Serial Killer's Daughter
Escape
Chapter One
Time passed slowly. Minutes stretched into hours, hours into days. Ever since I was a child I have wished for nothing but time to speed up. I remember curling into a fetal position, numbing myself from the screaming coming from the next room. I remember the nights spent hugging my knees, rocking back and forth, wishing to be effaced. At age five, I didn't understand, that what was going on wasn't even in the slightest way, normal. As I watched him drag my mother down the hallway into the solitude of his bedroom, I hadn't realized that daddies didn't cause insufferable pain in every household. Sometimes now I wish to go back to the days when I didn't get it, but overall my biggest dream as of late is for oblivion.
The wails slice through my curtain of numbness like a dagger. I'm forced out of the shell of safety I had created for myself in my mind. Thinking of when it had only been my mother and I trapped inside these walls. When it was her screams echoing in the corridors. But now the shrieks belonged to the constant stream of women being escorted in, but never to leave.
My thoughts return again to the women in his chambers now. For a moment a terrible thought hits me, and I hate myself for entertaining it. I had thought to myself, “Why does she even bother to scream? Surely she knows from the ten past years that her cries of panic only incite his disgusting hunger further. And above all, she should definitely know that there is not a soul in the universe that cares to save us.”
Her unwavering spirit though, I have to admire. Caroline, oh, goodhearted and brave Caroline, never once dropped her steely resolve. She has remained unbroken. I can't say the same for myself. Not in the least. I gave in what feels like a millennium ago. I've grown so accustomed to the torture, I can't even bother myself to feel it anymore. Now, that's not entirely truthful. I feel it. Oh God I feel it, just not physically. The pain gnaws at my very core, threatening to mold me into a glazed, unfeeling shell of my former self.
I traipse as silently as a ghost to the barred window facing the door. The entire set up of this prison makes it entirely too easy for him to watch every move we make. I quickly glance at the security camera adorning the adjoining wall. I knew he could see me. He anticipated my every move. He made it seem so easy to simply escape, but in reality we all knew he had complete control. Sometimes he left doors unlocked on purpose, or “forgets” to bar the windows. Only a handful of girls are dense enough to repeatedly attempt escape. He lives for the chase. His favorites are the spirited ones. Breaking them... is his twisted idea of fun. But like anything, once broken, you get discarded.
I hands down hold the title of being here the longest. I'm his daughter after all. The monster's spawn. My mother succumbed to his torture some ten years ago, when I was only seven, and slipped into what I hope to be a peaceful after life. She had been the first victim of my father's sadistic rage, but most definitely not the last.
I can only bear to ponder my miserable existence for so long. With a sigh, I turn from my window and drink in my meager surroundings. A twin sized mattress is shoved up against the farthest wall from the bolted steel door. The compact dirt floor is cold and creates an aura of hopelessness. Four stark white walls seemingly close in more and more every day. One bare, fluorescent bulb sways from the cottage cheese ceiling. A mad chuckle escapes my lips as I compare the room's coziness to that of hell itself.
Footsteps lightly pad down the linoleum hallway outside the room and stop just in front of my door. A firm rapping sounds, alerting me that someone was planning on opening the door, and I was to be dutifully seated on my bed with eyes closed when they entered. Like the zombie I am, I do what's expected of me and cross the room quickly, seating myself on the springy mattress, eyes squeezed shut. A shadow appears before me, blocking the light. It was ghastly, how little sound he makes. A gruff hand wrenches me up by the shoulders.
“Cassandra, baby.” A menacing laugh erupts from his throat and I quiver “Did you think I forgot about you? Aw, oh love, it's been weeks. But you're too beautiful to forget!” His rank breath tickles my nostrils, and I fight the urge to gag.
He pushed me to the wall, and bound my hands behind me. Face pressed to the cool drywall, I feel my senses darken as my mind drags me into another place. I learned how to shut out the present and lose myself in the depths of my insanity. Fear laces my breathing, but I manage to keep it light and even. He would enjoy it too much if my heart raced. I stayed in my haven of insanity warped oblivion for some time more. Suddenly, an unidentifiable crash broke me out of my trance and all at once I entered reality once again. My eyes flew open and I realized Father was sprawled out on the dirt floor behind me, and that a quivering, blood soaked Caroline stood over him. She was wielding a bed spring, deformed into a razor sharp point, in her right hand. Matted, ratty blonde hair clung to her forehead where blood was trickling down much too quickly. From the looks of it, she had only moments before she passed out. She brought the spring down over and over, plunging it into the soft flesh of Father's chest. Crimson sprung out of the gaping wounds like a kitchen faucet. He was still, making the both of believe him to be dead. Caroline's movements became jerky, and eventually stopped. She slumped onto the corpse at her feet. I stood rooted in place, shock washing over me in tidal waves. Mouth agape, I could almost taste the coppery blood so thick in the air. There was so much blood. Oh god. I snapped out of my stupor as I noticed the evil man's fingers twitching. Could be nerves, but I wasn't about to let Caroline's valor go to waste. I whirled around and stumbled through the open doorway.
In the hall, a trail of blood led down the hall towards Caroline's cell. Dazed, I wasn't entirely sure in which direction the exit was. Since I had never actually been outside the walls of the prison warehouse. I followed winding hallways until I reached a spiral staircase. I flew down the metallic steps, taking two at a time. They opened into a grand room lined with expensive looking tribal vases and artifacts from Father's many expeditions. I at random chose the cherry oak doors across the wide room from the steps, and made my way towards them. Not stopping to glance behind me, I flung the heavy doors open and peered into the darkness beyond. I groped the wall, following it, searching for another door. An odor so foul it took everything in me not to vomit, enveloped me all at once. I tumbled over something hard and clammy, and met the floor. My fall was cushioned by something cold, and rigid. It felt like... a body. A scream tore from my lungs and filled the hollow silence of the room. Quickly I rose, and tried to erase the feeling from memory. Sobs racked my thin frame, and finally my hand met a smooth, cool handle of a door. I twisted it, not surprised when it wasn't locked. Father's ego was too grand to lock doors. That came in handy now. Blinding sunlight, causing me to pinch my eyes closed, came in from the other side. I'd found the exit.
Time passed slowly. Minutes stretched into hours, hours into days. Ever since I was a child I have wished for nothing but time to speed up. I remember curling into a fetal position, numbing myself from the screaming coming from the next room. I remember the nights spent hugging my knees, rocking back and forth, wishing to be effaced. At age five, I didn't understand, that what was going on wasn't even in the slightest way, normal. As I watched him drag my mother down the hallway into the solitude of his bedroom, I hadn't realized that daddies didn't cause insufferable pain in every household. Sometimes now I wish to go back to the days when I didn't get it, but overall my biggest dream as of late is for oblivion.
The wails slice through my curtain of numbness like a dagger. I'm forced out of the shell of safety I had created for myself in my mind. Thinking of when it had only been my mother and I trapped inside these walls. When it was her screams echoing in the corridors. But now the shrieks belonged to the constant stream of women being escorted in, but never to leave.
My thoughts return again to the women in his chambers now. For a moment a terrible thought hits me, and I hate myself for entertaining it. I had thought to myself, “Why does she even bother to scream? Surely she knows from the ten past years that her cries of panic only incite his disgusting hunger further. And above all, she should definitely know that there is not a soul in the universe that cares to save us.”
Her unwavering spirit though, I have to admire. Caroline, oh, goodhearted and brave Caroline, never once dropped her steely resolve. She has remained unbroken. I can't say the same for myself. Not in the least. I gave in what feels like a millennium ago. I've grown so accustomed to the torture, I can't even bother myself to feel it anymore. Now, that's not entirely truthful. I feel it. Oh God I feel it, just not physically. The pain gnaws at my very core, threatening to mold me into a glazed, unfeeling shell of my former self.
I traipse as silently as a ghost to the barred window facing the door. The entire set up of this prison makes it entirely too easy for him to watch every move we make. I quickly glance at the security camera adorning the adjoining wall. I knew he could see me. He anticipated my every move. He made it seem so easy to simply escape, but in reality we all knew he had complete control. Sometimes he left doors unlocked on purpose, or “forgets” to bar the windows. Only a handful of girls are dense enough to repeatedly attempt escape. He lives for the chase. His favorites are the spirited ones. Breaking them... is his twisted idea of fun. But like anything, once broken, you get discarded.
I hands down hold the title of being here the longest. I'm his daughter after all. The monster's spawn. My mother succumbed to his torture some ten years ago, when I was only seven, and slipped into what I hope to be a peaceful after life. She had been the first victim of my father's sadistic rage, but most definitely not the last.
I can only bear to ponder my miserable existence for so long. With a sigh, I turn from my window and drink in my meager surroundings. A twin sized mattress is shoved up against the farthest wall from the bolted steel door. The compact dirt floor is cold and creates an aura of hopelessness. Four stark white walls seemingly close in more and more every day. One bare, fluorescent bulb sways from the cottage cheese ceiling. A mad chuckle escapes my lips as I compare the room's coziness to that of hell itself.
Footsteps lightly pad down the linoleum hallway outside the room and stop just in front of my door. A firm rapping sounds, alerting me that someone was planning on opening the door, and I was to be dutifully seated on my bed with eyes closed when they entered. Like the zombie I am, I do what's expected of me and cross the room quickly, seating myself on the springy mattress, eyes squeezed shut. A shadow appears before me, blocking the light. It was ghastly, how little sound he makes. A gruff hand wrenches me up by the shoulders.
“Cassandra, baby.” A menacing laugh erupts from his throat and I quiver “Did you think I forgot about you? Aw, oh love, it's been weeks. But you're too beautiful to forget!” His rank breath tickles my nostrils, and I fight the urge to gag.
He pushed me to the wall, and bound my hands behind me. Face pressed to the cool drywall, I feel my senses darken as my mind drags me into another place. I learned how to shut out the present and lose myself in the depths of my insanity. Fear laces my breathing, but I manage to keep it light and even. He would enjoy it too much if my heart raced. I stayed in my haven of insanity warped oblivion for some time more. Suddenly, an unidentifiable crash broke me out of my trance and all at once I entered reality once again. My eyes flew open and I realized Father was sprawled out on the dirt floor behind me, and that a quivering, blood soaked Caroline stood over him. She was wielding a bed spring, deformed into a razor sharp point, in her right hand. Matted, ratty blonde hair clung to her forehead where blood was trickling down much too quickly. From the looks of it, she had only moments before she passed out. She brought the spring down over and over, plunging it into the soft flesh of Father's chest. Crimson sprung out of the gaping wounds like a kitchen faucet. He was still, making the both of believe him to be dead. Caroline's movements became jerky, and eventually stopped. She slumped onto the corpse at her feet. I stood rooted in place, shock washing over me in tidal waves. Mouth agape, I could almost taste the coppery blood so thick in the air. There was so much blood. Oh god. I snapped out of my stupor as I noticed the evil man's fingers twitching. Could be nerves, but I wasn't about to let Caroline's valor go to waste. I whirled around and stumbled through the open doorway.
In the hall, a trail of blood led down the hall towards Caroline's cell. Dazed, I wasn't entirely sure in which direction the exit was. Since I had never actually been outside the walls of the prison warehouse. I followed winding hallways until I reached a spiral staircase. I flew down the metallic steps, taking two at a time. They opened into a grand room lined with expensive looking tribal vases and artifacts from Father's many expeditions. I at random chose the cherry oak doors across the wide room from the steps, and made my way towards them. Not stopping to glance behind me, I flung the heavy doors open and peered into the darkness beyond. I groped the wall, following it, searching for another door. An odor so foul it took everything in me not to vomit, enveloped me all at once. I tumbled over something hard and clammy, and met the floor. My fall was cushioned by something cold, and rigid. It felt like... a body. A scream tore from my lungs and filled the hollow silence of the room. Quickly I rose, and tried to erase the feeling from memory. Sobs racked my thin frame, and finally my hand met a smooth, cool handle of a door. I twisted it, not surprised when it wasn't locked. Father's ego was too grand to lock doors. That came in handy now. Blinding sunlight, causing me to pinch my eyes closed, came in from the other side. I'd found the exit.
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