Beautifully Broken

Oh, God. They have me in a box.

My chest starts to tighten, and it gets harder to breathe. My skin breaks out in a cold sweat, and my body starts to shake harder.

I don’t want to die like this.

God, help me. I’ll do anything you want. Please help me.

Hot tears spill over my cheeks, but I’m too scared to wipe them away.

The man standing by the open door just stares at me doesn’t move, and it’s terrifying the crap out of me. As my eyes adjust more to the light, his features become clearer until I can make out rough beard and shaggy, salt and pepper hair. He’s larger than the average man. Tall and broad, with a stomach that tells me he lives a comfortable life.

It takes me a moment, but then recognition sets in, and a tidal wave of relief washes over me.

Thank God.

“Mr. Tredoux?” I croak, and then the tears come.

I struggle to climb to my feet, using the wall for balance. My legs are a trembling mess, threatening to give way any second.

Mr. Tredoux used to come over to our house all the time. He, Dad, and Uncle Tom were really close before the accident.

But then Mr. Tredoux scowls at me, and he looks far from friendly. It makes my moment of relief short-lived, and the tears dry right up as dread washes over me.

No.

“Cara,” he says as he steps into the container. He closes the door, and I’m plunged into darkness again.

My heart rate spikes, and I flinch when a match lights up the small space for an instant. The tiny flame makes eerie shadows jump and dance against the metal walls.

He lights a cigarette, and then all that remains is the glowing red coal.

“Imagine our surprise when we saw you walk down the road near Easy’s bar. You look so much like your mother. May she rest in peace.” He takes a drag, and the coal glows brighter, lending a creepy quality to the room. “Stupid changing your name to your mother’s.”

He takes another drag, lighting up his face in a scary red glow.

“Yeah, that was a really stupid thing to do,” he mutters unnervingly, making cold chills race up my spine. “So, unfortunately for you, we have a score to settle with your father.”

I’ve forgotten how deep his South African accent is. I don’t understand why he would be here, though, or what he wants with me. I start to shake my head, and fear swells in my chest until it begins to suffocate me again.

“I don’t understand any of this,” I whisper when the fear becomes too much to bear.

“I know, my girl. I’m sorry, but it’s just the way things are. You know how it works. Children pay for the sins of their fathers.”

The door opens again, and three men come in. For a moment, I can only make out their silhouettes against the sharp sunlight that’s streaming in behind them. When my sight adjusts, I notice one of the men is holding a camera. He sets it up on a tripod, and after he presses something on the camera, a red light starts to flash.

What do they need a camera for?

The other two men move closer to me, and my eyes dart to them. Then a fresh wave of shock ripples over me.

Steven?

Steven’s one of them?

The shivering in my body stills, and I can only stare as my already worn mind tries to process the new shock.

God, they’ve been watching me.

“Say your name to the camera, girl,” Mr. Tredoux snaps, yanking my attention back to him.

“Cassy Smith,” I blurt out. I don’t want to make them angry. Lord only knows what they’ll do to me then.

“Your real name!” he snaps irritably, and I cringe back from the hostility in his voice.

“Cara Ellison.” My heart pounds in my ears, my breaths too loud in the small space.

“Who is Ralph Ellison to you?” he growls, and my stomach churns with dread.

“He’s my father,” I whimper anxiously.

“Only for ten minutes, men. We only need enough on tape to let that piece of shit know we’re serious.” Mr. Tredoux’s eyes drift over me. “After the boys are done with you, your uncle will come running to save you, just like he did when I killed your parents.” He lets out a heavy breath. “This is just the way things are done. No hard feelings.”

What?

With wide eyes, I watch as Mr. Tredoux hands the cigarette to the man next to him. “Here you go, Henry.” And then he walks out, leaving me with the three men.

The door closes, and a bright light flickers on from the camera, spotlighting me and making eerie shadows stretch against the walls.

My body starts to shake, and I press back against the cold sheet behind me.

Shit.

No.

A million horrible scenarios begin to race through my mind, tightening the cold grip of panic on my insides.