Dear Diary (Love, Daddy)

Ten missed calls in a row from ‘Dad’. Not Daddy. Her father.

Something is very wrong here and bile singes the back of my throat. Fury swelling inside me. I hit the call button and a man’s voice picks up on the first ring.

“Hello, Chastity? Chastity? Are you okay?” There’s panic in his voice.

“Where is she?” I hiss into the phone.

“You’re asking me! Is this Jackson? The police are on their way to your apartment. I called them. I know you’ve attacked her, and I swear to God she better be alive and well, you sick fuck.”

“It wasn’t me. Tell me what you heard.” I keep my voice low. “That wasn’t me who attacked her…and I don’t have time to explain.”

Not that I have much to explain, I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

“She said your name then I heard a loud noise, screaming, then the phone disconnected.”

“That wasn’t fucking me, just listen I don’t have time for bullshit,” I hiss. “Just tell me what you heard.”

Her father goes silent at the other end. “She said someone was ringing the doorbell. Said it couldn’t be you because you don’t come in that way. She thought it was a delivery.” He seems to be connecting the dots.

“Then what happened?” I'm glancing around. No signs of a struggle.

“She opened the door and then said your name, and I heard a thud and she was groaning. I might have been a shitty father, but I will kill anyone who lays a hand on my little girl.”

“That makes two of us. I’ll find her.”

“You got my daughter into this mess. You fucking get her out.”

“Fuck.” I’m moving on autopilot. I reach into a cabinet and pull out my baseball bat. I'm not a gun guy. But I need a weapon to protect my girl. “I’m going to find her,” I tell him, my mind racing.

Right now, I don’t even know who the enemy is.

I hang up and looking around the room, adrenaline rushing through me. Just at that moment, my own phone starts to buzz and I pull it out to see it’s George.

“What?”

“Mr. Carter, I needed to speak to you. You have to listen to me.”

“It can wait unless you know where Chastity is or anything about what’s going on with her...” I stalk into the bedroom, George’s voice in my ear.

“No, it can’t wait, sir. You’re in danger. I found something in the court records, you have a brother. A—”

There’s a noise behind the hidden paneled doors where I keep our playthings and her cage and I stop listening to George.

Maybe she’s playing. Waiting for me…

I hit the buttons on the keypad and the doors swoosh open.

Any relief I had evaporates into red rage.

There she is, behind the golden bars, wearing just her bra, the dress she wore to work crumpled on the floor.

I drop the phone. Whoever did this,

I’ll tear his fucking throat out.

Fury ripples through me like acid. I growl as I step into the room, trying to get to her when a body lunges toward me with a roar.

I look, the flash of my own face in front of me as I swing the bat, and the sickening crack of wood against bone resounds in the room. My look-alike falls to the floor with a thud, landing hard on his face.

He's wearing nothing but a pair of my jeans now. In the footage he was wearing a suit, looking exactly like me except for that fucking gold watch. He’s out for the moment as I rush to the cage, opening the door.

“Chastity? Baby…” A little cut on the side of her face is oozing blood. She's out cold. “Wake up, baby girl. Wake up.” My voice breaks as the possibilities of what’s happened to her rush through me. I lift her in my arms, laying her on the floor.

I keep an eye on the groaning man on the ground a few feet away and cup the sides of Chastity’s face. Her eyes flutter open.

“Thank God, baby...” Catching her mouth in a hot kiss, I realize the moisture I feel on her cheeks are my own tears streaming down.

“Daddy, why are you crying?” she whispers.

I cough trying to get my shit together. “Sorry, baby, I was so scared.”

Movement flicks in the corner of my eye and I look across at the piece of shit to see him push up, eyeing me like I’m the enemy. It’s eerie. He’s me but he’s not. Chastity’s scream splits the silence of the room as he gets to his feet.

The same beard, the same jawline, the same forehead, the same nose, same haircut. The same eyes. But I don’t think mine are that cold and empty.

I’m on my feet before he can kick me, and shove him against the wall, one hand on his throat. “Get ready to die, motherfucker,” I hiss in unrestrained fury.