Queen of Lies (Empire of Lies 2)

There’s nowhere we can go, no one we can tell.

Occasionally, he lets us upstairs to watch crime shows and cook food. He also allows me to use one of his laptops to play chess whenever one of his dogs chews up one of the real pieces. (“You’re one hell of a chess player, boy…”) From the newspapers that he lets us keep from time to time, I’ve caught sight of the world outside this hell a few times.

Our lives revolve around his basement, and no matter how many cans of air freshener I spray, it always smells like rotten fish and dried vomit. The scent is trapped under the wallpaper, woven into the threads of the fraying carpet.

The scent of hopelessness…

There are a few rats that join us here or there, but they always die after a few weeks, thanks to the boric acid and antifreeze drops that he occasionally sprinkles in the corners. It’s enough to weaken them at first taste, to drain them of their energy should they try to make it up the steps for water, but it’s never enough to kill them at once; he does this to constantly remind us of who is in control.

The only things he can’t seem to kill—besides us yet, are the spiders that roam freely. They come and go at their will—slipping under the tiny cracks of the wood near the far end of the basement. They avoid the poison and weave their cobwebs under the abandoned furniture—trapping their prey and staying focused solely on themselves.

They’re the ultimate survivors, the smartest players in the game.

“She’s going to come back for us…” Trevor finally stops crying, wiping his eyes. “She’ll eventually come back and get us, right?”

I nod, even though I don’t believe at all.

I stopped hoping for our mother’s return years ago.

She was gone, and I never wanted to see her face again. I’d never be able to look her in the eye and give her any form of forgiveness for dropping us off here and moving on with her life. For never coming back.

I doubted that I would ever be able to accept that she honestly thought that we’d be “far better off” with Uncle Avery. I wanted to believe that she had no idea how big of a monster he truly was when she dropped us off at his doorstep in the middle of the night, but something told me that she knew.

Beepppp! Beepppp! Beeppp!

The timer on the washing machine goes off, the signal for us to switch places. It’s time for Trevor to roam freely and be at my uncle’s beck and call if he needs something upstairs.

I unlock Trevor’s handcuffs, but I don’t let him lock me in.

Instead, I slip the key into my pocket. Walking upstairs, I leave the basement door cracked, not sliding the lock it into place like usual.

“It’s Trevor’s turn to be up here, Michael.” My uncle scoffs as I walk into the living room. He’s still dressed in a suit, poring over this week’s edition of The Wall Street Journal. I notice that he’s stolen a few new pens from his company, where he sits on the board of directors: Goldman Sachs.

“Do I need to remind you how this system works?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“No, sir,” I say. “He’s throwing up, so—”

“Ugh.” He cuts me off. “Of course. Sometimes, I wish you were more of a weak bitch like your brother. Go take him a towel and a cup of water when you’re finished cleaning. I still want him to sleep with me tonight. Not you.”

I grab a towel and start to head downstairs, but he stomps his feet—forcing a plate of china to fall to the floor.

“Make me a glass rum and cherry coke first,” he says. “Pour it over some ice and make me a sandwich to go along with it.”

I nod and head to the kitchen.

Opening the fridge. I start to make his drink, but I realize that I can’t wait anymore. I need to take my chances on escape now.

I reach into my pocket and grab all of the boric acid as I can, all that I’ve saved over the past several months. I sprinkle it into a glass and make sure to wipe off the rim.

This won’t be enough and you know it…

I look over my shoulder to make sure he isn’t watching, and then I reach far back behind his collection of beer—looking for the bottle I filled with antifreeze a few weeks ago.

I pour it into his glass and add the coke and rum on top, swirling the liquid around with my finger.

Grabbing the chips, I take it over to him just as he’s standing up from the couch.

“Took you long enough.” He scoffs, taking the glass from my hands. “Let’s play a new game of chess since reruns are on.”