It’s old and battered in a house filled with exquisitely fine things.
But it’s the fact that is battered that intrigues me. In a house of perfect, rich things, why would someone like Richard keep something so ratty?
I bend closer to examine it, and I trace the spots with my hand.
I yank my fingers away when I realize what the splotches are.
They’re blood.
And I would bet any amount of money that the blood is Dare’s.
I suck in a breath, my fingers fluttering to my chest as I imagine little Dare and those big sad eyes, and the huge man who used such a thick belt on such a tiny back.
In my head, I see Richard, swinging the belt, high and hard, and I see Dare fall to his knees, his head bowed, his mouth clenched tightly closed to avoid screaming.
He’s stubborn and he won’t cry, and I can’t stop the visions in my head.
I don’t want to imagine it, but the pictures still come and I can hear a woman crying. Dare’s mother cries for Richard to stop, and he throws her off. She hits the wall behind the bureau, slamming into it hard enough to knock the picture from the wall.
The room swirls and the nausea returns and I fall to my knees, sucking in air.
What is happening to me?
Am I really seeing this?
I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to find solace in the dark, trying to close out the horror of this room.
But I can’t.
Because Richard did this to Dare. I’m not imagining it. He hurt Dare over and over throughout the years and nobody stopped it, nobody could.
I tried my best to protect him.
But Sabine failed.
A whisper hisses around me, from the corners, from the ceiling, from the sky. He did this. HeDidThisHeDidThisHeDidThis.
The whisper turns to a roar and it overwhelms me, and I squeeze my eyes closed to block it out.
When I open them again, the room is dark.
Someone is sitting in the chair across the room, half hidden in the shadows.
“What are you doing in here?” Dare asks me, unmoving. His hands are on his thighs and he looks like he’s waiting.
Waiting for me to wake up.
I blink the sleep away, trying to determine how long I’ve been here.
I scramble to my feet and fly into Dare’s arms, surprising him with all my weight.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to him over and over and he stares down at me like I’m the crazy person I am.
I’m dizzy, but I don’t care.
All that matters is that Dare isn’t little anymore, and he’s in my arms and I’ll never let anyone hurt him like that again.
“I’m so sorry he did that to you,” I tell him, and his eyes widen before he looks away.