Chapter 4 Devil's Incarnate

My feet could no longer support me and I kept stumbling into the walls. Everything had it out for me today, even the walls were intent on tripping me. After hitting my head for the fourth time, I resorted to crawling. Where I was going, I had no idea but I just wanted to get as far as possible from them. How they didn't hear all the racket I was making was beyond me I refused to ponder what they could be so engrossed in that would steal so much of their attention. Some small eternity and two flights of stairs later, I was in the living room.

Basement. Mother had confiscated a keg of fuel just two days ago from Clara, our neighbor's daughter. I doubted she had had time to give it back to her dad. If that man was intent on using me for my grandpa's money, I intended on ending everything right here. At least mum would have a chance at a new life then.

Father's feet thundered down the stairs just as I clabbered down the two short stairs that led to the basement. I panicked and dashed into the darkest corner of the basement I could find. My back scratched against the wood behind me and I heard it give. A deeper hiding place! I jumped into it and found myself in a small room. There was nothing else in the room beside a weak, barely there light and a strange gold triangle right in the middle of it. What the heck? It's placement was strange. Mother called me her little kitten because I just had to know how everything worked. It had certainly got me into more trouble than I could count and this was obviously no different. I pulled on the weird ring out of curiousity. It gave almost immediately, following my hand as I pushed it to me. The triangle was a false cover for a square hole. It wasn't visible until the triangle was pulled off. What a nifty little trick! But who would go through such trouble to hide something in here? Certainly not mother, which left the scumbag of the year.

I felt around for an opening and soon found a small hole big enough for my middle finger, pulling it opened up the hole to a silver box. How many levels were there? There had better be a damn good reward for all of these hurdles. It wasn't a box or a briefcase or anything of the sort I've seen. It had no handle or opening or anything like that even if it was just a pale silver case. I tapped on it for want of something to do. A hologram shot up on it and asked for a six letter password. I tried our last name but that didn't work. My mother's name also wasn't correct-surpise, surprise- then the hologram thing informed me that I had only one try left. Damn.

Think Kiera, think. What did I know about my da-Frank. That man was no father of mine. He was born in Arkansas and raised in an orphanage--I wondered if the lack of love in his early life was what turned him into such a heartless monster.-- Not the time Kiera, the voice in my head admonished.

Okay, back to the task at hand. What else did I know about Frank? Oh! He was a thirty eight year old police officer who had rapidly risen through the ranks in our small town of Lynnwood, Los Angeles. He was in line to become the next captain of our county, the youngest in history. Loved beer, the king's and hated women. Really, he was the biggest sexist there was. He believed a woman's place was in the kitchen hence why mother wasn't allowed to work, or think, or have an idea of her own let alone a voice. He never wanted me, he always wanted a son. As a matter of fact, I was named Kiera because that's the name he wanted to give his son, Kieran. Wait, That's it!

The one thing frank Ballad held dear to his black heart. I sent up a silent prayer to any gods that listening right then and typed in the words Kieran. A second later, the hologram disappeared and the box thing split in two.

Whoop- whoop! I pumped my fist in the air as I jubliated my success. To bad my joy didn't last long.

There were several sheafs of paper and wads of cash. So many of them, I wondered why a police officer didn't simply keep such a large amount of money in the bank.

Hmm, dear Mr Frank was up to something the law didn't approve of. I wondered how much trouble he'd get into if this was found in his possession.

I unraveled one of the papers and read it. The more I went through each document, the more I hated that man just a little more. The rage that had been burning in my heart minutes ago turned into icy cold fear, it's gnarly fingers gripping my heart and my lungs and squeezing the life out of them. Frank Ballad was no beast in human form, he was the devil incarnate.

I collapsed once again in dispair. What did we ever do to him? Was it something I said? The way I behaved? Because I was a girl? Was that why I counted for nothing to him? Did I even exist past a ticket to luxurious living to him?

Money. He did all of this for money. Our love and adoration meant nothing to him except a green paper he could blow on that sex doll pumped full of Botox. Even if it was the last thing I did, I would make sure he didn't get a dime of that money. I packed the paper and the fat wads of cash back into the box and jammed the halves together as a possibly harebrained, absolutely reckless plan formed in my head.