Chapter 1 Prologue

10:45 pm, Friday.

Her heart thumping hard, her palms glistening wet, warm tears streaking her cheeks, 13-year-old Callie drew her knees to her chest as she heard her most dreaded footsteps approach nearer.

"Oh, Callie..." His grave, hoarse voice called out for her in a sing-songy tone, a mischievous sneer plastered across his face. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Deliberately, he pushed open the door to her room, its creaking sound sending waves of panic down her spine.

He poked his head inside, the stench of the alcohol from his breath and body oozing off him and filling the room. "Don't be a little brat now, come out, let's play." He slurred, as he staggered into the room, the floorboards squeaking softly under his bare, filthy feet.

His bloodshot eyes roamed her bed. She wasn't on it, but as he traced the warmth on the bed with his palm, he knew she had just gotten off it. Calista's heart raced wildly in her hiding spot, her head throbbing with headache. 'Not again, not again. Please, God.' She prayed in her thoughts, her eyes shut tight in terror.

Her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she swallowed hard. He was just feet away from her now. So close it made her stifle a whimper.

"You're not going to keep Daddy waiting, will you?" She heard him ask, her mind reeling with the implications. She didn't want to offend him more than she already did by hiding from him. Again. But he always found her. And each time he did, her punishment was worse than the previous.

So all she could do was sit still in utter fear and pray her father didn't find her, even though a part of her knew her prayers wouldn't be heard.

Just then, the closet door violently swung open and Callie felt her heart drown. "No!" She cried in utter dismay, her face twisting in a mixture of terror, despair, and disgust. Daddy gazed down at her, his yellow, rotting teeth bared in a dirty grin, his eyes filled with lust.

Suddenly, he outstretched his hand and with an aggressive yank, he grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her out of the closet, her wails following behind and echoing off the bedroom walls.

Callie kicked and flailed her hands in the air, struggling to break free from his vice-like grip. The more she struggled to break free, the more she aggravated him. Angrily, he turned to her and yelled in her face, "Quit struggling!" But Callie didn't listen. She couldn't let him have his way. Not tonight. Not anymore.

With sheer rage, desperation, and extreme frustration, she kicked with both legs. One leg crashed onto his left knee, the other crashing against his groin, in between his legs. "Arghhhh; Fuckin Bitch!" Daddy groaned and yelled in pain. Callie's eyes widened in horror as she saw him swiftly regain his composure, his high pain tolerance evident.

The look on his face was pure, unadulterated anger, sending icy shivers down her spine. She knew, in that instant, he was capable of killing her.

"I'm going to kill you!" he bellowed, his words echoing the terrifying thought already racing through her mind. As she struggled to scramble to her feet and flee for her life, he lunged at her, his fingers closing around the collar of her nightdress like a vice. With a savage jerk, he slammed her back into the wall mirror, the glass shattering into a thousand shards as her head and body crashed against it.

He released his grip, and she crumpled to the floor, rivulets of blood dripping from the back of her head, as dizziness and disorientation washed over her.

In that vulnerable moment, Callie couldn't make out the muffled insults and abusive bellows that rained from her father's lips. Not until he climbed on top of her body which was sprawled barely unconsciously on the floor.

Her adrenaline pulsating high, her hatred for him simmering, her despair and frustration for freedom all charging to fight back, she voiced. "No!!!" Raising her hand against him in protest.

"I said, quit struggling!" Daddy roared, his face purpling with rage, as Callie blocked his aggressive touches with one and frantically stretched and scrabbled for a weapon with the other.

Finally, Callie's hand closed around a jagged shard of the mirror by her side. And with a swift, deadly motion, she swung at him and struck it deep into his throat, blood gushing out immediately.

But she didn't stop there. She got up, yanked it out of the gruesome wound, and thrust it in deep, again, again and again, bathing herself in his own blood. Memories of the pain and abuse she went through in his hands flooded her mind, encouraging her to thrust more, harder, and faster. Until she could no longer see him through her blood-soaked lashes, her vision blurry with tears and blood.

Then she stepped away from him as his body instantly thudded lifelessly onto the ground, her chest heaving.

Callie stood over him, an unknowing feeling of satisfaction washing through her.

* * * * * *

Then came the verdict day. A day the entire Ohio state grandly anticipated. The story of a thirteen-year-old girl murdering her pedophilic father in cold blood blew up faster than an atomic bomb. The news, magazines, and social media content creators took it upon themselves to make the story well known. And the curious citizens of Ohio, oblivious to the full story, couldn't wait to know if the killer was a victim who acted in self-defense or a psychotic killer who savagely killed her own father out of spite and rage.

Callie was seated in the dock. She sat motionlessly, the handcuffs slipping off her slender wrist. Her face, pale-colored and devoid of any emotion, was still marked with a purple bruise from the trauma she endured many nights before. Her eyes were fixed forward but were fixated on nothing exactly, lost in a cold, hard stare that could pierce a soul.

The courtroom was packed with so many people Callie was unable to recognize. Well, not like she tried to, given how dissociative she had been with her surroundings. All of these people had no relation to Callie; they were just concerned, curious-looking citizens who came to witness the child's verdict firsthand.

However, amongst the humongous people was Lovelyn Bloom. Callie's aunt and prosecutor. The only relative with her in the courtroom, and the only relative she knew of.

The ambiance of the courtroom was nothing short of unnerving. Lovelyn Bloom continuously but silently tapped her right shoe against the cold floorboards. With her fingers tightly interlaced with each other, she swallowed hard with anticipation, and so did many amongst the crowd.

After many minutes of murmuring, exchanging glances and signals, the jury foreperson finally walked over to the podium and handed the verdict to the Judge. In a minute, the judge thoroughly scanned the verdict form. He looked up, adjusted his spectacles, and then tapped the microphone. With a knowing glance at the fragile-looking defendant, Judge Constantine spoke aloud.

"Having reviewed the verdict form, it is hereby the finding of this court that the defendant is found... NOT GUILTY of the crimes of second-degree murder on the grounds of self-defense."

The courtroom instantly erupted in gasps of relief and murmurs. Lovelyn Bloom tightly shut her eyes and said a silent grateful prayer before opening them to smile happily upon Callie, who still sat unfazed by the court's readings.

"The defendant is discharged and is free to go." The judge finished with a bang of his gavel against the bench, as he rose to exit the courtroom. The audience in the courtroom followed suit.

It was now the end of the case, but it was also the beginning of Callie's new life. From the corner of her eyes, she watched as her aunt approached a man and a woman whom she once referred to as Child Services. "Child Services," she heard a little voice in her head whisper back to her with fear. Her aunt had made it clear that she wasn't going to raise her. Not with her three stubborn sons and two stepdaughters. Therefore, Callie's fate was now laid in the hands of this odd-looking couple.

After a brief exchange, Lovelyn Bloom signed the papers given to her and then handed Callie over to them. She bent over to Callie's ear, her eyes filled with contrived sorrow and worry -Callie thought.

"Heyy kid..." she began. "I did my part. I made sure you got justice, and I'm sure your mother must be happy." She smiled awkwardly.

"But this is where we say farewell now," She followed Callie's gaze, which was fixed heavily on the Child Services agents. She didn't like them already.

"You're going to meet a new family, and I trust that Mrs. Mathyr and Mr. Rogers will

l take good care of you."

Will they? Callie hoped.