FICTION

Chapter 1

Our Little Secret

 

Her shriek pierced the air’s stillness. Wren Stevens, a child with knotted pigtails, stood in the treehouse her father had built for her. Together, they listened intently as the echo of her voice faded into the depths of the dense forest.

“Scream again,” Paul Stevens said as he slid his hand down his daughter’s bare shoulder. “No one can hear you. We’re all alone. We are in the middle of nowhere… It’ll be fun.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Mom freaks out when I scream.”

“Mom does not need to know. It will be our little secret. Now, scream away.”

Wren twirled around, laughter bubbling up. “Are you sure it’ll be okay?”

Paul danced in place, laughing and clapping his hands, his cheeks flushed. He motioned towards the eerily quiet forest, encouraging her to bellow. “As loud as you can. Make Daddy proud.”

She couldn’t help but giggle before letting out a powerful scream, her body tensing as her voice reverberated through the valley.

Paul burst into applause and giggled. “That’s better. That feels good, doesn’t it?” He leaned in, capturing his daughter’s gaze, and then firmly took hold of her shoulders.

She pulled back and rubbed her arm, cocking her head while she furrowed her brow.

“That did not hurt, Little Bird. I think you can shout even louder. Show me what you’ve got. Let me hear you yell for real this time.”

Wren bit her lower lip, then nodded. She flipped her pigtail over her shoulder and turned her body toward the woods, taking a deep breath and focusing on the trees.

“Do it now.”

“I will. Give me a second.”

Paul grumbled and paced before turning back. “Jesus Christ, Wrenny. Let me hear your fucking scream!”

“All right, Dad. Don’t yell at me.”

Wren put all her strength into shrieking the word ‘help’ at a deafening volume.

In a split second, Paul’s hand flew out and slapped her to the ground, but just as quickly, he raised his palms in submission.

“Shit, Little Bird!”

Wren rubbed her cheek as tears welled up. She gazed at her father, who let out a hearty chuckle before bending down to envelop her in a warm embrace.

She wanted to escape, but he held her firmly in his grasp.

“I am sorry; I would never hurt you. Why would you say help? That was stupid. But I never should have laid a hand on you. You took too long. When I ask you to do something, I expect it to be done immediately. Do you understand me?”

Wren nodded through her tears and whispered, “Yes, Daddy.”

Paul kissed her cheek and released her. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

Paul stood and gently ran his weathered fingers through her untamed hair. “I promise you, Little Bird, I will never hurt you.”

“No, Daddy.”

He whispered, “Our little secret.”

​

Chapter 2

Only Happy Memories

 

Wren Stevens, 18-years-old, woke up from her nightmare. Someone had screamed, but she couldn’t be sure it was real. She sat up and looked around the room, but everything seemed normal. Her cellphone showed 6:05, calming her anxiety as she didn’t need to leave for work for another hour and a half.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that her father was somehow intertwined in that dream. She hadn’t thought about him for years, and at that moment, she wanted to reminisce about the good times she had as a child. She had not seen him since she was a disobedient eleven-year-old girl with pigtails.

She crept out of bed and tip-toed across the freezing floorboards to her modest bathroom at the end of the hall. A soft chuckle escaped as she caught a glimpse of her tousled hair and a hint of drool on her chin.

“You are still a mess, Wrenny,” she laughed. “That hasn’t changed.”

Wren tugged her underwear down with a kind of absentminded precision, the elastic snapping faintly against her knees as she settled onto the toilet seat. The bathroom was cold, the kind of chill that made your skin prickle, and she felt it creep up her spine. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the cracked tiles on the floor as if they might rearrange themselves into something coherent, something meaningful. She sighed—a long, weary exhale that fogged the mirror of her thoughts. And then came the strange ones, the whispers that slithered into her brain like shadows under a locked door. Thoughts that didn’t feel entirely hers. Thoughts that made her shake her head, hard, like a dog shaking off water.

Before returning to her bedroom, she strolled into her apartment’s kitchenette. She opened the junk drawer and sifted through bag clips, screwdrivers, and random papers in search of a photograph she was certain was there.

Wren bit her lower lip and side-eyed another cabinet. She rummaged through unopened letters, scissors, pens, and paper but found no pictures.

She ran her fingers through her hair, releasing a frustrated sigh.

“Damn.”

The hunt had to wait until after work. Instead of returning to her apartment, she drove straight to her mother’s house. Brenda Stevens worked from home, so Wren knew where to find her.

She rapped on the door, thump, thump, thump, each knock louder and more insistent than her usual tap-tap. Brenda answered with concern, her mouth hanging open.

“Is everything all right, dear?” she inquired, surveying the street behind her.

Wren giggled. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be? Can’t I visit my mother?”

Brenda stood with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed in skepticism. “That is not suspicious at all. Come on in.”

She rushed past her mother and went straight into the kitchen, quickly shuffling through random drawers.

“What are you after?” Brenda inquired with a giggle.

She raised her palms with a deep breath and confessed, “I’ve looked everywhere, but I just can’t find that picture of Dad and me.”

Brenda’s face collapsed, and her shoulders fell. “Okay. Albeit. Why are you searching for a photo of you and the man who asked us to leave and never return?”

“I had a dream about him,” Wren explained before continuing her frantic search. She stopped again. “You know the one?”

“Which one? There were so few?”

As Wren searched for the right words, her hands moved with determination, attempting to convey what she couldn’t quite express. “He had on those… I was a kid—obviously—and I was sitting on his knee, I think. He was wearing khaki overalls and a red plaid shirt. I can’t remember if he was singing to me or reading a book—Honestly, I haven’t looked at that picture in years. I thought I had it when I moved out. But maybe it’s here.”

Brenda sat on the back of the living room couch with crossed arms. “Why are you looking for it?’

She chuckled. “I have no idea, Mom. I needed to find it.”

“Can I ask what made you think of him?”

“You may not know this—But when I was a kid, Dad would let me scream at the top of my lungs from the treehouse.”

“I remember. It used to drive me crazy.”

Her face lit up with a rosy glow as laughter bubbled from her lips. “You knew about that?”

“Yes, how could I not hear the screaming? I was surprised the neighbors never heard it.”

“They didn’t? So am I.”

“The nearest neighbor was about a mile away,” Brenda grinned. “I miss the farm.”

Wren strolled into the living room and took her mother’s hands. “Do you remember the pigs and chickens? I would name them.”

Brenda cringed. “Yes, I recall a little girl crying herself to sleep after we told her she had eaten Curly for supper.”

She covered her mouth, embarrassed. “Oh, God. Facts of life. Like a lamb to the slaughter. What the hell did I know? Dad knew how to roast them, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, it’s one of my only happy memories of your father.”

She glanced toward the kitchen. “That picture is the only happy memory of him I have left. It was taken right before you guys broke up and got divorced.”

“People change; I couldn’t stay married to him anymore. It happens.”

“I was young; I didn’t understand what I did wrong. I figured it was my fault. He let me go with you, and I remember being so pissed off at him for not wanting to keep me.”

“Yes, you were daddy’s little girl.”

Wren whirled around to face her mother, her voice growing louder. “Did you tell him not to… Did you keep me from him?”

Brenda reached for her daughter’s wrists, but Wren swiftly pulled away from her grasp. “Wrenny, it was his decision. I told you he was a bastard. He could have seen you. He chose not to. There were no court orders to the contrary. I am sorry. Your dad was an asshole.”

“Mom, I don’t remember him like that. I remember him being funny, and kind, and gentle…” She cupped her face with both hands and gasped. “Shit. There was that one time in the treehouse.”

Brenda grasped Wren’s forearms. Her eyes were intense as she stared at her daughter, but calmly inquired, “Did your father ever… touch you?”

She smirked. “What do you mean?”

“Your privates?”

With a chuckle, Wren gracefully glided across the room and pivoted with a playful smile. “No, Mother. Dad never ‘touched’ me. Jesus, Mom! That’s creepy—No! —But he slapped me super hard once. I mean, two seconds, and boom, I was on the floor. But he apologized immediately.”

“He had a temper. He never wanted you to see that side of him.”

Her gaze fell to the ground as memories of her father flooded her thoughts. She walked over to the window and peered outside, lost in her reflection.

“I don’t know, Mom, maybe I need to make peace with him.” She pivoted toward her mother. “Maybe it’s time to say I’m sorry.”

“You did not do anything wrong, Wren. You know that.”

She laughed. “Yeah, but it might make him want to say it too.”

“I think he owes you that.”

Wren clapped her hands as she giggled. “Hey, I just remembered something else. That doll he gave me—well, that doll I took from him. He probably would have killed me if he knew I took it.”

“What doll? I don’t remember you taking anything except your clothes, maybe.”

“I put it in my suitcase—I guess I smuggled it out.” Wren glanced up at the ceiling as she recalled past events. “That was a long time ago now.”

Brenda agreed. “I remember the day we left. It was May 5. He was so angry that day. You should have seen him.”

“Cinco de Mayo.”

Brenda strolled to a watering can and doused some of her plants.

“No, it wasn’t that. It was the day they found that young girl’s body, the one that went missing.”

“Mom, a lot of girls go missing.”

Brenda raised the watering can as she scratched her chin in deep thought. “Yes, but Carrie Brown, 11 years old when it happened, was from two towns over. It was big news back then.”

“Well, it was good they found her, huh?”

Brenda glanced back. “Honey, she was murdered. They found her body. They never caught the killer, either. That was the day we left your father for good.”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t remember that.”

“I’ll look for the doll if you want me to. I still have a lot of your stuff downstairs.”

“Thanks, Mom. I thought maybe I’d drive up Friday night, surprise him, maybe stay the weekend.”

Brenda snickered. “Well, if I remember correctly, your father never liked surprises. You might want to call ahead.”

“I don’t have his phone number. Do you?”

“Why would I have that anymore? No.”

She walked to her mom and kissed her cheek sweetly. “We’ll see if he likes this surprise. Maybe I’ll be the exception. Maybe he’ll be happy to see me.”

Brenda warmly embraced her. “I hope so, honey. You need to get past this. You clearly have not moved on yet. And you should.”

Wren agreed with a slow, thoughtful nod.

“That would be good. I don’t like waking up angry every day, Mom.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

She chuckled. “God no… But I need to go. What’s the worst that could happen?”

​

​