Stitches Undone

Prologue

The door creaked behind him as he entered her room.

It was close to midnight, with the stars shining in through her open window. She was fast asleep, unaware of her father gliding closer with muffled steps. He looked at his daughter, unnatural thoughts for her wandering around in his mind.

He wasn't sure if he should wake her up or not. This would be the first of many times in a chain of tortures. It would be better if she didn't scream. He took the rag he was holding, covered in Chloroform, and began to walk toward her. She stirred from his footsteps, her eyes fluttering open and she peeped up at him.

"Daddy?" She called out, trying to undo herself from her tangle of blankets.

"Shush Lyra. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He whispered, sitting on the edge of her bed, the rag hidden snugly behind his back. She smiled, looking like a pale-haired angel, and went back to sleep.

That's when he put the rag against her mouth and nose and let his inner demons out to play.
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"Neville!" Lyra clamored, bounding up the stairs of her best friend's house. His parents had let her in, saying he was in his room. They were to have another pirate play-date today and she made sure to bring her sword. She grinned, knowing her rubber blade would win their battle.

"Neville! Come on! I want to play!" She hollered again, turning down the hallway. She stopped running, becoming keenly aware that there were no sounds.

That was odd. Neville was always ready to play, whenever she came. Lyra got a bad feeling in her stomach. A feeling that screamed disaster and pain lurked just beyond the closed door. It was waiting for her to stumble upon the chaos it thrived on and it came with a terrible sense of foreboding that clawed mercilessly at her stomach.

But she only knew that Neville was in there and that for some reason, she didn't want to see him. Lyra tiptoed the rest of the way to his bedroom, her palms sweaty and her mind racing and vacant all at the same time.

There was a strange sound coming from within and she moved closer to his room.

She pushed his door open slowly, the seconds seeming to tick by at a snail's pace.

The moment her eyes focused, shock drained her system. She began to shake violently, tears running down a numb face. Lyra couldn't believe what she saw.

There Neville was, a rope tied around his neck – a rope, which was in turn, tied to his ceiling fan.

"Neville?" She squeaked, inching into his room, "Neville, come on. This isn't funny."

No response, not that she expected one. She only hoped he was okay, just playing a prank to scare her.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. The sound echoed in her ears and her fingers quivered as she approached him. She reached out, gripping the soft denim of his jeans.

He spun with the momentum of her tug, turning to face her. The blades of the ceiling fan were hanging low from his weight. His skin was turning blue, his lips purple, and his neck bent at an odd angle against the scratches of the rope.

Lyra screamed, but no amount of screaming could erase the image of her best friend's dead body hanging from his ceiling fan.
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After years of being home-schooled and coddled by her mother like a helpless baby bird, it was time again for Lyra to return to public school. She hated being so close to the father who treated her like a slave and the mother who she loved dearly but failed to notice the horrific treatment her father gave her. However, Lyra knew how to deal with her dad. She had been dealing with him her whole life - there wasn't a time she remembered when he didn't use her for needs that a girl her age should not have known about.

She didn't know how to deal with the kids at school. They were relentless, merciless even. Cruel-hearted and never cared that they tormented her in a way that only added to the stress she dealt with every day. The kids called her names, bullied her for being different. It wasn't like they could understand. They would never have to see what she had seen. They would never have to experience the tortures she had experienced.

The past only reminded her of what she had to look forward to now. Kids would physically hurt her. They would shove her into walls and pull on her hair. No one cared that they yelled at her and called her awful names. Some would even tell her to go kill herself like Neville.

And now, she was facing the school head on.

"It's okay, honey." Her mother cooed for the millionth time, smiling down at her daughter. Mother looked worn, tired, and she was aging fast - but she still had that warm glow to her and a loving smile. Her father wore his aging well, but Lyra was convinced he was the devil reincarnated. He didn't love. He was cold and distant; evil; nothing like her mother.

"What if the kids make fun of me again?" She whispered, holding onto her book bag straps like they were her life-saver - the last string to salvation for her.

"Then turn the other cheek, dear. Don't let them get you down." That was the only advice that her mother could give her.

She just didn't know how much words could hurt.
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"Mom! Dad! I'm home from school!" Lyra yelled, slamming the front door behind her. Her cat, Breezy, came up and rubbed himself on her knees. She reached down and scratched his ears while he purred contently. Lyra loved seeing his black and white face when she came home. He gave her a reason to stay around, even with the pain her father caused her on a daily basis. Meowing up at her in response, he followed her closely as she entered the house.

"Mom! Dad!" Lyra called again, peeking up the stairs. No response. She shrugged it off, not really caring what they were doing. Mom had probably dragged father with her to the grocery store so he could help her carry the bags. Lyra wouldn't complain being free of her father for the time being.

She went and began to do her chores, starting with the dishes and feeding Breezy.

"You just might be the only sane one in this house, Breezy." She muttered to him, putting clean dishes away. He licked himself on the counter, watching her with his big green eyes.

"You've got the puppy-dog eyes down." She muttered, giving him a smile. He mewed in protest and hopped off, his tail twitching in the air.

Lyra finished with the dishes and called him back to give him his food. "Yummy, yummy in your little cat tummy!" She sang, nearly gagging on the gross smell the lump of moist food gave off. It was a normal day, like any other. Breezy ate his food, Lyra continued into the living room to pick up her father's discarded beer bottles and throw them away before starting the laundry.

That's when she heard the bang. It sounded loud, kind of like fireworks. It had a metallic ring to it.

She knew instantly what it was.

"A gunshot." She breathed, dropping the trash bag she held and rushed to go to her parents' room. When she got there, the door was locked. She flung herself against it, her heart pumping adrenaline into her veins, but her small frame did little against the heavy wooden door.

"No." She chanted over and over again, "No. Not my mom! Take my dad! Not her!"

"We love you, Lyra. Be a good girl." Her mom said weakly from behind the door and Lyra could hear the tears and agony in her voice. She launched at the door again, only managing to bruise her shoulder and side in the process.

Another shot rang out. It made Lyra go deaf for a moment, popping her ear drums. Tears stung her eyes, rolled down her cheeks.

"No..." She whispered and then screamed, "No!"