Chained

Four

I am getting sick of people telling me what I will do. "Freddie, you need to hear me. I am not letting that shit inside. Not a chance."

Freddie crosses her arms, as if trying to hug herself for warm. "You don't know them," she says slowly. "They have a way of getting into your head. It was...almost impossible for me to leave them."

"But you did," I say firmly. "Don't give these shits too much power. You got away from them. And I won't let them take you back."

She steps back and shadows conceal more of her face. "Why?"

"Because you don't belong to them—you don't belong to anyone. Once the power is back, I'll call the cops."

It's a good plan. I hope. This is my first time dealing with this kind of situation, but I need to be strong for this traumatized woman. I lead her back into the living room. My light shines on Emily's red sweater, draped over the old rocking chair. I pick it up and hand it to Freddie as she is clearly cold.

"Thank you," she says softly, shrugging on the sweater.

"Don't thank me." I sigh. "You don't deserve this shit."

Her finger run over the sweater. "This isn't yours, is it?"

I laughed. "A little small for me. That sweater is my girlfriend's."

Freddie frowns. "Is she here? I didn't think I'd be getting someone else involved in this mess."

"Nah." I sink down in the rocking chair and it creaks as it moves back and forth. "She was visiting her parents for Christmas. She had to take a flight there and won't be back for a few days."

A wistful smile crossed her face. "It must be nice to spend time with parents."

I hadn't had the best time at my mom's. My mom is great, but her husband is a judgmental bastard who thinks I'm five seconds away from a meltdown. Spending Christmas arguing with him wasn't pleasant. I almost prefer this crazy night.

"Do you have parents?" The chair's creaking is almost too loud in the still house. "I mean, you know, real parents. Non-spiritual ones."

Her face falls. "We all have biological parents."

I'm an ass. She likely wouldn't have gotten tangled up in this happy fun cult if she had a supportive family.

"I know what you mean," I say quietly. "I don't really know my actual dad or anything."

"That's lonely," she says. "To be so lost from your roots."

I don't exactly agree. My mom was good enough—questionable taste in men aside—and my father meant nothing to me.

"I think we can make our own families," I say.

"Yes," she says, not looking that happy.

Shit. Of course. She was in a cult. I'm saying all the wrong things tonight.

"Hey." I look up at her. "Do you want something to eat? I mean, I can't promise anything warm, but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are always an option."

A smile lights up her face, a real smile. "Thank you. I can't remember the last time that I've eaten."

BANG.

The thud is so sharp and sudden that I almost mistake it for a shot. Freddie doesn't make a sound, but she freezes up.

My head turns toward the door. The noise struck the door. I shine the flashlight in the direction.

"Don't," she whispers.

BANG.

She winces and the flashlight shakes for a second in my hand. But the fear is instantly crushed down by anger.