She's Not My Daughter

Alice

I spend most of the next day in my room, only sneaking out a few times to use the restroom when I absolutely have to. For once, Henry doesn’t come looking for me at all, and I suppose that’s because he’s completely finished with me.

Last night, I hardly slept. I tossed and turned, thinking about what his foreboding words might mean. I’m not certain how murdering me will solve his financial problems, but at this juncture, I can’t take anything for granted. He’s proven time and again that he’s mentally unstable and capable of anything.

Soft sunlight filters in through the light pink curtains my mother lovingly picked out for me when I was a little girl, the sky turning a similar hue as the sun sinks behind the trees on the perimeter of the estate. After last night’s menacing warning, part of me hadn’t expected to ever see the sun go down again. The day will be over in a few hours, and I’m still here. Still Henry’s “problem.” Unless he’s mistaken or lying, which I highly doubt, that means whatever he intends to be my fate will be meted out shortly. I settle on the edge of the bed, dressed in one of my more casual gowns, and wait.

The heavens have just started to sparkle with pinpricks of silver, the inky blue between them leaking into the horizon, swallowing up the rays of pink, when there’s a knock on my door. My breath catches in my throat, even though I recognize the knock and know it’s not Henry. Still, I can’t get the words out to allow Peggy entrance.

With a faint creak, the door opens anyway, and my friend pokes her head inside. Her mouth is drawn into a tight line, and I know the hour is upon us. Whatever it is that Henry has in store for me, it’s about to come to fruition.

“A car just pulled into the driveway,” she says, keeping her voice low. “I’m not sure who it is, but your stepfather is in a tizzy. He told me to bring you to the parlor.” She drops her eyes, and I know it pains her to be the one to deliver me to evil. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” I’ve regained my ability to speak, though my voice is still weak and shaky. “It’s not your fault, Peggy.” Standing, I take a few steps over toward her and reach for her hands. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, a true friend, and I thank you for that.”

She lifts her head and meets my eyes, and I see tears sparkling in hers. “I… I hope that, whatever he has in store, you can endure it.”

With a confidence that comes from somewhere deep within me, the place where my mother lives now, I assure her, “I will.” Even though I have no idea if it’s even possible. If he wants to kill me, he has the means to do so.

Nodding, Peggy steps out of the way, and I muster up the courage to begin my processional toward the stairs, headed for the same parlor where Henry sealed my fate the night before.

My legs wobble slightly when I reach the stairs. I hold tightly to the railing and take them slowly so as not to trip and fall and cause myself to die prematurely. Henry would probably find a way to bring me back from the dead solely so he could kill me again.

I’m not even to the first floor when voices filter in from Henry’s office, giving me pause. I recognize his, of course. He sounds… desperate… pleading. The other voice sounds perfectly calm, perhaps even a bit tranquil, as the deep register says, “I’m not certain how this transaction benefits me, Mr. Voss.”

I swallow hard, wondering who in the world he’s negotiating with. He’s lost all of the money, so he can’t possibly be attempting to make a payment to someone. Perhaps he’s trying to sell off some of our antiques or the house itself.

Forcing myself to continue, I finish walking down the stairs and step lightly down the hallway toward the parlor. I come to it before I reach Henry’s office, so I don’t walk by the door, which is just as well. I can’t imagine it would do me any good to be caught eavesdropping.

Settling onto the same sofa I occupied the night before, I can’t help but strain to try to pick up on the conversation, but the voices are even more muffled through the wall. I catch a word now and then, but trying to string it together doesn’t help much. It’s only when Henry’s voice becomes even louder, even more pleading that I can truly make out what he’s saying.

“Please, Mr. Severin. At least see her. At least… take a look. You will find her to be quite the asset in one way or another. She does have experience cleaning. I was certain to teach her household skills, and if you can’t use her services in that manner, well, there’s always the bedroom.”

A shuddering gasp emanates from my throat as I deduce he must be talking about me. Who else could he possibly be trying to pass off on Mr. Severin, whoever that may be. He’s actually suggesting that his own stepdaughter be used as a common whore? Tears fill my eyes as I consider what that may mean, should Mr. Severin take him up on the offer. I believe certain death would be a better sentence for me than to service a man I’ve never even met.

The other voice is easier to make out now, too, even though Mr. Severin still sounds unbothered when he asks, “You’d do that, Mr. Voss? You’d have your own daughter partake in such activities to forgive your own debts?’”

“Stepdaughter,” Henry clarifies. “She’s not my daughter, sir. In fact, I’ve never truly cared about her at all.” He chuckles, but Mr. Severin does not laugh in response, and while I’m not surprised to hear Henry admitting his true feelings, tears sting the backs of my eyes, just the same.

Years ago, I thought he truly did care for me like I was his own daughter, but that was all a lie.

Low voices rumble back and forth for a moment, and I can’t catch anything else. Then, there’s the screech of wood on wood as chairs are moved, and I brace myself. If Mr. Severin does not accept Henry’s deal–if he does not accept me–the moment he walks out that door, Henry will kill me, I have no doubt. I will no longer be of use to him.

If Mr. Severin does accept me, I will become his to do with whatever he’d like, including pleasuring him in any way he may see fit.

I bite my bottom lip and fix my eyes on the doorway as heavy footsteps approach. This can’t be happening. My entire life has come down to this moment.

Henry walks into the room first, and I cannot read his expression, other than worry. Then, my eyes flicker to the man who follows him in. My mouth drops open, and my eyes widen as recognition takes over.

It’s him–the man with alabaster skin, dark hair, and silver eyes–the man from my mother’s funeral.

My heart begins to race with fear, and I know now for certain, death will be much better than going with him–whoever–or whatever he may be.