---- Chapter 8 They pulled me from the lake at dawn. | was barely conscious, my body a block of ice, my breathing shallow and ragged. They dragged my limp form back to the mansion and dumped me on the floor of the living room like a sack of garbage. Blake and Celesta were there, waiting. They were seated on a sofa, sipping hot tea, looking warm and comfortable. Blake looked down at me, at my blue-tinged skin and shivering frame, with no more emotion than if he were inspecting a faulty piece of furniture. He turned to Celesta, his voice soft and doting. "Are you satisfied, my love?" he asked. "Has she been punished enough?" Celesta took a delicate sip of her tea, her pinky finger extended. She looked at me with a thoughtful, cruel expression "Almost," she said. "But her disrespect was aimed at the memory of her father. A transgression against the spirits of the dead. According to the ancient laws of my ancestors, such an offense requires a... more symbolic punishment." ---- She leaned in and whispered in Blake' s ear, her words a venomous hiss | couldn't hear. | saw Blake' s face change. For the first time, a flicker of hesitation, of something that might have been horror, crossed his features. He looked at her, then back at me, a conflict warring in his eyes. It was a fleeting moment. Celesta placed a hand on his cheek, her touch gentle, her eyes pleading. "For me, Blake," she whispered. "To make the spirits content. To ensure our future is pure." The conflict in his eyes vanished, replaced by a grim resolve. He gave a curt nod. "Do it," he said to his men. They hauled me to my feet again. My legs wouldn't support me. They dragged me out of the house, my bare feet scraping against the gravel driveway. They threw me into the back of a car. A terrible, sickening premonition took hold of me. | knew where we were going. As the car drove, | began to see familiar landmarks. The small church. The winding road lined with old oak trees. My heart seized in my chest. "No," | whimpered, the sound barely audible. "No, please, no." ---- The car stopped at the gates of the small cemetery where my father was buried. A full-blown, animal panic consumed me. | thrashed and fought, kicking and scratching with a strength born of pure, undiluted terror. "Blake!" | screamed, my voice raw and shredded. "Don't do this! Please! He was good to you! He loved you like a son! Don't do this!" | was crying, begging, appealing to a man who no longer existed. Blake got out of the car behind us. He wouldn't look at me. He stared straight ahead at my father's grave, his jaw tight. | saw his hand tremble, just for a second Celesta slithered out of the car and wrapped her arm around his, pressing herself against him. "Be strong, my love," she murmured. "It is necessary." He took a deep breath, and the last flicker of humanity in his eyes died. "Dig it up," he commanded, his voice flat. Two men with shovels were already there, waiting. At his command, they began to dig. | watched, my mind shattering into a million pieces. The sound of the shovels hitting the damp earth was the sound of my ---- world ending. | screamed until my throat was raw, until no more sound would come out. | was a silent, writhing figure of agony, held fast by Blake' s men. They unearthed the simple wooden casket. They pried it open. Inside was the small, bronze urn containing my father's ashes. One of the men handed the urn to Celesta. She took it with a triumphant smile. She walked over to where her new puppy, Prince, was sniffing at a tree. "Here, Princie," she cooed, her voice sickeningly sweet. "| have a treat for you." She opened the urn. And she poured my father' s ashes onto the grass for her dog. The puppy, not knowing any better, began to lick at the gray, gritty powder. | stopped screaming. | stopped fighting. A sound, a low, guttural moan of a pain too deep for words, tore from my chest. My vision blurred. The world turned red. Blood trickled from the corner of my eye, a tear of pure, elemental grief. My father. My kind, gentle, loving father. A man of God. A man of dignity. Reduced to dog food. His whole life, all his love, all his quiet goodness, desecrated in the most unimaginable way possible. ---- A violent, racking cough seized me. | bent over, and a spray of blood erupted from my mouth, spattering the gravel. The world spun, and then it dissolved into merciful blackness. | collapsed onto the ground, a broken, bleeding heap. | was vaguely aware of Celesta shrieking in alarm, not for me, but at the sight of my blood. | heard Blake murmuring soothing words to her. "It's alright, my love, it's just her filth. Let's go. It's done." | heard the car doors slam, the engine roar to life. They drove away, leaving me there, unconscious, in the desecrated remains of my father' s grave. Rain began to fall, a cold, soft drizzle, washing the blood and the ashes into the mud. When | finally came to, | was alone. The world was gray and silent. | pushed myself up, my body a symphony of pain. | crawled, inch by agonizing inch, to the empty hole in the ground. | ran my hands through the muddy soil, trying to salvage something, anything, of my father. But there was nothing left. | knelt there, my head bowed, my body shaking with silent, tearless sobs. | had no tears left. They had all been burned away, leaving only a hollow, aching void. | stayed there for hours, the rain soaking me to the bone, until ---- the sky began to lighten. Then, slowly, painfully, | got to my feet. | walked away from that place, a ghost leaving her own graveyard. | didn't know where | was going. | just knew | had to leave. As | stumbled along the side of the road, my phone, which was miraculously still in the pocket of the hospital gown, began to ring. The number was unfamiliar. | answered, my voice a dead croak. "Is this Ellen Strong?" a brisk, professional voice asked. "Yes." "This is Ms. Davies' office. We're calling to inform you that the mandatory cooling-off period has ended. Your divorce from Blake Wallace was officially finalized this morning. You are a free woman." A free woman. The words, in that moment of absolute devastation, were a tiny, impossible pinprick of light in an endless, suffocating darkness. Freedom. It was the only thing | had left.