Chapter 1
Natalie
“To understand who I am, we must first go back to the day when all my troubles started. Well, I take that back. Let’s start a year ago. To a time before chaos entered my life, and I’d become addicted to a little freakshow that came to town...” ~ Natalie King, Devil’s Due Magazine Interview.
One year ago…
The posters for a freak show-type carnival started popping up three days ago. First, they were plastered on the old, abandoned factories and shops on the outskirts of the township of Devil’s Den, Indiana. Then, little by little, they were taped inside all the windows of the stores within the community. The idea of a freak show/carnival coming to such a conservative town, expecting the community would embrace them seemed incongruent to me.
The township of Devil’s Den, Indiana, wasn’t like any place I had ever been—likely never see again, too. I’d read in an interview once about someone comparing the area to a Norman Rockwell-esque painting. I had to agree. The streets were well maintained. The buildings in certain areas of the township were filled with charm and personality. Even the major thoroughfare through the middle of our quaint city was enchanting, with faerie light strands wrapped whimsically around trees and wrought iron lamp posts. The families who called Devil’s Den home were all part of the “American Dream,” with their two-point-five kids, a dog, and a house with a white picket fence.
Pretty on the outside.
Dangerous on the inside.
Like every other conservative municipality, we had our secrets. Our corruptions. Along with the evangelical bible thumping, brimstone-and-fire churches everyone attended on Sundays and Wednesdays. There were high-profile affairs and teen assaults—most of which were swept under the rug so not to disrupt the tranquility. Preachers who can’t keep their hands off little girls or boys. Men within the church, who handed off their wives to the ministry’s authority, aka the same preachers who indulged in pedophilia, just to feel the bounty of salvation.
I know what you’re thinking. Geez Natalie, you really hate the church, you’re obviously not impartial. The short answer is yes. Yes, I know. The longer answer would take a while.
Anyway, those “husbands,” and I use the term loosely, allowed the church authority to fuck their wives, aka raped them, because if you think the wife had any choice in the matter, you’d be sorely mistaken. If she got pregnant, well, it was “God’s will.” Rumor has it, Preacher Corbin from the Church of God has two illegitimate kids with community social chair Peggy Roth, not his wife.
Then there was the police department. Grease the right palms and all your problems disappear. Murder. Rape. Drugs. Doesn’t matter if the money is right. The chief is one of the most unethical men I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something.
Then there’s the mining operations.
Those fat cats who controlled the largest bulk of money within the county. Three years ago, Delancey Caine reopened the Devil’s Backbone Mine in the mountain range. Six new shafts had been drilled and fortified, bypassing the collapsed sections of the hundred-and fifty-year-old mine. Since then, there had been over a hundred accidents. Every week, it seemed, something else happened out there. Whether a small cave-in or coal cars getting stuck on the tracks, causing workers to be detained underground for hours—almost running out of air. A heavy cloud of tension always hung over the community when the shift sirens sounded.
The stifling dread of never knowing when the call would come in for a collapse or accident made it hard to breathe, let alone function some days. The public anxiety had gotten so bad, the county and township boards created, together, a dedicated fire department and rescue crew, just in case.
So far, they’d saved fifteen lives.
Looking back on it now, Devil’s Den, Indiana, wouldn’t have been the first place I’d have ever chosen to live.
Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have a vote in the matter.
My mother—I never knew my father—decided drugs and partying were more important than raising her daughter, so Derek, my mom’s brother, stepped in and became my guardian, along with his husband, Oscar.
Yes, his husband.
A curiosity for sure in the rural conservative region of Indiana. I knew for a fact they were the only out and proud gay couple in the area.
Why any self-respecting gay couple would want to live in fundamentalist Indiana, I couldn’t tell you. Seemed counterintuitive to me. However, when my uncle finally explained why he and Oscar settled here, I wasn’t sure if I pitied him or if I thought he didn’t have his priorities straight. No self-respecting person should ever lower their standards because of cost efficiency or remoteness.
Except that’s what it came down to for most people, right? Money? Kind of like when people in the LGBTQA+ community hit up a famous chicken joint knowing full well the money they spent there, went to charities and organizations determined to hurt LGBTQA+ youth and adults, yet they didn’t care.
Or they tried to justify it by saying the owners didn’t know.
Bitch. They knew. They’re still doing it, too.
I would have more respect for people if they said they liked the food.
Just saying. It’s gross ignoring the injustices of the world.
Stop doing that.
Seriously.
Anyway, my uncles were like those people. Good meaning folks, with less than stellar ethics or morals. Did that mean I had a moral superiority over them? I don’t know. Guess it doesn’t matter now.
But I digress.
Since seeing the first few smatterings of carnival posters around the township, my curiosity had been piqued. A carnival or freak show in our town without the church being the main sponsor?
Or Delancey Caine?
Unheard of.
Pearls firmly clutched.
Cue the faux outrage.
I pushed aside my better judgement last night and went to the park where the event was supposed to be taking place to see if they were setting up yet. Nothing. No tents or rides. No stages. Nothing. The ground hadn’t even been disturbed. I wondered if perhaps the whole thing was a hoax. Like someone trying to grift money from the town. Wouldn’t that be a turn of events?
Couldn’t say it hadn’t happened before, though.
If you catch my drift.
As I rode my bike to school the next morning, I saw even more of those macabre advertisements hanging all over the brick sidings of businesses and light poles. Whoever ran the freak show wasn’t leaving any stone unturned for perspective patrons, that was for sure.
“You’re late,” Charlie, my best friend, said, as I pulled up to the bike rack in front of the high school. “I should have gone in without you.”
He wouldn’t dare. “You’d have waited. You’d have stayed right here for as long as you had to before going in.” I got off my bike, then locked it up before stepping around the rack. Of all the people in town who’d been curious or appalled by my arrival, Charlie had embraced me as the new kid who could use a friend.
I appreciated him.
No kid ever thinks they’d be ripped from their parents by child protective services. Nor sent to live with an uncle they didn’t know in a state that was close to twenty-five hundred miles away from home. The notion was inconceivable to me as an introverted ten-year-old.
Then Charlie obliterated my fears.
“You’re pretty sure of yourself, King,” Charlie said, staring at me from beneath his shaggy black hair. His intense bourbon gaze sparkled, kicked up a notch by the kohl eyeliner accentuating his hooded eyes. “How do you know I don’t have a bevy of beauties waiting for me inside?”
I didn’t. “Are they with the passel of men waiting for both of us?”
He gasped dramatically, pressing his specialty coffee cup to his chest, before recovering rather quickly, giving me a sly grin. “Touché. You win this round.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “Did you see the posters?”
Charlie handed me a mocha latte with cold cream whip and chocolate sprinkles, something I hadn’t noticed he’d been holding when I rode up. “About the carnival/freak show?” I tilted my head to the side before taking a sip of my coffee. My eyes rolled up and a moan of sugary delight passed my lips.
I could use three of these today.
“That’s no carnival or freak show I’ve ever seen,” Charlie replied, watching me intently. His gaze darkened as he licked his double pierced bottom lip. “It’s a fucking traveling oddities show. Hundred bucks says they’re some kind of, like, gothic punk show or whatever.”
“Why Charlie Donovan, did you just cuss in front of a lady?” I teased, taking another sip of the sugary concoction he bought me.
He glanced around before meeting my gaze as a puckish expression crossed his features. The mien twisted my insides in a very naughty way. “What lady?”
I elbow him in the stomach with a laugh. “Asshole.”
He threw his arm over my shoulder while snickering. “But you like me. I keep you entertained.”
Charlie had a point.
But his entertainment came at a price. Like me, he was an outcast. Him because his parents were atheists. Me, on account of my gay uncle and his husband becoming my guardian when I was ten. Add in the whole bought the prominent home of a founding father of Devil’s Den—the Rapp Manor—and the fire and brimstone lectures weren’t far behind. I met Charlie during the middle of our fifth-grade year, and we’ve been getting bullied ever since.
Fun times.
Not.
“Sometimes you keep me entertained. Other times, you worry me, Donovan.” I playfully shouldered him. I lost my virginity with Charlie a couple of months ago. At first, I thought our friendship might mutate into an awkward mess neither of us would be comfortable with. Yet, here we were, thick as thieves, setting my worries at ease.
Plotting world domination.
He grinned as we traversed the halls of Trans-Allegheny High School. Today, he wore a d-ring dog collar around his throat, a cropped long-sleeve black and white shirt that shows off a sliver of his sun kissed stomach and a hint of his trimmed happy trial. Charlie’s black skinny jeans molded his cute butt and were tucked into his thick soled black boots that came to just below his knees.
He's so fucking gorgeous.
So babygirl he made my back teeth ache.
I was jealous of him sometimes.
Most times.
“Freaks.”
I rolled my eyes while Charlie snorted. “You’d think after eight years they’d come up with something better. It’s beyond ridiculous.” We didn’t have to see the person who taunted us to know who said it. It always came from the same group. Georgia Hayes, Owen McNab, Nolan Hayes, and several others.
In this case, it was Georgia Hayes, high school cheerleader and girlfriend to the football team’s quarterback, Owen McNab—douche bag extraordinaire. That was Georgia’s personality in a nutshell. She was the quintessential popular girl who got away with her bullshit because daddy was police chief. No one wanted to go against daddy’s sweet little girl.
Gag.
She’s such a little bitch.
Then there was her mother, Meredith Hayes, socialite, Sunday school social chair for the local Evangelical churches and all-around snooty bitch.
Gag me with a spoon.
Rumors around school was, Meredith was having an affair with the mayor, Canaan Baker. Speaking of cheaters, Owen, Georgia’s boyfriend, had been fucking one of the other cheerleaders behind Georgia’s back and the girl had gotten pregnant. Not that Georgia was innocent, either. According to the same people who spread gossip about Owen, she’d been sleeping with the entire football team.
Too bad her team spirit didn’t help them win football games.
Like I was saying, Devil’s Den was a regular Sodom and Gomorrah.
“Boring and predictable,” Charlie mumbled, then yawned. “I feel like we deserve better bullies or something. This is just lazy. I mean, they call us freaks. We just flip them off.”
“Stagnant,” I added with a nod. “Just like this town.”
Even the high school was boring. Drab, paint-peeling cream-colored walls gave way to cracked half-assed waxed linoleum floors which’d seen better days. The classrooms were no better. None of them had white boards. The hanging maps were from thirty-plus years ago, and the school was still stuck in the analog century. Our technology consisted of overhead projectors and VCR TV carts.
“You can say that again,” Charlie chortled. “So, about the freak show? You want to go?”
I did.
The minute I saw the weathered poster filled with macabre scenes of debauchery, I wanted to be there. It was almost as if some invisible force directed me to the park the night before to have a look around.
For obvious reasons, I hadn’t told Charlie I’d gone snooping. He’d lose his shit. I wasn’t in the mood to be lectured.
“You know it,” I replied, tipping my delicious coffee toward his cup. “How about we go this afternoon? I thought about, you know, making something for them.” After the trauma of my childhood, I’d formed some habits that could be considered, at least by me, as cringeworthy. My therapist called them “trauma responses.”
A need to feel valued or to be seen.
So, I took up baking which helped with PTSD episodes, and I sought approval. You can imagine how that was going with this fucked up town. People either enjoyed my confectionary treats or they hated them.
Whatever.
Charlie stopped mid-stride. He blinked several times before frowning. “You’re actually going to make the carnies snacks?”
I shrugged. “Why not?” Wasn’t that the polite thing to do? Besides, they were practically my neighbor out there near the Devil’s wharf where my home was.
“You’re so weird.” Charlie caught up to me and wrapped his arm back around my shoulders. “That’s why I like you, Natalie.”
“Play your cards right, and I’ll make a treat for you too,” I said, leaving his embrace for math class.
“You promise?” He followed me to the door, cocking a brow when I didn’t answer right away.
“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” I replied before sitting at my desk. “Goodbye, Charlie Donovan.”
He smirked. The light glinted off his lip rings and my insides tingled. “See you soon, Natalie King.”
***
The day couldn’t end soon enough for me. I should’ve been happy to have stayed off Georgia’s radar for as long as I had. Fourteen days had been like six months in bullying time. I never understood why I’d become Georgia’s target, other than I was new, came from a shit situation and lived with my uncles. As it was, I never said a word to Georgia, and I’d always tried to be friendly. Like I said, another trauma response—a need for approval.
Guess some people were born ruined, and Georgia is one of them.
As I gathered my things before the last bell rang, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Dread pooled in my belly, and my heart hammered. Glancing around the class, nothing seemed out of place. However, I couldn’t shake the feeling. It came on instantly. This sickening anticipation I couldn’t ignore. Like the second the bell rang my world would be over. I’d been having these episodes for a while now. My therapist called them panic attacks, part of my PTSD. This was more those. I had anxiety. I knew what they felt like, unfortunately this was different.
The tick of the clock counting down the seconds before we were set free to terrorize the neighborhood—not really—sounded like the crack of gunshots going off in her head. If I knew it wouldn’t have drawn attention, I’d have covered my ears. I didn’t want to give them anymore ammunition.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
When the last bell rang, I jumped to my feet, grateful the day was over while trying to shake the eerie awareness creeping over me. I exited the classroom, relieved to be getting out of the aging building and into the late-spring air. Only a little while longer. You can do this, Natalie. Think happy thoughts. There were only a couple of weeks left of school, then we’d be out of here. I had to focus. Exhaling a shaky breath, I knew Charlie would wait for me on the other side of the exit.
He always did.
The double-doors were right in front of me as panicked energy swelled within my gut. I hated the cold slithering sensation coiling around my stomach and constricting my throat. Anxiety was my daily companion, but this was different. I couldn’t explain or even rationalize with myself why I felt the need to scream and run away. Even with all the coping mechanisms my therapist had given me, none of them were effective. It’d been as though I had a weight tied around my ankle, and I was being pulled down into the depths of despair.
Attacks like these were irrational.
Unhealthy.
A shiver of terror chased the icy tendrils of trepidation. I tensed the second I heard Georgia’s laugh. The manic sound sent a bolt of fear to my chest that spread, lodging in my throat. I’d probably heard that sound a million times over the last eight years. However, today, horror whipped through me. What the fuck is wrong with me? If I ran, Georgia would know just how much power she had over me. Instead, I tried to keep at my sedate pace while exited the school, reminding myself Charlie would be waiting.
“Poor little nobody,” Georgia mimicked. “Pathetic.”
The shove from behind had me stumbling toward the stairs.
I didn’t make a sound.
There was no use. No one would come to my rescue or stop Georgia. No one ever did. If anything, the other students gave the head cheerleader a wide berth while also throwing me pitied glances. Like they were glad Georgia didn’t see them while I took one for their team. Bastards. Days like these, where everyone acted like nothing could be done to stop Georgia, were why I hated it there. Why I wished things could have been different and my uncles had moved to California for me instead of the other way around.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Owen came to a halt in front of me, blocking my path. His eerie blue eyes swirled with malcontent and danger. His athletic form tensed, waiting for whatever Georgia had in store for me. Just once I wanted to kick him in the balls. Instead, I stood there, staring at the glee written all over his nasty features. Panic had me shrinking in front of him. I wanted to curl into a ball to escape reality.
Pathetic, right?
“Can we not do this today?” I asked trying to get around Owen, not sure where the strength came from to stick up for myself. On the inside, my stomach churned. My heart hammered, and my palms were sweating. I should’ve never opened my mouth. My “punishment” was always worse if I spoke. I knew that. “Can we never do this again? Or are you just that hard up? Do you bully people to get your fix?”
Owen frowned. The harsh lines of his face twisted into a mask of rage, as though I’d somehow said something embarrassing to him. Or worse, made him appear weak in front of others. “You just don’t know when to shut up, do you, whore?”
Guess not.
“What did you say to my boyfriend, bitch?” Georgia pushed me from behind and Owen moved out of the way at the last second, sending me tumbling down the stairs to the landing. The laughter and jeers from those who watched echoed in my ears as the cement scraped my hands, arms, and legs, leaving a rash across my bare skin in several places.
Disorientated, I laid there staring at the remaining stairs, trying to get my breath and find my balance. I hurt from head to toe, especially those places exposed to the rough, warm concrete. Thankfully, I hadn’t broken any bones. Trying to explain these abrasions to my uncle would be hard enough. A broken arm or wrist?
Nope.
“That’s what you get for saying shit to my boyfriend,” Georgia yelled, before rearing back and kicking me in my stomach.”
I lurched forward. A cry of pain left me on a high-pitched whoosh of air while I rolled down the remaining stairs. My vision wavered as I tried to inhale. I gasped on a grunted cry, desperate to pull air back into my lungs so they’d expand. My croaked yelp of anguish only bolstered Georgia. Everything inside of me felt hollow, as if my organs had been carved out of my body. I struggled again to suck in air and coughed. Spots danced before my eyes. The world tilted on its axis as I panted, taking in small gulps of oxygen, feeding my distressed body.
Blinking several times, I stared up at my tormenter, willing myself not to cry while I couldn’t move. The thought of “this being it,” and this time being the incident she’d go too far and would kill me, swam through my discombobulated brain, as my lungs struggled to stay inflated. I closed my eyes as tears slid from the corners. I didn’t want to see what was coming next.
If this was it—as dramatic as it might sound—I was ready.
“Hey!” A deep, guttural voice cut through my fraught mental ramblings. The deep resonating sound warmed my insides while also causing my pussy to tingle and my nipples to harden. What the fuck? Here I was, laboring to re-inflate my lungs, looking like warmed over death, and my body decided we wanted to climb whoever sounded like a demon warrior like a tree and scream his name. “What the fuck are you doing over here?” The person drew closer, and the scuffle of feet followed. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Georgia laughed. “I didn’t do anything. She’s such a klutz she fell down the stairs.” The manic lilt in her voice ground against my nerves. I jerked and let out a pained yelp. “She should really be more careful and watch where she’s going.”
“Just like you didn’t kick her in the stomach, sending her down those stairs?” The man snapped, then snorted. Whoever he was, he had a commanding presence. I could feel it, just by the way he loomed over me. His presence blotted out the warm sun. His aura was dark. Delicious. I couldn’t pinpoint what drew me toward him, besides the fact I preened whenever I received an iota of compassion or attention.
Then there was the hero-worshipping thing I did—another trauma response.
Did I mention I was fucked up?
“Nope. You must be mistaken. I’d never do that,” Georgia said, acting like the innocent daughter of the police chief.
“Bullshit,” the guy said, gathering me up in his arms. I whimpered, wincing as he jostled me into his gentle grasp. “I should call the police on you.”
“Don’t,” I squeaked, grimacing at not only the sound of my voice, but the constricted pain of losing my breath. “Not worth it.”
His attention snapped to me. He reminded me of Charlie. Shaggy hair. Pale skin with the brightest white-blue eyes I’d ever seen. His face was a series of sharp lines that made him appear fierce, yet also kind. He held me close to his chest as though I weighed nothing. “She hurt you.”
“It’s her M.O.,” I muttered. “I want to go home. Find Charlie.”
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “We should get you seen first. There are injuries.”
I tensed and instantly regretted it as my chest squeezed, forcing a wheezed exhale out of me. “No doctors. I don’t want to see them.”
He frowned. His fierce features were dangerous. I knew instinctively, if I asked him to hurt Georgia, he would. So, I played the situation off. My uncles didn’t need the added attention, especially because of me. “I don’t like humans who hurt others.”
Interesting way to put it, or maybe I was so fucked up from falling thirty-six steps, I was hearing things. “Her dad is the police chief. Won’t help. Corruption.”
He snarled. “Then I will scare her.”
I grabbed his arm. “No. I’m fine.” Liar. I’d never be fine while Georgia was around.
A fact I’d have to face sooner rather than later.
