Savage: The Awakening of Lizzie Danton Read online

  1995

  My father was away on business. How the man conducted business when he was insane, I didn’t know. With him gone, it gave Fenella and Finnegan a chance to drive into Edinburgh to see a friend who wasn’t well. I was in the kitchen working on homework when I heard the noise. It was faint, but it was coming from the lower level. On a few occasions, we had rodents getting into the stockroom. The last time I swear Fenella jumped twenty feet in the air. It was hilarious, but rodents could devour a pantry faster than Finnegan could kick back a pint. I grabbed a flashlight and headed down into the lower part of the castle. It was dark and cold and every time I got a chill, but not from the temperature. The dungeons were down here—small, stone cells with old iron gates and locks. People had actually been kept in those cells back in the time of my ancestors. Many left to die. I didn’t know what was worse, starving to death or being feasted on by the rodents and insects.

  I reached the stockroom, but I didn’t see any rodents and nothing looked out of place. Pain exploded in my head. Disoriented and confused because no one was home, I didn’t resist the pulling as someone manhandled me. It was only when I heard the distinct sound of a gate click close that my situation penetrated and with that came panic. I ran to the gates to see my father on the other side of them. He looked deranged. He had lied about his business trip. He’d planned this.

  “Pa, let me out.”

  He laughed, a horribly twisted laugh.

  “Don’t do this.” The baptisms were one thing, but this. He was completely mad.

  “Let me out. Please, let me out!”

  “Rot,” he snarled then snatched up the flashlight I had dropped and walked away. The beam grew smaller and smaller until I was surrounded by nothing but darkness.

  I pulled at the gates and clawed at the stone walls until my fingers bled. It was so cold, made even more so because of how damp it was. Then I heard the distinct sound of rodents, the scratching of their nails on the stone floors. At first I fought them off, but I was trapped in that cell for three days before a horrified Finnegan found me. I don’t remember when it was I stopped feeling the rats on me, when I stopped feeling at all.

  1998

  “Brochan, stop! You’re going to kill him.”

  My blood burned hot as it rushed through my veins. My hand cramped, my knuckles ached and still I didn’t stop. There was a rhythm, a kind of beauty, as my fist made contact with flesh and bone.

  Strong hands pulled me off Tomas. He would be eating out of a straw for a while. I grinned.

  “Brochan!”

  The teacher hurried over. She was new, not to the area, but she’d been away for a while studying and traveling. “You could have really hurt him.”

  “I did really hurt him.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “I know you think that, really believe that you acted without cause, but something fueled that outburst. What?”

  “He’s a bawbag.”

  “Language. Why?”

  “Look at him.”

  “Brochan. They’re going to suspend you.”

  “I don’t give a shit. I didn’t ask to be here.”

  The big dude curled his fingers into my shoulder. “Don’t talk to her like that. She’s the only one who gives a shit about you.”

  “Fergus, language,” Brianna chided then added, “Tell me, Brochan.” It was her eyes. They were the windows to the soul; at least that’s what that dick my pa always said. If that were true, my pa was fucked. The teacher’s eyes were warm, kind…safe.

  There had been a reason I pounded on the numpty; he had taken my St. Margaret medallion. The only thing I had of my ma’s. Fenella gave it to me on my birthday. I uncurled my hand to show her.

  She touched my hand and I wanted to recoil. Her hands were soft and warm as she curled her own under mine. Her eyes were bright, the green the same color of the hills that cradled our village. “I’m sorry he took that.”

  “Whatever.”

  A few days after I taught Tomas a lesson, I was in the kitchen with Fenella when we heard raised voices coming from the great hall. Finnegan appeared. “We have a problem.”

  We entered the living room to see my pretty, and seemingly sweet, teacher going toe to toe with Finlay McIntyre. “I’ve seen the bruises. It stops or I go to the authorities.”

  “Are you threatening me in my own home?”

  “Yes. I’ve heard the rumors; the ones people insist aren’t true, just the wild imagination of a troubled kid. They’re true, every horrible detail. You will stop.”

  “Or what?”

  “I’ll make you. You don’t scare me. You suffered a great loss, but what you’re doing to your son is wrong. What would your wife say?”

  His hand lifted. I ran into the room and stepped between them. For the first time his ire wasn’t directed at me. “How dare you speak of my wife.”

  “You’ve done heinous things all in the name of your wife. She’s rolling in her grave seeing how you’re treating her child.”

  My father looked almost rabid, the spittle flying from his snarled lips. “You know nothing.”

  “I know she gave her life for her child and instead of holding onto that last piece of her, loving him like you did her, you’ve made his life hell. How you’ve gotten away with it for as long as you have I don’t know, but I promise you it stops or I’ll see your ass behind bars.”

  “He is a monster. He killed my wife,” he roared.

  “No. You are the monster.”

  Hearing someone say the words I felt distracted me so I didn’t see Finlay curl his hand into a fist, wasn’t fast enough when Finnegan shouted the warning. My father punched her in the face. Her head jerked back, her lip split before she crumpled to the floor. Every one had their limit; I had reached mine. I nailed him with a punch to the gut. But I didn’t stop at one. I beat on him so hard and so long, he wasn’t breathing when Finnegan finally pulled me off him.

  That same night, the McIntyre ancestral home, my hell, burned to the ground.

  ...the

  shadows...

  CHAPTER TWO

  LIZZIE

  1992

  My fingers touched the black wolf in the picture book I had brought home from school. He was supposed to be the bad one in the story. He was fierce and scary, but there was something pretty about him too. A banging on the door, followed by my father’s angry voice, had me running to the corner. They would start fighting now. He wasn’t here often, but when he was they screamed enough to keep most of the building awake.

  “You got what you wanted, my fucking ring on your finger, but not anymore.”

  “You’re going to divorce me? You never even lived here, never even gave us a chance.”

  “Why the fuck would I?”

  “And your firm, those extremely conservative men. You think they’ll be okay with you walking out on your wife and child?”

  “They all have at least one mistress. A child out of wedlock, that would have turned their heads, leaving you won’t even make them blink.”

  “You can’t leave me.”

  “My lawyer is already drawing up the papers. You’re one twisted bitch, bringing a child into this. You were a good fuck and even that got tired after a while. Getting pregnant, did you really think that would turn us into a loving family? The child carries my name so she will want for nothing, but you and me we’re over. You can have this apartment and I’ll keep you in the lifestyle you whored yourself to have, but know I already have another woman warming my bed.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Something crashed against the wall.

  “That’s it, show your true colors, Norah. I am a son of a bitch. I never pretended to be something I wasn’t. That’s your thing.”

  “I’ll ruin you.”

  “Don’t threaten me. Remember Heather Craig? That’s right, be afraid. I know where the fucking bodies are buried.”

  The door slammed, something crashed against it. I curled up as sm
all as I could make myself in the corner of the room and cried. I was the child, that very unwanted child.

  My mother appeared in my doorway. I started to shake. Kids feared the monsters under their beds or in their closets, but my monster was right out in the open. “You ruined my life. I wish you were never born.”

  She had said those words to me a lot and still they hurt, but this time I was scared too. When she walked away, I ran to the door and locked it. I grabbed the book, climbed under the covers and wished the big bad wolf were here to protect me…from her.

  1997

  I should have insisted you wear the pink dress, the black just washes you out. Too late now, changing will ruin your hair. Do not slouch and do not pick on the food. You’re a little wide in the stomach already.”

  Cold assessing eyes moved over me. Mother didn’t like what she saw when her perfect lips turned down into a frown. “You are already slouching. Shoulders back, Elizabeth.”

  Her fingers bit into my shoulders as she forcibly pushed them back.

  “Ouch.”

  “Stop being a child. You’re ten today. I had planned to give you your present when your father was here, but if he keeps to his track record, he won’t show for this birthday either.”

  It wasn’t a package wrapped in pretty paper with a bow, or one of those fancy gift bags with all that lovely colored tissue paper. There were no balloons or streamers. No candles, just a gray envelope that had Stone Crest Academy written in the top left corner.

  “What it is?”

  “Boarding School in Vermont. You start in September.”

  “Boarding School?”

  “Stone Crest Academy is very expensive. For the hundred thousand a year in tuition and boarding you might look a little enthusiastic.”

  Being abandoned was being abandoned; I didn’t care how much it cost. “Yes, Mother.”

  It was my birthday and Mother was hosting a party. It wasn’t a party for me; none of my friends had been invited, not that I had a lot of friends because Mother didn’t approve of most and the few who actually got an invitation never came back a second time. She had a way of scaring people off. This was a party for her, another opportunity to show off to her friends.

  “Do not embarrass me, Elizabeth.” And on that note, Norah Danton turned and walked out.

  Happy birthday to me.

  I dragged my feet when I left my room and wondered how long I had to pretend. Mother usually drank heavily at these parties, so no longer than an hour. For that hour, I was the perfect little angel to all of her friends. I endured the cheek pinches, the assessing studies, and the comments under their breaths that they didn’t think I heard because I was young, which to them was synonymous with stupid or deaf. When the mood of the party changed, I escaped to the urban garden on the roof of our building. The lights of the New York skyline twinkled in the distance as cars and people moved this way and that. Everyone was heading somewhere in a hurry. Maybe they were rushing to get to a party, or the birth of a child, or maybe it was just their family holding dinner so they could all eat together. Mother didn’t eat, well unless it was in liquid form in a martini glass. My father never visited, but he did send me cards twice a year—one on my birthday and one for Christmas. Mother always opened them. She claimed she wanted to see the sentiment he wrote, not that he wrote any, but she was really taking the money he sent. I heard her on the phone with one of her friends saying she earned the money being stuck with the fat brat. I had been a means to an end, one that didn’t end as she had hoped, so now she was sending me off to boarding school. I guess she didn’t want the burden of a child anymore. I hated living here, but boarding school. My stomach ached thinking about it. I had only eight more years and I would be free. I didn’t know where I would go or what I would do, but I would be free of her. I could endure eight more years, I hoped.

  Stone Crest Academy looked just as you’d think; big, old, gloomy and cold. Mother drove down the long drive. “Behave with dignity, Elizabeth, you are a Danton.”

  When did I not behave with dignity? She held the reins so tightly I was barely able to think without her criticizing me.

  “Will you visit at Christmas?”

  “No,” she exhaled on a huff. “I suppose there is no harm in telling you. I’m moving to California. My health isn’t great.”

  Panic squeezed my chest hard. “But I’ll be alone.”

  “Being alone isn’t a bad thing. You’ll have more time to focus on your studies. The curriculum here is very difficult and you, well, you will definitely be challenged.”

  In other words, I was stupid. “Why can’t I go to boarding school in California?”

  “Are you talking back to me?”

  “It’s a fair question.”

  “I’ll make sure Stone Crest knows discipline is both welcomed and encouraged. After everything I have done for you, the sacrifices I have had to make, and this is how you speak to me?” Outside of finding my supposed flaws she did nothing for me. And I hadn’t asked to be born and if I knew to whom I was being born, I would have definitely voted no. I was the consequence of their actions, but the threat of corporal punishment caused the boldness to flee.

  She pulled up in front of the large black double doors, the crest of the Academy over them in stone. She turned to me. “Did you ever for a second think you are the problem? Both your father and I…what’s the common denominator? You are, Elizabeth. Some people are impossible to love.” After those brutal words, she climbed from the car. I couldn’t get my hands to work, my stomach twisted and I felt sick. Was she right? Was I the problem? I managed to hide the pain, showing her would do nothing. She pulled my bags from the car, but she didn’t walk me in to the registration office. We stood on the drive staring at each other with about as much warmth as two strangers would feel.

  “Behave yourself,” were her final words to me. Clutching my two bags tightly in my hands, I watched as my mother drove out of my life without a goodbye, without a kiss, without a hug. I wouldn’t cry, crying didn’t help, and still a single tear rolled down my cheek. I turned and looked up at the crest and felt a sickening sensation that as bad as my life had been, it was only going to get worse. I could do this, so I pushed my shoulders back and walked on shaking legs into the next chapter of my life.

  Pain shot up my arm, but I bit my lip to keep from crying out. The ruler came down again on the same spot; the edges of my vision blackened. It was my third week here and I had dared to reach for a second slice of cake.

  “Gluttony, Elizabeth, is a sin. Do you want to be a sinner?”

  “No, Ms. Meriwether.”

  “Will you reach for seconds at dessert again?”

  “No, Ms. Meriwether.”

  “That goes for all of you. Not knowing the rules isn’t an excuse. We here at Stone Crest Academy are determined to turn out well-behaved and disciplined young ladies. Let this be a lesson for all of you. You’re dismissed. Not you, Elizabeth. You can clean the dinner dishes as punishment.”

  Mindlessly, I started collecting dishes. This wasn’t a boarding school; it was hell. Mother hadn’t been kidding when she threatened to encourage discipline. Ms. Meriwether was the worst of the lot, an apparent convent drop out, she used her twisted version of religion as an excuse to hurt and punish. She was also the headmistress so her attitude trickled down to the rest of the staff. Her methods were wrong but they worked because I wouldn’t be going for seconds again.

  It took me two hours to clean up after dinner, which meant I would be up for most of the night doing homework, another punishable crime being up after curfew, but so was not turning in your homework. I was screwed either way. I dropped the dishrags in the basket and made sure all the lights were off before I headed to my room. Halfway there I realized I forgot my sweater. I turned back and noticed a light coming from the direction of the kitchen. My sixth sense was being honed here as well, so I didn’t just march into the kitchen, I peered around the door. The sight that greeted me almost brou
ght forth language that would have earned me soap in the mouth. Ms. Meriwether was sitting at the counter in the kitchen, but it was the two slices of cake in front of her that had me seeing red. If I were bigger and stronger, I’d be very tempted to walk right up to her and punch her in her hypocritical face. So much for practicing what she preached.

  Every week mail was delivered and every two weeks we were allowed calls from home. Sitting in the dining hall, week after week, watching as the other kids received letters and packages from home was hard. On my birthday and Christmas my father continued with his tradition of sending me a card with money. I knew it was his assistant that arranged for the cards and still I kept them. The money I put in a sock under my mattress. I didn’t have a roommate and no one came to my room, so it was safe.

  My mother never called and she never wrote. She had quite literally washed her hands of me. Dumped me here and started over. I often wondered what she told my father because he was footing the bill for the place. Did she claim I was a problem child? That I was unruly and needed discipline? Most likely. Sometimes I thought to call him and set him straight, but he didn’t care any more than she did. Sure he was paying for the school, but from what my mother told her friends he didn’t feel the hit of my tuition and it was money that kept her and me out of his hair.

  I often replayed my mother’s parting words that the problem was me not them. I knew it wasn’t true and still a part of me wondered. One day, maybe I’d find where I fit. I’d find a home. Maybe I’d even find someone who loved me. For now, I had to survive eight years of hell.