My Life as Dad's Living Deterrent

The metallic taste of blood surged up from the back of my throat. I clawed at the gaps in the well's brick wall, having already ripped off two of my fingernails. Every brick my fingers touched was slick with mud and my own blood.

Half my body dangled over the water, suspended above a freezing, pitch-black abyss. If I let myself slip for even a second, I would drown.

But I couldn't die.

Voices drifted down from above.

Even through the echo of the 30-foot-deep well, I recognized my sister, Elizabeth Wilson's voice instantly.

She was shaking. "Dad, where's the tracker? Just tell me, please. I'm begging you!"

Dad's voice came next, carrying his usual chilly composure. "Promise me you won't join the police academy, and I'll tell you."

"Dad, stop pushing me!" Isabelle practically screamed, her voice cracking with emotion.

At the bottom of the well, I parted my lips, desperate to tell her not to give in. But nothing came out. I only had a ragged stump left where my tongue used to be.

The killer had taken a dull blade to it. He had sawed it back and forth in my mouth until it finally cut through my tongue. It hurt so badly that eventually, the pain just went numb.

Blood kept welling up, pouring down my throat and choking me until I could barely breathe. That was why I couldn't make a sound.

Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes and pooled in the folds of my ears, feeling both cool and itchy.

I didn't know if I was crying for myself or for Elizabeth.

It had been this way for as long as I could remember.

If Isabelle came home a minute late, I took a hundred lashes. If she read a book for fun, I was forced to copy a hundred literary classics by hand. If she had mentioned she wasn't hungry, I would've been starved for days.

Dad never punished Isabelle directly. He only punished me because he knew she cared about me. As long as he held me hostage, Isabelle would never escape the palm of his hand.

Ever since Mom died in the line of duty, Dad had been consumed by paranoia. He claimed he couldn't lose Isabelle too, so he used every method imaginable to keep her tied to him, even if it meant destroying me.

This time was no different.

Three days ago, that serial killer moved me from the abandoned cabin to the underground well. He cut out my tongue, sliced me up, and threw me down here, planning to come back for my corpse once I died.

But before he could finish the job, the cops caught him.

I had held on for two days and one night, losing track of how much blood I'd lost.

The well walls were smeared with my bloody handprints. When my nails snapped, I kept digging with my raw fingertips.

When my fingers turned to mush, I wedged my forearms into the cracks. I dragged myself up, inch by grueling inch.

I kept fighting because Dad had promised that if I made it out alive, he'd let Isabelle join the police academy. That was his only condition.

I knew better than anyone how badly she wanted to be a cop. It was Mom's dying wish, and it had been Isabelle's dream since she was a little girl.

I had held her back too many times. For once, I wanted her to be able to choose her own life.

So, I couldn't die.

Suddenly, the tunnel of light at the top of the well widened.

My uncle, Harrison Wilson's voice cut through the air, booming with rage. "Benjamin, you've completely lost your mind!"

Heavy footsteps thudded above, followed by the sound of something being shoved aside.

Uncle Harrison's voice got closer to the opening of the well. "The tracker's pinging right here! Your son is down there! How could you throw your own flesh and blood into a well? Are you even human?"

Light flooded the chasm, but it vanished just as quickly.

Dad had slammed the well cover shut again.