Selkie

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

When I returned to the house, the Reverend sat at my kitchen table in the dark. I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Did you read it?"

I hadn't even thought of the envelope he'd passed me since our strange encounter in the morning.

"Meet with Barry," he'd said, "and have him 'sell' your properties to some alias or other to get your father off the trail. Transfer some money to your personal accounts, book a ticket home under your own name, or better yet - book a ticket on a cruise but also buy a flight to the old country. Maria will be able to help you when you get there."

"Who is Maria?"

"A friend." He slid a thick envelope across the table.

"And why should I trust you?"

"Because she did." He clenched his hand into a fist on the table, "I would do anything for her. Always. I'll leave you to read your letter. Best of luck, child. I know your Mother would want you safe."

And then Rev. Sampson got up, tipped his hat, and let himself out.

I sat there stunned. People always told me that small towns were weird. Mom - the one who raised me - has a friend who used to work at a bank, Tasia. She once told us about a man who came into the bank and tried to open an account without an ID. He'd claimed that where he came from, everyone just knew who he was. Whenever she told that story, Tasia would laugh so hard that wine would come out of her nose. She was a riot. Dad always thought she was a bad influence, but I'd never heard my Mom laugh as freely as she did with Tasia.

"No," I answered the Reverend as if it wasn't profoundly odd that he was sitting in my kitchen in the dark. "Not yet. I haven't had a chance."

"Edith, I am going to need you to take this seriously. You are in genuine danger here."

"Okay, okay!" I pulled the envelope out of my coat pocket and made my way to the living room. He set to work, starting a fire in the grate. The room was bathed in a comforting warm glow as the flames kindled. "I've always loved the smell of a wood fire," I said stupidly, and I sat on the pink couch and opened the envelope.

Inside was a series of photographs and an old letter written in a flowing script.

Dear Darling Daughter,

I have done what I can to ensure your safety, but if you are reading this, I have failed. Christopher is my dearest friend and has promised to give you this letter should the occasion arise. Times change so quickly, but he will be able to guide you as is most appropriate. He is older even than me. It is too early to tell if you will take after your father or me regarding your natural life span, so I have no idea when this letter may enter your hands. I trust Christopher wholeheartedly and know he will be there if and when you need him. I have never known so steadfast a man.

My sweet girl, holding you in my arms for those precious hours has been the highlight of my cursed life. You are the one good thing to come of all the horror and wretched longing of this shoreward life.

I will tell you what I can, but first, I must warn you with all the severity of a mother's tongue: you must avoid your father at all costs. He is a liar and will use every tool at his disposal to manipulate you. Trust no one. Both of our lives depend upon it. He is a heartless and cruel man.

Your father is what my people call a collector. He has stolen from me, from both of us, any and every chance of happiness. Because of him, I will never be free. He has taken from me my only means of returning home.

He wants to control and possess you. He wants to control and possess us both. It was for you that he stole me from the embrace of my own Mother, and it is for you that I finally found the strength to escape.

I have left you what means of escape I could and trust that you have the wit and resilience necessary to use what I have offered to disappear as best you can. If you are reading this, I am confident he knows you have resurfaced.

You, my child, are very special. You have gifts you have yet to discover, and were it safe, I would spell them out here. I cannot risk it - even with my trust in Christopher.

Escape, sweet girl.

Your loving Mother.

"Rev Sampson?"

"Yes."

"Christopher?"

"Yes."

"Is my mother alive?"

"Yes."

"Is my father alive?"

"Yes. If he were gone, your Mother would have already come for you."

"Was my mother the victim of human trafficking?"

"She was and remains the victim of trafficking, yes."

" Holy! We need to call the police immediately!"

"I'm afraid there isn't a thing the police can do." His sad eyes met mine from across the room for a moment. His gaze contained a depth of sorrow that made my bones ache.