Bound by Blackwood

Chapter 2

Elena

I got home after my shift at the restaurant by 9 pm to find the house empty and cold, which is not unusual. My dad is never around by this time; he usually walks in at 12 am or 3 am, drunk and battered. Today wasn’t going to be different, I guess.

The thought of the man who paid a visit to me at the bookstore was constantly nagging me, but I somehow managed to distract myself in the restaurant and zone out like I did at the bookstore when the man left.

Racheal was worried sick, but she didn’t push further, as she understood that I didn’t know and wasn’t up for talking about what had happened. Although I am almost certain she will tell her mother about what has happened.

I don’t even plan on making dinner tonight; I’m too tired from the eventful day. I walked to my room, took off my clothes, and headed towards the bathroom.

I plan to wash up, go to bed, and pretend like nothing happened today to get my much-needed sleep.

******

My alarm rang at exactly 6:15 am, the usual time it does daily. I stretched my hand and turned it off.

Sleep didn’t come easily last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the shady man’s face and heard his voice telling me that people don’t like waiting.

Waiting for what? For Dad to pay back something I didn’t know he owed?

I raised myself from the bed as I sluggishly walked towards my bathroom to get ready for school. I have an early class today, and I can’t afford to be late or distracted.

Walking out of my room, the smell of burnt toast greeted me before I even stepped into the kitchen. Dad stood by the stove, jittery, his hands shaking as he buttered bread that was already charred black. I’d seen him hungover, but never this… nervous. Something was wrong.

“Good morning, Dad,” I said as I watched him startle and drop an egg by mistake.

He quickly turned and relaxed when he saw me.

“Princess, I…” “I didn’t see you there,” he stuttered. “How did you sleep?”

“You are awfully nervous this morning. Is there a problem?” I ignored his question as I asked with intent.

“Uh… no. No, my love. There is no problem. I am making us breakfast. Your favorite: toast and eggs.”

“I am late for school, Dad. I will just pack it up and take it with me. Thank you.” I said as I began to walk out of the kitchen.

Stopping in my tracks, I turned to look at him. “Dad?”

“Princess, I am packing it up; give me a min.”

“No, not that. This weird, shady man came to the bookstore yesterday asking about you.”

He turned from the stove to look at me, and I could swear I saw fear flash before his eyes for a minute.

“A man?” he started saying as he walked towards me. “What did he want?”

“Yes. He said to tell you, people don’t like waiting. What does that mean, Dad?”

“Uh… It’s nothing, dear. A friend of mine is playing a funny prank. Nothing serious, baby.”

I could tell he was lying; I could see the fear in his eyes from where he stood. What could he possibly be hiding that has made him this shaken? What has he gotten himself into that made that man come to the store yesterday?

“A prank?” I asked him, unsure.

“Yes, my love. It’s just a silly prank. Don’t worry about it, okay?” he said nervously.

“Okay. See you later, Dad,” I said, grabbing my pack from him and leaving.

I GIVE UP!!! If he won’t tell me, then so be it. He can get in trouble for all I care. I am tired of looking after him. He’s an adult.

******

“Miss Carter?”

The voice was sharp enough to slice through the haze in my head, but I was too far gone, my thoughts still tangled in my dad’s nervous smile that morning and that stranger’s cold words at the bookstore.

“Miss Carter.”

The second call snapped me back to the present. My head jerked up, and for a moment the rows of students, the high whiteboard, and the glow of the projector blurred together. Professor Alan’s eyes were fixed on me from the front of the lecture hall, his brow lifted in that way professors do when they already know the answer but are testing if you do.

“Yes… Sorry, Professor?” My voice sounded too loud in my own ears.

He folded his hands on the podium. “Perhaps you can remind the class what defines Gothic architecture?”

My mouth went dry. I knew this, but the words had slipped out of reach, replaced by my father’s face and the gnawing fear I couldn’t shake.

“I… uh,” I began, but nothing followed. A hollow pause stretched between us.

Professor Alan sighed softly through his nose. Not cruel, just tired. “Distracted, Miss Carter?” His tone was calm and measured. He didn’t embarrass me with more.

“Yes, Professor,” I whispered, staring down at the half-finished notes on my page.

Professor Alan chose that moment to glance at his wristwatch, then back at the class. “Alright, that’s where we’ll stop for today. Read Chapters Four and Five, and we’ll pick up next week.

Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. The usual flood of chatter filled the lecture hall as students spilled out. I gathered my things slowly, tucking my pen into the spiral of my notebook, pretending I didn’t notice the sidelong looks.

By the time I made it to the canteen, Sophia was already waiting at our usual table by the window, a tray of fries in front of her. She raised her brows the second she saw me.

“You look like somebody ran over your cat,” she said, nudging the tray toward me. “What happened this time?”

I dropped my bag onto the chair with more force than I meant to and slid into the seat across from her. The words crowded up in my throat, about Dad, about the man at the bookstore, about breakfast lies and fear I couldn’t name.

I took a fry instead, mostly to buy myself a second, and muttered, “You don’t even want to know.”

Sophia leaned forward, her grin fading into concern. “Try me.”

******

“You really think he's in trouble?” Sophia asked with worry, her voice dropping lower as if the walls of the canteen might lean in and eavesdrop.

“I can feel it in my bones. I don’t have proof, but I can feel it, Sophia. He is hiding something, and I don’t think it is just about money; I think it is bigger than that. The way he looked at me this morning. It was terrifying.”

Sophia watched me slowly, leaning back and crossing her arms. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, Sophia,” I swallowed hard, staring down at our untouched smoothies.

Sophia reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Then maybe you need to stop waiting and start looking. If your dad won’t tell you the truth, find it yourself.”

Find it myself. How can I find out something that is actively being hidden from me?

“Come on,” she said, standing and reaching for her bag. “I’ll drop you off.”

I shook my head. “No, I have work. The bookstore…”

“Carter!” Sophia gave me that look, that one that could melt every excuse I’d ever rehearsed. “You don’t need more distractions now. You need rest, and maybe just… a little space to think. Call in sick or something. The world won’t end if you miss a day.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she was already waving off my protest. “You have thirty seconds to decide,” she said. “Push yourself to exhaustion, or take one night to breathe and rest.”

I sighed, defeated. “Fine, let’s go home.”

******

The ride home was quiet but not in an awkward way. The kind of quiet that Sophia and I enjoy. The type of quiet that hummed with thoughts I couldn’t untangle. When we turned onto my street, my breath caught in my throat.

Two men were carrying our old couch out the front door, its legs scraping the concrete steps. Another man tossed a box, my box, the one with my mother’s framed photos, onto the growing pile on the sidewalk.

“What the…” My door flew open before Sophia could park properly. I ran up the walkway, my heart hammering. “Hey! Stop! What’s going on? Why are you touching our things?”

The man with the box barely glanced at me. “The house has been repossessed. Orders from the loan company. We’re just doing our job.”

“No…no, there has to be a mistake!” I grabbed the box, clutching it to my chest. “You can’t just throw our lives out here like garbage!”

But they kept moving, cold and mechanical, as if I weren’t even standing there.

Behind me, Sophia’s footsteps pounded the pavement. “Carter…” she called, but I was already in the middle of the chaos, trying desperately to hold my world together with trembling hands.

I shoved past one of the men, blocking the doorway. “You can’t do this! This is my home!” My voice cracked, but anger pushed me forward. “At least explain what’s happening. Show me a paper, something!”

The man sighed, clearly annoyed. “Orders came down. The house was collateral on an unpaid loan. You need to step aside, miss.”

Collateral. The word cut like glass. I staggered back, shaking my head. “No… no, that’s impossible. My father would have told me. He…he wouldn’t…”

Behind me, Sophia grabbed my arm, trying to pull me away. “Carter, please…”

But I couldn’t move. Not when I saw another man coming down the steps, dragging a sagging cardboard box. My chest tightened when I recognized the handwriting on its side: Mom’s things.

“Stop!” I lunged forward, snatching the box before he could set it down. The tape split under my grip, spilling its contents: my mother’s journals, a cracked teacup she used every morning, and the faded photograph of us three standing in front of this very house.

The picture slipped, landing face down in the dirt.

I dropped to my knees, hands shaking as I gathered the pieces, clutching them like lifelines. The men kept moving, their boots thudding against the steps, indifferent to the wreckage they were creating.

Sophia knelt beside me, her hand on my shoulder. Her voice was soft but urgent. “Carter, please, you can’t stop them. Please. This isn’t your fight right now.”

Tears blurred my vision as I hugged the box to my chest. “This is everything I have left.”

But the men didn’t slow. My home, our lives, were being stripped away piece by piece, and I was powerless to stop it.

“Dad!” I shouted, my voice breaking as I saw him sprinting down the street, his shirt untucked, his face flushed with panic.

“Stop!” he bellowed at the men, but his command carried no weight. They kept working, steady and unbothered.

I scrambled to my feet, clutching the box against my chest. “What’s happening? They’re throwing out Mom’s things, our things. Tell me this is some mistake!”

His eyes met mine for only a second before darting away, full of shame. He grabbed my arm, pulling me aside as if he could shield me from the scene. “Baby, please. Don’t…don’t. I’m so sorry. I failed you. I failed her.” He said softly, like he was about to shed tears.

My breath caught. “You knew?”

He flinched, the lines on his face deepening. “I tried to fix it. I swear I tried. But it’s too late now.”

Too late. The words hollowed me out.

Behind us, the men carried out another box, this one filled with my books from school. They tossed it onto the growing pile like trash. Something inside me snapped.

I tore my arm from my father’s grip, my voice trembling with fury. “You lied to me! You let them take everything, and you didn’t even warn me!”

The neighbors had started to gather at the edges of the street, whispers rising like smoke. Shame, grief, and anger were all tangled inside me until I could barely breathe.

“Please, Princess,” Dad whispered, his eyes pleading, broken. “We’ll talk inside.”

I gestured wildly at the gutted house behind him. “Inside? There is no inside! They’re taking it all!”

Sophia stepped closer, her hand hovering as if to catch me if I crumbled. My father just stood there, small and tired, like a man watching his world collapse piece by piece.

“I’ll fix it,” my father muttered, his voice shaky, his eyes darting everywhere but mine. “I’ll fix it, I promise.”

“Fix it?” I shouted, my throat raw. “How do you fix this?” I flung my arm toward the piles of our life scattered on the sidewalk. “They’ve taken everything, Dad! You can’t just say that like some broken record and expect me to believe it!”

But he only kept repeating, softer, hoarser, and desperate, “I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it.”

I wanted to shake him, to force him to face me, to tell me what he meant. But before I could, I realized the men had already finished. The last door slammed shut, the lock clicked, and then they were gone, leaving nothing but silence, our belongings dumped like discarded scraps.

“Elena… come on.” Sophia’s voice was quiet and careful. My heart jolted at the sound. She never called me by my first name. Ever since we’d met, she’d only called me Carter, as though the name had become part of who I was to her. Hearing her say "Elena," my name, raw and unshielded, for the first time in years, made the moment feel sharper, more real, as if even she knew the ground beneath me had truly given way

But my father shook his head, stumbling back a step. “No. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it!” He said it louder this time, his voice cracking like glass.

“Sir, wait…” Sophia called after him, but he was already moving, staggering down the street like a man chasing ghosts.

“Dad!” I managed, but my voice was weak and broken. And then he was gone, swallowed by the dark.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. The world around me blurred; neighbors had come to watch, some murmuring pity, some whispering judgment. I heard nothing but the hollow ringing in my ears.

It was Sophia who acted, her hands quick and steady. With the help of a kind neighbor, she gathered what little could be saved—clothes, books, and scattered keepsakes—and packed them into the trunk of her car. I stood useless, numb, as though my body no longer belonged to me.

Finally, Sophia slipped an arm around me, her voice low and firm. “Come on, baby. Let’s go.”

She guided me gently into the passenger seat, buckling me in like I was a child, and when she drove away, I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

The good thing was that Sophia’s house was quiet, too quiet. Her mother didn’t live with her anymore, and the big house stood empty except for us. But in that moment, it didn’t feel like safety. It felt like a pause, a silence before the storm I knew was still coming.