Beyond the Horizon

by Bea Paige

  My teeth gnash together. I want to go down there and rescue her now. I don’t want to watch a moment longer. I want to fucking act. But if I do that right now, then there’s no chance of us getting away because I will murder the cunt right here in front of everyone.

  I have to be patient no matter how much it’s killing me inside.

  Ma Silva might have kept Connie cloistered from the world, but she hasn’t done her any favours keeping her in the dark. Connie has lived a sheltered life on the island and has no idea how the big bad world works. Tonight, she’s going to come crashing back to earth with more than just a hangover.

  It’s almost one in the morning when the group decides to leave. Outside Jack and the two girls say their goodbyes to Connie and Peter and climb in a cab, but rather than doing the same, Peter wraps an arm around Connie’s shoulder and starts walking down the road.

  I follow, readying myself for the moment of attack.

  Twenty-Nine

  Connie

  “Aren’t we getting a cab?” I ask Peter, aware that my words are slurring a little. God, I haven’t felt this drunk since my eighteenth birthday last year, and even then I swear I was able to hold my drink better. My head swims, and my vision blurs as Peter’s grip tightens.

  “I thought you could use the walk. Our hotel isn’t far away.”

  “Probably a good idea. My head is all over the place. I swear I didn’t drink that much.”

  “You were knocking them back, Connie. Don’t stress. I’ll get you back safe.”

  Peter laughs, but beneath the familiar sound is something I can’t place. Goosebumps gather over my skin and somewhere in the depths of my muddled brain, a very quiet voice is trying to get my attention.

  “Have you enjoyed yourself?” he asks after a while, as I stumble, and he keeps me upright.

  “Yeah, I have. It’s been g-ood seeing my friends.”

  “You keep yourself hidden away on that island. A pretty girl like you should be living it up.”

  “I-I like living there,” I slur, my own voice sounding alien and far away.

  “You really do, don’t you? It’s a fucking dump, Connie.” Through the haze, his words cut me deep. I swear warning bells are sounding off in my head, but I can’t really make sense of why.

  “I th-thought you liked our island?” My knees buckle, and I find I can’t walk anymore, let alone speak.

  Peter hauls me upright, pressing his mouth against my ear. “That’s what I wanted you to think…”

  “Wh-hat,” I stutter, forcing my eyes open. Trying to focus. Everything seems so far away. Through the haze, I feel my body lifted off the ground.

  “Fuck this. I’m done waiting. Fucking three weeks I’ve slogged over you.”

  “Pe-eter,” I stumble, registering his words and not understanding them. Black dots prick my vision as cold dread spreads over me. “Wh-hat are you doing?”

  I’m vaguely aware of being carried down a dark alley. There are no lights down here. Nothing but the stench of rubbish and mould.

  “Shut the fuck up, Connie. It’s time to put out,” he responds with a cruel snarl, shoving me face first into a hard brick wall. Stars splinter behind my eyes and I cry out, but it sounds weak, like a helpless kitten abandoned by her mother.

  “Pe-eter, pl-ease…” My words are cut off with another pitiful cry as his cold hands slide up the back of my dress, yanking it above my waist. “St-op,” I whimper, awareness breaking through the fog in my head. I try to break free of his hold, but every limb feels leaden.

  “That’s it, Connie, fucking beg,” he retorts, coldness leaking into his voice. “I like it when they beg.”

  When his fingers yank at my knickers, tears run over my cheeks, stinging against the scrape made by the sharp brick. I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, the black spots that blur my vision joining up. I feel rage inside me, but it’s buried so deep beneath this thick, syrupy feeling that I can’t even use it to fight him off. All I can do is beg, and I hate it.

  “P-lease,” I beg, choking on a sob.

  “Oh, baby, I’m only stopping once I’ve fucked every hole.” He licks my face. I can’t even respond.

  Blackness pulls me under…

  I welcome oblivion.

  My head thunders, everything hurts. Even opening my eyelids is such a mammoth, monumental effort that I can’t even manage to do that. Unfurling my fingers that are clutching hold of something soft, I groan, trying and failing to push myself upright.

  “Hey, shh. Don’t move,” a deep, soothing voice tells me.

  “Malakai?” I mumble, my tongue a heavy muscle in my mouth.

  “Here, sip this.”

  A straw is placed gently between my lips. Cool liquid washes flows into my mouth as I suck greedily. I’m so thirsty. Eventually, I find enough energy to open my eyes. Malakai is leaning over me, concern etched across every inch of his handsome face. He places the bottle of water on a table beside him and brushes a few strands of hair away from my face.

  “Wh-where am I?”

  “My boat. We’re moored up. You’re back home now.”

  Despite the gentleness of his tone, each word grinds the cogs in my head painfully as I try to grasp what’s happened and why I’m on his boat.

  “Back home?”

  “Yes, Ma Silva and Lola will be here any minute now.”

  “Wh-hat happened?” The last memory I have is dancing in Volts nightclub in Canterbury. I was having fun… wasn’t I? A lingering, nagging feeling starts to flit about in my memories that are still foggy and unclear. I can’t grasp it long enough to make any sense of it though.

  “How did I get here? Why do I feel like this?” My body feels as though it’s still deep asleep, everything is heavy and foreign.

  “You…” Malakai begins, then frowns. He strokes my hair almost absentmindedly, trying to find the words to tell me what’s gone on. It must be pretty serious given his struggle. Malakai has never faltered over his words before now. That usually isn’t his problem, he’s always straight and to the point.

  “Do you remember anything?” he asks, searching my face.

  “I’m not sure.” The truth is, there are snippets of images. Some are clearer than others. Shaking my head, I press my eyes shut, forcing myself to concentrate. Those images flash in my mind. I remember Peter and my friends, Jack, Alice and Georgia. We were dancing in the club, laughing, talking. I was… drunk. Happy, but drunk.

  “We were in a club…” I mutter, still trying to gather my thoughts.

  “That’s right. Do you remember anything else?” The way he asks me that question gives me the feeling that he hopes I don’t. But why would he not want me to remember…? My body shivers and my stomach clenches as though it knows the truth even if my mind isn’t clear. I have the sudden overwhelming urge to throw up. Is this the alcohol? No. No, it’s more than that.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I say.

  Malakai reaches for a bucket that I hadn’t noticed was sitting on the floor by his feet. I heave and my stomach empties. After I’m done, Malakai clears away the mess, returning with a damp washcloth.

  “Here,” he says, handing it to me.

  “Thank you,” I mutter, wiping my mouth and taking the proffered water he passes to me next. After cleansing my mouth, I manage to push myself upright. Pins and needles prick my skin all over, the feeling is unpleasant and unwelcome. “My legs feel so heavy, Malakai. Why is that?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, instead he takes my hand and brings it up to his lips, brushing his lips over my knuckles, a gentle act in itself. “Drugs…” he says eventually.

  “No! What? I don’t do drugs, Malakai. I didn’t take any drugs…”

  He squeezes my hand tighter. “No, Connie, you were drugged by him.” He spits the last word out, hatred flashing across his face like storm clouds rolling over a thunderous sky.

  “Wh-hat do you…?”

  But more images begin to tumble, cutting off my
response as memories begin to appear. They take shape, like spectres in a deserted graveyard. We left the nightclub. We didn’t catch a cab like Jack, Alice and Georgia did. Peter said the fresh air would do me good. My legs were so heavy… Why were they so heavy?

  You were drugged…

  “NO!”

  “I’m sorry he wasn’t who you thought he was.”

  Words are caught up with the memories. Words Peter had said to me…

  “Shut the fuck up, Connie. It’s time to put out.”

  “That’s it, Connie. Fucking beg.”

  “I’m only stopping once I’ve fucked every hole.”

  “NO!” I shout, feeling a sudden, sharp sting on my cheek as everything comes back into stark reality. I raise my hand and feel something there. When I pull my fingers away, there’s a hint of blood.

  “He slammed my face into a wall…” I choke out. “He… He tried to…”

  I gulp in air, my heart thrashing against my rib cage as those vague images build a picture I don’t want to acknowledge. For a moment I’m back there, back in the alley with his hands on my skin, his threat in my ear, and his intentions a nightmare beginning to take shape.

  “Peter…!” I cry out, fear clutching hold of my spine as I reach for Malakai, my fingers claw into fists, Malakai’s beautiful image distorting into one I despise.

  “He’s gone, Connie. He can’t hurt you. You’re safe,” Malakai says, grasping my wrists in his hands as he gently presses them to my side.

  My thundering heart slows with every reassuring word and his gentle touch, as his thumbs soothe the pulse points in my wrists. When I calm down enough, Malakai releases me, cupping my unharmed cheek. “His real name is Abel, and he’s been dealt with… You’ll never, ever, have to worry about him touching you again. I swear to you, Connie, you’re safe.” Malakai growls.

  I meet his gaze, my vision blurred by tears, but I see the vivid anger in his eyes. It tells me all I need to know, but I grasp hold of the least frightening part of that sentence.

  “His name is Abel?” God, what else did he lie to me about? Everything, a little voice inside my head says. Everything.

  “Yes.”

  “Did he…? Did he…?” Rape me. I can’t say the words out loud.

  Malakai shakes his head furiously. “No! No, Little Siren. He didn’t get the fucking chance.”

  “He didn’t get the fucking chance…”

  “He’s been dealt with…”

  “You’ll never have to worry about him touching you ever again…”

  “Oh, god. Oh, god. What did you do?” I cry, more tears washing down my face. Malakai’s face crumples, cut up by my pain and despair. He leans over and brushes away my tears that still pour despite his efforts to comfort me.

  “I did what I had to do,” he grinds out, forcing his emotions deep inside, the harshness of his words a contradiction to the gentleness of his touch. For a long time he just takes me in. The frown between his eyebrows deepening with every moment that passes.

  “Did you kill him?” I whisper.

  “Yes,” he grinds out, confirming my worst fears.

  My jaw begins to chatter as the truth sinks in. Peter… No, Abel, tried to rape me. I thought I knew who he was. I thought he was a friend. It was all a lie. All those times I was alone with him and he never… yet, he wanted to. He’d played the long game. I believed we were friends and all that time he was planning on hurting me in the worst possible way…

  Boiling hot rage fires in my veins, incinerating any kind of sympathy for his demise, quickly to be replaced with heartache for Malakai. To take a life like that, no matter how evil that person might be, has got to darken your soul. I don’t want his soul to be weighed down by something I forced him to do because of my poor choices. I should never have left the island.

  “Malakai, are you…” Okay?

  My voice catches as I reach for him, my fingers brushing his shoulder before he pulls away. I knew he had a past filled with darkness. I knew that, but he’d turned his back on it. He’d left that world behind… until now. Tonight, he killed a man for me, and it breaks my heart to know I’ve had a hand in scarring him like that.

  “Don’t! Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, Little Siren. I don’t need or want your pity.”

  “You killed him…” I breathe.

  “Yes, and I would do it again if it meant keeping you safe,” he counters, his fingers brushing over my cheek. I lean into his hold, glad of the warmth I feel there as his mossy green eyes drink me in. Electricity snaps between us like it always does when we’re close. This time, however, there’s care, tenderness, something far deeper than instant physical attraction.

  “I… Thank you,” I croak, a sob catching in my voice.

  The boat rocks slightly as the sound of grandma’s voice rings in the air. He jerks his hand back, moving away. “Don’t go…” I beg, and I don’t just mean now. I mean forever.

  He looks at me, shaking his head. “I have to. I must. You deserve better than this. You deserve better than me.”

  I know what he isn’t saying. He believes I deserve better than a man who’s capable of killing another, no matter the cause.

  “No,” I whisper, but still he backs away.

  “Where is she? Where’s Connie?” The desperation in my grandma’s voice and the apology in Malakai’s eyes curdles my stomach. I should never have left the island. I should never have left. None of this would have happened.

  “In here,” Malakai responds. He gives me one last lingering look before moving out into the main cabin. I watch as he presses his hands flat against the table then leans over, his head dropping between his shoulders. My heart aches for him, for us.

  Grandma Silva stops briefly by his side, resting her hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she says, meaning it. Then she sees me, and she’s rushing forward once more. “Oh, Connie, child. Oh my darling, darling, girl,” she cries, folding me into her arms. I cling onto her, sobs bursting from my lips freely now.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I mumble.

  “No! You never, ever apologise to me, child. This is not your fault.”

  But it is. It is my fault. I left the island with Peter with the aim of doing one thing and one thing only: to get Malakai to see me, to follow me.

  And he came.

  But he’s going to leave again, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.

  Thirty

  Seven Months Later

  Malakai

  Every day since I left Connie, I’ve thought about her. Every mile I put between us I worried about how she was faring. Grant kept me informed, just like he promised he would. His updates were the only thing that kept me from going insane.

  He told me how Connie still worked with Lola. That she sat most evenings on Broken Shores writing songs, even during the colder months. He told me how it took her a long time to get over her ordeal, but that eventually she put it behind her with the love and support of Lola and Ma Silva.

  But me? I remained a broken man.

  Dark thoughts followed me everywhere I went and no amount of writing in the numerous diaries I purchased have been able to soothe my soul, nor the ache I feel whenever I think of my Little Siren.

  I missed her.

  I ached for her in a way I never thought possible.

  It was worse than when I left before, ten times more intense. I’m in pain and it’s a very real, physical pain. The first time I’d sailed away from her, I’d been selfish. I’d told myself that I left to keep her safe from the King and whilst there was a great deal of truth in that, it wasn’t the real reason why I’d left. I’d run from the feelings she’d stirred up in me. Then I returned last summer for the very same reason.

  The night when I’d beat Abel to death, then threw his body in one of the dumpsters in the very same alley he was going to rape Connie in, I’d cleaned myself up as best I could, called in a favour, then flagged down a cab and got Connie onto my boat. She was so out of it, that it
took her more than eight hours to come around. While she was unconscious, I’d considered sailing away with her. Instead, I’d called Ma Silva explaining what had transpired. She’d wanted me to return immediately, but I’d made up some story that there was a squall coming in and that it wasn’t safe enough to sail. It was a lie, of course. I’d wanted to watch over Connie myself, and I knew the moment we returned to the island I’d have to hand her over to her Ma Silva. So I’d sailed Princess towards a cove just along the mainland and dropped anchor. I knew I was just prolonging the inevitable, that eventually I’d have to take Connie home, but I’d snatched those few precious hours knowing they’d be my last.

  Connie hadn’t stirred the whole time I watched over her. She’d slept heavily, oblivious to her surroundings. She didn’t wake up when I cleaned the scrape on her face or stripped her from the torn and dirty dress. I’d been careful, treating her with gentle hands and wrapping her up in one of my t-shirts, tucking her safely in bed. The rest of the time, I alternated between watching her sleep and purging my soul in my latest notebook. There are four of them now. Four notebooks filled to the brim with stories from my past and these emotions I can’t seem to keep under wraps, no matter how much I try to. I never thought I’d be the type of person who would need to cleanse his soul this way, but here I am.

  It’s March now, and the last couple of weeks have been more hellish than most because I’m back on the island, and my Little Siren has no idea…

  “She’s here, mate,” Grant says as he passes by the front room on the way to let Ma Silva in.

  I’ve been staying with Grant, hiding out in his place during the day and scouting the Palace by night. A few weeks ago, whilst I was sailing aimlessly around the South of France I received a call from Grim. I knew the moment her number had flashed up on my phone that she was calling in the debt I owed her. Little did I know that debt would involve me spying on my cousin, the King, on the very island I vowed never to return to again.