by R. J. Lewis
“Since now.”
Something wasn’t right.
Aside from that one instance he had showed up at my door, I always took him to his fancy apartment. It was usually me driving while he sat in silence next to me. It was me who helped him out of his car, into the building and to his apartment. If he was hurt like this, I’d strip him of his clothes and throw him in the tub and have him sit in hot or cold water while I called the doctor over. The doctor was always there within twenty minutes, medical supplies on hand as he got to work on his wounds, and I never left his side.
Yeah, something was not right in the slightest.
When he started taking the route to my house, I quickly corrected him. “I need to go to Jem’s bar.”
Locke changed direction straightaway. I detected disapproval in him. “Should Conor be out in crowded places?”
“He’s been doing fine, and Jem’s there.”
Locke frowned. “What good is Jem?”
Exasperated, I sighed. “What is it with you and him? Why can’t you guys just get along?”
“Ask him that.”
“I’d rather not be involved in your drama, Locke. I’ve had enough of your drama as it is.”
He mulled my words over. “Is this regarding Reid again?”
“Partly.”
“I haven’t messed with his shop, Charlotte. Like I said, I’m not eager to cut ties with the guy.”
“Funny, he’s convinced you’ve been sending guys around to fuck his shit up.”
“I’m not lying.”
I resisted asking him what good his word was after his lies over Conor’s safety. Instead, I clenched my jaw shut, determined not to open that can of worms.
Locke sensed it. “Whatever you want to say, say it.”
“I feel betrayed obviously, and you know why,” I unleashed, voice high with fury. “You promised to protect Conor in that shithole, Locke. Instead, he had to fight for his life, and you want to know the fucked-up part? The guy that put him through all that hell is at Jem’s bar right now with a few of his men! And I left him. Oh, my God, I just left him there…”
What would I find when I got back to the bar? Would there be police officers, would Conor have done something irreversible? My gut was telling me no, he would not have thrown it all away in a crowded place because of that prick with the sick smirk. But what was that guy capable of?
Locke was quiet, staring at the road ahead with an indecipherable expression.
Then he demanded, “What did they make Conor do, Charlotte?”
I didn’t hesitate. “He hurt people. People who tried to hurt him.”
“Tried?”
“He fought them off. Then…he hurt them later to make an example out of them. He said he would not have survived that first year if not for doing what he had to do. Holden, the man he was in prison with, refused to give him protection until he’d completed a bunch of tasks. He was essentially alone with Dominic.”
“What does Holden want from him now?”
“Conor wouldn’t say.”
Locke asked no more questions.
Pulling the phone out of my pocket, I found no messages from Jem, which should have been a good sign.
But I didn’t feel at ease.
Worrying my lip, I felt tense the entire ride.
The parking lot outside Jem’s bar was completely empty. There were no people around, either. My brows came together in confusion as Locke pulled in, coming to a stop just outside it. The lights in the bar were still on, but as I rolled the window down I heard not a sound. There was no music playing, no chatter filling the air.
My anxiety levels skyrocketed.
“Something is wrong,” I whispered.
Locke glanced at his watch – the broken one he never took off – a faraway look in his eye. He wasn’t checking the time. That quick look was loaded with emotion.
Then he slowly looked up at the bar, assessing.
“If I asked you to stay here, would you?” he wondered.
“No,” I answered honestly.
“Okay.”
Now he was mute and thinking. His chest rose and fell slowly, but I could tell there was a storm in his eyes. I watched him, waiting for him to react. I needed his strength to get me out of the car because I was trembling.
He didn’t move for a while.
Something halted him.
Conflicted, he shut his eyes and breathed through his nose, like he was trying to prepare himself. I didn’t pry. I kept my mouth shut, giving him his space.
Finally, he opened his eyes.
His next words stunned me silent.
“I took a girl.”
My mouth went dry as I stuttered, “W-what?”
“After I killed him, I took a girl. I had no choice. She saw everything.”
I went still, feeling fear prick my skin. In a voice so quiet I could hardly hear myself, I whispered, “No, Locke, no.”
“Yes.”
“Is she…alive?”
“Yes,” he answered. “She is.”
“Where is she?”
He didn’t answer.
“Locke,” I started, panicked. “You can’t do anything to her, understand? She is innocent.”
“She interfered,” he argued.
Oh, my God. “No, Locke, please…let her go.”
The look in his eye told me he didn’t want to.
“It got complicated,” he explained quietly. “It got really…really complicated. This wasn’t like the others. This was different.”
“Okay, well you have to let her go.”
“If something happens to me tonight, she’s at my apartment.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Bound.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Maybe still unconscious.”
“This is not the time to be telling me this.”
Oh, my fucking God.
What…
I didn’t…
What the fuck?
“This is escalation,” I hissed, shaking my head now. “I warned you this would happen. I kept telling you to just send these pigs to prison and let your guys take care of them in there and…”
I paused, listening to my words closely.
Slowly, my breaths thinned out and the shock magnified.
“That’s it, then,” I whispered, making sense of everything. “I wondered…”
Locke let me talk nonsense as he leaned over me and opened the glovebox compartment. He pulled out a gun and gripped it firmly.
“Locke,” I said, petrified now as I stared at him, at his watch, at the part of his chest I suddenly knew held the key to everything.
He looked at me firmly, his eyes stone cold, answering my thoughts with, “I gave you my word. I didn’t lie.”
Then he stepped out of the car and strode to the bar, stopping once to pick up a wet leaf from the ground.
It took everything in me to work my legs and follow.
All the while, Conor’s words bounced around my head.
You’re the dove, I’m the raven.
The Hole
He had been left for dead.
Max was certain of it.
How long had it been since they’d come?
Since he’d eaten or had water?
This was a cruel way to go.
He lay in the darkness, unable to move. He was frozen and tired, and everything hurt. Everything.
He reached his hand out and felt for the car. He found it straightaway, tucked under the dirty pillow. He ran it along the ground, thinking of his mother, thinking of fear.
He hadn’t felt fear in so long. It must have departed with his soul.
No, that wasn’t right.
Fear departed when he pined for death.
But he didn’t view it as death. He thought of it as shutting his eyes and never waking up again. He wondered what that would feel like. Sometimes he felt like he was capable of letting go just enough to slip into that everlasting sleep.
&
nbsp; Strangely, he held on, keeping his eyes open, blinking and never stopping.
An emotion still pulled at the bottom of his chest when he thought of his mother. She’d struggled for him. She’d gone days without food just so he could eat.
Despite what anyone said, she was a good mother.
“I love you, Mommy,” he whispered.
He did.
He loved her for loving him.
No one else loved him.
“Maybe Conor,” he wondered then. “Maybe he loves me like a brother.”
That was such a happy thought. He’d been careful not to have many happy thoughts. It just made the pain worse for later when the darkness ended and the light invaded him.
Whoever said that light meant good lied.
Whoever said that darkness meant bad lied, too.
They got it backwards.
Sometimes darkness was better than the light. Sometimes it was better not to see the monsters. The light exposed too much. It drove away the darkness, which was a safe place for Max. He preferred not having to witness the evil in the eyes of those capable of harm.
When they touched him with the light all around them, he found himself crawling into that dark part within himself. They couldn’t touch that part of him.
“I’m not scared anymore,” he whispered now, running his finger along the sharp end of the car.
It didn’t matter, though. Not anymore.
He suddenly didn’t know why he was holding on.
No one would even remember him.
No one was searching for him because they’d have found him already. They’d have noticed the doors in the ground.
Conor might not have even bothered when he couldn’t find him.
He shut his eyes this time, a calm feeling coming over him. It would be better to go.
He nodded to himself.
It would.
It really would.
There it was, the darkness and nothing more…
He tried to fall asleep. He tried to let go. He was close to slipping into that one place they could never find him – never touch him – when a loud creaking sounded out.
And just like that, the light flooded down the hole and Max stiffened. With eyes shut, the light invaded him still.
It wasn’t over then.
They were going to keep coming.
His chest moved faster and faster. He sucked breaths in, the panic rising but…nothing happened. There were no footsteps, no gruff voices, no hands grabbing at him.
Opening his eyes, he turned in the direction of the light.
One of the doors had been lifted open, and no one had come in.
Someone had opened the door and left it open…for him?
He stared and stared but didn’t budge. It was too good to be true. It wasn’t possible. He was probably dreaming, but…the dreams never felt like this.
No, no, this was real.
He tried to move but he was too weak. He struggled twisting his body around, staring up at the searing light. Just then, something floated past the door and down the steps, landing feet from where he lay. With a shaky hand, he reached out and picked up the stem of an orange leaf, wet and dripping. He brought it to his nose and inhaled.
It was the smell of freedom. Of hope.
If he could just get his body to move fast enough because, again, it was too good to be true. Any second the door might close again.
He parted his cracked lips and set the leaf between them. Then he took his car and stabbed the end of it into his palm. The pain awakened him. It gave his body one final surge of fire to move.
Dropping it, he reached his arms out and crawled ever so slowly to the light.
He crawled up the stairs, groaning because everything hurt, and as he groaned, the leaf fell out from between his lips, landing on the stair, but he didn’t take it back again. Every movement was strenuous enough. Everything pulsed like a raw, oozing wound. It all hurt so much, his eyes pricked with tears, but he was not going to cry.
He was not a baby.
He climbed like it was a mountain, and every step forward brought him closer to the summit.
He climbed because something inside him hadn’t entirely died. His old self clung in the deepest part of him. A part he was not going to reach for anymore, but it still existed, and it whispered for him to, Move. Move faster. Climb, Max.
The voices in his head grew.
He heard Conor’s voice. Move, Max.
He heard Dominic chanting. Move, move, move.
He heard Jem crying out, You’re not afraid. I was wrong, Max. Move.
All the voices came together, telling him to go, go, go.
No one’s going to rescue you but you.
You’re going to climb.
You’re going to do it yourself.
Because you’re not afraid.
There’s nothing to fear anymore.
He reached the top and let out a final groan, hauling his body out of that hole. A guttural scream escaped him as he dug his fingers into the soil and moved his entire body out, dragging himself further and further away from the belly of the beast.
Then he stopped, dizzy from exhaustion, eyes blinking rapidly from the colours and the light. He turned and fell on his back, staring up at the sky as light rainfall pattered over his face. There was no sun, just dark clouds and the peaceful drizzle.
The sound of wings flapped nearby. He turned his head ever so slowly toward it. He watched with heavy eyes as a black raven landed beside him, its face turned in his direction, its dark eyes meeting his.
It caw-cawed, then rattled, edging closer to him.
He raised a weak arm out to it, opening his hand but not touching it. The raven rattled and dropped its head into his open palm, moving along and stopping at his wrist for a touch longer. He felt its beak brush along his skin, and then it cawed and shuffled around him.
He twisted his head around, following its movement. He waited for it to lose interest and fly away, but it stayed by his side, dropping its head occasionally to touch upon him like…like he was one of them.
It cawed again, louder this time. Its dark eyes met his again, and he stared into those eyes, lost in a trance.
Then, a calm feeling washed over him.
“No one’s going to rescue you,” he whispered to himself, his resolute voice foreign to his ears. “No one’s coming for you. You have to get out of here yourself.”
He sucked a few breaths in, readying his body, telling himself this would only be over if he made it so.
Then he began to move.
First, he rolled to his belly, wincing from the pain. He set his palms down flat on the earth and slowly rose, like he was doing half of a push-up. The world went dizzy, but still he went, next with his knees. And now he was on his hands and knees and the world was still spinning, but it was okay, it was okay, he chanted that over and over again.
Finally, he stood.
His legs nearly buckled from the weight of him, which was strange enough because there was little left of him now. He was a skeleton. But there he was, standing, wobbling a tad, but standing straight and still staring at the sky, feeling the rain and the chill.
The raven cawed, dragging his attention back down to it. He scuttled in front of Max like he was leading the way.
And here Max was, in a strange land, similar but foreign at the same time.
He took a step, and then another, and then he was walking out of the bush, carefully stepping over branches and the uneven ground. It all felt mechanical. He moved without a stir in his chest. He was just a void traveling in the direction of town. From an aerial view, there the boy was, alone, dirty, wading under a dark, rainy sky through fields of tall grass.
The raven flew at some point, circling him, never leaving his side.
When he needed it, there it was, and the most bewildering part of it all was he hadn’t known until then how much he needed the raven all along.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
&nb
sp; Thames
“What the fuck is this about?” Reid demanded, stopping just before he got to the bar.
Everyone was on guard. The two men turned halfway in Reid’s direction, Holden grabbed at the knife he’d settled on the counter, and Reid immediately put a hand in the back of his jeans, no doubt gripping a firearm.
It suddenly occurred to Thames as he watched the scene unfold, this night was not going to end calmly.
“Calm down,” Jem said again at no one in particular. “Let’s bring it down –”
“You both have something to do with this?” Reid cut in, glaring at Jem and Thames. “Seriously? Both of you are fucking with my business, burning my shit down –”
“Neither of us have burned anything down,” Jem interrupted heatedly. “Fuckin’ calm it, Reid! We are in the dark, man.”
Reid swung his gaze at the rest of the men, looking confused. “I get called here on a threat that if I don’t, there’ll be problems. I’m here now, so anyone want to fucking talk?”
“Where’s your father?” Number One asked.
Reid’s eyes narrowed. “What does my father have to do with this?”
“He’s the one safekeeping your contacts. He wouldn’t leave you, the town’s manwhore, in charge of it, now would he?”
Reid’s face slowly grew red with anger. Thames caught the tremble in his cousin’s fingers.
“Reid,” he calmly said in warning, “keep it together, cousin.”
Reid’s jaw tensed as he fought to control himself. “You don’t get it, Conor, I was promised there would be no trouble. That my operation would be left untouched.”
“Circumstances change,” Number One said coolly.
Reid let out a sardonic laugh. “I’m sorry, who the fuck are you exactly? I don’t know you. I don’t take orders from a man in a shitty suit –”
“Watch yourself,” Holden barked. “You’re speaking to Number One.”
One of the men advanced slowly in Reid’s direction. Reid caught it immediately and pulled his gun out of his pants. He didn’t aim it, but he held it casually against his leg, staring straight at the man. The man immediately stopped, and a moment of tense silence followed.
Thames glanced at Holden, sitting forward now with the blade still tight in his hand. He calculated how quickly he could disarm the fucker without the others interfering. It might get ugly, and Thames didn’t know who else was carrying a firearm.
