Archer's Voice

by Mia Sheridan

  He looked down at me, regarding me with little emotion, as if he was deep inside himself, hidden. My uncle shot me, Bree. Marcus Hale shot me. I don't know if he meant to or if the gun just went off when I ran toward him in anger. But either way, he shot me and this is what it did. He brought his hand up to his throat, running it over the scar.

  Then he gestured his hand to indicate all of him. This is what it did.

  My heart sank. "Oh, Archer," I breathed out. He continued to look down at me. He seemed almost numb.

  "What happened to them? To your mom?" I asked, blinking up at him and swallowing down the lump that was threatening to choke me.

  He paused for only a second. Marcus had hit our car from behind in his attempt to run us off the road. Our car flipped. My mom was killed in the accident. He closed his eyes for a minute, pausing, and then opened them and continued. After Marcus shot me, there was a standoff between him and Connor in the road. He lapsed into silence again for a minute, his eyes looking like deep, amber pools of sorrow. They shot each other, Bree. Right there on the highway, under a blue springtime sky, they shot each other.

  I felt weak with horror.

  Archer went on. Tori showed up and then I vaguely remember another car coming along a minute after that. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital.

  A sob moved up my throat, but I swallowed it down. All these years, I shook my head, unable to grasp the torment he must have experienced, you've lived with that all these years–all by yourself. Oh, Archer. I sucked in a huge breath, attempting to keep hold of my own emotion.

  He looked down at me, emotion finally flashing in his own eyes before it moved away again.

  I scooted closer to him and gripped his t-shirt as I laid my head against his stomach, tears running silently down my face as I whispered again and again, "I'm so sorry." I didn't know what else to say in response to the weight of the horror a little boy had held.

  But I finally understood the depth of his pain, of his trauma, of the burden he carried with him. And I understood why Victoria Hale hated him. She hadn't just sought to take his voice, she had sought to take his confidence, his self-worth, his identity. Because Archer was the embodiment of the fact that her husband loved another woman more deeply than he had ever loved her, and that he had given that woman not only his heart, but his first born son. And that son had the ability to take everything from her.

  I continued to hold Archer.

  After what seemed like a long time, I leaned back. You own the land this town is on. You're Connor's oldest son.

  He nodded, not looking at me, not seeming to care in the least.

  You don't want it, Archer? I asked, wiping the tears off my wet cheeks.

  He looked down at me. What in the hell would I do with it? I can't even communicate with anyone except you. Much less run a whole damn town. People would look at me like I was the funniest joke they'd ever heard.

  I shook my head. That's not true. You're good at everything you do. You'd be great at it, actually.

  I don't want it, he said, anguish washing over his face. Let Travis have it. I don't want anything to do with it. Not only am I incapable, but I don't deserve it. It was my fault. It was all because of me that they died that day.

  I reared back, sucking in a breath. Your fault? You were just a little boy. How could any of it have been your fault?

  Archer regarded me, an unreadable expression on his face. My very existence caused their deaths.

  Their own choices caused their deaths. Not a seven year old child. I'm sorry, but you'll never convince me that you have one scrap of responsibility for what happened between four adults that day. I shook my head vehemently, trying to physically put emphasis on the words I'd just "spoken."

  He looked over my shoulder, staring at something only he could see for several minutes. I waited him out.

  I used to think I was cursed, he said, a small humorless smile tugging at the side of his mouth before it morphed into a grimace. He dragged one hand down the side of his face again before bringing both hands up. It didn't seem possible that someone could be handed so much shittiness in one lifetime. But then I realized that it probably wasn't that I was cursed, more that I was being punished.

  I shook my head again. It doesn't work that way.

  His eyes met mine and I breathed out. I considered that too once, Archer. But… I realized that if I truly believed that, I'd have to believe that my dad deserved to be shot in his own deli, and I know that isn't true. I paused, trying to remember what it felt like to think I was cursed once as well. Bad things don't happen to people because they deserve for them to happen. It just doesn't work that way. It's just… life. And no matter who we are, we have to take the hand we're dealt, crappy though it may be, and try our very best to move forward anyway, to love anyway, to have hope anyway… to have faith that there's a purpose to the journey we're on. I grabbed his hands in mine for a second and then let go so that I could continue. And try to believe that maybe more light shines out of those who have the most cracks.

  Archer kept studying me for several beats before he brought his hands up and said, I don't know if I can. I'm trying really hard, but I don't know if I can.

  You can, I affirmed, my gestures sweeping to add emphasis. You can.

  He paused for a minute before saying, It all looks so messy. He ran one hand over his short hair. I can't make sense of it all–my past, my life, my love for you.

  I looked up at him for a minute, watching the emotions cross his face. After a second I brought my hands up. I don't remember a lot about my mom. I shook my head slightly. She passed away from cancer and I was so young when she died. I licked my lips, pausing. But I remember her doing these cross stitches–they're little thread embroidery pictures.

  Archer watched my hands, glancing up at my face between words.

  Anyway, one time I picked up one of her pieces and it looked awful–all messy, with all these knots and uneven strings hanging everywhere. I could barely make out what the picture was supposed to be. I kept my eyes on Archer, squeezing his hand quickly before bringing my own back up.

  But then, my mom came over and took the piece of fabric out of my hands and turned it over–and right there was this masterpiece. I breathed out and smiled. She liked birds. I remember the picture–it was a nest full of babies, the mama bird just returning. I paused, thinking. Sometimes I think of those little pieces of fabric when life feels really messy and difficult to understand. I try to close my eyes and believe that even though I can't see the other side right then, and that the side I'm looking at is ugly and muddled, that there's a masterpiece that's being woven out of all the knots and loose strings. I try to believe that something beautiful can result from something ugly, and that there will come a time when I'll get to see what that is. You helped me see my own picture, Archer. Let me help you see yours.

  Archer gazed down at me, but he didn't say anything. He just tugged gently on my arms and dragged me up onto his lap and pulled me in to his body, holding me tightly, his warm breath in the crook of my neck.

  We sat that way for several minutes before I whispered in his ear, "I'm so tired. I know it's early, but take me to bed, Archer. Hold me. Let me hold you."

  We both stood up and walked to his bedroom where we undressed slowly and got under his sheets. He pulled me close and held me tightly, but didn't attempt to make love to me. He seemed better, but still distant, like he was somewhere lost inside of himself.

  "Thank you for telling me your story," I whispered in the dark.

  Archer just nodded his head and pulled me closer.

  CHAPTER 30

  Bree

  The next day was the Pelion Police Memorial Parade. I stood in the window of the diner, blearily watching the cars and trucks go by, the people lined up on the sidewalk waving flags. I felt numb, heartsick, achy.

  I hadn't slept very well. I'd felt Archer tossing and turning most of the night. When I had asked him in the morning if he couldn
't sleep, he had just nodded, not offering more of an explanation.

  He hadn't said much as we ate breakfast together and I got ready to head home to get my uniform for work and drop Phoebe off. He seemed lost in thought, still lost inside his own head and yet when I went to leave, he'd pulled me to him tightly.

  "Archer, baby, talk to me," I'd said, not caring if it made me late for work.

  He had just shaken his head, offering a smile that didn't reach his eyes and told me he'd see me after work and we'd talk some more.

  And now I stood at the window, worried. The diner was mostly empty since the whole town was at the parade and so I could lose myself in my thoughts uninterrupted for a few minutes.

  I watched the old fashioned police cruisers go by, the crowd cheering louder for the vintage cars, and a bitterness swept through me. Archer should be here. Archer should be at his father's memorial dinner. And he hadn't even been invited at all. What was wrong with this town? Victoria Hale, evil bitch extraordinaire, that's what was wrong with this town. How did someone like her live with herself? She had ruined so many lives–all for what? Money? Prestige? Power? Pride? Just to win?

  And now the whole town bowed down to her out of fear of the repercussions.

  As I stood there, thinking about everything that Archer had told me last night, my tummy turned and I felt like I was going to vomit. The reality of what it must have been like for a seven year old boy to be there that day was revolting, horrifying. I wanted to go back in time and hold him in my arms, comfort him, make it all go away. But I couldn't and it hurt.

  I was snapped out of my thoughts by my phone vibrating in my uniform pocket. I pulled it out quickly and saw that it was a call coming in from Ohio. I walked back to the counter where a couple customers sat and stood off to the side near the break table as I took the call.

  "Hello," I said softly.

  "Bree, hi, this is Detective McIntyre. I was calling because I have some news."

  I glanced back at the counter, noting everyone looked like they had what they needed and turned my back.

  I distantly heard the bell over the door ring, but didn't turn. Maggie could take care of new customers until I was done.

  "You have news, Detective?"

  "Yes. We made an arrest."

  I sucked in a breath. "You made an arrest?" I whispered.

  "Yes. His name is Jeffrey Perkins. He's the man you identified. We brought him in for questioning and his print matched one we found at the scene. He lawyered up so he's not talking. His father owns a big Fortune Five Hundred company here in town."

  I paused, biting my lip. "Jeffrey Perkins?" I asked. "His father is Louis Perkins isn't he?" I asked, closing my eyes, recognizing the last name of the man that owned one of the biggest insurance companies in Cincinnati.

  The detective paused. "Yes."

  "Why would someone like Jeffrey Perkins come in to rob a small deli?" I asked, feeling numb.

  "I wish I could answer that," he said. "My best guess is that it was drug related."

  "Hmm," I said, remembering Jeffrey's, shiny, dilated eyes and jitters. He had to have been on something. Rich boy with a bad drug habit? I shivered, shaking my head slightly to bring myself back to the present.

  "What happens now, detective?"

  "Well, he's out on bail. His arraignment is in a few months so now we just wait for that."

  I paused for a minute. "Out on bail. So, more waiting." I sighed.

  "I know. It's difficult. But, Bree, we have some really good evidence against him. And with your ID. I'm hopeful here."

  I took a deep breath. "Thank you so much, Detective. Please keep me updated on anything else you might get?"

  "Absolutely, I will. Have a good day."

  "You too, Detective. Bye."

  I hung up and stood with my back to the diner for another minute. This was good news, so why couldn't I feel the happiness, the relief, that I should be feeling? I stood biting my thumb nail, trying to figure myself out. Finally, I took a deep breath and turned around. Victoria Hale and Travis Hale were sitting at the end of the counter, just to the right of where I was standing.

  My eyes widened, and I took in Victoria's icy stare and then Travis's furrowed brow.

  I spun on my feet and called, "Maggie! I'm taking a small break. I don't feel so good."

  Maggie turned to me with a worried look. "Okay, honey," she called as I rushed to the back and stayed there until Travis and Tori left the diner.

  A little while after they'd left, I was wiping down a table near the window when I caught sight of Archer on the other side of the street. My heart started racing. "Maggie!" I called, "I'll be right back!"

  "Oh, okay," I heard Maggie call, confused, from the break table where she was sitting and reading a magazine. She had to be wondering what was going on with me today.

  I went out the front door and called to Archer. He was stopped on the side of the street, watching the police cruisers go by, a tight expression on his face. Had he been thinking the same thing I had been thinking?

  As I was about to step off the curb, a hand grabbed my arm and I halted and turned slightly to see Travis. I looked to the left of him and Victoria Hale was standing there, trying to pretend I didn't exist, her eyes focused solely on the parade in front of her, a phony smile on her face and her nose in the air.

  I looked over my shoulder at Archer who was now starting to walk across the street toward us.

  "I have to go, Travis," I said attempting to pull away.

  "Whoa, wait," he said, not letting go. "I overheard your phone call. I'm concerned. I just wanted to–"

  "Travis, let me go," I said, my heart beating faster. This was the very last thing Archer needed right now.

  "Bree, I know I'm not your favorite person, but if there's something I can do to help–"

  "Let me go, Travis!" I yelled, wrenching my arm away. The crowd around us suddenly seemed to quiet slightly, eyes moving away from the parade traveling slowly down the street in front of them, and toward us.

  Before I could spin around, a fist was flying at Travis's face and he went down hard, a spray of blood seeming to move in slow motion through the air in front of me. I gasped and so did Tori Hale and several people standing close by.

  I looked over my shoulder and Archer was standing there, breathing hard, eyes big in his face, opening and closing his fist by his side.

  I gaped at him and then looked back at Travis who was just standing up. His eyes filled with rage as he took Archer in. "You motherfucker," Travis hissed, gritting his teeth.

  "Travis!" Tori Hale exclaimed, her face not pulled quite tight enough to hide her alarm.

  I brought my arms out between the two of them, but it was too late. Travis lurched around me and attacked Archer, and they both went down as people gasped and stumbled backwards, some tripping over the curb as others steadied them.

  Archer got one more punch in before Travis flipped him harshly, Archer's back slamming onto the pavement with a loud thud. I watched as the air went out of him and he gritted his teeth. Travis swung at his face, connecting with his jaw.

  I sobbed out, fear sweeping through my body like a quick-spreading forest fire.

  "Stop!" I screamed! "Stop!" Travis lifted his hand and was just about to bring it down in Archer's face again. Oh God, he was going to pulverize him into the ground, right here in front of everyone, in front of me. Everything inside my body seemed to speed up, my heart beating loudly in my own ears, and my pulse rate skyrocketing. "Stop!" I yelled, my voice hitching on a sob. "You're brothers! Stop this!"

  Time seemed to freeze as Travis's fist stopped in mid-air and Archer's eyes flew to me. I heard Tori inhale sharply. "You're brothers," I said again, tears running down my face now. "Please don't do this. Today is about your father. He wouldn't want this. Please. Please stop."

  Travis pushed on Archer's chest, but got off of him and stood up. Archer stood up quickly too, rubbing his jaw and looking around him at all the people gawk
ing. The expression on his face was a pure mixture of confusion, rage, and fear, all three taking turns flashing in his golden brown eyes.

  Another pair of golden brown eyes found mine as Travis pushed Archer out of his way, but not very hard. "We're not brothers. We're cousins," he said, looking at me like I was crazy.

  I shook my head, my eyes trained on Archer who wasn't looking at me. "I'm sorry, Archer," I said. "I didn't mean to blurt it out. I'm sorry," I whispered. "I wish I could take it back."

  "What the fuck is this?" Travis asked.

  "Let's go!" Tori Hale screeched to Travis. "He's an animal!" she spit out, pointing at Archer. "They're crazy, both of them. I won't listen to a second more of this nonsense." She attempted to pull on Travis's arm, but he shook her off easily.

  He looked at her closely, something seeming to register in his eyes, some understanding seeming to occur.

  "Well, that kind of thing is easily enough proven with a simple blood test," Travis said evenly, his eyes looking into his mother's. Tori blanched and turned her head. Travis watched her.

  "Oh, Jesus," he said. "It's true. You knew."

  "I don't know any such thing!" she said, but her voice sounded hysterical.

  "I thought so," another voice came from the crowd and I swiveled my head to see Mandy Wright walking toward us. "The minute I saw your eyes looking up at me from your mama's arms, I thought so. Those are Connor Hale's eyes–your daddy's eyes," Mandy whispered, her gaze focused on Archer. I closed my eyes, more tears falling down my cheeks.

  Oh God.

  "That's it!" Tori shouted. "If you're not leaving, I am. That's my husband you're talking about! And of all days to tarnish his memory–you all should be ashamed of yourselves." She pointed a red polished, bony finger at each of us individually, that same icy glare on her face. And with that, she turned and pushed her way through the crowd.

  I looked at Travis briefly, but then my eyes moved back to Archer. Archer looked at me once, then at Travis and Mandy and finally at the crowd, all eyes trained on us. Panic swept his expression and I realized that people were gaping at him, whispering. My heart lurched and I took a step toward him, but he took a step back, his eyes moving through the crowd again.