Branded

by Tara Sivec

  He either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care, continuing to talk nonsense.

  “I know it was because of the shit that went down between Jordan and Finnley. You just couldn’t handle being with a guy who had that kind of craziness in his family tree.”

  What in the hell is he talking about? We broke up long before Jordan and Finnley even got married, let alone finding out Jordan had boarded the crazy train headed straight to his death.

  I notice a few things all at once as I stare across the console at Jackson. He’s clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white, the armpits of his blue uniform shirt are stained with circles of sweat, and he keeps tipping his head from side to side to crack his neck like a nervous tick. My sixth sense kicks in and I subtly glance at the door handle and contemplate jumping out of the moving vehicle if things get any weirder.

  “Jackson, we dated back in college. Finnley and Jordan weren’t even married yet,” I remind him, glancing at the door handle again.

  He suddenly flips on the lights and siren and presses down on the gas, almost like he knew what I was contemplating. The car takes off so quickly that I’m thrown against the seat.

  “Jordan wasn’t crazy, he was in love and Finnley fucked him over,” Jackson mutters, not even listening to me.

  Cars, trees and buildings whiz by the window as Jackson continues to press down on the accelerator, going at least ninety miles an hour. I grab onto the center console and the handle above the door, hoping to God people move the fuck out of our way and we don’t hit anyone.

  “He was my fucking best friend and that douchebag you’ve been sleeping with decided to just let him burn in his own fucking house!” Jackson shouts angrily.

  My blood turns to ice in my veins and my hands start to sweat so badly that I can barely hold onto the door handle as we make a sharp turn, barely slowing down.

  I don’t know what to think right now, my mind is going a mile a minute, almost as fast as this damn car. Did he suddenly snap and decide he’s jealous that I was with DJ? That makes absolutely no sense. Jackson and I only dated for a couple of months and we didn’t even sleep together. The guy couldn’t have held a torch for me this long, that’s just sad and pathetic. Him being angry about Jordan’s death makes much more sense, but still, to blame DJ for it? That’s reaching just a little bit.

  “This all could have been avoided if you’d just kept your fucking legs closed and not been such a whore!”

  His loud, booming voice screaming the word whore is what makes some of the pieces snap together in my mind.

  “Oh, my God, it was you?” I whisper in shock. “You left those notes for me, didn’t you?”

  How? Why? This can’t be right. It couldn’t have been Jackson all this time. My father called me. He admitted to leaving the notes and he told me I was going to burn the same night DJ and I were trapped inside of the ambulance. And yet, Jackson had been there every time something bad happened. He was at the fair when I was given that dose of insulin, he was parked outside my house when it was broken into and the living room was trashed, and he was watching the ambulance when the fire started out all around it. He was there, each and every time.

  The only time he wasn’t around was this morning, when DJ and I were getting dressed for work. He sent me a text saying he was running to get coffee and asked if we wanted anything. He was only gone for five minutes tops since there’s a coffee shop a block away, but it would have been long enough to get to Collin and Finnley’s house the next street over and cut her brake line.

  “Jackson, what have you done?” I ask in horror.

  He lets out a cold, calculating laugh and shakes his head at me.

  “Someone needs to pay for what happened to Jordan and since you’re the whore who has taken up with his killer, I’ve decided it should be you. Paybacks are a bitch.”

  His right hand jerks off of the steering wheel and his fist slams into the side of my head. The force of the blow knocks me roughly into the window and I see stars before everything goes black.

  “I cannot BELIEVE you shot my fucking tires!” I shout at Dax as I jump down from my truck and he holsters his weapon.

  He shrugs his reply as a whole caravan of cop cars with lights and sirens blazing come flying up the street, blocking the driveway, pulling up onto the lawn and stopping wherever the hell they find a space. It looks like every law enforcement official from the entire city has shown up, and Dax immediately starts explaining the situation and issuing orders.

  I walk across the lawn, wondering how much trouble I would get into if I stole a cop car. Standing right next to one idling by the curb, I hear Dax shout my name.

  “Don’t even think about it, asshole. Do you really want Phina to have to visit you behind bars when we get her home?”

  I roll my eyes and look away from him. He said “when,” not “if.” That’s got to be a good sign. I want to be positive, I know I have to be positive for her sake, but I’m dying inside right now. I don’t know where she is, what she’s thinking or if she’s hurt. Instead of focusing on all the horrible things she could be going through, I think about something good, instead. I think about her smile and her laugh, about how amazing she is with my nieces and nephews, how she stretches her entire body when she first wakes up in the morning, groaning “strrrreeeaaaaaach” while she does it. I think about the scent of her shampoo and how my pillows always smell like it. I think about how much it turns me on to fight with her and how fucking fantastic sex is after a good screaming match.

  I rest my palms on the roof of the running cruiser and let my head drop down to rest my chin on my chest. I think about how she trusted me with the hardest part of her past and let me kiss those painful memories away, even if I couldn’t erase the faded, old scars from her body.

  Faded old scars…faded old scars.

  Goddammit! Goddammit all to hell! I’m a fucking paramedic, how did I not put this together until right now? My head jerks up and I slam my fist onto the top of the car.

  “Hey, that’s taxpayers money. Don’t break it, or you buy it,” Dax warns me as he comes to stand next to me.

  “Tell me there’s a fucking plan! We need to get her back right the fuck now,” I tell him as I start pacing back and forth.

  “We’re working on it. I have men checking out the properties that are on file and we should know something soon,” he tells me.

  Those fucking burn marks on her hip…some of them looked exactly like the ones on her back, but most of them were angry, red and fresh.

  “I fucking hate the sick, fucked up bastard who did this to you.”

  “Funny, I hate that person, too.”

  My hands grab onto handfuls of my hair and I tug as hard as I can as I continue to pace.

  I told her I saw her. I told her I saw everything and that I loved it all, but I missed the most obvious fucking thing. I run through the things she said when she was in a daze when I first got here earlier, the cigarette in her mouth and the lighter in her fucking hand. It all comes together in one horrible, messy picture in my mind as I remember the look in her eyes, begging me to see that final piece of the puzzle and still keep my promise to love her no matter what.

  One of the cops comes up to Dax, gives me a nervous look and then leans in to whisper something in his ear. When he’s finished, Dax gives him a nod and the cop scurries back to the rest of the group on the lawn.

  “What’s going on? Did they find her?”

  Dax pulls his keys out of his pocket. “A report of a house fire was just called in. The property is registered to Anthony Giordano.”

  I can’t lose her. I can’t fucking lose her now when I have so many things I need to say to her.

  “I’m fucking going with you,” I tell Dax.

  He nods. “I figured as much, but if you get in the way of police procedure I’ll-”

  “Toss my ass in jail,” I finish for him. “You already covered that a few times tonight.”

  Dax shakes
his head in irritation at me, but doesn’t say another word as we jog across the yard and hop into his car.

  I blink my eyes rapidly as I open them, the bright light making the pounding in my head a thousand times worse. I groan and shut them again when a sharp, stabbing pain rockets through my skull.

  “Ahhhh, you’re awake.”

  A voice close to my ear makes my skin crawl, but I slowly open my eyes anyway. I find Jackson squatting down in front of me with a huge smile on his face. I try to lunge towards him to smack the smile right off of his face, but my body jerks to a halt and it feels like I pulled every fucking muscle in both of my arms. Looking above me, I realize my arms are tied over my head, the rope completely wrapped around a refrigerator. Ignoring the pain in my shoulders and arms, I start tugging frantically against my bindings.

  “There’s no point in hurting yourself more, I was a Boy Scout back in the day. That right there is a double constrictor knot,” he informs me proudly, pointing to the thick, white rope that holds my arms secure.

  “I see tying knots is the only thing you were good at. Did they kick you out for being a sick, twisted fuck?” I ask him sweetly through clenched teeth.

  The smile falls from his face and he quickly pushes himself up to tower over me. “The only sick fuck in this room is you, my dear. Do you have any idea what it was like to find out you were fucking the enemy? The man who tore my family apart and took my best friend away from me?”

  He starts pacing back and forth agitatedly in front of me, and I suddenly stop trying to tug against my bindings when I get a look at my surroundings. Lime green, rusty appliances, wood paneling on the walls, stained Formica countertops and a rickety blue plastic table against the wall. How many times did I get shoved face first onto that table so a cigarette could be jammed into my lower back?

  “I see you finally recognize where we are,” Jackson says when he sees me glancing nervously around, his smile back in place. “Luckily, the place had been paid off before your parents moved in since they inherited it from someone in the family and your dad had enough money socked away to keep paying the taxes on it. It’s been sitting here unoccupied for fifteen years”

  I notice dust and cobwebs on every flat surface and I try not to imagine myself as a little girl, cowering under the table when I’d hear the flick of my father’s lighter.

  “I thought it would be fitting to take you on a trip down memory lane. Did you know I’ve been in contact with dear old dad for a few months? Nice guy, a little bit of a Jesus freak these days, but what can you do?” Jackson asks with a shrug. “He told me all about your rough childhood and let me tell you, my heart just broke for poor little Seraphina Giordano. He was a wealth of information on you. Had an entire notebook filled with facts about your life. He’s been keeping an eye on his little girl all these years even from prison, isn’t that sweet?”

  I feel bile rising in my throat knowing that Jackson has been speaking with my father. Who knows what kind of shit that man told him?

  “Did you help him get out on parole?”

  Jackson tips his head back and laughs. “Oh, you have too much faith in me, Phina, if only that were possible. No, he really did get out on good behavior, but what a nice coincidence for me, wouldn’t you say? He’s been a big help.”

  It’s bad enough knowing Jackson is insane and has me tied up in my childhood home. If my father suddenly shows up here, my life is officially over. How the hell can I take a cop AND a man who hates me and has spent fifteen years in prison learning how to fight dirty, all with my hands tied to a fucking refrigerator?

  “This plan of mine only had a few snags. Lucky for me you and lover boy had a little fight tonight, or I wasn’t quite sure how I’d get you alone,” he tells me. “I tried to get to that asshole Collin, but that fucker is always looking over his shoulder and he’s always surrounded by fucking firemen. I didn’t really intend for Finnley to get hurt, but imagine my surprise when I cut the brakes on the wrong car? That whore finally got to feel a little of the pain I’ve felt since she allowed Jordan to burn to death inside their house.”

  Obviously, bat shit crazy runs in the Castillo family.

  “My best fucking friend!” he screams suddenly. “Do you know there wasn’t anything left of Jordan after that fire? That they had to use my best friend’s dental records to identify his body? It should have been Collin and the man you’ve been fucking. THEY should have been the ones to burn!”

  I really don’t want to piss him off any more, but I can’t just sit here and let him excuse the man who tried to kill Finnley and place all the blame on Collin and DJ.

  “You have lost your fucking mind!” I yell back. “Jordan doused her carpets in gas and lit the place on fire while she was inside. Collin and DJ did what they had to do to get Finnley out. They tried to save him, but he refused to leave. Did you know that? He backed away from the window in a room surrounded by flames and wouldn’t let Collin pull him out. He knew what he did was wrong and he wanted to die!”

  Jackson screams at the top of his lungs, throwing his fist into the fridge above my head before walking over to the cupboards and ripping half of the doors off their hinges. I duck and hold my arms over my head as best I can as wooden doors start flying at me, bouncing off of my legs and crashing into walls.

  “YOU’RE LYING! YOU’RE FUCKING LYING! HE WOULD NEVER DO THAT! JORDAN WOULD NEVER LEAVE ME ON PURPOSE! I WAS LIKE A BROTHER TO HIM!”

  He continues to rage and scream as he tears apart the kitchen, toppling over the kitchen chairs and pulling dusty plates and bowls from the doorless cupboards, shattering them on the kitchen tile. When he’s cleared out the cupboards, he rushes out of the room and comes back seconds later with a huge red gas can in his hands. He mutters to himself as he flips the top of the spout and begins pouring it all around me. My heart drops and my eyes go wild with fear as I watch him douse every bit of the kitchen, from the ceiling to the walls to the floor. Gas drips from the ceiling and makes puddles all around me.

  When the can is empty, he tosses it across the room and stalks over to me, his shoes crunching on the broken ceramic and glass that covers the floor. He gets down on his knees in front of me and quickly pulls his gun out of his holster, pressing it right into my forehead.

  “You’re a liar and a fucking whore! I’m tired of listening to your bullshit. This all could have been avoided if you would have just stayed away from Taylor! Now it’s HIS turn to lose someone he loves!” he shouts, shoving the barrel of the gun harder against my skull.

  “If you pull that trigger with all the gas in here, you’re going to kill both of us,” I try to reason with him.

  He laughs maniacally before leaning down to get right in my face. “Do you think I give a shit? Do you honestly think I would make it out of this alive, anyway? I’m a cop, Phina. Cops don’t survive very long in prison.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed and pray to God that DJ isn’t the one who finds me here. He’ll never forgive himself for letting me walk away from him tonight and finding my charred remains in this kitchen would haunt him for the rest of his life. This fucking kitchen…where all my nightmares began and I guess they are going to end, as well. I wish I could tell him I’m sorry. I wish I could tell him that I never meant to push him away, that I love him more than I ever thought possible. He’s the missing piece I’ve been looking for all my life, the only one who could’ve stopped the pain for good. I feel like I’m starring in a fucking Lifetime movie. The idiot that’s about to die always realizes her mistakes at the very end.

  I start to whisper DJ’s name, over and over, mixing with my quiet sobs. Just the sound of his name in my ears makes me regret everything I did wrong with him and wish I had a chance to do it over. I would never push him away and I would fight to be good enough for him. Even though he’s not with me right now, I can feel his arms around me, telling me everything is going to be okay.

  I suddenly hear the slide of the release dropping the bullet into the chamber and
I’m surprised I don’t feel an ounce of pain when the gun explodes.

  I knew that little weasel was trouble. There was somethin’ off about him when he came to visit me in the pen, fishin’ around for information about my baby. I was stupid in the beginnin’, enjoyin’ the first visitor I had in fifteen years and I talked his ear off about her. I shoulda known better. You can never trust the fucking cops.

  I wasn’t a good man before I got locked up. I made a lot of mistakes. When I die, the pearly gates will be locked tight and I’ll be headed somewhere much warmer, and that’s okay because it’s what I deserve. The good Lord giveth and the good Lord taketh away. He gave me a good life and I pissed all over it. The only reason I didn’t mouth off at my parole board hearin’ was because of this moment, right here. The one where I could make amends for my mistakes. I been prayin’ over this for weeks, lookin’ for direction from Him on what I should do to earn forgiveness from the one person still on this earth who means something to me and He finally answered my prayers. Lord knows the cops didn’t answer them when I called earlier and told them one of their own was a turncoat.

  I’ve spent every wakin’ moment since I walked outta the pen followin’ my baby, tryin’ to find the right time to talk to her and tell her how sorry I am for the man I used to be. I saw that little fucker light the fire around the ambulance and then play it off like someone else did it. I watched him cut the brake line on someone’s car around the corner from my baby. I coulda taken him out both those times, but I’m a changed man. The Lord says thou shalt not kill.

  I stand here now lookin’ through the window of the back door to my old house and I wonder if God will forgive me just this once since I’m doin’ it to save Seraphina. I’m sure it won’t get me into the Kingdom of Heaven, but at least when I die, I’ll know one person I killed deserved it. I don’t like bein’ back here at this house. Too many bad things happened under this roof and there are too many ghosts hauntin’ these rooms. If it’s this hard on me bein’ back here, I can only imagine what it’s like for my baby. Must be like a whole herd of demons nippin’ at her heels. I wish she coulda had a better childhood. I wish I coulda been a better father and I wish she didn’t have to add another bad memory to her time spent in this house. So many things I wish coulda been different, but wishin’ is a waste of time. Shoulda burned this damn house down a long time ago.