Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  “I am not a traitor!”

  River hugged her knees against her chest, but it was Hannah’s request, more than Reuben’s booming voice that terrified her. The council would be so enraged, they’d punish anyone that had any ties to Reuben—relatives, friends, servants and unwanted mates, like River.

  Reuben lowered his voice. “The odds for all of us making it out of here alive are a hundred to one. And even if we did; how would we survive? It’s been eighty years since you’ve lived in the outside world. You have no idea how much it’s changed.”

  “But you’re an enforcer. You’ve been trained to blend in.”

  “Blending in will not put a roof over our heads or food in our bellies.” Reuben sighed so loudly, River heard it through the wall separating his and Hannah’s room from hers.

  “I gave up my birthright, my home and my father’s protection when I claimed you as my alpha mate. I gave up half my lifespan to extend yours.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “I will if you betray me.”

  “Ask Shula to put us under quarantine until I return. No one has to know that I sought outside help for our daughter.”

  “We vowed to uphold the law of the surface dwellers when they took us in. We swore a solemn oath to abide by all their precepts, doctrines and covenants. I am not an oath breaker. We don’t have the right to pollute the gene pool with inferior children.”

  Something hit the wall and shattered. River couldn’t take it anymore. She’d never heard Reuben and Hannah argue, much less fight. She crawled out her bedroom window and sought refuge in Sugar’s stall.

  River had no idea how long she’d been asleep when she woke up to the sound of snorting horses, whispers of “shush-shush” and the mewling cry of an infant. She peeked under the stall’s door in time to see Hannah lead her mare outside, her baby bound to her back with a rebozo.

  River couldn’t believe her eyes. Hannah was disobeying Reuben, and committing treason. And for what? It was obvious that her baby was deathly ill. She wouldn’t survive the night.

  River hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth as precious minutes ticked away. Shula would know what to do. She’d left New Eden once, before River was born.

  A shadow passed back and forth behind the curtains in River’s room. Shula was pacing the floor, obviously waiting for River’s return. She stopped pacing and opened the window. “Brush the straw out of your hair and go to bed.”

  “But Hannah—”

  “Is doing the only thing she can.” Shula helped pull River inside.

  “Does Reuben know she’s running away?”

  “Hannah did not run away.” Shula pinched River’s chin and forced her to meet her gaze. “Understand?”

  River nodded. Hannah was Reuben’s mate. He was responsible for her crimes. If anyone found out she’d deserted New Eden, Reuben would be executed.

  “What about Sanctuary witnesses?” Every death had to be certified by a member of the high-council before the body was cremated.

  “I’m taking Hannah and the baby to my cabin and placing them in protective quarantine. They won’t die until after Sanctuary Mountain is sealed for the winter so the sworn testimony of two enforcers will suffice.”

  “Who?” As Hannah’s mate, Reuben would not qualify.

  “Eli and Jesse.”

  “Eli?” River did not doubt that Jesse would protect Reuben, but she didn’t trust Eli.

  “Eli would never betray me.” Shula rubbed her forehead. “Can we count on you to stand with us? Will you testify that you helped prepare Hannah and her baby’s bodies for the funeral pyre?”

  “Of course.” River’s eyes stung. “What about Gabriel and Paul? They’ll be devastated.”

  “Death is easier to accept than betrayal.” Shula rubbed her forehead. “But Gabriel knows. Hannah said goodbye to him before she left.”

  Eli

  “Eli? Are you there?”

  Hannah’s urgent whisper drifted between the pine boughs long after Eli had spotted her. He still couldn’t believe Mother had beguiled him into committing treason. She knew his one weakness. She’d promised to speak to Zebulon about freeing Aspen in exchange for Eli’s help getting Hannah and her baby out of New Eden.

  Even though Reuben hadn’t been able to secure Aspen’s release yet, he was still trying. He didn’t deserve this betrayal. If he ever learned of Eli’s involvement in helping Hannah escape, he’d kill him.

  Black spots floated across Eli’s vision. He might even execute Aspen to punish him. He’d been so blinded by his own desires that he hadn’t considered the consequences of failure.

  “Eli?”

  “Over here.”

  “I can’t thank you enough—”

  “Be quiet. I don’t have to tell you what happens if we’re discovered.”

  “Of course.”

  As an Enforcer, Eli knew the border patrols’ routes and schedules. He had plenty of practice slipping past the guards on his unauthorized trips to Red Cliff. It was too bad that it hadn’t snowed yet. Once the pass closed, the only way in or out of New Eden was through the tunnel. And that was heavily guarded year round. No one could pass without proper authorization.

  At least the baby had quit squalling. Maybe it died. Eli cringed at the thought. It would make things simpler, but what sort of monster wished for the death of a child?

  The baby whimpered.

  “Eli, we need to hurry. Her fever’s worse.”

  Eli was eager to be done with this ill-advised mission. He was cold and tired. Mother’s cabin didn’t have indoor plumbing, or any other geothermal conveniences. You could fit her entire cabin inside Eli's private steam room but it was warm.

  He hoped the alibi Mother had devised to protect him was still passed out in his bed. The servant had been easy to seduce and even easier to intoxicate. Eli had no doubt that she would have lied to protect him, but this way, even if she grew disillusioned, she would still testify on his behalf, never knowing he’d been gone most of the night. He could have asked for a whore and hoped they’d send Aspen, but if he needed an alibi, he needed one that hadn’t already proven she’d sacrifice everything for him.

  When they got to the eastern border, Eli heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.” Hannah tried to lean across the space separating their horses to hug him.

  Eli dodged her embrace. “Just don’t get caught.”

  Hannah nodded then dug her heels into her horse’s side and flew down the mountain.

  By the time Eli finally got Old Red rubbed down, returned to the corral and his tack put away, an orange glow outlined the Eastern ridge. He crept back into his room, stripped and crawled into bed.

  The servant girl rolled over and shivered. “You’re cold.”

  “I had to use the outhouse. It’s freezing outside.”

  “Mmmm … Come here. I’ll warm you up.”

  Eli snaked his hand around the girl’s waist and tried to pretend she was Aspen. It didn’t work. “I’m tired. Go back to sleep.”

  He’d already done what he needed to do before he left. He had no desire to do it again.

  Jonathan

  “Will you stop hovering like a damn helicopter? I can dress myself.” Jonathan didn’t mean to snap at Mom, but she was driving him crazy. Once she decided to act like a mother again, she went into overdrive. He didn’t need her help pulling his shirt on over his head. He didn’t need her help packing his clothes or zipping his suitcase. And he certainly didn’t need her help carrying it to the car. He held out his right hand and lifted his eyebrows.

  Instead of handing it over, she set the suitcase back on the bed.

  Jonathan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held it for four seconds then exhaled as he counted backwards from eight. Using breath control to relieve stress was the one useful thing he’d gotten out of group therapy.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. But you can’t keep treating
me like an invalid. If I need help, I’ll ask for it.”

  He smiled to strengthen his apology then grabbed his suitcase and used its weight to flex his bicep. “I may not be as strong as I was a month ago, but I’m still stronger than you and Dad put together.”

  Jonathan stepped forward and reached for the door with his left hand. He realized his mistake as the floor rushed up to meet him. He’d stepped on his untied shoelace and tried to open a door with a hand that no longer existed. He bit his lower lip to keep from screaming when his still healing stump slammed into the floor.

  Instead of proving his independence, Jonathan’s little stunt ended up costing him an extra day in the hospital and six new stitches on the side of his head.

  When he was released the next day, his doctor ordered him to leave in a wheelchair. He drew the line at wearing the slip-on loafers his mother had bought for him. It had taken him two days to learn to tie his shoes with one hand. He refused to give up that minor victory just because of one accident.

  The drive home was weird. After a few attempts at small talk, they all gave up and just let the silence build until Dad pulled into the driveway. “Well, here we are.”

  After a quick glance at his feet to double check that his shoelaces were still tied securely, Jonathan opened his door and stepped onto the driveway. The ever-present lump in his throat swelled when his gaze fell on the imprint of two small hands in the concrete. And right below them, the words Jonathan and Franklin July 6, 1993.

  One of Jonathan’s earliest memories was the feeling of wet cement squishing between his fingers. Dad had helped him line his hand up next to Franklin’s so they matched. Franklin’s right hand, Jonathan’s left. He’d pointed at the prints when they were done. “Just like you and Frankie. The same; but different.”

  Things would never be the same again.

  The coat rack in the entryway looked … off. It took Jonathan a second to realize what was wrong. When he did, grief sucked the air out of his lungs. Franklin’s favorite Colorado Rockies baseball cap should have been hanging on the second hook from the top. It wasn’t. An unintentional glance into the formal dining room revealed three placemats on the polished cherry table instead of four.

  Those were subtle reminders but there was nothing subtle about the trophy case in the family room. It was completely empty. Jonathan had earned at least half of the missing trophies. Where were they?

  Competitive martial arts had been such a big part of Jonathan and Franklin’s lives. Realizing he’d lost that too felt like another death.

  Jonathan closed his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning—a hundred feet below the surface and upside down.

  He forced his eyes open and found Dad’s worried face inches from his own.

  “Are you alright?” Dad’s grip on Jonathan’s shoulders was the only thing keeping him upright.

  The room spun, but Jonathan refused to acknowledge his pain. Mom and Dad had suffered enough. They shouldn’t have to deal with his anxiety attacks on top of everything else.

  “Do you need help getting upstairs?”

  “No, I’m fine.” He tucked his suitcase under his left arm and grabbed the banister with his right hand. The suitcase slipped after just two steps. Jonathan gritted his teeth and pressed harder with his bandaged stump, but it didn’t work. He let go of the banister and grabbed the handle just as the bag slid past his hip.

  Dad wrapped his arm around Jonathan’s waist. “I know you can do it yourself. But let me help you, just this once.”

  Jonathan nodded. At least he wouldn’t be alone when he walked past Franklin’s room for the first time. Dad let go of Jonathan’s waist at the top of the stairs but kept a comforting hand on his shoulder as they hurried past Franklin’s closed door.

  The “KEEP OUT” sign was missing from Jonathan’s door. As was the “McKnight Avenue” street sign he’d stolen on a dare. What the hell?

  On their thirteenth birthdays, he and Franklin were each given legal deeds to their bedrooms and locks for their doors. Jonathan’s room had always been his sanctuary.

  All the emotions he had fought so hard to control threatened to erupt in one violent explosion when he saw the artfully arranged pillows on his new bedspread.

  His voice shook as he spoke through gritted teeth, “What happened to my room? Where are my trophies? And where the hell are my weapons?”

  The missing trophies downstairs were bad enough, but the trophies that belonged in Jonathan’s room needed to be in his room. He knew he was being childish, but he couldn’t deal with the violation of the one place he’d hoped to find peace.

  Dad set Jonathan’s suitcase down on the freshly shampooed carpet and swore under his breath. Dad never used bad language. “I told her to leave your things alone. I let her do whatever she wanted with Franklin’s stuff. But she was not supposed to set one foot inside your room.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, it’s not okay.” Dad ran his hands through his thick salt-and-pepper hair and swore again. “Hopefully she just packed everything up and put it all into storage, but if she threw anything away, she will spend every day on the internet searching E-Bay and Craig’s List until she replaces every single item she removed. I promise you, Jonathan, I’ll make this right.”

  “It’s not that important. Sure, it pisses me off, but it’s just stuff. It’s not like …” The rest of that sentence hung in the air like a foul odor … it’s not like someone died.

  Jonathan swallowed the lump in his throat but he couldn’t disguise the pinched sound of his voice. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay? Who knows why she did it, but if clearing out my stuff helped Mom feel even a little bit better, it’s worth it.”

  Dad wrapped his arms around Jonathan, avoiding his stump. “Have I told you just how proud I am of you?”

  Jonathan didn’t want to lose it in front of Dad but his control was slipping. “I’m really tired.”

  “Do you want me to sleep in here tonight? It’s easy enough to set up the inflatable bed.”

  Dad had been with Jonathan in the hospital during his entire stay, only leaving his room when Jonathan had visitors and even then, he only went to the cafeteria or the chapel.

  Jonathan was tempted to accept. Franklin’s funeral was the next day. He didn’t know how he was going to get through the night; but he was a soldier, not a baby. “I’m fine. Besides it’s been a long time since you slept with Mom.” Jonathan blushed when he realized the double meaning of his words.

  Dad’s chuckle didn’t help. “I know you might want a little privacy yourself, but your mother and I are still worried about you. We bought a nursery monitor—”

  “Are you kidding me?” That was too much. “I am not a baby that needs his diaper changed four times a night. I’m sorry Dad, but there is no way I’m going to allow you guys to spy on me like that.”

  “It’s more for our peace of mind. We need to know you’re okay. Please, just for a few nights, indulge our paranoia.”

  The idea insulted and embarrassed Jonathan, but guilt held him ransom. He couldn’t deny his parents anything that might give them even the slightest degree of comfort. “Fine. But I’m turning it off until I’m ready to fall asleep.”

  “Thank you, Jon-Jon.” Dad hugged him again, kissed his forehead and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Jonathan turned off the nursery monitor then yanked the plug out of the socket.

  A blank spot on the wall drew his attention. The paint was slightly darker, calling attention to the fact that something was missing. A poster-sized photo used to hang there.

  Jonathan palmed the wall and pressed his cheek against its cool, lightly textured surface. He closed his eyes and pictured the moment captured by the camera three years ago …

  He and Franklin stood center stage at the Disney World Sports Complex, hoisting a huge trophy above their heads. The packed arena, energized and cheering, had thrilled him beyond anything he’d ever experienc
ed before. They had both placed in individual events, but together they won the synchronized forms and weapons class. They’d always performed better as a team than they had as individuals.

  Jonathan felt drained and heavy at the same time. He used to be so full of life he couldn’t keep his feet on the ground. How ironic. Now it took all his energy to cross the room and lie down on top of his bed.

  He drew his knees to his chest ignoring the pain that shot through his ribs. The tears that leaked out of his tightly shut eyes did nothing to relieve the pain of his combined grief and guilt. They did however, dissolve the last of his self-control and like a cracked dam, Jonathan could no longer withstand the pressure of holding everything inside. He grabbed one of the decorative pillows and buried his face into the soft satin attempting to muffle his primal screams of agony.

  It was dark when Jonathan finally pulled the sodden pillow away from his face. He switched on his bedside lamp and pulled a fistful of tissues out of the box to dry his eyes and blow his nose. He was numb and completely drained. Unfortunately, his bladder was not.

  He dreaded entering the shared bathroom that joined his room to Franklin’s. Jonathan was almost certain that Franklin’s toothbrush and razor would be gone. Either way, it would hurt. It would be better to remain in the dark.

  Jonathan managed to pee without hitting his feet, something he didn’t always accomplish even when he still had two hands and a light.

  He hurried back to his room, stripped down to his boxers and turned the nursery monitor on. He tried not to glare when he looked into the tiny lens of the video camera. “I’m going to sleep now.”

  That was a lie, of course. There was no way Jonathan would be able to sleep. Not even with the help of narcotics. Pain meds dulled the constant ache of his wounds, but did nothing for the gaping hole in the middle of his chest.

  ***