by E. K. Blair
Hush
Copyright © 2016 E.K. Blair
Editor: Lisa Christman, Adept Edits and Ashley Williams
Photographer: Erik Schottstaedt
Cover Designer: E.K. Blair
Interior Designer: Champagne Formats
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,) without the prior written permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemlance to any actual persons, living or dead, evetns, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9780996397025
title page
copyright
dedication
quote
hush
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter twenty-one
chapter twenty-two
chapter twenty-three
chapter twenty-four
chapter twenty-five
chapter twenty-six
chapter twenty-seven
chapter twenty-eight
chapter twenty-nine
chapter thirty
chapter thirty-one
chapter thirty-two
epilogue
from the author
acknowledgements
To Sally
Because you love him as I do
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
-Lewis Carroll
I’VE COME TO know illusions well. They’re the phantasms I cling to because I’m not ready to let go of the comfort they give me. Most of what brings me solace and peace are nothing more than ghosts of my past, yet I hold tightly to keep them with me in the present for fear that without them, I just might disappear too.
I’m scared to be alone, even though in some ways, I always have been.
A jolt of electricity shoots through the thick blood in my veins. It’s the one thing that lets me know the difference between reality and delusion. The spark shocks my system into high alert, forcing my heart to leap out of rhythm as my eyes widen in a storm of a thousand questions my mind can’t process.
I crawl to the foot of the bed on my hands and knees, staring at the TV above the fireplace. Declan sits behind me, but I no longer feel him as I struggle to breathe.
“He’s alive.” It’s all I can mutter as I stare at the paused screen of the news report.
“Who?” Declan questions from a million miles away as I stumble off the bed and walk in uneven steps across the room, closer to the TV.
I reach out my hand as I near the image that can’t be true, but is. I step onto the hearth, my fingers trembling when I slowly press them onto the screen. The moment I touch him, my heart ruptures, and I cry out. Blood from my wounded soul floods my eyes and spills down my cheeks. My breaths fracture and fill the room.
Strong hands grip my shoulders, and I want to collapse, but I can’t look away from the one thing I’ve been searching for my whole life.
“Talk to me,” he says, voice panic-stricken.
Pressing my hand more firmly against the screen, I beg to feel the warmth of him on my skin.
“Who is he?”
“This is real, right?” I ask of Declan. “You and me, in this room, it’s real, isn’t it?”
“Look at me.”
But I can’t. I’m afraid to look away for fear that I’ll lose him. That somehow he’ll vanish from the screen.
“Tell me it’s real,” I cry.
“It’s real, darling. I’m here with you.”
And with his words, an ugly sob rips out of my chest, but I catch it quickly when Declan steps onto the hearth next to me. As memories swirl inside, a mixture of foggy emotions fight with each other, and when anger claims victory and swells to the surface, I turn my head to look at Declan. His eyes mirror mine in utter confusion.
“He’s dead,” I say to him, the words like razors slicing my vocal cords, but I speak through the pain as tears stream down my cheeks. “They told me he was dead. Why? Why?”
“Who?”
“I saw his grave. I felt the stone where his name was etched,” I go on. “Why would they lie to me? Why did he lie to me? Why didn’t he ever come for me?”
Declan pulls me into his arms, pressing me tightly against his chest as I wail over and over, crying out for answers that don’t find me, screaming for comfort in all of my whys.
“Who?” he questions again, and when I turn my face and bury it into his bare chest, I sob through shattered dreams, broken hearts, and lost souls.
“My dad.”
I fist my hands against Declan’s chest as his grip tightens around me. His embrace is unwavering and entirely hard as his muscles constrict around my weakened body.
“Why am I so easy to walk away from?”
“Don’t do this,” he scolds. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”
“Why not?” I scream, jerking my body out of his hold, pissed at the world, and for the first time in my life, pissed at my father. Stepping down and away from Declan, I turn back around and lash out in self-pity at the top of my lungs. “What did I do to deserve this life?”
“Elizabeth, please. Just take a deep breath.”
“No.”
He moves towards me, saying, “The last time you saw him you were only five years old, right? How can you be sure that’s even him?”
I step up to him and seethe between my tears, “Because you don’t forget the face of the one man you’ve spent your whole life aching for. There is no doubt that man is my father.”
Returning to the TV, my eyes are stoned to the bright blues I remember so vividly. Eyes I thought loved me beyond anything in this world. Eyes I thought bore black six feet under. But he’s here, and I’ve never felt more alone.
“Elizabeth?”
My hands grip the mantel to keep my legs from failing me.
“Elizabeth, please. Look at me.”
“Elizabeth?”
His voice is both poison and wine, and hearing it causes my limbs to go ataxic and I crumple to the floor. The familiar smell of clove cigarettes both soothes me and torments me.
“Is it true?” I ask my brother, Pike, but Declan answers first.
“I’ll do whatever I can to find out.”
“Yes, it’s true.”
Looking up, I shift my eyes away from Declan to the corner of the room where Pike stands. We both know I shouldn’t be looking at him, because Declan thinks I’m taking the pills that kill my hallucinations, but I’m not. I can’t say goodbye to my brother yet. Maybe never.
But there he stands, alive, with his dark hair tucked under his black beanie, and his hands shoved into his p
ants pockets with his inked arms showing. His eyes send love and strength before he nods his head over to Declan, and I follow his cue, knowing I’ll lose him when I do.
My throat swells in torment, painfully blistering as I sit here on my knees. It’s every dream come true; I just never knew the dream lived within an unimaginable nightmare. No matter all the anger I feel right now, one thing still remains: you can cut me deeply with lies, you can throw me into the flames of life’s evils, but I will never give up on what I’ve always yearned for.
With tears falling down my face in a steady stream of anguish, I painfully choke out the heartbreak of the little girl lost inside of me. “I want my dad.”
In two quick steps, Declan is on the floor with me, holding me, rocking me, soothing me, and vowing to do everything he can to find him.
Clinging to him, I take all the comfort he’s giving and attempt to steal more, gripping him tighter and pressing my fingers deeper into his skin. If I’m hurting him, he doesn’t show it, so I close my eyes and crawl onto his lap just as a child would.
When I open my eyes again, they sting against the fully risen sun, and my cheeks burn with the bite of salt. I’m still wrapped within Declan’s arms, and my body aches not only from being in this position for God knows how long, but also from the torture of the past couple days of being held captive.
“I hurt.”
Declan stands and scoops me off the floor before laying me on the bed. He hovers above me, looking over my battered face and body with eyes filled with rage and pity.
His expression irks me. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Look at me like that. Like you feel sorry for me.”
“I’m worried about you. That’s all.” He then hands me a painkiller that I slip into my mouth.
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this.”
“I don’t either. But you’ve been through a lot lately, so I don’t think your mind is capable of clarity. Mine isn’t either. So let’s focus on one thing at a time, okay?”
“All I can focus on is why my dad’s face is on that screen when it shouldn’t be. I don’t know if I should be happy or angry,” I tell him. “Why didn’t he want me?”
Declan doesn’t respond as he pulls me against him. I try to fight the haze from the pills that creeps in, but my eyes grow heavy when Declan whispers softly into my ear, lulling me with a comforting, “Shh, darling. I’ll take care of you. I’ll do what I can to find the answers.”
And as I hang on to his words, I give in, releasing a breath before drifting to sleep.
Elizabeth trembles in her sleep as I hold her. My mind is a goddamn labyrinth as I close my eyes and attempt to process the past forty-eight hours. It’s an impossible task as visions race with a hundred new revelations and a thousand new questions. The only thing I do know is that I’m terrified I won’t be able to keep Elizabeth from having a full-on mental collapse.
Her face is a canvas of bruises, welts, and lacerations that illustrate the rape and torture she’s been through. It pains me to know that I play a part, that some of those wounds were put there by my own hands and the others were put there because I couldn’t protect her from that asshole—Richard—the man I murdered.
I didn’t even hesitate when I put a bullet in his head after Elizabeth told me he killed my mum. The fact that I could kill so easily scares the shit out of me. It’s a grim feeling to be terrified of your own self. I now know I’m capable of anything. I’m a monster created by this woman, whose body is wrapped around mine.
I want an explanation, just as she. Who was Richard? How did he know my mum? Why did he kill her? What part does my father play in all of this? I want to know. I want to understand, but as out of control as I am, she is more volatile than I. She needs strength, so I have to set aside all that haunts me right now and focus on her.
When her breaths even out, I slip out of bed and allow her the rest her body desperately craves. I stop before I walk out of the room and look at Elizabeth lying in my bed as a swell of contentment and anger rushes in a tidal wave under my skin. She’s knocked my control off its axis, and I need to steady it back into place to keep her safe—to make sure nothing else happens without my say-so.
“CHRIST,” LACHLAN SAYS with a startle when I slam the double doors to the library, closing us off from the rest of the house.
With my back facing him, my hands grip tightly around the door handles in a lame attempt to control my turmoil. There’s rioting in my bones, rattling me into a cold sweat. Pulling back to open the doors slightly, I slam them once more, grunting, hammering my palm into the aged mahogany.
“What can I do?” Lachlan questions from across the room.
A string of answers fills my head and wraps around my neck in a tightening noose. I can’t talk as I think about Elizabeth upstairs in a drug-induced sleep. Visions from when I found her last night flash behind my eyes in vivid detail. Her naked and bloodied body, the bruising and lacerations between her legs from what that dickfuck did to her, it brings up sour bile that I fight to swallow back.
All I wanted to give her when she woke this morning was as much peace as I could, but instead, I watched her world erupt into even more chaos. Chaos she doesn’t need. Chaos I’m worried she’s not stable enough to handle.
“Declan.”
I turn and face my friend, thankful that he stayed the night and is here right now, because there’s no way I could sort through my deranged thoughts on my own without smashing my fists through the walls and destroying this house in a blacked out rage.
“How is she?” he questions.
“Sleeping.” The word is strangled as it comes out. I walk over to the couch and sit down, lowering my head to meet my clenched fists. My harsh breaths through my nose are audible. I won’t allow Elizabeth to see this. She needs to believe I’m in utter control and that she’s completely safe with me.
“How is she really?” he pushes for a better answer than the one I just gave him.
I look up and meet his concerned eyes as he takes the seat on the other side of the coffee table.
“She’s not good.”
I won’t go into detail with Lachlan, because what’s hers is mine and no one else’s.
“Look, what happened last night, what you witnessed—” I start to say but Lachlan cuts in, “It’s vaulted.”
“It better be,” I tell him, my voice glazed in unspoken threats. “You’ll never speak of it, not even with her, understand?”
“Without fail,” he responds with a nod.
“I need your help,” I tell him, shifting the conversation.
“Anything.”
“I need you to find someone for me.”
“Who?”
“His name is Steve Archer.”
With a curious look, he responds, “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He’s Elizabeth’s father.”
“Her father?” he reacts in surprise. “He’s dead. I came across his death certificate when I found her mother.”
“I don’t know. We were upstairs watching an American news report and she swears she saw him.”
“On TV? There’s no way.”
“She’s adamant.”
“Declan, her mind has to be a mare’s nest right now. I’m sure she’s seeing what she wishes to see,” he says. “The man is dead.”
I shrug my shoulders, releasing a heavy breath. “Pull the news footage and compare the two men.”
Lachlan steps over to the desk in the corner of the room, and I follow, directing him to the correct news station webpage. We find the video, play it, and when I see the man who Elizabeth made me pause on, I reach down and stop the video, freezing on his face.
“Him.”
It takes a few minutes to find an archived article on his arrest, but Lachlan finally comes across one with a photo.
“There,” I say when I see the link. “Click on that.”
And with a single click, I know Eli
zabeth isn’t imagining things. It may be an old photo, but there’s no way I can argue that it’s not the same man.
“Holy shit,” Lachlan says as he compares both of the photos.
“That’s him. Tell me you’re seeing what I’m seeing.”
“I’m seeing it.”
“Fuck!” Raking my hands through my hair, I pace over to the windows, wishing I never had the goddamn TV turned on this morning. “I can’t allow anyone else to hurt her.
“I know.”
“Jesus. I mean, she just found out that her piece of shit mother sold her when was just a baby. And now this? I don’t think she can take much more.”
“Tell me what you want me to do.”
She won’t let this go. Not that I could expect her to. But I need to keep the upper hand here and remain two steps in front of her.
“Find him. And nothing, not a single piece of information gets past me. Understood?”
“I understand.”
“You screwed up once,” I berate. “Don’t do it again.”
He stands, steps over to me, and assures, “You have my word.” My glare doesn’t waver because what’s at stake is too precious to gamble with. Lachlan sees the doubt, grips my shoulder with his hand, and states firmly, “I care about that girl too.”
“Then don’t fuck this up.”
With a curt nod, he squeezes my shoulder before walking away and pulling out his phone.
“I want security too,” I call out. “She’s not to be alone.”
“I’ll get on that now.”
“You’ll do.”
“I’m not security, McKinnon.”
“You’re right. You’re a fuckin’ dobber when it comes to taking orders. But after last night, you’re the only one I trust to keep her safe when I’m not around.”
“I’ll need to situate a few things in Edinburgh.”
“Do it today,” I tell him. “You can stay in the cottage next to the grotto.”
“The cottage?” He laughs. “You mean the maid’s quarters?”
“That’s the one, you wanker,” I respond with a chuckle. “Oh, one more thing,” I add before Lachlan leaves the room, exchanging the banter for seriousness, “Thank you.”
