Returned to the Light

by C. M. Radcliff

  “Look,” I say firmly, stopping her before she gets started. “There’s just some shit I need to work out myself, okay? Where I’ll live, school, work, and that’s just to name a few. That doesn’t even begin to cover what the hell I’m going to do or say as far as Ryder is concerned. I just need a little time, and then, I promise, I will be home, okay?” I all but plead with her to give me her blessing and for her to back off. She’s so strong-willed and hard headed that when she doesn’t get what she wants, it’s no joy ride. She’s fierce and overprotective and she’s always ready to go to bat for you.

  A minute or so of agonizing silence passes between the two of us before Cara suddenly interrupts it. “I will give you your time, and I am here for anything you want or need, anytime. If you need me to come down there or want help trying to figure shit out, you know I’m your girl.”

  I can hear her smile through the phone, and my lips form one to match hers.

  “I know you are, and I don’t know what the hell I’d do or where I’d be without your crazy ass!”

  “Shit,” she starts to chuckle, “for all we know, you’d be halfway across the world with a new identity.”

  I let out a genuine laugh, knowing that she’d probably be right. “That would never be possible with your creepy FBI stalker skills. Did you learn some of that from Griffin? Because you’re getting pretty close to his level.”

  Between the two of them, I’d never be able to get away. If Cara wanted to know something, she’d figure out as much as possible, whether it be a product or a person. Griffin, on the other hand, if he wants to know something, he will find it. Point blank. No detail left out, no stone left unturned; his capabilities of finding out information and the extent that he’ll go to is borderline psychotic.

  “I beg to differ,” she huffs. “That man is on some other shit that I come nowhere close to. But goddamn, the things I’d let him do to me…” her voice trails off.

  I make a gagging sound. “Yeah, okay, that’s enough. Number one, he’s my kind of brother. Number two, uh—Pierce? Hello?”

  “Please, we’re adults.” I can practically hear her world famous eye roll through the phone. “The fact that he’s your half brother, mind you, that you just met two years ago doesn’t mean he’s off limits. AND, to address number two, I would never do that to Pierce. I am more than happy with him and would never jeopardize that. But fuck me if a girl can’t dream!”

  Trent runs towards me, climbing up onto my lap when he reaches me. His big blue eyes find mine and he smiles, crinkling the dried dirt on his cheeks. “Mommy, I’m hungry,” he tells me quietly, taking note of the phone. I smile at the realization of how observant and considerate of others my sweet boy is.

  I nod to him and turn my attention back to my somewhat obnoxious friend. “Cara, I actually gotta go and get Trent lunch and what not. Text me soon, but we’ll FaceTime or Skype later this week?”

  “You got it, dude!” she says in her best Michelle Tanner voice from Full House. “We’ll talk more then. Until then, do some thinking and get your shit sorted out ASAP! Love you!”

  “Love you too,” I say, smiling and silently thank the universe for someone like her. I hang up the phone and wrap my arms around Trent before rising to my feet. I readjust him on my hip and slide my phone into my back pocket.

  “Ryder called?” he asks, out of nowhere, with a hopeful look on his face; so hopeful that I feel a piece of my heart break off.

  “No, baby,” I tell him. “Ryder’s very busy, but we’ll see him soon, okay?”

  Trent’s face lights up at the unspoken promise and he starts to nod excitedly. I suddenly release my arms, just a fraction of an inch, as if I were to drop him. Trent squeals, and we both break out into laughter as I wrap my arms around him tightly and we walk back into the house, leaving thoughts of Ryder and the unanswered questions outside.

  chapter thirty-one

  RYDER

  WHEN PEOPLE USE THE EXPRESSION of being a shell of a person, you don’t realize how inaccurately that is portrayed until you are that shell. Life just becomes different motions with the same routine, and the days slowly fade into one another. The feeling of having your heart repeatedly ripped from your chest is replaced by a numbness—one that mocks the sensation Novocain leaves in your mouth after a root canal. Then comes the emptiness that hollows you from the inside out, letting the cold consume the empty space. There’s literally nothing left of the person you once were. No emotions lurk within the depths of your eyes. There’s never a trace of a smile kissing your lips. You. Are. Nothing.

  So, when you truly become a shell of a person, that is exactly what you become. A cold empty shell that once encapsulated the person you were. Shells start out fragile and can easily be broken, but, over time and with solitude, a shell can grow stronger than you could ever imagine.

  Being like this isn’t entirely bad, though, and it’s a lot better than all the drinking I used to resort to. I go through the motions of life—going to work, the grocery store as needed, and I’ve thoroughly mastered the art of rejecting phone calls and dodging any human contact. That is, until today.

  It’s Sunday so I didn’t bother waking up ‘til around noon, wearing the same clothes I changed into Friday after work. Functioning solely on autopilot, I went to the bathroom, took a piss, and brushed my teeth like a robot. I made my way downstairs, grabbed a glass of orange juice, and sat down on the couch, turning on some bullshit golf tournament that I could give two shits about. I don’t even like golf.

  That’s as far as I made it and as far as I planned to go for the day. I take a swig of my orange juice, disregarding the golden rule that the taste of toothpaste and orange juice will most certainly taste like ass. I barely even notice the flavor as I zone out on the deep greens of the fairways on the television.

  Suddenly, someone starts pounding on my front door. They pound so hard that I catch myself waiting for the typical ‘Police, open up’ line to come from whoever it is. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that, seeing as I did kill a man last week, but I know Griffin, and he doesn’t fuck around. If he said it would be cleaned up, then it was taken care of without a doubt.

  “I know you’re in there!”

  Fuck. I take a deep breath.

  “Open your goddamn door, Ryder.”

  I sink deeper into the couch and mute the TV, keeping my mouth shut. The knocking and yelling abruptly ends, but then I hear the faint clicking sound of metal against metal.

  He’s picking my fucking lock.

  There’s a final click and the door unlocks and is shoved open so hard you can hear the door knob make an indent on the wall. My walls are already littered with holes I put in them, so what’s one more?

  I stare at the silent screen in front of me, trying to ignore Griffin’s large frame standing in the doorway of the living room. He lets out a disgusted laugh. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he scoffs. I already know what he’s doing. He’s assessing his surroundings, the situation, and deciding whether or not to shrink me or be an asshole.

  He goes with the latter.

  “Good lord, you’re a goddamn mess. When’s the last time you looked in the mirror? Because you look about as shitty as your place does.” He walks over, shaking his head, and looks down at the glass in my hand. “Did you put the juice in there for color or is there actually enough for some flavor?”

  He hits a nerve with that remark, and I finally look at him, expressionless. He pisses me off with his judgmental comments and his polished look in his all black running outfit. How can someone so dirty always look so clean?

  I look down at the glass and back at him. “It’s orange juice,” I say in a flat tone.

  “Bullshit,” he retorts, stalking over. “You clearly fell off the wagon.”

  He grabs the glass and smells it, a wave of confusion passing over his face. His dark eyes meet mine and he narrows them at me, as if he doesn’t believe that there’s no alcohol in there. And then he surprises m
e by taking a drink, not questioning whether or not it’s poisoned like he normally does, and tastes the juice for himself. He stares at me for a moment with wide eyes and hands the glass back to me.

  “This is worse than I thought,” he sighs and plops down on the couch beside me. I can see him coming from a mile away. Here comes Griffin the shrink.

  He brushes something off his pant leg and stares at the silent golfer about to tee off on the TV. “What’s going on. man?” His voice is quiet, laced with concern. “You’ve been screening all my calls. This isn’t like you at all.”

  “I’m good,” I say in my robotic voice. I’m not feeding into his psych bullshit, and I have nothing to talk to him about.

  “I know when you’re good, Ryder, and this is not good.” He pauses for a moment. “Is this because of him?”

  I don’t bother answering him. He’s an idiot if he thinks that I don’t feel ten times better now that Jared is dead. It doesn’t make me feel any less numb, but I feel no remorse or guilt for what I did.

  He takes my silence as an answer—the right answer. He continues to probe, and I swear I can almost hear the click in his mind as he figures it all out.

  “I should have known,” he says as he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Lydia. It’s always Lydia.” He shifts his weight and turns to sit sideways on the couch so he can face me. “I don’t know why you two continue to torture yourselves by not being together. Clearly it’s making your lives much better.”

  His sarcastic tone pisses me off, but I keep it concealed. Emotions have no business existing in my world. “She’s where she belongs, and she deserves more than I can give her.” I keep my voice monotone, when everything inside me is screaming.

  “You sound like a fucking robot,” he scoffs. “That’s a lie; a robot has more personality than you right now. And as far as Lydia goes, we both know that is total bullshit too.”

  I silently look at him, waiting for him to continue, because I know if I open my mouth right now, everything I’ve been keeping in is going to come flowing right out.

  “I talked to Cara, and she’s going to be coming back here after she figures everything out, which we already know means she’s still in love with you.” He’s about to say something else when his phone starts to ring. He glances at the screen and back at me. “Shit,” he mutters. “I need to take this real quick,” he says, rising to his feet and stepping into the hallway. I can’t hear much of what he’s saying, but I can hear the panic and urgency in his hushed tone. As quickly as he stepped out, he steps back into the doorway, but he doesn’t come back into the room. “It’s Rowena. I’m sorry, I have to go now, but we’re not done here.” He pauses and gives me a look that I can’t decipher. “Lydia doesn’t know the truth about Jess, so either you tell her or I do. She deserves to know. She should have known already.”

  He doesn’t wait for my response before making his way back to the front door. I hear it slowly open again and he steps onto the front porch. “And answer when I fucking call you,” he says and slams the door shut behind him.

  Even after he’s long gone, his words still linger in the air, and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s completely right. It’s time she knows the truth so she can make a logical decision with all of the facts. Impulsively, I grab my phone and quickly go through my contacts and press down on her name without a moment’s hesitation. It rings until it goes to voicemail and her voice comes through the speaker, saying to leave a message. I don’t leave one, but I relish in the sound of her voice, even with it being a recording.

  She didn’t answer, and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel anxious because she didn’t answer, but she might call back. Yet, a part of me feels awake, like it’s time for me to let life come back into focus. I look around the room, taking in the clutter and the dirt, and I realize where I need to start. I rise to my feet to collect all my cleaning supplies and get started in the living room.

  I may not be able to clean up the other messes in my life, but I can at least start with this one.

  chapter thirty-two

  LYDIA

  A FEW DAYS HAVE PASSED from when I last talked to Cara. She’s texted me daily, just to check in, but she has given me space to sort through my thoughts.

  I know exactly what I need to do, without a doubt. There aren’t any thoughts to sort through, only fears—ones that I will carry with me no matter where I go. And there is only one person that can help erase them all. The only question left to ask myself is whether or not I can trust him to do that.

  Absentmindedly, I trace a heart in the sand beside me. A soft gust of wind swirls the sand from the ground, letting it rain down upon my legs. Today, I brought Trent to the coast to get both of us out of the house. God knows we both needed it. I never went to see about getting my job back or re-enrolling in classes here. I never took Trent back to the daycare he was going to.

  We weren’t staying here.

  This was never our home, and we both knew it.

  This is where he thrived, with the smell of the salt water drifting off the waves crashing in the background, his sand colored hair ruffled from the soft breeze, and his sun-kissed skin wet from the ocean water with his tiny toes buried in the sand. He belonged near the ocean, with it right in his backyard, only much farther up the coast.

  Rising to my feet, I grab another bucket and move closer to Trent to help him build the sand castle he’s been asking for. I shake off the rest of my thoughts, immersing all of my attention in him.

  There’s nothing left for me to think about.

  I know what needs to be done.

  WE SPEND A GOOD PORTION of the day at the beach, stopping for burgers and ice cream on our way home. When we pull up to the house, the sun is slowly setting, casting pink and orange clouds across the sky. I grab our stuff and help Trent out of the car while he rubs his eyes fiercely. A text comes through and my phone goes off as we reach the front door. I look down and see Griffin’s name as I unlock the door and open it.

  “Let’s get you upstairs in the tub and then, we’ll read a story,” I tell Trent, leading him into the house, careful to shut and lock the door behind us.

  “Okay!” Trent says excitedly and takes off up the stairs. I set down our bags and open my phone, walking slowly up the stairs.

  G- Call me. We need to talk.

  I stare at my phone for a moment with initial feelings of panic coursing through my body. I quickly text him back.

  Putting Trent in the bath. Can I call you after?

  G- Call me after you get him in bed. No rush.

  Yeah, okay. No rush, my ass. You don’t tell someone you need to talk and then be all nonchalant about it. I don’t bother texting him back. Tucking my phone into my back pocket, I hurry up the stairs, prepared to give Trent the fastest bath of his life so I can figure out what the hell Griffin needs to talk to me about.

  TRENT DOESN’T FIGHT me at all with his rushed bedtime routine. I have him bathed, teeth brushed, vitamins taken, book read, and tucked in and asleep within thirty minutes tops. That’s definitely record time for us, but our beach trip today could play a part in that. Either way, I’ll take it.

  I grab a glass of wine from the cupboard and get one of the opened bottles from the fridge. I pull out my phone and look back and forth between it and the bottle of wine on the counter. I take the glass and put it back into the cabinet and head for the backdoor, grabbing my phone and the whole bottle of wine. I have a feeling I may need more than a glass for this conversation.

  I get settled on my favorite Adirondack chair and chug one fourth of the bottle while staring at the blank screen on my phone. Reluctantly, I open Griffin’s text and hit the call button and hold my breath while waiting for him to answer. It doesn’t last long, however, because he answers on the first ring.

  “Hey,” he answers in a calm, casual voice.

  “Uh…hey?” It comes out more as a question than I intended. The confusion is evident in my voice.

  “That
didn’t take very long. I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon,” he says it as if he’s surprised.

  “Yeah,” I give a light laugh, laced with sarcasm. “You’d be surprised how fast you can get your kid in bed when you get a text like that.”

  He’s silent for a moment. “I didn’t mean to cause any panic,” he talks slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I just had a few things I needed to talk to you about.”

  A few things? Right. I shake my head to myself. “Out with it then,” I tell him, not wasting any time.

  He clears his throat, something he doesn’t do often. Griffin rarely shows emotion, let alone any indication of being nervous. “I’m not sure where to start,” he says slowly. “It’s safe now, though; you can come home. There’s nothing left to worry about here.”

  “What does that even mean, Griffin?” I begin to feel pissed off and completely clueless. “I’m probably not even safe anywhere I go with Jared still out there.”

  “That’s the thing, Lydia,” he starts, his voice neutral. “We took care of it. He’s gone.”

  I hold my breath, completely shocked and taken back by his words. When I finally breathe, I let out a choked sob, overcome with relief and emotions I can’t even distinguish. Griffin gives me a few minutes until I’m able to regain composure and finish this conversation.

  “Gone?” I ask, still sniffling, wiping away the last of my tears.

  “Gone,” he declares. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone, but the details aren’t important. Just know that it’s over.”

  I slow my breathing down, counting my breaths and calming myself down.

  “Wait,” I say, realization washing over me. “What about the other girl? Rowena, I think?”