He doesn’t bother stopping at the breakroom, moving into the first patient room we find instead. He shines the flashlight across the small space, throwing light on the exam table and few chairs on one side of the room, then the small counter with cabinets above it and a sliding closet door on the other side. He immediately moves over to the closet that’s already open where the lock appears to have been violently broken off from its connection to the wall.
The contents inside are in complete disarray, no doubt completely removed from their former positions on the closet’s previously organized shelving, but in the chaotic pile that remains, I can clearly make out some of the tools and devices that were shown to me by my doctors, who demonstrated their uses to inspire hope in me that I could regain full use of my hand someday.
“Let me do this part,” I suggest to Silas, and he steps out of the way to give me better access, but keeps the flashlight trained inside the closet. As I kneel next to the pile, Silas unzips the large pocket of his backpack and drops the open bag on the floor next to me.
I grab a few resistance bands and a set of squeeze balls to exercise my grip, finding strange relief in having the real versions of these tools within my grasp after having limited success in mimicking them during my own rehab attempts over the last few months. After collecting the items in the backpack, I move on to picking out the more advanced equipment that I couldn’t as easily recreate before: a few spring-based hand strengtheners and a wrist strap with adjustable finger bands attached to it.
“This is more than enough,” I conclude as I struggle to zip up the backpack. I grab for the wall to support me as I get to my feet, but my hand is caught by Silas’ grasp first, causing me to freeze for a moment at the unexpected move.
His expression remains completely unreadable in the limited light as he helps me to stand. Even when he has fulfilled his task, our hands remain connected for just a few seconds longer than necessary. I feel the need to thank him, and if he were any other person in the world, I’d do just that, but how can I possibly give thanks to the man who killed my brother?
The conflict these feelings create within me is distracting as Silas finally retracts his hand and grabs for the backpack instead, throwing it over his shoulder as he moves toward the door. I’m about to follow him, but he turns and holds out his hand to stop me.
“Wait here,” he instructs. “I’ll get the books.”
Before I have the opportunity to protest, he’s out of the door, taking the only source of light with him.
I’m immediately reminded of being left alone in the dark room at Silas’ house and all of the pain and torturous thoughts I endured in that place, and suddenly my breathing quickens, panic consumes me, and I feel the desperate need to escape this room.
My eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness to guide me over any obstacles in my way as I ignore Silas’ command and rush into the hallway, following the faint glow down the hall in the direction of the waiting room that I know is bathed in natural light. The dark hall gets brighter with each step until I turn the corner at the end of it and am safely back in the light of the waiting room.
I feel better here, now that I’m no longer drowning in the darkness in which I had been abandoned before, but what I really need is full-on sunshine and fresh air. With a few quick strides, I’m out of the broken front door of the building, almost instantly comforted by the heat of the sun on my face and the slight breeze through my hair.
I’m not more than a few steps away from the door when I hear a rush of movement behind me, and before I can even turn around to see the source, someone grabs me from behind, holding me back as a large hand covers my mouth to stifle my scream. I struggle to glance behind me, expecting to find the signature scowl of Silas’ face.
It’s not him.
The realization is strangely terrifying as another man emerges from nearby with malicious intent written all over his face. When I see the large knife he’s carrying, every single horrific detail of my attack last December comes flooding back to me, engulfing me with the memories I’ve tried to repress ever since.
Panic overwhelms me as the middle-aged man rushes forward and grabs my shoulder to hold me in place as he directs the sharp edge of the knife right at my neck.
“The keys,” he demands as he nods behind him toward Silas’ car. “You can give them willingly, or maybe a strip search would be better.”
The man holding me from behind laughs at this as he readjusts his grip around me so that his hand is on my breast, and he gives it a tight squeeze.
I try to speak against the man’s hand, indicating I’m ready to talk. The moment his dirty palm moves away from my mouth, I scream out Silas’ name, but my cry for help is cut short when I’m punched hard in the midsection by the man in front of me. My body doubles over from the blow, and just as that is happening, the man smacks me hard across the temple with the knife handle.
A gunshot explodes nearby, then another. The deafening sounds consume the surrounding air as the grip of the arm that holds me suddenly releases and I fall to the pavement. The man who was behind me hits the ground as well, his body completely still but his eyes searching around desperately until they don’t move any more. Two more gunshots ring out, and there’s another thud on the pavement nearby. The clattering sound of the knife falling signals the end of it. The threat is over.
“Ash.”
I never thought I’d feel such relief at hearing Silas say the shortened name that he’s chosen for me. He falls to his knees next to me, carefully rolling me onto my back and immediately checking my injuries. I wince as he presses the area around the gash on my forehead. He quickly moves on to pulling up my shirt, his hands feeling around the area of my stomach where the skin’s already starting to bruise.
Silas moves his hand to the side of my face, forcing me to look at him. “You’ll be fine. It’s over now.”
I’m not convinced that either of those assessments is true, but I nod anyway as silent tears escape my eyes. There’s a sharp pain in my stomach as Silas scoops me up into his arms and carries me to the car. He manages to get the door open while holding me against him and carefully sets me down in the passenger seat.
“I need to go back inside,” he explains as he reaches in to secure my seatbelt, “then we’ll go home.”
It’s difficult to hear that last word, especially coming from Silas’ mouth. His house is not my home; it’s just a roof over my head. Being with him is not my life; it’s just my current reality.
As Silas closes the door and walks away, encasing me in the complete silence of the vehicle, I can’t suppress my emotions any longer. They come pouring out of me in heavy sobs that only exacerbate the pain in my torso, but just as quickly as the flood of emotion started, it comes to an abrupt end as I lie back against the seat and let the numbness overtake me.
Within a minute I see Silas emerge from the tan building with the thick medical books in hand and the completely full black backpack hanging over his shoulder. As he’s putting them in the trunk of the car, an unsettling thought occurs to me as I realize the process of collecting the books from the office at the end of the hall shouldn’t have taken Silas as long as it did.
The moment he opens the driver’s side door, I blurt out my burning question despite the tightness in my throat. “Did you set me up for this?”
Silas takes his seat behind the wheel before meeting my gaze, and the slight tinge of guilt in his expression tells me everything I need to know.
My insides instantly feel hollow. “Oh my God. You—”
“I didn’t hire those men,” Silas interjects, “but I’ll admit I was testing you. I wanted to see what you’d do if I left you alone, if you’d follow my instructions or if you’d try to run.”
Anger swells within me upon hearing I’ve been the victim of yet another of Silas’ tricks. “How did you expect me to react after my last experience alone in a dark room? I was terrified.” My open acknowledgement of my weakness causes a
shift within me, fueling my worry that I’ll never be strong enough to kill Silas or escape his grasp.
“I had no idea those men were outside waiting for you. If I had known…” Silas trails off, avoiding my gaze but not before I catch a glimpse of what looks like genuine remorse on his face.
I don’t want his pity. I don’t even want an apology. It’s becoming clear to me what I really need, and luckily Silas wants the same thing.
“I want to start training as soon as possible,” I demand, my voice perfectly unwavering in my resolve to be stronger.
Silas looks at me skeptically. “I don’t think you’d ready for—”
“I never want to be defenseless again. Teach me the skills to fight back.”
The disbelief on Silas’ face morphs into a pleased grin. “We’ll start tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow,” I acknowledge before relaxing against the seat. As Silas starts up the car and peels out onto the road, I watch the blurring trees speed by against the backdrop of blue sky and hope that I’ll eventually have the strength necessary to overcome my demons and drag this devil down, even if he takes me with him.
12
Skin to glass. Cold but soothing. Solid but pliable.
Inviting. Enveloping. Awakening.
The beautiful outside world. Endless potential.
Gone from me.
LOST.
“No.” The word leaves my mouth, and I grasp on to it. Eyes open wide.
Exhale. Breathe.
I refocus on the view out of the window, peering through the crystal glass to the heavens above drenched in darkness and awaiting their most reliable friend: impending daylight. At any moment the sky will take that imperceptible turn toward dawn.
There’s something about the stillness and silence of the sunrise. It’s comforting—enveloping, yet liberating.
The flickered skyline of Boston dots the horizon in the distance amidst its own glow of ambient light. It’s the perfect accompaniment to the wild painting of the sky that’s about to take place.
It feels like I should be there. It’s where I belong, but I’m only here, viewing it from a distance as it teases me.
My thoughts linger there just as I notice the brightening of the sky along the horizon. It’s almost here. Sunrise. A reawakening. The promise of something better.
Minutes pass as my eyes stay trained on the horizon far away from the city. The subtlety of the first signs of dawn in its soft green glow has run its course completely now. Yellow and orange have taken over the sky with hints of red speckled along the sparse clouds. At any moment the sun will make itself known and peek out from the horizon, bathing the expansive landscape before me in light.
I hold my breath as the sun is about to cross over the horizon, but it never makes it. The skyline erupts in a burst of light instead, explosions brightening the now-darkened sky as sunrise is abandoned, the future lost. I exhale in a scream as the horizon burns, and the towers of society collapse before my eyes.
I turn around to the complete darkness behind me as my hands cover my mouth to stifle a scream, but I feel something wet against my skin. It’s smooth but thick, creeping down my arm. There’s just enough light from the conflagration outside the window behind me to illuminate my left hand slashed almost completely in half, and I scream again, backing up against the window as if I could escape the bloodied appendage that’s somehow still attached to me.
Clutching my left hand to my chest, I glance up into the nothingness at the sound of something nearby. Two dark figures approach, their faces glowing with malicious intent in the fiery light from outside the window. They step closer and surround me. They reach out with strong hands ready to ravage me—to end me—and I am helpless.
Their touch finds my skin, and I close my eyes, cowering away from my fate, but then there is nothing. Their touch is gone. Silence surrounds me, and I must open my eyes.
He is standing there before me, the man with the faint scar across his cheek. The dark figures lie broken and defeated at his feet. He steps over them and walks toward me, closing the distance between us. He reaches out for me in the same way that the men who touched me before did, but I’m not afraid this time. I welcome the contact as his palm cups the side of my cheek. He is warmth and protection. Though encased in darkness, he is my salvation.
Slowly he moves his face closer to mine until I can feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. The tiniest amount of distance separates us, and at any moment I expect him to press forward and connect our lips together, but I find myself moving toward him instead of his moving toward me.
My entire body jumps as I awaken with a sharp gasp. The arm holding me lightly across the stomach as I lie sideways on the bed in the darkness of the room leaves my side, and suddenly the room is illuminated by the small lamp sitting on the nightstand on the other side of the bed.
I grimace in pain from the soreness in my midsection as I roll to my back and bring my free hand to my forehead, brushing the edge of the gauze bandage still attached to my skin there. I take a moment to stare at the ceiling as I try to catch my breath after being startled awake. My cheeks are wet from tears I didn’t know I was crying. When I reach down with my hand to wipe them away, I find my entire arm is trembling.
What the hell is going on with me?
Silas reaches for my hand and grasps it tightly to stop the shaking. I merely glance to the side at him, noting the look of concern on his face just before I remember what I was just dreaming about, and suddenly I can’t face him any longer.
How could I think of him like that? How could my mind ever contemplate willingly kissing him?
“You okay?”
I squeeze my eyes shut at Silas’ question. “No.”
His grasp of my hand loosens a bit, affording me the opportunity to withdraw my hand. I can’t handle his touch right now, not while my brain sorts out the nightmare I just endured.
My eyes open at the sound of jingling keys. Silas sits up in the bed and reaches across me to unlock the handcuff on my right wrist, releasing me from my physical attachment to the bedframe.
“Come with me,” Silas orders before he emerges from the bed in his black boxer briefs. I immediately look away as his perfectly built and mostly naked body is bathed in the light from the lamp. There’s a rustling of clothes, and I don’t dare to look toward him again until it stops and I’m sure he’s dressed.
“What are we doing?” I ask uneasily as I push through the pain and sit up to get out of the bed, relieved to confirm that Silas is wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt now.
He grabs a flashlight from the nightstand before turning off the lamp. “Just come.”
I worry that I’m being led directly into another of Silas’ tricks, but the last place I want to be at the moment is in this room, so I make my way around the bed and follow Silas out of the door and down the hall.
We pass the entryway of the house and enter the dining room. I expect Silas to pull out a chair and tell me to sit as he usually does, but he shines the flashlight toward the opening that leads to the kitchen and continues walking that way without a word.
When we step inside, there’s enough of a glow from the flashlight to let me take in the full room for the first time instead of only getting a glimpse of it like I usually do from the dining room. Stainless steel appliances are spanned by some sort of grey slate or stone countertops on the opposing walls of the room. Black cabinets line the walls above the counter with a tall matching freestanding cabinet against the wall adjacent to the doorway. A black serving cart covered with glass bottles of liquor rests against the wall on the other side of the tall cabinet. Just beyond it in the corner is another heavy wooden door similar to the front door of the house. There’s an island in the middle of the room covered by the same kind of countertop as the rest of the kitchen with a few barstool chairs tucked away under its extended lip.
Silas pulls out one of the barstools and indicates for me to sit before he focuses his attention on
lighting a couple of candles on the nearby counter. I’m just settling onto the barstool and leaning my elbows forward on the counter as he sets the two candles in the middle of the island, providing soft lighting for the entire room.
“You have a choice,” Silas begins to say as he turns off the flashlight and sets it aside, “tea or wine, or perhaps you’d like to join me in drinking something stronger.” He moves over to the serving cart littered with bottles of alcohol. He quickly selects a tall bottle of light amber liquid and sets it on the counter of the island near me. In the candlelight I can make out that it’s a blended scotch whisky.
That’ll do just fine.
I grab the bottle as Silas is about to reach into a cabinet for a glass. He abandons his effort, though, when he sees me unscrew the cap and put the rim of the bottle to my lips. Closing my eyes, I tip the bottle back and take two quick gulps of the smooth liquid before I slam the bottle back to the counter. My throat burns for a few moments, and I have to cough a few times to get through the unpleasant sensation, but it’s completely worth it when I start to feel the calming effects of the alcohol almost immediately.
When I open my eyes, I keep my gaze forward but can see Silas taking a seat on the barstool next to me out of the corner of my eye. He grabs the bottle and drinks directly from it just like I did, though his efforts are much more controlled than mine.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Silas requests, though more as a plea, the tone not as commanding as I’ve become accustomed to hearing from him.
I say nothing. I can’t even look at him. The mere thought of where my mind was going in the nightmare I experienced minutes ago makes me want to physically claw the memory out of my brain.
“Ash.”
“That’s not my name.” I panic a little inside at my sudden response as I realize the alcohol is starting to talk for me.
At any moment Silas will counter and insist that I’m wrong, that the name he’s chosen for me in this new life is the only name I’ll ever have for the rest of my days, but the pushback I’m expecting never comes. He just takes another drink from the bottle instead, then offers it to me, extending the bottle in my direction.
Falling Ash Page 9
