And ‘sides, Lexie Lou, this is yer moment to shiiine. Cain’t be letting others steal your thunder, right? They were his father’s words, but he no longer heard the whiny intonation of his father’s voice. He had hated him so much when he was alive, and hated him still. Now when Alex heard his father speak he heard his own voice, one that was mature and in control. Are you gonna be yer mother’s little sniveling Lexie Wexie Woo, or are you going to be a maaan, Alex?
Don’t call me that...
But it’s your naaaaaame, isn’t it, widdew wexie wooooooo...
Swing, crack, spurt; the shock frozen on his father’s face. All the taunting in his expression gone. The way his father’s eyes stayed wide and horrified even as the axe carved into his skull, the blood pooling so fast Alex nearly slipped in it.
Alex’s mother—his weak mother, who was really no better than her husband at all, when it came right down to it, that weak-minded, pitiful slut—was huddled in the corner, crying. Alex nooooooo... whyyyyy... I looooovvveeeed himmm...
It’s no wonder he loved to smash your face in, you stupid, pitiful bitch, Alex had said, swinging the axe at her this time. He missed, and half her face lay flapping as she screamed and screamed, arms flailing, slipping in her and her husband’s blood. The next swing had done the trick. And when Alex was sure they were both, finally, gone, he went into his room and closed the door and the blinds, welcoming the silence with all his heart.
But his father was right. If he wanted to help that sweet girl, he’d have to take control of the situation, just as he had before. Alex slipped into his winter wear, checked his shotgun shells once more, then slung the gun over his shoulder and headed to the food storage.
* * *
38- FINNEGAN
The snowcat came to a shuddering halt. As the engine sounds sputtered and faded away, Finn was enveloped in silence.
He could not get any closer to the small cement building that held the town food storage. It was possible to drive right up to the big steel door if you were in a car or truck, but the trees on either side of the driveway blocked Finn’s wide approach by a hundred feet. Hauling the food back to his vehicle in two feet of snow would make for an hour or so of work, even with his snowshoes.
The stillness in the air was accompanied by an unusual darkness. Why didn’t the Farnsworths leave the light on? Finn searched through the cab to find the flashlight he packed. The light flickered momentarily, and then died. Shit. I should have checked for extra batteries.
Finn peered out the front window again. He could not see the building, but the moonlight cast a shadow on the trees leading to it, and he hoped that would be enough.
Finn had memorized the access code to the building, but in the excitement had subsequently forgotten it. Reaching into his inner pocket, Finn’s gloved hand fumbled for the old slip of folded paper that he had brought along with him, just in case. He pulled it out. 77877, it read. All residents of Summer Island had it written down somewhere safe. Finn had never been so glad for Jon’s neurotic organizational habits. He’d found it in the Rolodex, taped to a card labeled: Code, Food Storage.
Finn removed his gloves and slipped his hand into his pocket again, finding Ana’s cross. He threaded the delicate chain around his neck, under his jacket, and latched it. The tiny cross clinked against the one he was already wearing.
Pulling his gloves back on, Finn took one last, long deep breath and then opened the cab door. The cold air rushed at his face, stealing the breath from him, as he sunk into snow that came to his knees. The door seemed miles away. I have to remember why I’m here. He dropped his face and started the slow hike to the building.
The complete stillness of the icy air had an eerie quality. Finn was painfully aware of how alone he was. The lack of children’s laughter, or cars moving through the downtown strip, was louder than the sounds themselves.
Suck it up and stop being a pussy. He forged on. His steps were heavy and the snow’s resistance complicated matters, but he knew each trip back to the snowcat would get easier as the path was flattened.
Finn heard a crunch of snow ahead of him, and stopped. Pulling his hood back to widen his vision, he peered into the darkness ahead. He could see nothing at all. Probably an animal.
The snow was starting to soak through his thick layers of clothing. He would have to move faster. The drive home was long and the heater was not working in the cab—another thing his father had left to rot.
The crunching sound echoed again from ahead. This time, Finn narrowed his eyes and tried to focus harder, but the illumination of the snow against the night cast so many shadows he could make out nothing distinct. “Hello?” he called out. There was no response. Of course not. It’s probably a deer.
Finn continued toward the building, but his heart was racing. Then, there was the crunching sound again, but this time it came from his left.
That does not sound like a deer… or a fox… he thought, as he listened carefully to the heavy crunches the footfalls made. They were coming closer, and the pace was quicker. Then, suddenly, they were right beside him, and the shadow grew into the large, tall shape of a man.
He spun around with his hands out in front of him, and a sharp pain shot through his head as cold steel connected. Finn saw a flash of light and then felt himself falling, sinking, into the white, icy darkness.
* * *
39- ANA
In her dream, Ana was drowning.
She had been running, feeling the cold sweat and force of the wind beating on her. Running away from something… she didn’t know what… running, running, running.
Suddenly, the ice water sprayed up on to her, all around her, the shock of the cold piercing her body as she continued to run… through it… into it… submerging herself.
The release… the sweet surrender.
Then… darkness.
* * *
40- JONATHAN
Jon was avoiding going upstairs. He had not expected her to wake; not then, not with Finn gone. They had connected for one moment, and then that moment ended, and they were both left with their fear of one another.
He occupied himself by checking on Mr. Jenkins, who no longer needed Jon’s attentive care. This doesn’t make up for the way I’m treating her, Jon thought, but the presence of the dog soothed him, like returning home after a long trip. Angus was Finn’s, and Cocoa was Ana’s. But for a while longer, the little cocker spaniel was Jon’s, and there was no one he’d rather be around.
Jon knew he should go upstairs and make sure Ana was okay. She was clearly unsettled. He was abandoning her. He knew it, and hated himself for it, but he stayed put, running his hands gently through Mr. Jenkins’ soft fur.
An hour after he left her upstairs, he slipped back into the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove for some tea. Perhaps she will want some too, he thought, but summarily dismissed the idea. When the tea finished, he sat in his usual seat at the kitchen table, staring off into nothing, unsure of what he needed to do next.
What he wanted to do was ask her about her accident some more. He wanted to understand how she had healed so quickly; if this was normal for her. Jon started to wonder if perhaps he had imagined how bad her wound was to begin with. Maybe all the blood had overwhelmed him, and made it seem worse than it was.
No… I stitched her up. I saw it with my own eyes. It was there, and terrible, and now the gouge is nearly gone with no rational explanation.
Jon heard the sound of thudding down the stairs behind him. “Angus, easy!” he yelled. When he heard the door open and the screen door slam shut, he cussed under his breath, realizing Finn must have left the door cracked and now the stupid dog had gotten outside. I don’t want to deal with this right now.
Moments later, Angus came padding into the kitchen and Jon gave him a dirty look. Then Jon froze. Angus had not come from upstairs, and Mr. Jenkins was still in the study.
Jon leapt from his seat, dashing through the house and out the front door, not bothering
with his shoes or coat. He didn’t think at all as he ran... didn’t hear the screen door slam shut behind him, didn’t feel the icicles of cold piercing him as his frame smashed into the snow.
His body felt like a thousand pounds as he thrashed, his hands shoving snow aside in frustration. Jon could see the path her body had made, but could not see her. He knew they would both soon go into shock if they didn’t get back into the house, and into warm clothes.
He followed her path, pushing the snow away wildly, focused only of finding her. After what seemed an eternity, he found Ana, half-asleep, crying, and shivering. He picked her up and moved back through his path in the snow toward the house.
When the door closed behind them, he saw Ana’s blue lips whisper something, but could not hear what it was. They were both at risk of hypothermia, both needed warmth immediately. Where was Finn to help, he cursed to himself, as he carried her up the stairs, the heat from the fireplace tickling his ice-cold back.
Both of their pajamas were soaked through. Jon moved quickly, shedding first his own clothes, and then helping Ana with hers. She started to come to her senses, but she was not moving near as fast as she must have been when she sleep-walked out the door and into the snow. He rushed to start the shower, quickly returning to her side, holding her close as he helped her toward the tub stall. Jon stepped in, and then pulled her into the shower with him, yanking the curtain closed behind them as the hot water poured over their freezing bodies.
Ana pressed her cold body up against his, shivering, her discomfort and pride forgotten entirely. Jon wrapped his arms tightly around her, sliding them up and down her back, her body, all over her, to spread the warmth of the water, to fold her into it.
She lifted her head up to face him as the water rushed over her face, between her lips. Jon’s heart was racing as he stared into her wide, blue eyes. His mind swam with thoughts in those brief moments, but none escaped. Pushing his thoughts aside, he pressed his lips against hers, kissing her roughly.
“Ohh,” Ana whispered, as if for the first time realizing they were both naked, their bodies already wrapped around each other for comfort. Jon forgot his own unease and lifted her swiftly into his arms, pressing her body against the shower wall as he pushed harder against her, kissing her all over, everywhere. I know you, Ana Deschanel. And you know me.
Jon wound his hands through Ana’s wet hair, holding on tightly, afraid if he stopped to think she would disappear entirely and so would he.
Ana wrapped her muscled legs around his waist. Jon felt her hips rise, and his own movements matched hers as he entered her, the shock of his action forcing him further into the moment, and away from reality. They both gasped, soaked, and consumed with the moment, relinquishing to each other the control they had both held onto so dearly in the past. He thrust into her, against her, kissing her, devouring her. He was not Jon anymore. Not the same. He was alive.
Jon shuddered against her, and felt Ana experience the same release. The moment passed almost as quickly as it arrived.
He gently set her down, and they stood in the shower, watching each other, panting and speechless. Ana’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and her eyes were wide with shock. Her wet hair framed her pale, pretty face, and he reached out with one hand to touch it. She closed her eyes and let her head fall to a rest in his hand, and with his other he pulled her close to him. They remained that way as the water rained down on them and their silent, private thoughts.
* * *
41- ANA
What in the hell just happened? She released a deep sigh that felt like it had been building for hours. Jon. Wrong brother, Ana.
Jon had gingerly helped her into the bed, glancing back at her as he moved toward the door. He said nothing, but his gaze stayed on her until he switched off the light and she heard the door close.
The night she brought in an injured Cocoa, he was repulsed by her. When she awoke and he was sitting by her bedside, he was terrified of her. Even Finn hadn’t disagreed when she remarked that Jon didn’t like her. Well, she didn’t like him either. He was cold, reclusive, odd, and she felt his eyes always on her, silently judging.
And who does that remind you of, Ana?
She curled into a fetal position under the blankets. Her body was sore from sleeping, and she found herself experiencing another familiar soreness between her legs. She couldn’t believe she had sleep-walked. How many years had it been since she last terrified her father with nocturnal wanderings? She thought she was past it. Hers was the variety of sleepwalking that often got her in trouble, and even put her life at risk. Her neighbor once found her jogging around the block in her bra and panties at two in the morning.
Each episode had been unique, though this was the first time one of her walks ended with rescue sex. Wrong brother, Ana.
Wrong brother, indeed. She should go downstairs and talk to Jon about what happened, sort it out, put a label on the unplanned encounter. But she didn’t, because she knew how she would react if Jon tried to pin that conversation on her. And he’s like me.
That realization made her dislike him even more. For as guarded as she might be, she was never cruel to others. She never hurt people because of who she was. But that’s not entirely true, is it? How many times have my words or actions mistakenly hurt my father, or one of my friends? Or even Nicolas? What about the reason I’m here in Maine?
Ana missed Nicolas so much she felt an ache deep in her chest. She wanted to call him, but Jon told her the phones were down. It’s probably for the best. He would listen to my fuzzy, convoluted story filled with holes and fly his ass out here to rescue me.
Eventually Ana would have to tell him about Oz. She had no doubt Oz was still struggling with his actions and would eventually have a meltdown, spilling the truth in all directions.
Considering Nicolas and Oz gave her faceted mind time to decide how best to resolve the situation with Jon. It would be better not to put off the conversation with him any longer, for the awkwardness would grow and fester over time. She made her way downstairs carefully, using the bannister for support. Jon heard her coming, and rushed to offer assistance, but she shook her head, determined.
“Coffee?” he offered. He was resisting the urge to help, but was one step behind her in case she fell. The gesture was uncomfortable in spite of, or maybe because of, their recent intimacy.
Ana nodded. “Jon?”
“Yes?” She almost laughed when she saw his face. Bless his heart, he thinks I’m about to get girly on him.
“We shouldn’t tell Finn about this.” She took the coffee from his hands, their eyes meeting briefly as she spoke. Jon was clearly relieved at her suggestion.
“For sure,” he said with a hollow chuckle, and she thought again how unnatural, but nice, it was to hear him laugh. “This never happened.”
Well, I wouldn’t go that far… but if that’s what it takes. “What never happened?” she gently teased back.
The atmosphere in the room lightened after that. They both relaxed as they sat in rockers in the family room, looking out the large bay window toward the cold sea. She recalled the afternoons that she would sit out and wait for Finn, for that brief exchange of waves. Like a silly girl. But no one had ever accused Anasofiya Deschanel of being a silly girl.
She could only imagine what Finn thought after everything she had revealed to him, but it hadn’t been enough to chase him away. He didn’t seem put off at all, even going so far as to invite her to come home with him. She wondered how he felt now that they had shared this unlikely trauma together. Well, you did ask me to come over.
He’s so not your type, Muffins, she could hear Nicolas saying.
Maybe that’s why I like him.
“I hope he returns soon,” Ana said and meant it. She did like Finn. At first she thought he reminded her of the life she was escaping, but instead he reminded her that not everything was as it seemed. He gave her a startling hope that life could be different, if she allowed it.
Even in her healing sleep, she had sensed a comforting presence. She knew Finn had not left her side. He could have. He wouldn’t have known she sensed him. But he stayed. When Ana spoke with him again, she would uncover if he had done it out of obligation or something deeper.
She wished she could have reassured him somehow. Don’t worry about me, Finnegan St. Andrews, she would say. I come from a unique family, and the one thing I do well is take care of myself. I’ll be good as new, don’t you fret. But he was across the snow-covered town now, and she didn’t know when she’d be able to tell him any of that.
“If there is a classification somewhere between mortal and invincible, that’s Finn. He’s fearless, but not reckless. He will be home as soon as he can,” Jon reassured her. Ana thought that might have been the second longest statement she had ever heard him make.
Did I really have sex with him? That really happened? Well, according to him, it didn’t.
She sipped her coffee, as the bittersweet remembrance of her childhood romance with Oz came over her in waves.
Dating Oz had never occurred to Ana as they moved from childhood to adolescence, despite how very much alike they were. Neither fit into the greater world especially well.Both preferred the comfort of a book to people, because books provided an innocuous protective blanket, buffering them from reality. Ana felt safe with Oz, in a way she only would have realized if the constancy of his presence were removed entirely. Oz understood her, and more broadly, he accepted the unusual abilities which were scattered about the Deschanel bloodlines. Some called it a “gift,” others a curse. To Ana it was a practical excuse for her personal inclination to remain distant.
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 119
