by Ward, H. M.
Sam is standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at us with his shiny face ghostly white. For a minute, Sam forgets everything else and climbs the stairs to sit with us.
CHAPTER 25
I thought I mourned my mother, but I didn't, not like this. I've spent most of the day on the back swing staring at nothing. Aunt Beth tried to move me and shoved several plates of food in my hands. I didn't eat any of them. When I put them on the ground, my turkey wandered over and found me. He ate all the food and tried to eat the plate, too.
I grab the plate quickly and put it out of his reach. "I need to get you to a vet so you can fly again. Walking must suck. Once we get you fixed up, I bet you'll head over to the Turnpike to hang with the other vultures." Not that I've ever seen any over there.
Aunt Beth calls me from the back of the house. I make the bird scat. Aunt Beth already threatened to stuff him once today. She's been crying and cooking nonstop along with the other women in my family—well, all of them except me. For the most part, they've left me alone.
"Sidney, we're out of flour," she explains, dusting off her hands on the apron my mother wore so many times. I glance at her shoes. They're white like she dropped the bag. Flour clings to her pants. She nearly falls to pieces when she tries to explain what happened.
I smile at her to stop the tears, "I'm happy to get more, Aunt Beth. Do you want anything else while I'm there?"
"No, hon, just the bag of flour. We're trying to finish everything up for tomorrow." She wipes her hands on the apron and then pulls me into a hug. "I'm glad you're back."
I smile and nod. It's what I do when people say that, partly because I don't know what else to say, but also because I'm not staying. I never intended to stay here. I came home to bury my mother. After that, I'm heading back to Texas. I haven't told anyone yet. I think it'll kill my father, but I can't stay here. Regret is strangling me, and the longer I stay, the worse it gets.
Aunt Beth walks me into the kitchen. "Oh, take my van. I'm blocking you in." She tosses me her keys. I catch them and head out.
Aunt Beth has three little girls and a minivan that smells like SweeTarts. I drive to the grocery store a few blocks away, hoping that I won't run into anyone I know. I park her van off by itself, because she'll go batshit crazy if someone dings the doors, before heading into the store. I find what she wanted and grab a few other items before heading out. As I'm loading the last bag into the back of the van, the hairs on my neck prickle. I turn abruptly, expecting to see someone watching me, but no one is there.
Spooked, I climb into the van and drive home thinking there's an ax murderer hiding under the row of seats. I keep glancing back, but no one is there. Still the feeling of being watched doesn't fade.
When I arrive at the house, Aunt Beth runs out to grab the bags and disappears inside. I close the tailgate and turn around. Dean is standing right in front of me. Our bodies brush together, and when I go to step out of the way, Dean holds on to my wrist.
"Wait up. I've been trying to talk to you."
"I have nothing to say to you." I yank my hand back and turn away, ready to go inside.
"I'm sorry about your mom."
I hate him. I hate that he says it, that he thinks has the right to be here. Turning slowly I glare with every malicious thought in my head clearly visible on my face. They start to twist inside my mind. "Go to hell."
Dean smiles, like it's funny. "I love this new you. The backbone is very becoming, Sidney. It makes your breasts seem larger than they are. Did your new boyfriend teach you to stand like that?"
Anger has been building inside of me, and when he mentions Peter, I can barely hold on to my temper. I don't answer. Instead, I listen to the pacifist side of my brain that tells me to walk away.
"Seriously? I come over to give you my condolences and you don't invite me in? What the fuck, Sid?"
"My mother threatened to bury you in the garden. You are not welcome in this house."
He has the audacity to laugh. "Yeah, I remember that. Apparently she believed you just a little too late. Life's cruel, isn't it? You didn't come home for all that time because she didn't believe you, but it turns out she really did. Such a waste." He tuts like the entire situation was menial, like it didn't matter at all. Fury races through my veins so fast that I want to crush him. I want to make him stop talking and hurt him as much as he's hurt me. I can't let the thought slip away. It builds bigger and brighter inside of me as Dean stands there like I'm pathetic.
Dean notices the change, but he doesn't know how deep the thread of insanity goes. He comes up behind me and slips his hand around my waist gently, like we're lovers. "How about we do things the way we used to. I have the same knife in my pocket. You feel it, don't you baby?" He presses himself to my leg so that I feel how aroused he is along with the knife in his pocket.
A twisted thought forms in my mind and I can't let go of it. It pulls me along, building quickly, becoming darker as it grows. I say no and try to turn away, but I know what he wants. He likes the fight, he likes me afraid. I play the part and Dean holds me tight. I let him drag me to his van this time. He pushes me against the side door and presses his body to mine. "You know you want it."
"Then let's go." I stare into his face without batting an eye. I mean every word I say. I want him alone. Now.
Dean's expression changes. Lust fills his eyes as he grinds his hips into mine. The movement makes me want to vomit and crawl back inside myself, but I don't. I remember the flashes of silver. I remember the pain, but most of all I still feel the remorse of losing my mother with vivid intensity and it's all his fault. Dean did this to me, to her. He stole everything from me.
The back of my neck is still prickled like someone is watching. I glance around quickly, but see no one. The street is empty and dark save for a telephone pole across the street and its yellow bulb. I suppose that it's my reaction to Dean; after all, being alone with him last time ruined me. My body remembers every last detail, but instead of feeling it rushing back, I feel nothing. It's like something inside my head stopped working. That rational part of my mind broke loose and rolled away. The only thing left is this thought that continues to grow darker and darker.
I slip into his van and Dean takes off. As he drives, he reaches over and places his hand between my thighs. All the blood obviously left his head because he doesn't notice the way I stare, the way I respond to his touch like it isn't even there. The void fills me, consuming my thoughts and pushing back any semblance of logic that tries to break forth. My mother is dead and the man sitting next to me destroyed any relationship I had with her. I could have come home. I would have come back had I known. The silent rage boils inside of me. Fragmented thoughts fly through my mind like a witch caught in cyclone. They're there and then gone in a flash. Consequences don't matter; nothing matters now. I've lost everything. My soul crawled up inside my body and died.
Dean pulls off the road and into a dark parking lot. At the very back is an old playground that's abandoned for the most part, and it looks exactly the way I remember. The night air is sticky and practically clings to me as I walk to our spot with Dean trailing behind me. It's the place he first kissed me before his kisses turned into something else. There's a concrete wall blocking the view from the parking lot. We're alone, surrounded by tall, dark trees and inky shadows.
As we duck behind the wall, Dean gropes me, pressing his hand under my shirt, and squeezing my breasts hard. He's greedy and I don't want him touching me, but I can't reach it—not yet. My heart pounds harder. I'm fighting to stay alert, but my mind is shutting down, falling into the terror of the memories that are burned into my brain. The memories rise up like corpses and demand my attention, but I don't give in to them.
Dean made me the way I am, what I am. I steel my reaction and cage my mind. I brought him here this time, not the other way around. I'll make sure he never forgets me the same way I'll never forget him, except this time I won't be a conquest. I stare blankly as Dean
presses me against the wall. The concrete bites my elbows. Dean's hands are everywhere—on my waist, under my shirt, on my neck. The tip of his finger traces the scar below my necklace, flaring the scene to life in my mind. The old emotions splash over my mind, dousing me, and roll right off. I'm uncharacteristically still and utterly quiet, but he doesn't notice. He's saying things to me that are repulsive. Breathing hard, Dean presses me hard against the wall and grinds his hips against me, thrusting at me from behind his jeans. "I know how much you want my cock, Sid, and I'm going to give it to you—over and over again—until you beg me to stop. You like it this way; I know you do. Tell me, baby. Tell me how bad you want to suck it."
Dean's so strong. I can barely move as it is and once his pants come off, he'll do everything he said and then some. I can't wait anymore. I press my chest into his hands and reach down and slip my hand into his pocket. Dean makes a surprised sound, like he never thought I'd grab him like that. Touching his junk was an accident, and it masked what I was really after—his knife. My fingers wrap around the hilt and I take it from his pocket.
I step back and open the blade. "Remember this?" I flick it close to his face.
Dean's eyes widen and he tries to step back and comes up against the wall. There's nowhere to go. "Yeah, you want me to use it on you?"
I laugh, but there's no joy in it. "I remember all the times you did use it on me, all the things you did. I have so many scars from you that I can't think straight. No one saved me from you, and yet, here you are on the day my mother died, telling me that it's my own damn fault that I got raped, and that it was my fault that she never believed me.
"Oh wait, she did believe me—and you knew—and it's funny. Like ha-ha funny, like tragically ironic." I touch the knife to his throat as I speak, pressing the tip into his neck deeper and deeper. The last string that was holding me together has come undone, and it's blowing in the wind. No one will save me. It's like last time, and I won't have this man waiting for me in the shadows anymore.
Dean is swearing at me, threatening all kinds of things, but he can't move with the knife where it is without slitting his throat. I twist the point and watch a bead of red drip down his neck. My eyes flick to his. I feel the tension in my arm, the need to release the energy and fear, inside of me.
That's when I hear his voice. It moves through the shadows toward me. At first I think I'm hallucinating, then I actually see Peter. His dark hair hangs in his eyes and his face is lowered. He kicks a stone as he speaks. "As much as I think you should flinch and cut his throat, I know you. I know what will happen after you do, when it's over." Peter comes closer.
I can't move. I grip the knife tighter, thinking that Peter will try to take it away. I don't wonder why he's here or how he found me. I see flashes of silver and think the blade is on me. I act like I'm the one being attacked and I can't stop. I don't want to stop. "He used this on me, this same blade. He scarred me inside and out."
"I know he did." Peter is next to me, but he doesn't touch my arm. He watches me from under those dark lashes. "So what are you waiting for?"
"What the fuck, man?" Dean looks horrified. I twist the blade again, and Dean tenses, trying to push his body into the wall. I watch as the cut deepens, but it does nothing to make me feel better.
"When this is over," Peter asks, "what will you do? After all the blood has drained from his body, after he dies in front of your eyes, what will you do?"
The sound of my breath fills my head. I feel like I'm in control, but I'm not. I can't think; I can't blink. I don't know the answer to Peter's question, but I can't drop my arm. I'm locked in place, staring down the man who ruined my life.
"I know the name of the man who killed Gina. I know where he lives and I know exactly what I'd do to him. It would give me a great amount of pleasure to watch the light go out of his eyes."
"So why haven't you done something about it?"
"Because I already did. I once stood where you are now, but I didn't stop. I have to tell you that doing this will keep you trapped in your past for the rest of your life. This man will have ruined you in every way possible, and day in and day out you will remember that. Even after he's dead, he will haunt you. If you shove that knife into his throat and end his miserable life, he wins. He'll own you until you take your last breath. Is that what you want?"
His words hit me hard. A slew of emotions are twisting deep inside of me, trying to break out of the box I shoved them into. "I have to end this. I can't have him—" Peter's breath is on my neck. His hand is next to me and slowly slips over my arm.
"Then let me do it. Let me take care of this for you. You'll never see him again. I promise. Give me the knife." Peter slips his hand over mine as he speaks and closes his palm over mine. He pulls back slightly and the knife moves off of Dean's neck. He inhales sharply.
Peter holds me in his arms and kisses my face while keeping the knife blade accessible. The box cracks open, and emotions violently slam into me, so hard that I'm shaking. "I'm sorry, Peter."
Dean chokes and presses his fingers to his neck. They come away covered in blood. He starts yelling, "You crazy bitch, I'm going to make you—"
Peter's jaw tenses before he does it. His fist flies up and punches Dean so hard that he doubles over gasping for air. Peter releases me and slams his other fist into Dean's gut. Then he crashes a fist into Dean's back. The punches land harder and harder until Dean is on his knees and there's blood seeping into his shirt.
"Enough," a voice says and Sean appears. His hand is in his pocket. Sean's eyes flick to me, and he nods, like he's giving me his approval or something.
Peter is breathless. He wipes the sweat off his brow and says, "Tell him what he has to look forward to if he messes with Sidney again. Make sure he knows exactly what I mean." Peter's tension is palpable. Every last bit of him is strung like he's going to snap.
Everything happens so quickly. It feels like I'm in a daze and I can't do anything but blink. When did I become like this? What would push me so far that I'd actually hurt someone? Part of me is disgusted, but the other half is so damaged that I hope Sean scares the crap out of Dean. I want that man to hurt for everything he did to me—for everything he took away. That bastard stole my life, and I almost lost it completely. If Peter hadn't come when he did…
A shiver rakes through me, and reality catches up with my brain. A thin layer of sweat coats my skin. My face is so damn hot, but my arms are frozen. Before I can think, I'm forced to bend at the waist as my body tries to expel the contents of my stomach, but there isn't anything there, so I dry heave. Peter holds my back and speaks softly to me. His words float by my ears, but I don't understand him. I almost killed Dean. The thought hits me hard, and I can't stop shaking.
"I'll take care of this. Get her out of here." Sean grabs Dean by the neck and drags him into the woods. Panic shoots through me. I can't be responsible for this. Evil people are made by decisions like this. I can't allow it, no matter how far gone I was.
"Wait," I choke out, but Sean doesn't stop. Peter pulls me away, and I have to fight the urge to look back. "You can't kill him. You can't!"
"He won't kill the asshole. I would have if I'd come alone. That's why Sean insisted on being here today, now. He knows me better than I'd like to admit. Sean's just reminding that piece of shit that bad deeds don't go unpunished. Sean's a little more emotionally detached than I am. I'd kill him without meaning to." He looks at his hands like this is something he knows about himself, like he's killed before.
Sobs bubble up my throat, and I shiver. I shake my head and wrap my arms around my middle. Peter walks me over to a black sports car. It's Sean's, and the motorcycle is also Sean's. I slip into the seat and let fear strangle me into silence.
CHAPTER 26
The following day Peter stands next to me as I place a rose on my mother's casket. We stay until everyone else has gone. Sam sits on one side of me and my father on the other. Dad stares blankly. He hasn't cried since the morning she
died. He smiles at me when he sees me and says I look like her. His words haunt me. Every time I look in a mirror to brush my hair or make sure I haven't smeared makeup all over my face from crying, I see my mother's face. There are pictures of her all over the house. The ones where she's my age rattle me the most. I have no idea what her life was like. I went from being a child to being an adult and left without ever really knowing who she was.
I think about Mom often and wish I'd had more courage to come back sooner, but looking backward doesn't help me move forward. Peter keeps telling me that. Mourning the dead is needed. Sobbing is needed, but there's a point when tears become smiles and the memories aren't filled with pain. I hope that day comes soon, but so far it hasn't.
We drive back to the house in Sean's car. Peter is borrowing it until we head home to Texas. I shift in my seat. When I speak, I don't look at Peter. "Aren't you afraid that I snapped?"
We haven't spoken about what I did to Dean, but the thoughts float through my mind. Peter looks over at me. I feel his gaze on the side of my face. "No, you've been through a lot, Sidney. And piss-poor judgment on his part made him a walking target."
"The things you said to me that night—how did you know what was going through my head?"
Peter doesn't answer right away. He grips the wheel harder and focuses on the road. The ride back from the cemetery is long, and Peter takes a less direct route so we can talk. "I know because I had the same opportunity. The night Gina was killed, I rounded on one of the guys and stabbed him with his own knife. I couldn't stop. I couldn't think. It was instinct. The memory is there in the back of my mind. I can still sense the blade in my hand and feel it tearing through his flesh. It's blinding and overpowers every good deed I ever did. I stopped fighting for her. I changed who I was, but at the depths of my soul I was still the same man. I'd kill again if it would bring her back.
