Sunday school taught me that you won’t get dealt more in life than you can handle. If that is really the case, then it’s clear that God has forsaken me. I’ve become nothing more than a vessel for pain and horror. I’m filled to the brim and it’s starting to spill over, tainting everything around me.
Madness is a place where your soul goes to die. Insanity becomes a safe haven for your devastated mind - your crushed soul – a place where you can wither away until there’s nothing left, not a glimmer of the person you once were.
I have no heart left. It’s an empty space where memories of my once happy family now haunt me.
I’m only a vessel that’s overflowing with grief, horror and pain … nothing more.
Karma came for me.
Karma has beaten me down.
Karma has won.
I feel sick to the pit of my stomach. My eyes and throat are on fire. The smell of Mom burning hangs like an acidic cloud around me.
I keep seeing that man, Volkov. His soulless, dark eyes haunt me. I hear him hissing at me from the dark shadows, telling me that he’s coming for me.
I hear Josh’s pleas.
I keep seeing Josh whisper ‘I’m sorry’ to me.
It feels as if I can’t take deep enough breaths to satisfy my lungs. My heart doesn’t beat strong enough to give me the energy to want to live. I have no will to make my body function.
Sorrow is slowly drowning me.
A claustrophobic emptiness is closing in on me. It weighs so much … it’s making it hard for me to move.
I don’t care whether I live or die.
Wait, that’s a lie. I care whether I live or die because I want to die so badly. I don’t want to live and it’s because I’m a coward. I don’t want to feel so alone for the rest of my miserable life. I can’t handle the fear and hurt that’s gnawing at my bones.
I don’t want to feel devastated and scared for the rest of my worthless life.
My mind is clouded with uncertainty of a lonely future that holds no hope.
Where do I go from here? How do I even start to deal with what happened?
Can I even move on after seeing my family being tortured and killed?
No one can expect me to survive this.
I can’t survive this.
When Amelia comes into the room, I greet her with a quick flick of my eyes. I haven’t spoken a word yet, and I can’t bring myself to think of anything worth saying.
The tears have stopped and somehow that’s making me feel even worse. At least the tears were taking some of the pain with them. Now it’s just welling up inside me, tormenting me with this dismal thing that’s become my existence.
“Morning, Riley,” she greets me in a quiet manor. At least she’s not being a fake. She doesn’t offer me false smiles and polite words of encouragement. I don’t think that I’d be able to handle that right now.
My world is to cold and harsh for fake sentiments. My world is all cold, hard facts.
Death, pain, destruction – those are all facts that now sum up my pathetic existence.
She sits down on the bed and then takes my right hand in hers. I watch as she removes the IV and then she gently places a band aid over the tiny hole.
Every time she comes to the room to check on my wound, or to bring me food, I try to ask her who she is. I want to know where I am and why she’s taking care of me … but the words won’t come.
“You need to bathe and wash your hair. Come,” she says, and this time there’s a demanding bite to her tone.
I sigh heavily. I don’t have the energy to bathe or argue with her.
She helps me into a sitting position and then patiently waits for me to move my legs from the bed. Then she helps me to stand. My legs feel rubbery and weak just like the rest of me.
She helps me walk to the bathroom and then lets me sit on the toilet. I watch as she fills the tub with water and some salts.
I let her be when she starts to lift the shirt over my head. I don’t help her as she pulls the sweats down my legs.
She holds my arm as I step into the bath. I sit down in the warm water and stare blankly at the last few drops dripping from the faucet.
“Grief is like a cancer,” she says as she starts to wash me. “It eats away at all the good memories. It strips you down until you feel like giving up is the only way out.”
My eyes flick up at hers. Her words make tears well in my eyes but they don’t fall.
“After my husband died, I felt like giving up. He was my world, and in a split second, he was taken away from me.” I glance up at her again, and I frown. I don’t want to hear how she dealt with the loss of her husband. It won’t make my pain go away.
“He’s been gone for eight years and I still miss him. The pain is still there. It won’t ever go away.” Her words are confusing. What is she trying to say?
She takes hold of my chin, keeping my eyes on hers.
“You’re in pain because you love them. You have a right to mourn them. You have a right to remember them.” I start to pull my chin from her hand when she says, “Just make sure you remember the good times you had with them. Don’t taint the memories they left behind with what happened in that warehouse. They deserve more than that, Riley. They deserve to be remembered and cherished. You make sure you find a way you can do that. It’s up to you what kind of legacy they leave behind. Will you remember them as victims, or as your loved ones? That’s a choice only you can make.”
I pull my chin from her hand and look down at the water. My eye catches sight of the small bandage stuck to my shoulder. Amelia has been cleaning it daily. She said the stitches will be coming out tomorrow.
A few inches lower and I would have been with my family. Why didn’t the bullet hit just a few inches lower? Why did I have to survive without my family?
I huff a painful breath out, unable to ask her anything.
“You’ve been here thirteen days. You’ve had time to physically heal. It’s time to get back into some sort of routine.”
She starts to wash my hair. I just move into whatever position she wants me. I feel exhausted although I haven’t done anything.
“I could use your help. With everyone here there is a lot to do around the house.”
Everyone?
I just nod, not sure if I can bring myself to do anything.
She lets the water out and then hands me a towel.
“Dry yourself.” She leaves the bathroom without looking at me. “The cupboard is filled with clothes. I made sure to get your size. Get dressed and come downstairs.”
Before I can think to argue, she disappears, leaving me with no choice but to dry off. I walk to the cupboard and open the doors. I take a powder blue cashmere sweater with a pair of black jeggings. I find underwear in the second drawer I open. When I’m done getting dressed, I go sit on the edge of the bed and stare out the window.
Amelia said it’s my choice. I snort at the absurd idea. I have no choice. This pain has been forced on me. These awful memories have been branded in my mind.
I have no choice. I didn’t even have a choice about their funerals, coffins, or where they’re buried.
The thought shudders through me.
I don’t even know what happened to their bodies.
Griffin~
It’s been two weeks, and we still don’t know what the hell happened.
The person we shot in the warehouse tested positive for Volkov’s DNA. Fuck if I know what’s going on. It’s impossible. How can we kill the same man twice?
I’ve drowned myself in work, trying to figure out all this shit, only to get nowhere.
I’ve been avoiding Riley. I know Amelia is taking good care of her, but Amelia’s dark scowls can only be ignored for so long.
The door to my office opens and Amelia stalks in. She gives me one of her usual, hard stares.
“That girl needs professional help, Griffin. I’m not trained to give her the kind of help she needs.”
I lea
n back in my chair and take a deep breath. “You are, and you’ll just have to do it. You’ve lost Ben. Help her the way you helped yourself back then.”
She stalks to the desk and slams both her hands down on the wood surface.
“Ben was killed in combat. My husband died for this country. Riley watched her family being slaughtered for no reason. I can’t help her. She’s locking down, and if you leave it any longer, no one will be able to help her.”
“You want me to jeopardize the safety of this house and everyone in it so some shrink can fuck her up some more? You know better than anyone that a shrink will only be a waste of time.”
She takes a step back and shakes her head lightly.
“Fine, no shrink.” Her eyes pin me down and I just know I’m not going to like what she has to say next. “Josh was your best friend. You made a promise to him. Get your ass out of that chair and go help her. She needs you.”
“She doesn’t fucking know me!” I get up as anger explodes in my chest. My chair goes skidding backwards, slamming into the wall. “What do you think her reaction is going to be when she finds out that her family is dead because I fucked up?”
Amelia’s eyes narrow on me. Any other sane person would back off, but not her. She’s never backed down from a fight with me. I respect her for it, but damn, sometimes I wish she wouldn’t be so stubborn and just back off.
“Self-pity doesn’t look good on you, Griffin. Get your head out of your ass and go help that girl. It’s your promise. You’re the one who made it, and I’ve never taken you for a man who would go back on his word.”
Anger rages through me because she’s right. I’m avoiding Riley because I’m scared shitless of the girl and what her reaction will be to me and the role I played in her family’s deaths.
I sigh heavily and close my laptop.
“Self-pity, my ass,” I growl as I walk by her and out the office.
The house is massive. It’s actually ironic that I bought this ranch with the money we got for taking out Volkov. We’ve never used this place as a safe house before. Not until now.
I’ve converted what used to be the servants quarters, into our office space. There are two living rooms, the smaller one being on the first floor. We seldom use the one downstairs, but now that some of the team and their families have taken up residence, I’m thankful for all the space.
Carson said he’d be in touch. He didn’t want to bring his parents and brother out here. He’d rather go to them.
Miles is still single and only has a younger sister. From what I’ve heard, Skylar isn’t too happy that he yanked her out of her second year studies as an art student in college. I can’t actually blame the woman for being upset that she had to put her life on hold.
Camden’s dad is here, and he seems to love the peace and quiet, so that’s a bonus.
Mike grew up in foster care so he’s a loner like Amelia. Amelia has an aunt who raised her but they’ve lost touch over the last few years. She says they were never close to begin with.
Everyone is a bit on edge. Sure, we’ve stayed together when we go out on a mission, but it’s different with Riley, Skylar and Mr. Perry being here as well. The team is trying to deal with the loss of Josh and stay vigilant at the same time. It’s just hard on everyone right now.
The offices lead right into the kitchen which is perfect, because we’re all pretty much coffee addicts.
I take the stairs two at a time and come to a halt at the top. Riley is standing in her doorway, peeking out her door. I wait to see what her next move is going to be.
I’ve seen so many photos of her. Josh was always shoving one in my face, showing off his little sister. I know she’s just returned home from being overseas. We’ve sent a few emails here and there, but nothing huge – nothing personal.
My eyes glide over her and I can’t help but think that the photos didn’t do her any justice. Even with the gaunt and wounded look that throws shadows over her petite features, she’s still a beauty.
She glances down the long passage that leads to the other suites and then back up my way. Her eyes land on me, and she quickly takes a step back, disappearing from my sight.
I suck in a deep breath of air and say a quick prayer that I won’t fuck this up.
Riley~
I glance up the passage and my eyes land on a man. He’s frozen on the top step, staring at me. My heart stutters for a maddening moment as fear washes over me.
I take a step back into the safety of the room and then quickly turn away from the door. My eyes search the room for a place to hide but it’s all pretty much an open plan with only the bed, a comfy looking couch and the cupboard and drawers. There’s a dressing table against the wall closest to me.
I spot the door that leads to the bathroom and quickly run to it. I take hold of the bathroom door and I’m just about to close it behind me when he comes into the room.
A sudden urge to slam the door shut surges through me, but all I can do is hang onto it for support so I don’t go crashing to the floor.
He looks uncomfortable, not at all like someone who wants to do me harm. There’s a flicker in the back of my mind, and I tilt my head, taking a proper look at him.
His hair is a deep brown and it doesn’t look like he owns a brush. His face is all hard lines, as if he’s permanently in a bad mood. He needs to shave, too. The stubble is about to take over his face. He’s much taller than me. From the scuffed boots on his feet, the faded jeans, and the black shirt with some emblem on the pocket that stretches tightly over his broad chest, he looks quite intimidating.
But his eyes … they are blue.
Blue used to be my favorite eye color. Now all I see are the watery, dead blue eyes of the monster who helped kill my family.
The man in front of me looks angry at something or someone.
“Riley.” It sounds like a growl, as if it’s hard for him to say my name. “We never got to officially meet. I’m Griffin McGraw.”
My eyes snap back up to his as his name sinks in.
“Griffin?” The word sounds like a painful breath as it slips over my dry lips. He looks so different from the photos I’ve seen. It’s almost like the Griffin from the pictures, and the Griffin in front of me are two different people.
Griffin. He was Josh’s best friend. Somewhere in the murky depths of my wrecked heart it sticks that he is my link to Josh.
“I know we haven’t had contact in a while …” he lets the words trail away, again looking uncomfortable.
All I can think is that the man in front of me spent more time with my brother than I did.
“Ah …” he takes a deep breath and then says, “Do you want to take a walk? Let me show you around?”
I look down to the carpet. It looks soft compared to his boots.
I let go of the door and take a step towards him. Something as simple as a step feels foreign to me.
It’s funny how you take the little things for granted until they’re gone. Things like knowing which people you’ll be seeing today. How they’ll react to a joke you make. How they smell. How you know what makes them angry so you know what to avoid doing around them.
You take for granted how you can walk in your sleep to the kitchen and practically make coffee with your eyes closed.
You take for granted that you know where every single thing and person in your life is, and you assume it will all be there tomorrow. Assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups.
Griffin takes a step towards me. He tilts his head in a way that tells me he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
My hand flutters up to my neck and I squeeze the words out. “A walk … uhm.”
My throat doesn’t ache anymore, but it’s become a bad habit to touch it. At first I was conscious of the marks the chain left around my neck, but they faded some days ago.
My thoughts are all jumbled. It feels like I’m trying to navigate my way through a maze of thorns. Every thorn has the power to hurt me. Every thorn
represents a memory.
Griffin frowns lightly, and then he walks toward me. He comes to stand in front of me and for a minute he looks like he’s at a loss for words.
“I think you could use some fresh air,” he says. “Maybe I can … maybe you have some questions I can answer?”
I do have questions, but none I’m willing to voice out loud. I nod anyway. Maybe a change of scenery will stop this madness from consuming me.
I follow Griffin out of the room. He takes the stairs down to the ground floor. My eyes flit around, touching on something here and there, but not letting any of it sink in. I remember Amelia talking about other people, but I don’t see anybody.
I take one stair at a time and even though I’m going down, it’s hard and tiring. My legs feel heavy. By the time I reach the bottom step, sweat is beading on my forehead. I wipe at it with the back of my hand and take a moment to catch my breath. I glance back up the stairs and wonder how I’m going to get back up. I feel drained. I should’ve stayed in the room.
Strong fingers wrap around mine and my eyes snap down to my hand. I watch as Griffin takes my hand. He tugs lightly.
“The fresh air will do you good.”
Sluggishly, I follow him. I’m grateful that he’s slowed his pace so I don’t have to try and walk fast. I’m conscious of his much larger hand that’s secure around mine. I feel the strength in his fingers. Silly how something like just holding a person’s hand can make you feel safe.
He takes me past the kitchen, and I think I catch a glimpse of Amelia and another woman. We walk into a huge living room that’s all dark wood and lazy couches. There’s a huge pile of wood next to a fireplace.
A German Shepard’s head pops up from behind the coffee table. The sight of the dog makes me stop in my tracks and I stare at him until he stops in front of me. He sniffs at my hand that’s hanging limply by my side, and then nudges his nose into my palm.
It makes my heart squeeze painfully. Josh and Logan loved dogs.
“This is Charlie,” Griffin introduces us.
I pull my hand free from Griffin’s and kneel down in front of Charlie.
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