“You’re going to Hell, Benny Adler,” Sera yells, her face white. “That’s the devil’s work.”
Benny laughs, breaking the trance. “My mom always said you go to Heaven for the climate and Hell for the company.”
I pull my knees into my chest as the sunlight vanishes from the room. I wish Benny was still alive. He always stood up for me. He always protected me. Even though I knew he had the worst life at home, he was always happy around me. He always put me first, even if it meant he got in trouble. I could use him right about now. Though I usually suppress all of my thoughts about my childhood friend, he still visits me in my dreams. It’s the night terrors—night terrors almost every single night—that keeps him fresh in my mind, even when I don’t want to think about the awful things that happened to him.
The sound of the man climbing back up the stairs breaks me out of my trance. When he reaches the top of the stairs, he looks at me and grunts.
“Here,” he says, placing the tray down.
I’m stunned. I wasn’t expecting to be fed twice in one day. Isn’t the cardinal rule of captivity starvation? The smell of the fish engulfs my senses, and I lunge over to devour the meal. I have no shame whatsoever. I’m so hungry, I’d eat just about anything at this point. I’m lucky that I don’t really know what it’s like to starve. I’ve had a fortunate life.
“Starving me would be an easy way to kill me,” I suggest, chewing the hunk of bread and watching as he watches me. His arms are crossed and he’s leaning against the opposite wall.
“I don’t want to kill you. How many times do I have to say it?”
I finish chewing and clench my jaw. “Then what the hell am I still doing here?” I ask beseechingly.
“I don’t know,” he says in a low, quiet voice.
“I don’t want to be here. You don’t want me to be here. If I promise not to tell anyone about yo—”
“Jesus Christ!” he yells, dropping his arms and widening his eyes. “Are you a fucking parrot or something? Stop asking the same motherfucking question!”
I swallow and look down. “Fine.”
I continue to eat silently, my eyes on the tray in front of me. Again, I chug the entire bottle of water, terrified that he’ll take it all away before I can capitalize on rehydrating. If it’s inside me, he can’t touch it.
“Does it hurt?” he asks quietly.
I raise my head and eye him suspiciously. “Does what hurt?” I ask, with a little too much attitude because he rolls his eyes and moves forward, squatting in front of me.
“Stop being a smart ass. Does your neck hurt?”
I’m mid-bite when he asks, and my mouth hangs open in surprise. “Why do you care?” I spit out, speaking before thinking.
“You’re fucking impossible, do you know that?” he sneers, swatting the fork out of my hand and sending the grilled fish flying. “Stand up.”
I’m still in shock as he jumps up and grabs my arm, forcing me up. I know it’s stupid, but I eye the fish on the ground and wonder if he’s going to let me finish my meal. I want to finish my meal. He may have been consistent in feeding me today, but who knows about tomorrow? To my horror, he reaches out and begins to unbutton my blouse. I think he’s going to take it off but instead, he stops three buttons down and shoves the fabric aside, inspecting my neck closely.
What the hell is he doing?
I feel him grab my hair and lift it, and he traces a warm finger across the sensitive skin. I wince.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asks, his voice cracking on the last word.
I don’t know how to answer him. Admitting it hurts would give him power. He hurt me. He will do it again. However, if I say no, he might exploit that too and hurt me until I admit it.
“A little,” I say, conceding. “It’s bruised. Along with every other inch of my body.”
I’m being dramatic, but I want him to know what he did to me. I expect a half-assed apology, but then again, he is a murderer who clearly lacks empathy. So it shouldn’t surprise me when he ignores my statement and walks away, quickly descending the stairs.
I shrug and walk over to the fish on the floor, popping it into my mouth. I eat the rest of the meal quickly. When I’m finished, I noiselessly walk to the stairs and look down. He’s nowhere to be seen. Perhaps this is my chance to escape. I could run down the stairs, out the door, onto the beach, and then… what? Swim? Wave furiously and hope someone might see my frantic signals? There is literally nowhere to go.
I climb down the stairs anyway. There’s not much in the main room except the staircase, but there is a window looking out onto the beach that I hadn’t noticed earlier. I jog over and cup my face against the glass.
To my shock and horror, I see another island less than a mile away. Maybe it’s further, but it looks swimmable. Lying piece of shit! We’re not secluded. We’re a stone’s throw away from another island and, by the looks of it, people live there. I pull away and walk to the main door, but it jams against something.
The jackass locked it!
“What are you doing?” His crisp voice makes me jump. He has a serial killer voice. Smooth. Articulate. Menacing.
“You lied. Ten miles my ass. We’re so close to that island,” I say, gesturing in the direction of the window. “Someone will come. Someone will find you illegally living here and—”
“No, they won’t. It’s a protected island. And I happen to own it.”
Shocked, I take a step back and crane my neck up at him. “You own it? Who the fuck owns an entire island in this day and age?”
I can tell it’s taking everything in him to not smile. Prick. “Actually, my father owned it. Now he’s dead, so it’s mine.”
I stare at him. “You probably killed him too,” I sneer, crossing my arms and shuffling my feet.
“I did. Last night.”
My mouth opens into a large ‘O’. The lack of emotion tells me everything I need to know. He killed his father, but he doesn’t regret it.
Monster.
“You mean to tell me that the man you killed last night was your father?” I ask, the warm air chilling around me. He shrugs. I shake my head. “So you’re like a hitman? And you had to kill your very own father?”
He chuckles. “Not exactly.”
“What then?” I add, my voice incredulous.
“He was my own personal vendetta,” he clarifies, his eyes dark. “And I’m done talking about him.”
I take a step back and lean against the stone wall. “Does anyone else know you’re here?” I ask. His information dump might be over, but I’ll try for more until I get all of the answers.
“Yes, most likely,” he says simply. “But not the kind of people who are going to rescue you.”
I nod. I expected as much. He obviously works for someone. “And do they know I’m with you?”
This is where he loses face, because his eyes dart to mine and then immediately to the ground. Man, for someone who presumably gets hired to kill people, he sure can’t hide his emotions for shit. He winces and rubs the back of his neck before his eyes meet mine again.
“No.”
Ah.
“Will they be mad that I’m here with you?”
He shakes his head, and I’m not sure if he’s saying no or if he’s trying to get out of answering the question.
“I don’t know.”
I look down at my bare feet. They’re already black, even though I took a bath earlier. My mouth feels fuzzy. I want to brush my teeth. I want to brush my hair. I want to leave.
“Where did you hear that saying? The one about Hell?”
His face is neutral. He has his poker face on now. He knows he’s revealed too much already. “It’s a famous quote by Mark Twain.” His voice is stilted, monotone.
My mind spins. Is it just me, or did that sound like a rehearsed line from a play?
“I had a friend growing up who said that all the time. He died when we were twelve.”
The man is silent, b
ut he opens and closes his mouth several times. I know it’s impossible, but now that I compare Benny to the man before me, there are striking similarities. The red hair. The light eyes. Even the way he’s standing, his feet spread and his arms crossed possessively over his chest. But it can’t be. Benny died. I saw the charred SUV.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says through clenched teeth.
“You remind me of him,” I add, not taking my eyes off him. “You guys even look a lot alike.”
I know my mind must be playing tricks on me. In my state, I’m sure it’s conjuring comforting moments from my childhood. Benny was my best friend. When he died, it gutted me. I wasn’t the same person afterwards. And then my dad died two weeks later…
“Hmm,” he mutters, not acknowledging my statement.
Feeling courageous, I ask him the one question I’ve been dying to know. “What’s your name?”
“I’m not telling you my name,” he says, blowing out a breath of air and locking his eyes on mine. “Like I said, we’re not friends. I’m not here to help you,” he says cruelly.
I study his eyes as they watch me. My mind is totally going nuts, because I swear I see a small hint of recognition in them, like our irises recognize each other.
“Benny?” I whisper, taking a step closer to get a better visual. To my surprise, he backs away. My face goes white as realization hits me. Perhaps I’m going mad, or like earlier my mind is playing tricks on me. It’s not possible. But somehow I know it’s Benny in front of me. “Oh my God, is it really you?” I reach out for his arm, completely forgetting everything else other than the fact that my long-gone friend is back from the dead.
“I’m not Benny,” he hisses, pushing my arm away.
“I don’t believe you,” I spit, watching him with hatred. “How are you here?” I take another step toward him.
“Fucking hell, woman!” he screams, shoving me away.
I don’t give up that easily. “I know it’s you. Benny. Benny Adler. Benjamin with the short, red hair and green-blue eyes. Benjamin, the boy who never hurt another living soul. Benjamin, the boy who used to protect me. The boy who carried a lion’s tail around and—”
“Enough!” he roars, his face contorted with anger.
“It has to be you!” I yell back. “It has to be you. Because if it’s not, just the mere thought of having Benny back in my life, no matter how sick and twisted, is enough to make all of this okay.” I close my eyes and exhale. “It has to be you, because if it’s not, then that means I’m actually stuck here with a random psycho.” I open my eyes and he’s watching me raptly. He wouldn’t be doing that if I wasn’t right. I continue. “It has to be you, because then it would mean that all of my wishes—every single one since the day you died—came true.”
It works. His face contorts in pain. “Nina…” he whispers. At the utterance of my name, I feel goose pimples break out all across my skin. His face goes stark white, possibly because he didn’t realize he was whispering my name. I take a step back and cover my mouth with my hand.
F I V E
Nina—Present
Isla Culebrita, Puerto Rico
MY WORLD, EVERYTHING I’ve known, begins to spin on its axis.
Benny. Benny is alive.
I stumble forward and reach for him, overcome with emotion.
Benny.
When I get to him, he puts his hands up as a shield. His eyes are angry and his facial muscles are tense. I feel like a little girl being scolded.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he growls, keeping his distance by taking another step back. I feel my cheeks burn.
Benny. He may be standing in front of me in flesh and blood, but my best friend, my confidant, is gone. He’s been replaced by this… beast.
I shake my head. “You’re right. Of course it doesn’t change anything. You’re a murderer now. A kidnapper. A coward.”
I see his face darken ever so slightly, something akin to hurt passing over it ever so subtly. Who am I kidding? Just because I find out the man who took me was my childhood friend doesn’t change a damn thing. Benny died that night in the car wreck. This man is not him. Benny would’ve never hurt me. He never would’ve taken me. Tears spring to my eyes. If Benny is here, in this godawful place, it means my friend is more gone than dead.
“Why were you on the beach? Did you know I worked there? Did you know it was me when you kidnapped and gagged me? When you choked me?”
Again, something passes over his face. I can’t quite tell what emotion he’s trying to hide. Shame? Guilt? I truly don’t know. I feel hurt, betrayed… Every morning when I wake up from my nightmares, I’ve said a silent prayer to bring him back, to bring him peace, wherever he may have been. I wanted good things for him. Not this.
Never this.
“No more questions,” he grunts, moving forward and encompassing me. At first I think he’s embracing me, but then I feel the roughness of his hands on mine, holding them behind my back with impossible strength. He pushes me forward, up the stairs.
“No,” I struggle, kicking out. “You don’t get to silence me again. Not now.” I wrestle my way out of his grip just as we get to the tower room. Before I have the chance to say another word, he locks me in, the loud click of the door confirming everything for me.
It doesn’t matter if my friend is alive. It’s not him—he’s changed. Whatever the last seventeen years dealt him had changed him, and I can’t be sad about that.
I shouldn’t be sad about that.
Which is why I’m so shocked when I curl up into a ball and sob like a baby. It’s mostly shock—that he’s alive, that he’s living a life like this, that he hurt me… that’s the part that stings the most. He hurt me. That double-cross hurts the most. It’s all encompassing. Ben was always my safe haven. Now he’s my worst nightmare. How do I reconcile that?
A few minutes later, I hear a knock at the door. It always surprises me when he knocks. He doesn’t have to be polite. This is all a game to him.
I don’t say anything as he lets himself in with a tray. He sets it down near the door quickly, and then I see him look at me out of the corner of his eye. I keep my gaze downcast, not bothering to hide the tears and puffy eyes. I won’t look at him. I can’t.
He leaves, and I eye the food. Even though my stomach growls with hunger, I don’t eat it. I feel sick. I’m not sure if it’s from his treachery, or from my overall condition. My clothes have gotten filthier. Even though I bathed earlier, I feel slick with sweat and dirt. No amount of fresh water will wash the sweet memories of Benjamin Adler out of my mind. Now they’ll always be muddled with this repulsive disaster.
In a daze, I climb out of bed to see what all of the commotion is about. Our house is small, but my dad managed to make it cozy. He’s the last person to go shopping for throw pillows, but for me, he did. He told me once that he’s both the mother and father figure to me, and he doesn’t want me to feel like I’m missing out.
I don’t. In fact, I consider myself an extremely happy eleven-year-old. One of my teachers once asked me about my mom, and if I feel like I’m missing out. I told her my dad was more than enough, and that I’d be lucky if I grew up to be half as strong as he was.
I tiptoe down the stairs. I can hear my dad murmuring to someone at the door. At this hour? What time is it? I crouch down on the platform on the stairs, sticking my face between the railing. My white nightie grazes my toes. I see the outline of someone at the door—Benny?
Shooting up, I rush down the stairs and stand next to my dad.
“Hi,” I say, confused. That’s when I notice Benny’s tear-streaked face.
“Nina, go back to sleep,” my dad ushers, placing a hand on my back.
I look at Ben. His eyes won’t meet mine. He’s ashamed. He doesn’t want to be seen crying in front of me. That thought does something funny to my heart. I don’t know what happened, but I reach my hand out and take his.
“Do you want to have a slumber party?”
I ask, trying to hide the thickness of my voice. Someone hurt Ben, and it feels like someone hurt me, too.
I wait for my dad to say something—to disagree—but he he just nods and tells Ben to come in. I don’t know what they were talking about before I came down the stairs. Sometimes I see them talking after school, or in the mornings when we pick him up. My dad doesn’t tell me anything, but from what I can gather, Ben’s dad isn’t a very nice man.
After my dad gets Ben a warm glass of milk, and after Ben wipes the remnants of tears off his face, we walk upstairs together. My dad follows.
“You’re probably too old for co-ed sleepovers…” he starts, sighing. “But for tonight, I’ll allow it… considering the circumstances.”
Benny nods, and meets my eye. His blue eyes are red, and his hair is disheveled. He’s the same height as me now. Up until a few months ago, I was taller than him.
I take his hand and we climb into my bed together. He curls up and faces the wall, his body rigid and uncomfortable. I wonder why he’s uncomfortable? He’s my friend—my best friend. He’s seen me cry a thousand times. I pull the covers over us, wondering what my dad meant by saying we were too old. I don’t think I’ll ever be too old to sleep with my best friend.
“Benny?” I whisper after a few seconds. He doesn’t respond, but I know he’s awake. “I love you.”
I hear him turn around to face me. I can’t see his eyes in the darkness, but I know he’s watching me. Instead of replying, I feel him reach out and take my hand. He intertwines his fingers with mine, squeezing tightly. He sighs heavily, contentedly. I hear him fall asleep a few minutes later.
About an hour later, Ben comes back up the stairs. When he sees the tray of uneaten food and undrunk water, he scowls but doesn’t say anything. He slams the door shut after he’s done collecting the tray and I jump.
I suddenly feel so tired. Lying down, I don’t even bother to reach over for the blanket. It might be the middle of the day, but I have no desire to stay awake. I curl my knees into my chest and face the stone wall, letting the tears trickle out and splash against the dingy stone floor I’m using as a bed.
That Which Binds Us Page 5
