by Aven Jayce
“One down, one to go,” Jack says, tying the rope into a hangman’s noose. He forms an S-shape and loops it around the top and back under.
I draw in a breath, freaking out, unable to figure out how to stop this. What do I do? What can I say?
“This isn’t your song. You won’t kill a person without it. You have to play it, or sing it, or, or something. That means I’m safe. I’m okay. You’re playing the wrong song. You can’t do this.”
“I don’t have a song for killing a woman, so maybe this is it. It does have the ‘son’ theme to it, you know, S-O-N, so that’s cool.”
He means S-O-B.
After multiple wraps, he passes the end of the rope through the bottom loop of the noose then pulls it to expand the hole.
“Please... please don’t.” Tears stream to my hairline and into my ears. “You said you’d never kill a woman... I’ll do anything. Anything, Jack... anything.”
“Like what? You wanna make looove?” He laughs.
I’m brought to my knees as he places the noose around my neck.
“Yes... e-even... even that. We can fuck. Just don’t kill me.”
I just tossed away all of my values and beliefs with those words. I guess I already abandoned them when I ran to the seclusion of Afterglow instead of going straight to the cops about what happened at the river. I walked out on myself some time ago.
No... he’s coming closer. Am I really going to give myself to Jack to stay alive?
He kneels before me, slowly wiping my tears, then leans forward and bites my lower lip. I wrench back, hoping this will be quick. No kissing. No foreplay. Just do it. I agreed, now just fucking do it.
“Anything, Jack. What do you want? What should I do?”
“What I want, Adlyn...”
His tongue slips across my front teeth and I nearly gag. Fucking disgusting.
“What I need...”
His hands feel like rough paws running down the sides of my neck, landing with great weight on my shoulders.
“And what you can do for me...”
He kisses my chin with a cavernous moan then sets his hands on my quivering waist and says, “Tell me that you killed your mom. I want you to come clean and say it.”
“N-no.”
“Just say it.”
I shake my head with a sniffle as a drop of water lands on my forehead... and another on my nose... warm tears from heaven disguised as rain.
“Mom,” I whisper. “This isn’t happening.”
He stands and pulls the rope, sending me to my feet then off the ground. Up... up... God, no. My underwear’s warm... the moisture spreads out, moving down my leg. I... I can’t help it... I had to pee so badly... it’s pooling and dripping from my toes.
“That’s common. No worries,” he says.
The drops are in concert with the appearance of the morning rain, pattering the soil, leaving a dark circle under my swinging body. I dangle and pray, in agony from the pressure around my neck, then become confused when my feet are back on the ground.
“This is fun, isn’t it?”
He guides my head to his chest and I use it as a crutch to keep from collapsing. The knot’s quickly loosened enough so I can breathe, but the rope remains around my neck.
He grips my hips and I’m forced into his developing erection.
I shiver from his dick being so close to my body, and become nauseated from the thought of his massive animal hands touching my skin.
“Don’t be afraid or embarrassed to share yourself.”
“Help me!”
“Why are you shouting? Quinn’s dead, and Dylan doesn’t give a shit about anyone, not even himself. It’s just you and me out here on this trail. Seems like a secret spot in the middle of nowhere... such a strange place for a woman to jog alone.” His hand slides down my ass and his nails dig into my thigh. He uses his clawing fingers to lift my leg until it’s hugging his hip. “Say you killed her. Tell me, then I promise we’ll go back to my car. All you have to do is admit you were led by the devil that morning. Led astray, like my song.”
“No. No, I can’t. I-I won’t.”
“Well...” He looks around then tilts his head toward the sky. “Since you don’t feel like talking—your time is up. Take one last look at the rising sun, Kiddo.”
The ghost-like double voice is back. Somehow, he’s able to echo that word so it haunts my mind. It’s a bass drum effect that first registers as a vibrating beat before it reaches my brain, striking me in succession as if spoken twice.
“It’s important that you hear the music. Let the voice, the lyrics, and the instruments be your escorts into death.” He steps back and tugs the rope until it’s behind my ears and snug under my chin. It’s a toying action, snaring me into death. “If you’re lucky, the rays will make their way through the trees to warm your face before you enter the cold dark world.”
“Stop. There’s no reason for this!”
“Last chance to tell me.”
Blood surges through my swelling veins. I’m angry, except I can’t justify why. What am I fighting for? I’m a shell of my former self. I have nothing. My mom and Quinn are gone. My goals are clouded. I’ve lost my drive to be in school. I have no ambition to do or become anything, so why should I live? Why fight it? My life has become nothing but wasted breath.
“I’m not afraid,” I whisper. “I trust in God. If this is His plan for me, so be it.”
He steps back, the rope tightens, and I’m lifted to my tiptoes. I manage to squeeze raspy breaths through the constricted noose as I keep my footing.
“I may have lost my way, but I’ll never belittle her death... or disrespect her life with s-such lies... even to s-save my own.”
My toes circle the ground, searching for a higher spot as I take another quick breath, mindful that my next words may be my last.
“I’d rather die than admit that I killed her, w-when all I ever did was love her.”
My strength, my faith, my power over him is glorious. Even in my final breath, I feel that somehow I’ve won.
“The ultimate sin, Jack... killing her would’ve been the ultimate sin.”
“I know.” He gives the branch above my head a blank stare then raises his hands and releases the rope. “Tell that to my dad,” he says.
The taut line slackens and I hit the ground in a heap, relieved, yet barely able to breathe. How many times is he gonna do this? I’m being tortured, brutalized, and treated like an anim—
Ear-piercing shots ring out, one, then a second, sending him to the ground in a huff and a groan.
“Fuck!” He grabs his wrist, holding a bloody hand in the air. “Oww, fucking... Dylan. Did you shoot me, you motherfucker? You fuck. You fucking fuck. This hurts, you asshole,” he shouts, rolling to his back then stomping his feet in my puddle of urine.
“Addie!” Quinn dashes toward me with the gun in his hand. He drops down like he’s sliding into home plate, springs to my side to help me into an upright position, and works frantically to loosen the noose. “Hold on. Just give me a sec and I’ll get you free. Hold tight, beautiful. Hold tight. I’m here.”
“Quinn,” I say weakly, the rope choking out my words. “I thought you got shot.”
“No, I got shot,” Jack yells. “You fucking shot me.”
The release from the rope sends me into a fit of tears. Why couldn’t my mom get free? Why? No one saved her.
I’m gonna kill him. If my hands weren’t tied I’d snatch the gun from Quinn, point it at Jack’s head, and... hell, I can’t. I can’t do such a thing.
I’m just gonna run. I’m taking off, straight to the cops to tell them everything... every damn... uh, who am I kidding?
I can’t do that either. I haven’t told anyone how shitty the cops treated me. I don’t want to go back to those constant interrogations, the doubt on their faces whenever they spoke to me, and their insistence that I’m not remembering everything about m
y mom.
I’ll keep running.
Keep hiding.
“I didn’t kill her!” I scream. “Why did the cops ask me all those questions? I didn’t. She was gone and they wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t do it. Why did Jack do this? Why were the cops so mean to me? I didn’t do it!”
I’m back to being a train wreck, reliving the pain, unable to deal with the agonizing stream of sorrowful emotions. It’s happening all over again.
“Shh, it’s okay, you’re alright. He did this to you. You did nothing wrong. He’s bringing it out.” Quinn takes me in his arms, quietly repeating soothing words into my ear until I calm down.
“Shh, you’re safe.
I won’t let anything happen to you.
I’m here, beautiful. I’m here.”
“Medic.” Jack’s penetrating voice breaks us apart. He’s still rolling on his back and stomping at the dirt like a child. “Hey, Dylan. If you’re out there, bring me my weed. I need a fix. This hurts like hell.”
“A vicious performance by an unhinged sicko,” Quinn says while starting to untie my hands. “Who knows why he can’t get the fuck up.”
As he labors at the knot, a violent storm develops in his eyes. The muscles throughout his chest and arms harden, his breathing explodes into quick, energetic gasps, and his constant whispered obscenities are in a battle with Jack’s singing.
“Ruthless motherfucker.”
“I just got shot, doo-doo-mm-mm.”
“Heartless cocksucker.”
“My fingers gone, doo-doo-mm-mm.”
“Insensitive peckershit.”
“And I didn’t slay, but that’s alright.”
I’m freed, but continue to cry, more now from happiness than being frightened and alone.
“Here comes your sun, Addie... mmm-mmm-mm-mm... he came for you... mmm-mmm-mm-mm.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Quinn warns.
“Good one, man. Good shot.”
“No, bad shot. I was aiming for your head.” He rubs my arms and looks down at my wet jeans, then glances at Jack and back at me. “Go back to the car and wait for me there. I won’t be long. Can you do that? Can you walk and make it there on your own?”
“What are you gonna—”
“He’s gonna kill me,” Jack says.
“Addie. You’ll be safe there, give me a minute alone with this bastard and I’ll be right there, I promise, but please, I don’t want you to see this.”
He kisses my forehead and I’m forced in the direction of the car.
“Go,” he says.
I drag my bare feet along the trail as a handful of raindrops make their way through the trees. It takes some time for my legs to change from feeling like they’re made of stone to returning to life and developing into powerful limbs capable of running miles.
A fight materializes behind me. Shouting and sounds of suffering fill the woods. My legs move faster, jogging, then racing speedily away from the brawl.
I make it back to the parking area. The trees open at the trailhead and I raise my arms to savor the brilliant radiance of a sun shower.
One shot’s fired... and I lower my arms. A second shot... and my eyes close. A third... and I listen to the echoing blasts. They fade quickly, being replaced with a dead silence.
The air is still, the rain has stopped, and the rising son has fallen.
“Get in the car.” Dylan pulls me to the driver’s side. “Quinn, hurry up. Let’s go!”
“Wha... how did... I don’t understand.”
“Get in, you’re driving.”
“No, I can’t... I just... all of this stuff just happened. I can’t drive.”
“Quinn. Get a move on.” He opens the driver’s side and forces me inside, then slides into the backseat.
“I’m coming.” He appears, pushing branches out of the way as he makes his way out of the trail. He runs toward us and hops in the passenger seat, rushing to take me in his arms. I’m smothered with loving kisses on my neck, my cheeks, and finally, my lips.
“I can’t believe you shot him,” Dylan says, reaching into the front to turn down the music. “We needed that guy. I needed him. And where the fuck’s the gun? You’re supposed to pass it back once you run the play.”
“I left it in the bastard’s mouth.”
“No, no, no.” I shake my head and rub the steering wheel. “He’s dead? And it was Trent’s gun? The gun that connects back to the body in Tivoli Park, that leads to Dylan, and ties to your dad? The gun that will link up to everything in Albany is being left here, where my mom was murdered? Jesus, we need to put it and Jack in the trunk. Neither can stay here with her. I don’t want them anywhere near her if she’s still here.”
“What?” Dylan asks.
Quinn takes a deep breath, gazes at the woods and says, “I didn’t kill him.”
“What?” Dylan repeats, punching the back seat. “Shit, I knew you didn’t have it in you.”
“Do you? Go ahead if you think you can. Go kill him, Dylan. Like you’ve ever done that before. He’s still lying on the ground like a fucking baby from the shot to his hand. Go for it. It should be easy, right?”
“What reason do I have to shoot him?”
Quinn straightens his arm and jerks his brother forward by his shirt collar. “What about me? Or Addie? Or even Dad? Aren’t those good enough reasons?”
“Stop it,” I say. “This is no time to argue.”
“Fine.” Quinn thrusts him back and slumps in his seat. “I fucking tried, but I’m not a killer.” He exhales in frustration. “I fired the gun until it was out of bullets, but I couldn’t kill him point blank, not once Addie was safe. I just... fuck, if she was about to die, it’d be easier, but she was free.”
“You’re a much better man than him,” I say.
Jack’s cell rings and his dad’s name appears on the system. We stare at one another and let it go to voicemail. The cell rings again, and again, and we keep staring at the screen, none of us sure what the fuck to do.
“We can’t go anywhere in this car if he’s got a tracking device on it,” Quinn says. “He’ll know exactly where we are.”
“I know.” I wipe the tears from my face and sniff multiple times, trying to clear my runny nose. “I doubt I can drive anyway, not after all that. My pants are soaked, my neck’s on fire, and I’m a shaky mess.” I run my hands around the steering wheel, then give it a firm grip, watching my knuckles turn white.
“And we can’t be walking the streets, especially Dylan, he’ll get life in prison if he’s picked up and charged with any of those crimes... and—”
“Why should we give two-shits about him? He should’ve helped us hours ago.”
“Addie, he—”
The Bluetooth system beeps and a text appears on the screen.
Adlyn Moore, Quinn Ellis, and Dylan Ellis. Pick up the phone.
“Why am I not surprised his dad knows our names?” I tap the answer button as yet another call comes through. “Hello?”
I hear breathing; he’s there, but he’s not saying a word.
“You said to answer your call... hello? We answered it.”
“Jack, hold on... Jack, wait... I said keep your trap shut. Let me talk to them... did one of you shoot my son?”
“Jack must be on another line,” I say quietly.
“I heard that. He’s calling from Adlyn Moore’s cell.”
“Crap, he must’ve picked up my phone before he left the barn. I had it on the workbench.”
“Answer me!”
“Yeah, I shot him,” Quinn says. “And he’s lucky I didn’t blow his head off for hurting my girlfriend. He almost killed her.”
“Wait... I can’t fucking hear when all of you are talking at once.”
“Medic!” Jack’s voice enters the car when he’s put on speakerphone from his dad’s cell. “I’m dying, Dad. I’m gonna bleed to death.”
“What the fu
ck’s going on? Why are you kids in my son’s car? You think you’re gonna shoot him and leave him to die in the woods without getting your heads ripped off and shoved up your asses by my wife and me? We’ll hunt you down.”
“Dad, I need morphine. I need a stitch job.”
“Where did you get shot? Please don’t say it’s in your gut or chest.”
He’s quiet for a split second then calls out, “Medic, Dad! I lost a finger. It’s just gone. Blown to bits by these fucking backstabbers.”
“Did you say you lost a—”
“You can’t trust anyone. Not even your best friends. Quinn even punched me in the face. I can’t believe it. He ate my steak and drank my liquor at Afterglow, and what thanks do I get in return, a bloody nose and a split lip? A missing finger? Where’s the gratitude?”
“You were going to kill Addie!”
“Did you say your finger?” His dad laughs. “And what best friends? Aren’t these the kids that saw you kill that guy?”
Jack’s unusually quiet.
“Just tell me if you’re really shot, and where. I’m in my office and I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“My finger. The tip’s gone,” he whispers.
“And you can’t get up? Right? You’re fucking rolling on the ground like a potato bug because of a missing fingertip?” He laughs harder. “Da fuck, Jack? I guess you didn’t get your dose of attention from anyone today.”
I hear a click.
I think Jack hung up.
“Alright then, it’s my problem, again.” His dad sighs.
“Look.” I nod toward the trail.
Jack’s standing at the edge, his hands are tucked under his armpits, blood’s dripping from his nose and down his side, and his hair’s in disarray. He looks down and shuffles the dirt with his large black work boots, dragging his feet in circles before looking back at us with a scowl.
“Your son’s sick,” I say. “He tried to hang me.”
“Yeah, he does that to people sometimes...”
My mouth drops open from his dad’s response.
“... but, he means well.”
“Excuse me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Listen up, if you’ve been with him all night and you’re not dead, he likes you.”
