by Bourne, Lena
The blade is pressing in between my pants and my skin, and I can't breathe, can't cry, can't scream, can't even sob. Because this is it. At least Mom's smiling at me from over by the door now, holding out her hand, telling me all will be well, that soon there'll be no pain left.
Scott's standing in the doorway now, and that's just fine too. Sadder, because we'll never see each other in real life again, but maybe I need him to get through this final mess. The light is silhouetting him from behind, so his face is all dark, but I can still see his eyes, gleaming bright blue, opening into a glimmering, snow-covered plain, the sky silver and gold with the rising sun.
I close my eyes so I can spend these last few moments at the cabin, in Scott's arms, where I really should have stayed.
The knife leaves my skin, and I'm holding my breath, because I'm not ready yet, not yet gone from this dark basement.
Mike's hot exhale hits my breast as he curses. Then a bone-crunching fall is followed by skin hitting skin, and I open my eyes wide.
"Scott, he's got a knife!" I scream but I'm too late. The knife's already flashing through the air, slicing up at Scott's chest. I shut my eyes, because I won't watch this, I can't see.
Mike yelps as a sound like a branch breaking echoes through the room. He's panting now, lying on his side, clutching his right arm into his chest. Scott's got one knee pressed into Mike's chest, his hand shaking as he presses the knife into his neck. Blood is streaming down between Scott's fingers, pooling dark red against Mike's pale skin. Mike starts thrashing, trying to break free, but I don't think he'll ever succeed.
But Scott's not looking at him. His eyes are locked on mine, like he's searching for something he really needs. And then it hits me like he spoke it aloud. He needs me to stop him or he will kill his brother for what he did to me.
"Don't do it, Scott," I mutter, then repeat it more firmly. "I'm alright. Call the police."
But he must have already done that, because sirens are blaring in the distance, coming closer.
Scott is still staring at me like I'm dying. Or like I'm already dead. His hand's shaking worse than ever, his eyes wide and dark like pools of eternal night. Panic grips my throat. What if I am dead?
Pain is still thumping through my head, and my wrists still sting, but it's all fuzzy as though wrapped in transparent gauze. Maybe Mike did kill me and I never realized. And this is my ghost sitting here because I'll never let go, never leave Scott.
Feet are thumping down the hallway, and then the doorway jams with cops, pointing flashlights and guns into the room.
"Drop the knife, Scott," one of the cops says, and his voice sounds vaguely familiar. But Scott's not doing it, his hand still shaking, the knife tip still pressed against Mike's neck. And now they'll shoot him, and he'll be dead, just like me.
"Drop the knife, Scott," I whisper and a later second the knife clanks against the floor.
The cop rushes forward into the room, and pulls Scott to his feet, holding his arms behind his back. Another cuffs Mike, and then a paramedic is crouching in front of me, shining a tiny light into my eyes, asking me questions I can't hear. But that's alright, because maybe I'm not dead after all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Raised voices wake me. I'm lying in a hospital bed, the left side of my face heavy like a stone is resting against it, the IV needle stinging my hand.
"Leave!" My dad yells out in the hallway. "Haven't you done enough?"
The door of my room is cracked open, but not wide enough for me to see what's going on.
"How is she?" Scott asks more softly, but even if he were whispering, I'd hear his voice anywhere, through concrete walls, across oceans, time and space.
"She's hurt! Badly!" Dad screams. "Go or I'll call the police!"
"Please, Mr. Henderson. I just want to see her for a moment," Scott says.
"No!" Dad yells.
I try to rise up on my elbows, but my head feels like someone cracked it open with a hammer, the blow still reverberating in pain.
I can hear the nurse outside trying to calm them down. A moment later the door swings open, and dad walks in.
"Gail, you're awake," he says and rushes to me. "How do you feel?"
My throat is so dry, I'm half sure it's filled with sand. I motion that I need a drink and the nurse who followed dad inside hands me a glass of lukewarm tea that's so sweet I gag.
"Where's Scott?" I mutter, as soon as the sand in my throat softens.
Dad's eyes are so red, I'm expecting tears of blood to start flowing from them at any moment.
"Don't worry, he'll never bother you again," Dad says through clenched teeth. "I'll make sure of it."
His own crazy and aggressive father is staring at me from behind the concern and love in Dad's eyes, and I can't fight him. As soon as I'm well, I'll make him understand that Scott had nothing to do with this, that he saved me, that I'd be dead, if he hadn't come find me when he did.
The sky outside is a velvety blue when I wake up next, bright white stars twinkling across it. My right palm is hot because someone's holding it so tight. Or maybe that's just still part of my dream.
I turn my head and find Scott's eyes. They're as dark as the sky outside, and just as soft. But he's looking at me like I'm bleeding out on the concrete floor of a dank, dark room, water tap-tapping somewhere behind me, or maybe that's my own blood, flowing out as I die.
His hand clutches mine even tighter. "I'll go if you want me to, Gail. I will."
I shake my head.
"Please stay," I manage to croak out, the sand in my threat cascading down.
I reach the tea, but he gets it faster, holds it to my lips so I can drink. And then he lies down beside me, his side pressing into me, his arms wrapped around me so tight I don't think he'll ever be able to let go.
"Are you supposed to be here?" I ask, because I can never just keep my mouth shut.
He smiles down at me, but his eyes are still wide and scared, white like the snow surrounding his secret cabin in the middle of nowhere. Our secret cabin. "Yes, I'm supposed to be here."
I lean into him, resting my head against his chest.
"I could kill Mike for what he did to you. I really could," he whispers. "I'm so sorry, Gail. I never imagined he'd do something like that to you. And if you never forgive me, I'll understand."
"There's nothing to forgive, Scott," I mutter, wrapping my arms around his waist. "You saved me."
"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't met me," Scott whispers. "Or if I never got involved with you."
I raise my head a little so I can look into his eyes. The ache from before is just a dull throb now, melting away in his strong arms. "No, Scott. You saved me."
"Stop saying that, it's not true," he mutters.
I lie back down because his eyes are still telling me I'm dead. Only I'm not, because my heart is beating fast and strong in my chest, which is flooding with love and warmth. "You can't hold yourself responsible for other people's insanity. You didn't know what Mike would do."
He sighs. "Mike's deranged, and I knew that. But I never expected he'd do this to you."
"He's done things like this before?" I ask, my heart speeding up in my chest, because I have to warn Kate, before it's too late.
"Yeah, with escorts though, girls he paid so he could play out this sick fantasy," Scott whispers. "I mean, he never actually cut up any of them."
"And you knew about it?"
"One of the escorts told me, because she thought I was just like him," Scott explains, his whole body very stiff now. "But it ends now."
"This could be about him finding your mom dying," I whisper, though any pity I might have for Mike is still very far removed.
Scott sighs, his breath playing in my hair. "That's no excuse. He's just a psycho."
Where is he now?"
My heart is fluttering in my chest, and I can already see Mike rushing into the hospital downstairs, the knife gleaming in his hand, heading up here to finish the jo
b. I shut my eyes tight, and bury my face in Scott's chest.
"He's locked up. They won't let him out any time soon, but I'm also gonna make sure he stays in for as long as possible," Scott says, his voice firm and cold again.
"No, Scott, you can't incriminate yourself over this," I say, my head jerking up as all of his implications finally form a coherent thought in my mind.
"It won't come to that, not if my plan works," he mutters. "But even if I have to do time it will still be worth it."
"I won't let you!" I yell, my sore throat exploding in pain. "Stop talking like this, you're scaring me."
He strokes my hair, his arm firm around me, his eyes wide and scared again, like he's seeing me die.
"Alright, Gail. I'll figure something out," he whispers, his voice soft like feathers again.
Dawn is exploding in the sky outside all silver and gold.
"I should go soon," he says. "Try and go back to sleep."
"No, stay," I whisper.
"Your dad will be back soon," Scott says. "He really doesn't want me here."
"But I do," I say. "And I'll tell him that."
"He has every right to hate me, Gail. You probably should too," he says, his palms tangled in my hair now, resting against the middle of my back.
"I won't ever hate you," I mutter. "And neither will my dad. Not once I make him understand."
It's hard to keep my eyes open now. The room is so warm and fuzzy, feather-light like my body cradled in Scott's arms, the way it's supposed to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"Are you sure about this?" Scott asks as he calls from the parking lot of the restaurant where my dad and me are already waiting for him.
"Yes," I whisper. "Just come in."
I can see him standing by his car, and I know he sees me too, because my chest is flooding with warmth. But that's now. As soon as he'll get here, his eyes will be all wide and concerned, noticing every move I make like he's afraid I'll break at any moment. It's been a week since they discharged me from the hospital, and I really wish he'd stop looking at me like that. I'm fine. Or I will be, as soon as the nightmares stop. Because as horrifying as that night with Mike was, something clicked home as I waited to die. I am stronger than anything fate throws at me, and I want to live, deny death for as long as I can. With Scott.
I see him run his hand through his hair. "Not to sound like a pussy, but I'm really not looking forward to this lunch."
My eyes flash to my dad's. His eyes are constantly filled with the same concern as Scott's these days, but there's a tension there too. I have to get them to at least talk to each other, because I'm not choosing between them.
"Just come in," I say and hang up, because, really, he is acting like a little kid.
He walks in a few moments later, and they shake hands, but the tension between them is so thick it would take a sledgehammer to break through it. I wish Scott would kiss me, but he just squeezes my shoulder, sending a sharp stab through the cut in my bicep that's not yet healed. I wince, but manage to hide it.
"So, what are your plans for the future?" Dad asks as soon as we order, just like that, with no permeable.
I shoot him a dirty look, but he's so focused on Scott he doesn't even notice me.
"I'm going back to school in the spring," Scott says, his voice not quite as firm as it normally is. I find his hand under the table and squeeze. "And I'm moving to Connecticut to be closer to Gail."
Dad already knows all this, and that annoyance is written all across his face now.
"And your other activities?" Dad asks.
"That will never be a problem again," Scott answers, his eyes fixed on my dad's. They're so open and deep I'm sure there's no way Dad won't believe him.
"I wish I could trust you on that," Dad says, and maybe, for the first time, some of his anger at Scott softens. "But this is my daughter's future we're talking about."
"And she gets to choose for herself," I interject, because they're talking about me like I'm not even there. "It's OK, Dad. I believe Scott, so maybe you could too."
He doesn't like it one bit though, I can see it in his tightly drawn lips, which are moving like he's chewing on something.
Our food finally arrives, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief. Only I dig into my clam chowder too fast, scalding my tongue like I always do.
"So where will you go to school, Scott?" My dad asks, watching me dip my tongue into my glass of water.
"Cornell. I have a year and a half left," Scott answers, and maybe my dad's eyes soften a little more.
"That's quite a commute for you, if you'll be living in Connecticut," Dad says. "Are you sure you want to move?"
"He's sure, Dad," I say, eyeing Scott. But when he doesn't back me up immediately a cold weight drops in my stomach. He keeps asking me if I'm sure too, and we've hardly even kissed since I got out of the hospital, let alone done anything else.
The rest of the meal passes in silence, more or less. I try to fill it with complaints over how much schoolwork I've already missed, but I'm not sure either of them is listening to me.
"Have a good trip," I tell my dad once we're in the parking lot and kiss his cheek. He's going to Geneva in a few hours.
"I can cancel, if you'd rather I stayed," he mutters.
"No, I'll be fine," I say and wrap my arm around Scott's. We'll be going back to Connecticut in a few hours, maybe even go see an apartment or two.
"That went better than I expected," Scott says after my dad drives away. He wraps his arms around me, and rests his cheek against the top of my head. He's been doing that a lot lately, just holding me, but I wish we'd do more. Maybe then that horrific knife would finally be erased from my memory. He smells of clean air and fresh snow, probably because he just got back from Alaska after going there to get his things and say his goodbyes. Or maybe I'm just imagining it, because that's where I really want to be right now.
"Let's get your things, and go home," I whisper.
"OK," he says and hugs me tighter. "But let's go by my dad's first. There's something you should see."
I lift my head and kiss him, and it's soft and sweet and everything it should be, but not how it used to be. I sigh and let it go. "If you want."
I'm not sure how much I want to see his dad right now, but he had lunch with mine, so it's only fair.
Once we're at his house, Scott leads me through the kitchen and into the garage. His dad's not anywhere, though I hear the TV through the closed living room door.
A meow echoes through the garage as we enter, followed by softer ones. Tears well in my eyes as he turns on the light and I see the five kittens climbing all over their mother, tumbling across each other.
"Can I touch them?" I ask, hot tears streaming down my face.
"If you want," Scott says, his eyes wide with concern again. But I'm fine, so fine that I'm smiling widely even though tears are still streaming from my eyes.
One of the kittens wobbles towards me as I kneel on the ground. It's a white calico like her mom. Her tiny claws are sharp as needles as she digs them into my palm when I pick her up. Her heart is racing against my thumb, her fur softer than anything I've ever felt.
A grey and black striped one with blue eyes stumbles to Scott, and he picks it up too, stroking its head with his thumb.
"You wanna keep one, after we get an apartment?" he asks, and for a second, the concern leaves his eyes.
"Sure. We can take two, one for each of us," I say and smile. The cat I'm holding bites my finger, wriggling in my palm.
I set her down and she runs head first into one of her brothers.
Scott sets his down too. "You can have that one. You two will get along great, both being so bossy."
"Oh, funny," I say and straighten up. But I really don't want to argue. He wraps his arms around me again, and we stand there, watching the kittens, for I don't know how long.
"You're not going to say goodbye to your dad?" I ask in the hallway later, as he's opening the front do
or.
He looks back at the shut door of the living room and shakes his head. "He hasn't been talking much, since Mike…"
"He blames you for what happened?" I ask, my mouth open all the way.
Scott shakes his head. "No, he doesn't blame me. He just gets like this, when things go wrong. He'll be fine, eventually. He's just been sitting in there in his pajamas since Mike got arrested. Even Ava can't get him to do more than change."
"I'm so sorry, Scott," I mutter. I can't imagine not being able to depend on my dad. Which I always can, no matter how bad things get.
"What about Derek, will he be getting released into home detention?" I ask, struggling to find something that might ease their dad's grief.
"There'll be a hearing, and that doctor you found for him will help, but we'll see," Scott says.
"I hope it works out so he can walk again," I whisper.
Scott shrugs and unlocks the car. "Me too."
My hands start shaking in my lap as soon as we enter Connecticut, ghost footsteps ascending the stairs in the dead of night echoing in my head.
"Are you alright?" Scott asks, turning down the radio.
I swallow hard, trying to take deep breaths, but they all stick in my throat. I haven't been back to my house since it happened, and right now that night is playing in my head like a horror movie rerun.
"We can just go to a hotel if you want," Scott says, and I have no idea how he can read my mind. "But I helped Phillipa fix the window, so we'll be safe there."
I swallow again, my heart rapid firing in my chest. "Is Mike still locked up?"
Just mentioning his name makes me feel like I've been drenched in icy water. But I want to know, need to know I'm safe.
"Yeah, and he'll stay locked up for a long time," Scott says.
"It's two years maximum for what he did to me," I mutter. "Maybe less."
I checked it out online. And with a good lawyer he'll get a lot less than that. And I'm sure he has enough money to get a good lawyer.
