Reclaiming Madelynn (Reclaiming Book 1)

by Jessica Sorensen

  The message is from an unknown number.

  Unknown: Madelynn, you better keep your mouth shut. If you don’t, we’ll send this to the police.

  Attached is a photo of me kneeling over Zoe. And the same blood that covers her also stains my hands.

  What really confuses me is how they refer to me by my middle name.

  Just who the hell are these people, and what did they make me do?

  II

  After the Storm

  Chapter Five

  The next couple weeks pass by in a blur. Zoe remains missing. The police have contacted me a total of once to say they’re looking into her disappearance. I thought about contacting this Zane guy, but since I have no clue what he does for the police, I’m hesitant. Not to mention I’m constantly receiving blackmail text messages from the unknown number, ranging from showing the police the photo of me with Zoe, to showing up at my house and hurting me, to making me send them hush money. They told me I have three weeks to come up with twenty thousand dollars; cash I don’t have nor do I want to pay, but I worry what will happen if I don’t.

  While I’m still not sure what exactly happened that night, I’ve been remembering more and more. And none of the memories makes me look innocent. I know Cole and Nolan had something to do with whatever happened, and I’m pretty sure they’re behind the threatening messages. They also seem to know a lot about me, like my middle name, my address, where I’m from, my siblings’ names, where I go to school, and where I work. I’ve never been this scared shitless before.

  Between the fear, the guilt, and the paranoia, I can barely get out of bed, have probably lost my job, and have already been kicked out of school for missing too many classes. To top it all off, it’s been raining nonstop all week.

  I roll onto my side and stare out the window as rain splatters against the glass. Lightning flashes, illuminating the view of the buildings outside and my bedroom. I shudder as the thunder grumbles from close by.

  The storm is getting bad enough that I should be turning on the light and making phone calls to everyone. But I’ve been doing that constantly for the past week and everyone is starting to question if something is wrong with me.

  No one has died. It’s as if my storm ability is broken.

  Well, I take that back. Something is wrong. Me. I feel like I’m dying, wilting away, consumed by guilt, part of me wishing I died with Zoe. I’d rather be dead than to have done something to her. Even if I was forced to do it.

  I roll onto my other side and let myself drown in the guilt. My room is pitch-black, except for the occasional flash of lightning. The yoga pants and tank top I’m wearing reek of stale chips, my unwashed hair is a tangled messed, and I desperately need a shower.

  You don’t deserve a shower, Madelynn.

  The voice belongs to Zoe. Like my storm gift and when I heard my grandmother that day, I’m unsure if I’m imagining it or if I have some sort of sixth sense. Doesn’t really matter. Imagination or not, I feel even shittier, guiltier, heavier.

  “I’m so sorry, Zoe,” I whisper. Then I curl into a ball and drag the blanket over my head.

  Every single one of my muscles ache, every breath hurts, and every thought makes me restless. I just want to go to sleep and stop thinking about Zoe, but I can’t get my mind to shut off. I keep overanalyzing that night, how I wish I would’ve listened to my instincts and stayed in. But I didn’t, and now Zoe’s gone and I might be the reason for that.

  I sink deeper into the bed and fall into memories of how I ended up at this point in my life.

  I once wanted to be here in London. Now I wish I was anywhere but here, trapped in this too quiet loft filled with memories of Zoe. The quiet leaves too much time to focus on my mistakes, my worries, and all my aches and pain. Aches and pain connected to that night when blood stained my hands and the sight of Zoe lying in a pool of blood.

  My hands begin to tremble, so I try to shove the thoughts aside, knowing I’ll end up throwing up if I don’t.

  You have to stop thinking about this! What happened … it had to be Cole and Nolan’s fault. They made you do something. You’ve never hurt anyone before in your entire life!

  Maybe Jessa hasn’t, but what about Madelynn?

  The voice in my head is no longer my own and rings with familiarity, but I can’t place from where.

  What’s happening to me? Am I going insane?

  I wish I could call up my mom and talk to her. She was always good when it came to dealing with the heavy stuff. But she’s gone, and so is my dad.

  Just like Zoe.

  I choke on a sob. I miss them so, so much. I need them so much. I need someone. I need to go home. Need to go back to my brothers and sisters and … and Milo.

  Milo.

  Two years ago, before I broke his heart, I could have called him and told him what was going on. After all, I trusted him with my little storm secret. I can trust him with this, can’t I?

  Visions of that night pierce into my brain again, making my eyes burn with tears.

  “Let’s play a drinking game,” Cole said.

  It wasn’t the only game they wanted to play.

  My hands begin to shake violently as I picture the blood covering my fingers, dripping down my palms …

  Just like they were when I woke up and took off from that house—

  Thunder booms from outside, and I sink deeper into my bed, deeper into the dark. I need to find a way to get up, call and talk to someone, tell them what happened, get some advice on how to deal with this.

  I could call one of my siblings, but they have their own problems and don’t need me telling them this god-awful secret that will destroy their lives. They don’t need me to ruin their happiness. I’m twenty years old, for God’s sake. I should be able to get my ass out of bed by myself and walk to the police station, like I’ve been contemplating since that morning. Deal with the consequences.

  “Fuck this. I’m not going to be blackmailed anymore.” Sucking in a deep breath, I throw the blanket off and stand up, heading to the bathroom to get dressed.

  I pick up my phone on my way and check my messages. Five missed texts and one voicemail. I listen to the voicemail first, figuring it’s from Annabella, my eighteen-year-old sister who just graduated high school. She probably wants to know when I’m heading home for the summer. I haven’t bought a ticket yet and doubt I will after I talk to the police.

  Vomit burns at the back of my throat as images of that night flash through my mind again.

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Come home with us.”

  Zoe nods. I didn’t want to at first, but my drugged-up, drunken mind tells me it’s okay. That it’ll be fun. That these guys are hot.

  Cole’s voice echoes through my mind. “Just close your eyes and play the game.”

  I can still feel the ropes on my wrists, biting into my skin. As for the game, I don’t remember playing it. All I know is that I woke up covered in blood, and Zoe was …

  No, don’t think about it! Just go to the police.

  Part of me—a weak part—wishes I could just flee and leave London, but I’m broke. The only way I will be able to go home is if I call Loki and ask him for money. It’s not like he wouldn’t give me any, and if this were all happening a couple years ago, I would call him in a heartbeat. However, after our parents died, Loki was given guardianship of our three younger sisters and brother and now he’s too overwhelmed to help me. Which is why he can never know what happened.

  If you tell the police, he’ll know. Because you’ll probably be arrested.

  A heavy weight drops on my chest as I press the phone to my ear and the voicemail message starts playing. It’s not from Annabella, but from my boss, informing me that I’m fired for not showing up this morning.

  Tears pool in my eyes. God, I messed up so badly … with my job, school, that night …

  If my parents s
aw me now, they would be so disappointed—

  My phone buzzes in my hand, and I nearly jolt out of my skin.

  Taking a calming breath, I tap open the message. Then my heart rate soars through the roof again.

  Unknown: So, are you going to pay up or should we show the photo to the police? You’re a pretty girl. Bet they’d eat you up in jail.

  I grip the phone tighter as images of me behind bars flash through my mind, along with images of that night, of the blood, of Zoe’s screams …

  I scream myself, the sound getting swept away with the booming thunder outside.

  I can’t do this anymore. Can’t go to jail! But I don’t deserve to be here, either!

  My heart races a million miles a minute as I stumble into the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. More hysterical sobs wrench from my chest as I grab a tube of lipstick and scribble on the mirror.

  I think I’m the one who did it. I think I killed Zoe.

  I’m so sorry.

  -Madelynn

  I why I signed my middle name, but I don’t leave myself time to overanalyze it. I dig some pills out of the cabinet, twist off the lid, and dump a couple into my palm. As I think of Zoe, I add a few more pills, and then some more. Then, taking a deep breath, I raise my hand to my lips, tossing the handful of pills into my mouth before swallowing them down.

  Thunder grumbles again, and the rain quickens as I stagger toward the bed and collapse onto the mattress.

  Rolling onto my back, I blink up at the ceiling then at the window. I don’t jolt when the lightning flashes across the sky and the thunder cracks in a loud boom.

  My eyelids grow heavy as sleepiness overcomes me. Part of me wonders if this will be the last time I ever close my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, Zoe,” I whisper. “If I did hurt you … I’m so sorry.

  The second my eyelids shut, memories flood my mind. Memories of my brothers and sisters, and all the fun, happy moments we shared. Christmas spent around the tree, Fourth of July in the park, camping on spring break and roasting marshmallows, the first time Annabella and I tried to make a cake, going to her dance recitals, attending Alexis’s art shows, watching Nikoli’s football games, teaching Zhara cheers when she tried out for cheerleading, hanging out with Loki and talking about life …

  A final memory slams hard against my brain. The last time I saw them at our parents’ funeral.

  They were sad, broken, buried in so much pain. We have been through so much. They have been through so much.

  God, what have I done? My suicide will destroy them. I need to fight, fight to live and figure out a way to prove that Nolan and Cole hurt Zoe. Not me.

  As panic flares through me, I flop over onto my belly, stick my finger down my throat, and force myself to throw up. But, even after my stomach feels empty, I still feel drowsy and can barely keep my eyelids open.

  Worried some of the medication entered my system, I fumble for my phone, slide my numb fingertip across the screen, and open my contacts. The names are too blurry to read, so I randomly tap the screen.

  Eventually, the line rings, and I hear a voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Help …” I murmur. “I think I did something … really …” A slow breath falters from my lips. “I need … help.”

  “Jessa?”

  I know that voice. The name is on the tip of my tongue. I care for this person. A lot. My body aches to be close to him … every day … but I don’t talk to him anymore because I broke him … Just like I break everything.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks.

  “No … Nothing’s okay … I need help … I did something bad, and then I took some pills … I thought … I wanted everything … to end, but I don’t. I can’t do this to my brothers and sisters.” My voice drifts as my arm slumps to the mattress.

  “It’s going to be okay. Just hang on.”

  Numbness consumes my body as the phone slips from my hand.

  Lightning flashes and thunder cracks across the crying sky, the lightning flashing through my room. For a fleeting moment, I think I see Cole standing near the window, but he fades away as darkness starts to haul me under.

  One final thought crosses my mind before I get dragged under.

  I’ve been like this before. Drugged up and on the verge of death.

  Many, many times.

  I try to hold on to the resurfacing memory as it prickles at my brain.

  Bright lights. Shouting. A cold, metal bed. A bed I’m lying on. Strapped down. My wrists hurt.

  “There’s a storm outside,” I whisper, my body growing heavier.

  “I know,” a deep voice says from somewhere.

  I squint against the light, trying to see his face, but I can only make out a shadow. “That means something bad is going to happen.”

  “Shh …” He wraps his fingers around my arm. “It’ll all be over soon.”

  A needle pricks my skin.

  I scream …

  The memory fades in and out. I try to hold on to it, try to remember, but darkness completely overcomes me and the memory slips away, getting lost again.

  Chapter Six

  When I open my eyes again, I’m no longer staring out my loft window at a lightning storm, but at the ceiling of a hospital room. The air reeks of disinfectant and cafeteria food, the beeping of a heart monitor makes my head throb, and my throat feels like it’s on fire.

  “Do you want me to get you some water?”

  My head whips in the direction of the unfamiliar voice.

  A woman a few years older than me is standing beside my bed, jotting something down on a clipboard. She’s wearing scrubs, and her nametag displays “Mia.” Her blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she looks irritated as she waits for me to answer.

  “Water would be nice. Thanks.” I cringe at my raspy voice that sounds like I spent an entire night smoking a pack of cigarettes. “What day is it?”

  “Wednesday,” she answers, setting the clipboard down on a bedside table.

  “Wednesday?” My muscles gripe in protest as I sit up and glance around the small room. There are so many windows, and I can see the nurses and doctors rushing around in the hallway just outside. “I’ve been here for almost two days?”

  She nods, picks up a pitcher, and fills a small cup with water. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.” She hands me the cup then collects the clipboard and heads for the door.

  “Wait!” I call out. “Can you tell me how I got here?”

  She stops in the doorway and turns, her brows elevated. “You don’t remember?”

  I rack my brain, bits and pieces gradually coming back to me: a lightning storm, lying in bed, getting fired from my job, the blood on my hands … that night … being exhausted and disappointed in myself, wanting the pain and heaviness to go away, wanting to forget everything. Then there was writing my confession on the mirror, the pills … the darkness … bright lights … throwing up, the paramedics showing up at my loft, the doctor telling me I have to stay in the hospital for forty-eight hours so they can evaluate my mental stability.

  “Oh, God,” I groan. The rhythm of the heart monitor quickens as guilt, fear, and disappointment crash over me like waves colliding with the shore.

  The nurse casts a worried glance at the monitor. “I’ll get the doctor. After he checks in on you, if you feel up to it, you can have a few visitors.”

  “I won’t be having any visitors. I don’t have … anyone.” I may feel alone right now, but I’m not about to call any of my siblings and drag them into this mess. I did this to myself. I can deal with this by myself. That will be my punishment for what I’ve done.

  “What about your brother?” The nurse glances down at her clipboard. “Loki Baker?”

  Confusion swirls in my mind. “Wait. Did you guys call him?”

  She shakes her head, her confusion mirroring mine. “He arrived last night when you were asleep. He came in for a little while, but he had to leave after visiting ho
urs were over. He said he’d be back today.”

  Loki is here? Oh, God, I think I’m going to throw up.

  “How did he find out I was here?”

  “Maybe your landlord called him? Or one of your neighbors who saw the paramedics come in?” she offers with a shrug. “Look, I need to get the doctor, and then I have other patients to check up on. If you want to find out how your brother knew you were here, you can always just ask him.” She walks out of the room without waiting for me to respond.

  I slump back and take a long sip of the water, letting the coolness soothe my aching throat.

  Loki is here. Loki knows what I did. Well, at least the pills part. He doesn’t know about Cole and Nolan, about that night, about Zoe. Well, unless the paramedics saw my confession on the mirror.

  Nausea burns in the pit of my stomach as I peer through the window and into the hallway. I don’t see any uniformed cops out there and I’m not handcuffed to a bed. Does that mean the paramedics didn’t tell the police about the confession on the mirror? Or did no one see it?

  A few tears slip from my eyes as I massage my aching chest. The weight is there, heavier than ever, as new memories of that night choke me …

  “Please let us go,” Zoe cries from beside me, her shoulders heaving as she draws her knees to her chest.

  I reach out to grab her hand, but Nolan grabs my wrists and forces my arms behind my back.

  “No touching,” he warns as he binds my wrists together with a rope. “Not until we play the game.”

  “Game?” Zoe sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What game?”

  Nolan moves in front of her and gets in her face. “The game where one of you lives and the other dies.”

  I continue to cry until I realize how easily people in the hallway can see into my room. A nurse keeps glancing in, probably checking on me. I hurriedly wipe the tears away with the back of my hand then focus on drinking the water. That’s easy to do, and right now, I need easy. Otherwise, I’m going to lose my shit.