Echo

by E. K. Blair

  La douleur exquise.

  “Then why have me here? Why don’t you throw me out, tell me you hate me?”

  “I do hate you,” he sears.

  “So why touch me, kiss me, fuck me?”

  “They’re my sick cravings,” he admits. “The hunger grows worse the more I feed it.”

  And the scheming witch he just accused me of being comes to life. Because with him, I want to be selfish. I want him to be mine and no one else’s.

  I know I’m narcissistic when I tilt my head to the side, presenting him with the soft skin of my neck, but I don’t care when I invite him to take, saying, “Then feast.”

  “You don’t want me this way.”

  “I want you in every way.”

  His growl is low, deep within his chest, but far from the heart that beats in deadly ways. He’s a degenerate of love, but I want him regardless.

  He stands and demands, “Strip. And when I return, I want you on your knees, face down on the floor and ass up.”

  And he just made me feel like I’m a child and taking orders from Carl. I watch as he walks out of the room, and I begin to question if it was a lie. If I really do want him in any way I can get him. Because right now, I want to barrel my fist into his dick for ordering me to expose myself in a humiliating position on this freezing concrete floor.

  As much as I want to spit my acrid words at him, I know the derelict I am.

  So I do as commanded.

  I strip.

  And when I walk to the center of the room, I kneel down. With my knees parted, I lower my bare chest onto the ice-cold floor, whimpering against the scathing chill that bites the tender flesh of my nipples. Stretching my arms in front of me, resting my cheek on the floor, I spread my knees wider, lift my ass in the air, and close my eyes while my heart beats wildly.

  Presenting myself in degradation, I wait.

  And I wait.

  And I wait.

  Time passes; I’m not sure how long I’ve been in this position when the muscles in my legs begin to burn and cramp. My body grows colder with each minute lost with no sign of Declan.

  Shivers overtake, and when I can’t hold on to this position any longer, I let my body fall to the side. Lying here naked and mortified, I finally blink out the tears as I pull my knees into my chest and quietly weep.

  Was this his plan? Was this a punishment? To shame me, knowing he wasn’t going to come back for me?

  My body turns numb after a while, making it difficult to move my muscles when I attempt to pick myself up off the ground. Slowly, I pull my clothes back on while I vacillate between loneliness, resentment, sadness, and anger. All of it swarms through me, taking my energy, and depleting me to the point where I just want to disappear.

  Wrapping the blanket around me, I walk into the kitchen to get a drink, and when I do, I notice a car down at the gate on the intercom monitor. The windows are darkly tinted, so that when I move closer to the black and white screen on the wall, I can’t make out the person who’s driving. But then the car starts to back up, and when it drives away, I begin to wonder about the life Declan has here in Scotland and the people he surrounds himself with, if any at all. I only know about Lachlan—that’s it. I wonder if he’s as alone as he appears to be, and who’s lurking at the gate in the middle of the night.

  I don’t even stop to peek in his room as I head to bed. I’m too embarrassed.

  Did he ever come back to the atrium and see me exposing my body for him?

  I shake the thought away, and when I go into the bathroom, I see he’s set the bottle of pills the doctor prescribed me on the sink. I take a pill out and stare at it, wondering if I’m just like her, just like the woman who never wanted me. I wonder who the hell I am. I fear I’ll never know if I stay here in this tug of war with the man who hates me.

  Flicking the pill from my fingertips, it plops into the toilet water. I know if I leave here and go back to the States, I won’t want to do it alone. I need Pike. I’ll probably always need him because he’s still all I have, and if I take that pill, I risk losing him. And I can’t lose him.

  “Get out,” I seethe when I walk back into the bedroom and see Declan.

  “I couldn’t do it,” he says. “I knew if I went back to you, I’d fuck you and hurt you because I want to punish you. I wouldn’t have been able to resist taking all this anger I have out on you.”

  “I can’t do this, Declan,” I say in defeat. “I want to. I want to be strong enough because I don’t ever want to be without you. But I’m starting to think that being here with you might just hurt worse than not being with you at all.”

  He walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, dropping his head.

  “There too much pain in me. There’s so much rage and hate, and I don’t know how to get rid of it,” I tell him. “I’ve been fighting my whole life trying to rid myself of these feelings that won’t ever go away.” I move to sit across the room from him in one of the chairs. “I thought getting rid of Bennett would be what I’ve been needing. That somehow I would feel better about this life, but . . . ” I begin to cry, “I don’t feel better. Nothing feels better. And then I killed my brother, and I’m not entirely sure why, but I did, and I carry that with me every day. I plot revenge and I kill and I fight and I still hate this life. I still hurt and it won’t go away.”

  I don’t even realize my eyes are closed and I’m bent over sobbing out my words until I feel his hands on my knees. I open my eyes to see him kneeling in front of me.

  “But this hurts too,” I add. “Being here with you hurts me, and as much as I want to hate you for all the ways you’ve been humiliating me and punishing me, I’m scared to leave. I’m scared I’ll never see you again.”

  “Was Pike the only one?”

  “What?” I question, confused as to what he’s asking.

  “You said you kill. Was he the only one?”

  I hesitantly shake my head and shock streaks his face.

  “How many?”

  Closing my eyes, I confess, “Three.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he mutters in disbelief. “Who else?”

  “My foster parents,” I say when I look back down at him, and his shoulders lax a little.

  His hands slide past my knees and grip my thighs with his question, “What happened?”

  “Pike and I ran away together, and shortly after, we returned one night with a friend of his, and . . . ”

  “I want to know everything,” he demands harshly. “I want to know how those fuckers died.”

  “Pike and his friend, Matt, they tied them to the bed and dumped a couple containers of gasoline on them,” I say. “I remember standing there, watching them scream and flail around, trying to break free. Matt handed me the match like it was a gift, wrapped in the most delicate silk bow, and it was. When I struck that match and threw it on that bed, it was the greatest gift anyone had ever given me,” I cry. “Those sick fucks destroyed every piece of me. But here’s the really sick part, as happy as it made me to kill them, it still wasn’t enough. It’s never enough, Declan, because I’m still so alone. I still feel worthless and disgusting, and all I ever wanted was the one thing Bennett took away from me. I miss my dad.”

  Declan pulls me out of the chair and onto the floor with him as I lose myself to the emotions I’m so used to caging up. He cradles me in his arms, gathering me up completely, and pressing me tightly against him.

  “I miss him so much. It hurts so bad. But then I met you. And it took me a while to see it, to see how I felt about you because I’d never experienced that feeling before. I’d never loved like I did with you, never opened myself up like that. And when I look at you, I see parts of my dad in you. The way you’d comfort me and love me. No one has ever given me that.”

  “What about Pike?”

  “He was my brother. It was different. With you, I finally felt like I had a home. But I knew I had destroyed our love from the beginning. I knew we never had a chance.”

&nb
sp; “But that didn’t stop you.”

  “I was selfish. I knew that no amount of time with you would suffice to make it easier for me to walk away.”

  His eyes only take a second to scorn. The flip is instant, like it always is with him, and I know what set him off when he spews, “But you did walk away.”

  I don’t know what else to say, so I plead for penance in the absence of words. And as we sit, his touch on me fades as his animosity breeds. It stirs in the reticence between us, and I know our expiration date is near.

  The awareness that we have this death sentence over us makes me want to do two things, but I don’t know which one to choose.

  Do I run away, or do I stay and watch us die a painful death?

  I’VE BEEN DRIVING around the countryside trying to find the house the old lady at the Water Lily told me about. I was able to track Nina down once I found out she was going by Elizabeth Archer again. Made my life a little easier, and when I found out where she was staying, I was grateful when the owner was forthcoming about where I could find her. She never doubted me when I lied and told her I was Elizabeth’s uncle and had been trying to get in contact with her.

  I had to laugh to myself because when Bennett had me follow her not so long ago, she was the easiest little thing to trace. And now, exactly as I thought, she’s with the same bastard she was with back in Chicago.

  But now, I’ve wasted the light of day because this fucking town isn’t very considerate with street signs. I round yet another bend in the road with no houses in sight. I slow down, peering out the window, when my headlights catch a small plaque on a stone wall, and it’s then I see gates. Slowing more, the sign reads what I was told it would: Brunswickhill.

  “Checkmate,” I mutter under my breath as I kill the headlights and pull up to the gate.

  Stepping out of the car, I look up the steep hill, but can’t see anything in the dark. No lights. Nothing.

  “Fuck.”

  Getting back behind the wheel, I decide to just call it a night. I know that beyond this gate, they are more than likely here. For now, I’m tired as shit, but at least I have my stakeout position. And knowing there’s a manhunt back in Illinois, my next steps need to be quick and deadly.

  I CAN STILL feel the vibrations that ricocheted though my bones with each gunshot. The two that Pike fired into Declan’s chest, and the single blast from the gun I held that took my brother from me. The sound is something I’ll never forget. A bang so loud, it knocks your shoulders back, deafening and startling. And when the mark is hit, the ice your heartless heart pumps fills your veins, and you know you’ll never be the same again.

  Forever changed.

  Forever a monster.

  Each bullet leaves a soot stain on your soul that you can’t get rid of, and you never forget the taste of burnt gunpowder on the back of your tongue. Each life you take brands you for eternity.

  I hoped it wouldn’t. I hoped the aftereffects would wither away as the echoes did. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s the realization that echoes live forever. I may no longer hear the screaming demons of my past, but they do indeed continue to scream. It’s a reminder that you’re never truly free.

  I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing, but I don’t think this is the place for me. I’ve been lost in my head all morning. Declan left at sunrise for the airport. When he did, I needed to find comfort and realized I left my doll behind.

  I called Isla to tell her I would be stopping by to collect the remainder of my belongings. Since he took the SUV, I take his Mercedes roadster to Isla’s.

  As I pull up to the charming house that I’ve stayed at since my arrival several weeks ago, I know, that as much as it hurts, there’s nothing here for me in Scotland. I never knew what it was I was looking for when I came here. The last thing I thought I would find was Declan alive, but I did. And maybe that’s gift enough, to know he’ll go on and that his life wasn’t sacrificed because of my deceit.

  The key is under the ceramic planter right where Isla said she would leave it. I walk in, and even though I’ve only been at Declan’s for a couple of days, it feels much longer. But then again, each day with him is filled with insurmountable emotions and conversations. It’s taken a toll on me, having to face my past and confess the truths I’ve hidden for so long. The hardest is having to see the pain Declan battles inside of himself—pain that was birthed because of me. I own it; he endures it.

  I head upstairs, and after finding my doll, I begin to pack my things and focus on keeping the dread at bay. I wish I had direction, I wish I knew what I’m doing and where I’m going. It’s a heavy emotion to carry, to know how alone I really am. But I fight to keep myself numb to all the questions there are no answers for.

  I move faster the more my thoughts wander. Flashbacks of what’s occurred in this room begin to gnaw, and when I walk over to the bed to grab my phone that I had left behind, I freeze. Below the window, parked in the street, is the same car I saw on Declan’s gate monitor last night. Or at least I think it is. So many of the cars here are the same, so I can’t be certain, but something in my gut sparks the paranoia.

  The car is directly under my view, so all I see is the roof. Hopping off the bed, I rush downstairs, lock the front door, and make my way through the house to see if I can get a better view. Passing the windows, I find myself walking into a room I’ve never been in before—Isla’s room. Pushing the door open, the room is dark with the heavy drapes shut. Barely parting the curtains with my fingers, I peek out, but the car’s gone. The street out front is now vacant, aside from my car.

  I open the drapes further to get a better look, and sure enough, the car is gone. Shaking my head, I release a pathetic sigh.

  You’re losing your mind, Elizabeth.

  I take in a calming breath, retiring my batty thoughts that have no basis. I turn my back to the window and close my eyes as I laugh at myself. When I open them back up, I take in Isla’s room. Scanning around, I walk over to her nightstand to look at the book resting on top. I’m running my fingers along the cover of Madame Bovary when I notice a collection of photos on the mantle above the fireplace. I move slowly along, looking at each picture.

  “Oh my God.”

  Picking up the tarnished silver frame, I hold it close as I look in disbelief. I wonder if this is the foolish paranoia that remains from the car outside or if this is exactly what my eyes believe it to be.

  How did she get this? Why does she have a picture of him?

  He’s younger than what I’ve ever seen him, a little boy, but the eyes are irrefutable. There’s no mistaking what I know so well.

  It’s him.

  But why?

  The doorbell rings, startling me, and I drop the frame, cracking the glass as it lands on the wooden floor.

  “Shit.”

  Scrambling, I pick up the small frame and tuck it in the back of my pants as I run to see who’s at the front door.

  Before I make it, there’s a loud knocking.

  “Elizabeth? You in there?”

  Lachlan?

  Looking out the window, I see it’s him.

  “What are you doing here?” I question when I open the door.

  “Declan asked that I check in on you, and when no one answered my gate call at his home, I came here.”

  “He’s been gone only a few hours. What trouble could I possibly have gotten myself into in such a short period of time?” I tease, but the cool metal frame in my pants is evidence I smirk at.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You men need hobbies,” I quip as I turn my back and walk towards the stairs.

  “I’ve been worried.”

  “Have you now?”

  “Declan told me you had a hard time with the file,” he says.

  Embarrassment rouses, but I shut it down quickly. “I’d prefer to never discuss that issue again.”

  “Of course. My apologies.”

  “Look, I appreciate you
checking in on me, but if you don’t mind, I’m just packing the rest of my things to take back to Declan’s.”

  “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he presses as if he’s privy to something he believes me to be aware of.

  Call it intuition, but everything about today has got me on high alert for some unsettling reason.

  “Yes, everything is just fine,” I say smoothly with a light smile to appease him. “The past couple days have been taxing, as I’m sure you can understand.”

  He nods, taking my directive to not mention the file.

  “You can report back to your boss that the kid in question is taking good care of herself.”

  I smile at my words, and he laughs in return, agreeing, “Will do.”

  He turns to leave, but before he shuts the door behind him, he says, “By the way, I’ve tried calling you a couple times . . . ”

  “I left my phone here. No one calls me on it, but now that I know I have a babysitter, I’ll be sure to charge it up for you,” I joke.

  He shakes his head at me with a smile and then leaves. I go to the door and lock it behind him before returning to my room. Tossing the rest of my things in my suitcase, I take the photo out of the frame and shove it in my bag. I don’t know why she has this picture, but I want it for myself.

  When my luggage is loaded into the car, I head back to Brunswickhill after returning the key to the planter. A part of me wants to call Declan to ask why he sent Lachlan to check in on me. He says he hates me, but then I see these hints of the man I knew back in Chicago. The man who was furious if I was more than a minute late. The man who controlled and dominated to ease his worry. But I won’t call him because I never know what it is about me that’s going to trigger him to push me away.

  “What the hell?” I murmur under my breath when I round the bend in the road and see the same car that was at Isla’s now sitting outside of Declan’s gate.

  Slowing the Mercedes, I stop and wait since the other car is blocking my way. My curiosity is piqued, wondering if Declan is still having me followed, and if so, why they are being so blatant about it.