by Lily White
Maggie…
From one heartbeat to the next, I vacillated between running straight for them and biding my time per the plan.
Despite the woman’s fight, the man dragging her inched forward, my blood boiling by the time he neared the fire. The light cast across her face helped me take a strained breath. It wasn’t Maggie as far as I could tell, and when she screamed again, her panicked voice confirmed it. Every muscle in my body relaxed just enough so that I wasn’t lunging forward anymore, but it still took all the practiced self-control I had not to run and help what I assumed was the Crows’ next victim.
Jonah and his boys settled themselves into the chairs while the man I didn’t recognize continued dragging the screaming woman around the fire, finally settling her in the dirt in front of the audience of Crows and kicking her in the side for good measure. A barked command flew from his lips, which silenced her scream, but started the puddle of tears I assumed was quickly developing beneath her. Even from a distance, I could see the way her body shook with her sobs, and my teeth gnashed together at the chorus of male laughter that followed. How any man could take pleasure by the smell of a woman’s fear was beyond me. Women were meant to be respected. They were meant to be treated with care and protected against the injustices of the world, but I guessed that meant nothing to the thieves in the night – the monsters that fed on the fragilities and vulnerabilities of those who they considered weaker than themselves.
I’d attempted to crawl into the minds of those sick fucks every night when I searched for the identity of my family’s killers. But, no matter how hard I struggled to release every shred of humanity I had in me, I could never truly understand what it was that made men like the ones I was watching tick. I couldn’t lower myself that far, couldn’t make sense of the need for violence or the taste for stripping the freedom from a woman or child.
Bile was a sickening flavor on my tongue as I attempted in vain to keep from seeing Katelyn kneeling in the dirt in front of the men. The thunder of rushing blood pulsed feverishly in my head as I imagined her crying and begging for her freedom.
Rage became a torrent of lightning in my veins. I fought to control myself when Finn kicked dirt into the woman’s eyes, and my hands clenched into painful fists while she was shoved to the ground by the fourth man, whose face I couldn’t make out.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what horror show I was about to witness, but it did take a soldier to determine what I’d do about it. Struggling to ignore the abuse the blond man committed against the woman, I forced my eyes to the house, my gaze locking on a solitary shadow that stood at the window in witness of the bonfire that burned outside the walls of the home.
Don’t look, Maggie. Just grab your things, head for the woods, and forget you witnessed their crimes.
A silent mantra in my head, I begged Maggie to walk away, to avoid seeing the atrocities her family committed without guilt or fear of repercussions. She didn’t need another scar on her psyche, didn’t need another helpless face etched into her memory, a weight she would bear each and every day as she attempted to rebuild her life.
She’d never talked to me about the truth of her family, but I heard it between the lines. I saw the terror that flooded her green eyes and I could sense the tension that sat just below her skin, the secrets that threatened to burst forth if she ever found the strength to finally speak them and make them real.
The shadow inched away from the window and I whispered a prayer of thanks that she didn’t see what came next. My gaze retrained on the bonfire and the men that surrounded it, I watched as the blond man stripped the woman of her clothes. Raucous laughter rose up into the darkening sky without remorse or hesitation. The music became louder and the lilting guitar solo rang out across the expanse, the crooned country lyrics heavily at odds with the scene that played out before me.
I wasn’t in a position to help that woman as quickly as she needed it, but I memorized each atrocity committed against her and promised I’d return each act against the man who tortured her for the amusement of the audience that sat before him.
Within minutes that woman was stripped of every bit of clothing she had, the shirt, pants and underthings tossed into the fire to catch flame. Naked and desperate, she attempted to crawl away from the man. Amusing himself, he’d allow her a few feet of distance before he stepped forward to drag her back in place, his hand reaching out to pull at her hair or slide possessively over her body.
The metallic note of blood flooded my mouth, my teeth grinding so hard that I caught the inside of my cheek between them and released the pressure that coursed through my veins. I savored the flavor, sucking on my cheek to induce more of the taste of death and destruction - of life and rejuvenation - in order to saturate my senses and set me on edge for everything I knew I had to do.
Killing a man wasn’t easy. Not unless you were so devoid of humanity that you’d become a basic animal or something else entirely alien and strange. While at war, I’d regretted the times I’d fired my weapon and I’d prayed for the families of the men my bullets had mowed down.
However, war was a constant theme since the beginning of recorded history. Nations fought as much as their citizens. The drive for territory, resources and power were as forceful as the need for protection and revenge. There was a time in my life when I wondered why humanity hadn’t yet risen above the need to spill blood. However, that question was silenced on the day I learned that my family was missing.
I’ll admit that in the first several years after I’d returned I continued to hope that I’d see Katelyn and Michael alive again. But as that hope slowly dwindled, the need for violence came in to replace it.
With her face pressed into the dirt, the woman was forced into a position where her ass was high in the air. Legs spread apart and her body exposed, she was held in place by the blond man as one of Maggie’s brothers pushed up from his chair to approach her.
My eyes flicked to the house searching for any indication that Maggie was making her way to the woods. Caught between the need to help the woman and waiting in place, I begged Maggie to hurry up and make her escape. It was nearly impossible for me to remain still, to watch as that poor woman had unspeakable acts committed against her.
Inching forward on my knees, I crept past the duffle bags I’d hidden in the bushes attempting to glean a better view of the house. It took effort to keep from watching what was being done to that poor woman by the fire, but I had plenty of practice focusing on one particular place while hell broke out around me. What was being done to that woman was atrocious, but I’d seen worse. I’d seen death and destruction on a scale that no man should ever have the opportunity to witness. Women, men, children…babies. None were safe during war. None were spared the indignity of slaughter, rape, torture or death. Fast or slow, it didn’t matter. The pain lingered for all who were involved.
Several minutes passed before the side door to the house popped open. Slowly crawling its way from the frame, the door was so unsteady, I worried it would break away from the remaining hinge to crash down and alert the Crow men to Maggie’s escape. A head of black curls peeked out, but she was too far away for me to see the expression written across her innocent face. Perhaps that was for the best. I didn’t want to know the reaction she had to the terror that took place on the grounds of her property. There was no possible way she didn’t hear the woman cry. But it would be better if she didn’t have to face the cruelty being committed by the men who’d raised her.
Her head turned to peer across at the bonfire, and once she saw that the men were otherwise occupied – their attention glued to the woman as one of the brothers took what wasn’t his – Maggie ran.
A single bag was slung over her shoulder. It appeared light for a person who was running away to a new life, a small, sad collection of personal possessions that easily fit inside a knapsack. Although I was curious why this girl who’d told me she’d been given everything had so little that mattered enough to tak
e it with her into the woods, I pushed that curiosity aside to focus on the task at hand.
Quickly covering the distance to the shadows of the forest that lined her property, Maggie disappeared into the trees and I breathed out a sigh of relief to know that she was safe where she was going.
It was finally time to end the torment I’d endured for the past fourteen years.
I was calm.
I was focused.
And I was prepared to rain down Hell’s fire on the men who were still within my sight.
The woods at night have never scared me. The shadows that move, the branches that rattle, the leaves that rustle above my head in chorus with the symphony being sang by the creatures of the night.
Owls warned of my approach, scavengers scurried at my feet, eyes caught the sparse light of the moon to become reflective orbs letting me know that life was always close by. Whereas most people would feel lost in the wonderland of ever shifting darkness and soft light, I felt at home, especially on a night such as this.
I never remained home for my family’s parties. I couldn’t stand the sound of the music, not when I knew it only grew louder to disguise a woman’s screams. Normally, I would run as far as I could as fast as my body would take me, but tonight I was making a slow crawl. The bruises my brothers left on my body from the lashing were so deep in the muscles that pain lanced me with every wrong step. Adding to that pain was the sore area on my bottom where Jack had carved his initials. Although not deep, those cuts were irritated by the elastic of my panties, the material riding up beneath my skirt to rub over the raw and aggravated skin.
Determined to reach the other farm, I swallowed down the fear that threatened to paralyze me.
The day had been quiet while Jack and my brothers were out hunting, a sick apprehension thickening with each hour they were gone. Having anticipated the worst for their arrival, I wasn’t surprised by the woman they dragged in. Heavily sedated by the medication they’d injected into her body, she wasn’t able to focus on my father or me as she was dumped unceremoniously to the floor in the spare bedroom. While she attempted pathetically to crawl away from the men that stood lording over her, she cried what small amount of tears she could muster before giving up entirely and releasing herself into dreamless, medicated sleep.
While locking the door to the room, Brody and Finn leered in my direction, their mouths pulled into smirks, no doubt from having heard what Jack had done to me the night before. They didn’t vocalize their taunts, didn’t dare incur my father’s wrath for fear he would end the marriage and ruin whatever plans they had for me.
Throughout the day, I’d gone back and forth on whether I should show my father what Jack had done. There was no doubt in my mind that he would have killed Jack for daring to mark my body, but I had another concern that kept me from lifting my skirt to show him the truth.
After Jack left, my thoughts had gone to Elliot and the promise he’d made to take me away from the only life I’d known. His face was a picture of paradise in my thoughts, his voice a welcoming song that lulled me into the belief that there was something out there better than what I’d always had.
Telling my father what Jack had done would be a quick solution to the problems that faced me. I knew he would ensure Jack never touched me again…at least not while he was alive to prevent it. But that was the problem as well. My father’s health was declining with each passing day. His will, his strength, his control over the family becoming less and less as he approached the death we all saw coming. I wasn’t sure whether he had a few hours left, or a few days, but I knew it wouldn’t be a month, much less a year, that he would remain alive to protect me.
Elliot was a different story. Still young, still strong, and still able to defend the people that mattered to him, he was capable of taking me someplace safe, of ensuring that neither Jack nor my brothers could ever harm me again. Knowing his history in the military, it was readily apparent that he had the drive, the training and the skills to keep me safe. And I believed him when he told me he’d kill my brothers. It was written in the expression on his face, in his narrowed eyes, his lips held in a thin line, in the skin that was pulled taut over the sharp angles of his masculine face.
An avenging angel with black wings so large they blocked the sun wouldn’t have been more terrifying than the look I saw on Elliot’s face the second he saw the bruises that lined my legs.
It was for that reason I chose to make this journey. Promising myself that I would make it, I packed what I could without the family noticing that I was up to something. Deciding what to take and what to leave behind had been difficult. But after careful thought, I chose only what was absolutely necessary, keeping my bag light in case I needed to run.
If not for the injuries I’d suffered in the past several days, I would have moved much faster through the woods on my way to meet Elliot.
My breath plumed out in front of my face as the cold night air came in to settle against the ground. A chill caused bumps to break out over my exposed skin, but I ignored the discomfort and pushed myself to move faster. The cold wouldn’t bother me long. Elliot’s arms were large enough and warm enough to prevent even the weather from harming me. In my mind, he was the savior I’d dreamed of for so many lonely nights.
Nestled in with the anticipation of seeing him, and the relief I felt to know I was being taken away, was a pervasive guilt that rode me since the moment I promised him I’d be his wife. I’d been a part of the worst tragedy of Elliot’s life. I’d been complicit in the destruction of his family. And I’d hidden that information from him with the intent of never being honest for as long as I knew him.
It shouldn’t have gone this far with Elliot and me. From day one, I knew better than to talk to him, to care about him, to have anything to do with him. Yet, here I was, crawling through the woods on a moonless night with the hopes of becoming his wife.
Sure, I’d been young when his wife and son were stolen away. I didn’t understand the part I’d played until years later when I was old enough to make sense of the way my family had used me. But that didn’t make me innocent of the crime – not entirely. I still knew what happened to his family. I still had a picture of them in my mind every time I looked at Elliot’s face. Despite the pain that was so obvious behind his eyes – the not knowing, the torment, the passionate rage – I still remained silent rather than offering him the same relief he was offering me.
What did that say about me as a person? The fact that I would so easily accept the help he was offering without giving him the one thing he needed since his family disappeared only made me more of a monster. I couldn’t return to him the love of his wife, or the safety of his young son, but I could end the pain of not knowing, I could close the book on that small amount of suffering that came with the lack of closure he carried.
Fear made me keep my mouth closed, fear and the guilt that rode me with every step I took in his direction.
There was nothing I could ever say to him to make what I was doing okay.
As each thought crossed my mind on that front, my steps slowed a little more.
What was I doing?
Stopping in place, I turned my face up into a soft beam of light that broke through the dark canopy of trees above me. Trembling in response to the breeze that crept across my skin, a tear slipped down my cheek as realization slammed into me with the force of a hundred running horses.
I was a bad person for what I was doing to Elliot. I was evil. I was secretive. And I was cruel.
Stopped in my tracks by the harsh truth now filtering through my thoughts, I buckled over myself, sinking to the ground beneath the weight of the secrets I was keeping from the only man who’d ever offered to help me escape.
He was too good for me. Too trusting and too giving. When all I’ve done in life is take from him both unknowingly and then willingly, he continues to try to help me.
I’ve lied to him and he’s done nothing but be honest.
I’ve hidden mys
elf from him while he remained genuine and true.
I’ve taken advantage of him in more ways than he could ever truly understand, and if I continued marching forward to meet him as I promised, I’ll only be taking advantage of him again.
A line was being drawn at that moment. A line that, if crossed, would make me no better than the family from whom I was running.
No, my hand hadn’t been the one to slaughter his family. It hadn’t been the one to steal them away. But even if I hadn’t been responsible for the loss of everything he loved and cared about, I was responsible for keeping Elliot in pain, keeping him in the dark, and keeping him from finding closure because I refused to tell him the truth.
I didn’t deserve a man as good as the one who was waiting for me.
The sad fact was I’d be hurting Elliot more to be with him, and I’d be accepting the love of a man who was a far better person than me.
The guilt became unbearable as that realization hit me, and rather than pushing up to take another step forward towards the life I could have had, I turned back to return to the one that I now knew I deserved.
I was a liar and a thief, and I believed the universe had put me exactly where I belonged when it made me a Crow. By remaining silent, by harboring the truth, I’d proven myself no better than the men who’d raised me. My hand didn’t have the same blood on it as theirs, but by my willingness to hide their crimes, I was just as much responsible for the deaths of those women.
My silence had allowed them to continue killing.
Wishing I were strong enough to turn around once again to tell Elliot everything I knew, I regretted my cowardice as I continued marching back in the direction of my home. My weakness tasted sour on my tongue, but I would welcome the life I knew I was crawling back to because the punishment I’d endure would be justified.
Approaching the tree line, I paused to hear the music blaring across the fields. The tempo was hard and angry, the guitars and drums a fetid beat that welcomed the violence I knew was occurring and being hidden by the rhythm of whatever song it was they were playing. Over the years, I’d grown to hate the sound of music because, to me, the only thing music was intended for was to hide the pain.
