The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  “No.” I shook so hard I almost sunk to the floor. “No. What is it? What happened?”

  The door to the garage pushed open, my uncle stepping inside. He saw my face, the tears. “What’s going on?”

  Roman still wouldn’t let go. “Call an ambulance.”

  My uncle froze. “What?”

  Roman’s voice was firm. “Do it.” He pulled me toward the kitchen, as far away from the back door as possible.

  “Please.” Sobs ripped me to shreds. “Please. Is she…?”

  Roman didn’t say another word until the ambulance got there. He didn’t let go of me either. And as much as I wanted to see it, as much as I thought I needed to, I was relieved I didn’t. I was relieved that he knew if I did it would kill me too.

  49

  Bryn

  I wished I could forget the sounds—my mom screaming, my aunt’s silence, Dani’s sobs. I wished I could forget all of it but it played over and over. Another nightmare. Except this one was real. This one I couldn’t change or fix or erase. She was gone. My grandmother was gone.

  Murdered.

  It was the word no one could say or even imagine but it was the first word that had entered my mind the moment Roman held me back. And each time I spotted one of the Rogues discreetly patrolling the street or watching from their parked car I knew it was what they were thinking too.

  Roman sat next to me all afternoon, his face so pale I thought he was going to be sick. Maybe there was a part of him that would be sick forever. Touching him felt like grazing pine needles but so did touching everything else. I just wanted to tear out of my skin, out of this time and place. I wished that I could sleep again. Forever. I wished that I’d never woken up. Because how could I keep breathing when every thought was of how badly it hurt, of how scared she was?

  Over the next few hours every step was involuntary, some carnal reflex desperately trying to keep the blood pumping through my veins even though all I wanted was to stop. I tried a few times. I tried not to think or even breathe. But then I’d hear my mom sobbing in the corner or I’d see my uncle trying to pull her off the floor and I’d delay giving up for a few more minutes.

  All day, time alternated between racing and standing still. I could still hear the sirens; I could still see the paramedics’ somber faces as Roman clutched me, as I fought him. There’d been four of them, here too late. We’d all been too late. And all I could do as they carried her covered body out to the ambulance was watch over Roman’s shoulder, his hands pulling at me, trying to get me to turn around. The moment he’d loosened his grip I’d tried to run to her, but I fell instead, a sharp twig or a piece of gravel waking the old scars on my hands and reminding me that wounds like this never really heal.

  That’s why my uncle and I sat around my mom in silence as she slept. Because we’d been through this before and we knew that there was nothing we could say or do. There never would be. So we just sat in our hurt together until our bodies couldn’t bear it anymore and all that was left to do was sleep.

  Around midnight I finally slipped out of my mom’s room and found Roman sitting on the couch with the television on mute. I sat next to him, static sparks radiating from his skin and soaking into my own. It felt like morning, the light warring with the black hole in my chest. When I couldn’t hold myself up anymore I curled on my side, laying my head in Roman’s lap. He stroked my hair, pulling it away from my face.

  I looked up at him. “What now?”

  He was quiet for a moment and then he said, “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know.” I rolled onto my back, hands reaching for his face. I didn’t know why I needed to say it. Maybe because I knew, now more than ever, that if I didn’t time might run out and the words would just turn to stone inside me. “I’ve missed you.”

  His eyes were red. “I’ve missed you too.”

  “Can we make this right?”

  Roman tensed, something strange in his eyes, but then he just nodded. I hooked my arms around his neck, absorbing his warmth. Not because I was relieved or scared or sad, but because I was angry. Because I was going to find whoever did this and I was going to kill them.

  My mouth was next to Roman’s ear. “Then we will.”

  The slightest tremor raced across his skin. I pulled away, noticing his gaze pinned to the television. His face was plastered on the news. I shot up, reaching for the remote just as the camera panned over the destroyed jailhouse. They talked about how Roman’s father was such an upstanding citizen. Then the female reporter listed off Roman’s criminal charges starting when he was just fifteen years old.

  “What is this?” I said, my throat dry.

  Roman was on the edge of the couch, hands fidgeting.

  “Roman…?”

  “Shit…” He stood. “Shit, fucking shit!”

  I stood too, lowering my voice. “Roman, talk to me.”

  He stared at the screen over my shoulder, the shock on his face turned to terror, then rage. Roman headed for the front door and I chased after him, the cold night almost forcing me back. He slumped down on the steps, too enflamed to shiver or even speak.

  “Roman, please talk to me.”

  He was quiet and I was too, letting him get the words out. “Something happened before my accident.” He kept his gaze down. “I wasn’t the same person I am now. I was a dick and a fucking loser and…” I took his hand, trying to make it easier. “I had this friend and we were always getting into trouble together. One night we went down to a nearby quarry. I was fucked up and we started a fire.”

  “By accident?”

  He grimaced. “Carlisle…he lit a bottle of lighter fluid and tossed it into a campsite.” He stared at his shoes. “Then we ran.”

  “Were there people in the campsite?” I asked.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes.”

  “And…what happened to them?”

  He hesitated.

  “Roman?”

  He folded and I tried to force him to look at me. “That isn’t you anymore, Roman.”

  He snapped up, his voice hard. “It is me. That’s still me.”

  My voice was just as hard. “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is. I…” He stopped.

  “It isn’t. It isn’t you. I know you, Roman.” I leaned in close, letting my eyes say everything words couldn’t. “I love you, Roman.”

  The day of the funeral was the first day my mom finally came out of her room. She was even smaller than before, pieces of her disappearing even as she stood in front of the mirror while my uncle zipped up her dress. She sat on the toilet seat while he fiddled with her makeup brushes, her silence only making him more anxious.

  I took the powder from him. “Let me.”

  My mom didn’t say a word as I covered the circles under her eyes and painted her face in colors I wasn’t sure she’d ever see again. I used every shade in her drawer but when I was finished she was still just a ghost.

  Roman rode with us to the gravesite, Felix’s dress clothes too snug on him. My mom didn’t even notice him there. She didn’t notice any of us. And I realized that I’d finally gotten my wish. This was my mom not pretending. This was my mom finally telling the truth.

  We skipped a traditional church service, something my grandmother would have called pretentious. We don’t go to church so why fake it now, she used to say when we were debating going on Easter or Christmas. We had it outside instead, surrounded by flowers from her garden, flowers I’d picked the night before until the stems were all bald and my fingers were numb. I stared down at the thorn marks as they seated us in front of the casket. I’d picked that too. Rosewood.

  The tent was sparse—my grandmother had never had many friends—and it only made the rest of us more visible. I didn’t understand why they always had to place the grieving family right at the front. I didn’t like having strangers gawk at me, especially with Roman standing too far away, my mom melting beside me.

  When it was over I jumped out o
f my seat before the guests could line up to greet us. I wasn’t in the mood for hugs and handshakes. I wasn’t in the mood for any of it, especially when I saw some of Dani’s friends from school taking their turns consoling her, especially when I realized that one of them was Drew. I ignored them all and charged to the back of the tent, looking for Roman. I found my father instead.

  He was the first person I’d seen after waking up in the hospital and that very day he’d disappeared again. Gone. Just like every other time I’d needed him. Just like every other time I’d thought he cared.

  When he tried to reach for me I snapped, shoving him. Roman snatched my wrist before I could throw the first punch, but not because he was trying to stop me. I could tell he wanted that first punch for himself. When I sensed everyone’s eyes on us I held him back, both of us geysers of hot air and energy that didn’t need to explode here.

  My father looked from me to Roman. “Bryn, please…”

  “No. You can’t do this to me. Not here.”

  “I just want to talk,” he said.

  “Talk? You want to talk to me? You disappeared. Again!”

  “I’m sorry.” He was anxious, the audience making him sweat.

  “You’re sorry?” I beat against his chest. “You left me. I almost died and you didn’t even fucking care.” I hit him again and again he let me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  My arms fell limp and then so did my legs. I slumped to the ground, my father kneeling next to me. I collapsed in his arms and this time he didn’t hesitate or try to pull away. Not like that day in the garage when I’d been destroying my sculpture, trying to bleed the poison out of me. This time his arms were so tight and so close that I could feel his pulse. And as much as I wanted to hate that sound I couldn’t.

  “I love you.” His lips were in my hair, repeating over and over the three words I’d never believed were true. Not the day I was born. Not the day he left us. But as his lips tripped over themselves, his sobs making us both quake, I had to believe them now. Despite everything. I had to.

  I finally looked at him and in his relief the words spilled out. “Do you still have the book I found? The one I brought to you?”

  I remembered the day I’d caught him pacing in our front yard. I’d been standing in my prom dress, feeling exposed, wondering why he’d come. Then he’d handed me the copy of Through the Looking-Glass that I thought I’d lost, saying he’d found it at our old trailer.

  I nodded, confused. “What? Why are you asking—?”

  “Read it. Please, Bryn. Just read it.”

  Before he could say another word my uncle was pulling him to his feet, Roman ushering me away as Felix and his parents tried to disperse the crowd of onlookers. With my face hidden behind Roman’s shoulder, I watched my father leave for the hundredth time, only I wasn’t overwhelmed with anger or even sadness. What filled me then was confusion and what filled me next was fear.

  As soon as we got home my mom climbed back into bed. My uncle was so preoccupied with her that he didn’t even notice when Roman didn’t leave at the end of the night.

  For a long time we just sat on the bed, that fleeting moment of closeness I’d craved the night before now gone. The feelings inside me were like shifting sand, something new rising to the surface each moment, something new buried.

  I spotted the copy of Through the Looking-Glass on my desk, my duffel bag just beneath it.

  “Are you going to read it?” Roman asked.

  “Yes.” I folded my arms, not sure if I was ready for whatever overdue apology my dad had scribbled inside. “But not yet.”

  There was a knock on the window and I jumped, Roman rushing over and throwing back the curtains. It was Andre.

  “What’s going on?” Roman asked.

  Andre grimaced before handing him a wadded newspaper. He unfolded it, both of us scanning the headline—SIX-YEAR-OLD COMA PATIENT DEAD.

  I clutched the edge of the paper, my fists trembling and almost cutting the article in half. “Chloe.”

  “You knew her?” Roman asked.

  “She was just…she was only six.” The shock stalled whatever tears I may have had left. “Was it Michael?”

  “It looks like the girl died of…natural causes,” Andre said. “She just deteriorated, that’s all.”

  “Because she was trapped.” I remembered watching as the current pulled her deeper; that brief moment I’d lost my hold on her. I’d lost her. I’d…

  “Bryn…” Andre sighed, “we need to know…”

  “What?”

  “Bryn…we need to leave. First thing in the morning.” He turned to Roman, looking helpless. “Domingo and Shay are working on an accurate count based on your list but even if we split up in pairs that’s a lot of ground to cover.”

  “It’s not a good—”

  “You’re right,” I said, cutting Roman off. “We’ll leave first thing.”

  “Bryn, think about this,” Roman pleaded. “The others can go ahead without us. We should wait until…”

  “Until what?” I said. “Until another Dreamer is dead? Until another member of my family is?” I took a deep breath, feigning strength. “At first light, we’re gone.”

  50

  Roman

  There was no arguing. I tried to convince Bryn that she needed to stay, that she needed to grieve, but she immediately started packing. When she finally climbed into bed I was already half-asleep on the floor next to the window, and when I saw that she hadn’t made any room for me, I stayed there.

  In the middle of the night, headlights streaked across the curtains. Bryn had rolled onto her side, staring down at me.

  “Can’t sleep?” I asked.

  “Not really.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “My mom,” she said. “You.”

  “Me?”

  She stared at the empty floor next to me and I could tell she was wrestling with herself. She tossed the pillow first, her body slipping down after. She still kept her distance but in some ways it felt like we were closer than we had been in weeks.

  “The Rogues got you into a lot of trouble.”

  “I was already in a lot of trouble,” I said, afraid of where this conversation was going. “Bryn, you shouldn’t be worrying about any of this right—”

  “Why did you run?”

  I exhaled, relenting. “Felix told me you were awake.”

  She moved closer but I couldn’t look at her face. Not while we both lie there, trying to pretend like she wasn’t afraid of me, not while I thought of the things I’d done that would scare her even more.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  I stared at the wall until I was dizzy, wishing she’d just read it on my face so I wouldn’t have to say it out loud. But she was quiet and still and in that moment she looked scared.

  “I did something horrible,” I finally said. “Something you could never forgive me for.”

  “I told you before that you’re not that person. Not anymore.”

  “But you don’t know.”

  “Know what? What you did when you were broken?”

  You don’t know that I killed someone. I killed him.

  “She broke you, Roman. Your mother broke you.”

  Gravity took me to her chest, my arms around her waist. She held me, tracing shapes across my back, whispering things that made it impossible to look at her. I couldn’t tell her what I’d done because if I did I’d lose her. And I couldn’t lose her. I couldn’t. So I stayed quiet, letting her think she was mending the parts of me my mother had broken. Letting her think I was good. Even though I wasn’t. Even though I never would be.

  Bryn held me until sleep sunk her hands at her side. I waited for sleep too but it never came. My mind raced as I thought about everything—the Dreamers and Bryn’s nightmares and Michael and her grandmother and Carlisle and my dad.

  My dad.

  Bryn’s cellphone blinked green on her nightstand. I freed i
t from the cord before pushing the window open and climbing out into the yard. I crept around the side of the house, not wanting my voice to wake her.

  I had no idea what my dad knew, or what he thought he knew, but I was sure it was bad. I wondered how many times he’d tried to call my cell phone before he realized it was still at the police station, before he went to pick it up along with the rest of my things and realized that I was really gone. I knew the fact that I was at least alive wouldn’t be enough—it wouldn’t be enough for anyone—but it was all I could offer him.

  He picked up on the second ring.

  “Dad.”

  There was silence like he was trying to catch his breath. “Roman? Roman, is that you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I’m with Bryn.”

  There was a crash like plates being thrown from the kitchen table. “Do you have any idea what they’re going to do to you? Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Another slam, probably his fist against the kitchen counter. “Sorry? Roman, you’re not a goddamn child. You can’t just apologize and make all of this go away. They want to throw you in prison for the rest of your life.”

  He was right. If they found me I’d go to prison and breaking out of there would be much harder than blasting a hole through the wall of the county jail. But I couldn’t go back. Maybe that’s what he was really angry about. Maybe that’s what killed him more than anything. That when I’d chosen to run, I’d chosen to leave everything, including him.

  “I’ll make this right.” It was a lie but it was all I could think to say.

  “You need to come home, Roman.”

  I knew he’d chosen his words carefully, offering them up like a life raft instead of saying what he really wanted to say—that he was going to drag me back there himself. But we both knew he couldn’t. It would have been the same as handing me over and at least he didn’t hate me enough to do that.

  “I can’t,” I said.