by Nora Flite
She drills her hands in the muck until she's buried to her wrists. “I called him a murderer,” she whispers.
“A lot of people did.”
She looks at me, but her eyes are empty. It's like she's in shock. “He really didn't do it?” I shake my head patiently. “Then, all this time I've been hating him, when really . . .” she trails off, unable to finish. “Oh, God. He blames himself for Bernard's death, and I blamed him too, and it's not even his fault. I feel awful. He's not the monster, I am.”
“It's okay,” I assure her, putting my muddy arms around her upper body. “Everything is okay.”
“It's not,” she says in my ear. “It's not and it won't ever be.”
Closing my eyes, I think about Wyatt, how he lost his son and managed to keep living. “All we can do is move forward. You and I, we can do that here.”
Kara's grip goes slack. I don't know why, until she leans over, plucking something from the mud. It's the square piece of paper that came out with the envelope of money. “Where did you get this?” she whispers thickly. She turns it so I can see that it's a photo of us as kids.
I'd forgotten all about it. “In a book at the Complex, in our parents' room.”
She stares at it hard. Her fingernail traces the corners, like she's committing the shape of it to memory. “We were so innocent,” she says. “We didn't know what was waiting for us.”
I don't have a response. I've thought the same thing many times.
Kara shakes herself then she gazes around at the brook and the trees. “Nothing about being here feels right, does it?”
Is she talking about the cabin? “It's just because everything is wrecked,” I say, trying to comfort her. “Some elbow grease and everything will be better than before.”
“No. It's not about broken windows or chipped walls or water damage. Laiken, this place doesn't feel like a home because it isn't. Home is more than just a place that you sleep in. It's more than a roof or walls. Home is warmth and comfort and safety and love. The one thing that gives that to you isn't here.”
Deep down, I make sense of what she's saying. But it doesn't bring me joy. Yes, of course I'd be happier if I was with Dominic. But there's no way for me to make that happen.
“Dominic can't ever be here,” I say bitterly.
Her smile is thoughtful. “True. Not with the way things are right now.”
Kara helps me to my feet, and as she does, she makes a face and clicks her tongue. “I'm so sorry about your hair, it's filthy. It'll be a lot of work to clean it up, but I swear I'll help.”
Reaching back, I run my hand over the leaves and twigs and mud stuck in my hair. I think about the photo she's holding. Our bright smiles, our naive, youthful belief in a future that didn't belong to us.
But maybe it still can.
I start to jog through the woods. “Laiken?” she calls after me.
I continue to run; I hear her behind me as she follows. It's easy for her to keep up with me, it always has been. We get to the bridge and I race across it, reaching for the knife that I'd jammed into the railing.
Testing the heft of the blade, I hoist my hair high off my neck. Kara's eyes fly wide, she covers her mouth, watching in shock as I tear the knife through my thick brunette strands. The braid hangs in my fist like a dead python, heavier than all the wishes I've clung to since I was small.
“Why did you do that?” she asks, still unable to wrench her stare away.
Smiling with a certainty so bright it lights up my heart, I drop my hair at my feet. “It's time you and I finally started over. And, for the record.” I tap her on the nose, leaving a smudge of dirt. “I'll still end up with the longer braid.”
Kara's blue eyes glisten. They shift under the layer of unshed tears, growing bigger and bigger until it's all I can see. But when she hugs me in her strong arms, I do see something else. It's our names, carved eternally into the wood of the bridge.
- Chapter 23 -
Laiken
Several days of sweat inducing labor, and the cabin is almost hospitable.
We buy new blankets in town and containers to store the water we boil as we work on figuring out what to do about the pipes that pull from the well. We replace the window, patch parts of the roof, and chop more and more logs.
It's enough hard work that the time flies by, preventing me from dwelling on my inner thoughts. Each night I go to sleep exhausted. Only my dreams remind me of what's bothering my heart.
I don't sleep well.
I don't really expect to.
And it's why I hear the front door creak open in the middle of the night when I know the only person who could open it is sleeping in her bed beside me. Turning in my blankets, I strain to listen. I try to trick myself into thinking it's the wind.
I hear another noise—the pressure of a footstep outside our bedroom. Blood rushes through my veins. Heat speeds up the curve of my spine. Someone is in our cabin.
It's dark enough in the room that I can't see anything. Squinting until my temples ache, I force myself to adjust to the blackness as much as humanly possible. A halo of light peeks around the edges of our window's curtains. It lets me see Kara's bed; her hair spreads on her pillow, her face turned to the wall.
Something sounds outside the door.
My throat constricts. I move my lips—nothing comes out. Trying again, I whisper, “Kara,” just as the door swings open revealing a tall figure standing there with its legs spread wide. I don't know if I should scream or stay quiet. If I pretend to sleep, I can have an element of surprise, a better shot at attacking.
Wait, attacking?
Of course, I have to fight. No innocent person would sneak into our bedroom. Whoever this is means us harm. I'm sure of it.
The figure steps closer, walking carefully, trying to stay silent. They don't want anyone to know they're here. Not yet, anyway. They come close enough for the window to light up their heavy jacket and brown boots. It's a man, but I can't see his face.
His shadow shifts; he looks from my bed, to Kara's. I'm lightheaded from holding my breath. He reaches for her shoulder, moving in front of me, blocking my view. His back is to me. It's my best chance to attack.
As I'm about to whip my blankets off, the man stands straighter. His head rocks side to side, and I get the distinct impression he's confused. He buries his hand in his coat pocket, fumbling for something.
He's facing me and I know if I move, he'll see it. But the element of surprise is pointless if he's about to draw a weapon. I can't chance it—I have to do something now!
“What the fu—!” he manages to spout as I throw myself from the bed and tackle him to the floor. We hit so hard the wooden boards rattle. Whatever was in his hand skids a few feet away and lights up the room; a phone?
It's still too hard to tell whom I'm wrestling with. It's obvious he's big, though, his fingers burrowing into the flesh of my arms as he rolls me off of him. Grunting, he backs away, nearly crushing his phone under his heel. “Dumb bitch,” he pants. That voice, I know it. “You never learn, do you?”
He lunges at me, and behind him, I see Kara sit up. She's a blob of ink in the dark, I can't see her expression, but her shout is full of surprise. “Laiken!” she cries.
The man pulls up short, the light of his cellphone cascading upwards from near his feet. It's enough to outline his jaw, his confused yet piercing eyes. It's Vahn, Dominic's uncle. Why the hell is he here?
Vahn turns, staring back at Kara, then at me again. “It's too damn dark in here,” he grumbles. “I thought she was you.” Bending down, he grabs the phone and shines it my way. I'm blinded. I throw up an arm to shield myself. “No wonder I couldn't tell. You cut your damn hair.”
“Why are you here?” I ask, bending my knees. I need to be ready to move.
He takes a step towards me. “For you.”
Kara jumps off her mattress, looping her arms around Vahn's throat from behind. “Laiken, run!” she shouts, wrenching herself backwards, tryin
g to take him to the floor.
Vahn grabs her wrists, hunching himself forward and lifting her from the ground. It takes him no effort to flip her over his back and slam her onto the floor. She lands with a gasp, and I stare, paralyzed by shock.
“It's too damn hard to see,” he growls. His long arms tear the curtains from the window roughly enough that the metal rod clatters loudly to the ground. Moonlight filters in to brighten the bedroom. It highlights the length of metal among the crumpled curtains. All of those things were brand new. Vahn is ruining all our efforts to fix this place. He's ruining everything.
I can see my sister on the floor now. She lies there with her mouth open, face scrunched in pain. There's not much space to move in here with both of the beds. I rush towards Vahn, backing him towards the window. He sees me coming, bracing himself like a football player ready to take a solid hit.
Curling my hand, I try to slash at his eyes, but he leans out of my reach. His grin is triumphant. “You two really are so similar,” he says. “Always fighting even after you've clearly lost.”
His mocking tone goads me on. I slash again, and this time, when he tries to retreat he bumps into my sister's mattress. He didn't expect that, and as he hesitates to try and adjust in the tight space, I catch his cheek with my nails. Red droplets well up in the cut.
Vahn reaches up to touch his face, and in that moment, I slam my heel into his stomach, knocking him onto the bed. Kara sits up, still trying to catch her breath. The wind has been knocked out of her; I know how that feels.
Burying my hands in his jacket, I scale his torso on the bed, reaching for his face again. Now that I've seen that I can injure him, I'm eager to repeat it.
He catches my wrist, digging in, turning my skin white as he constricts. His eyes are wide, ready to pop out of his skull like a set of boiled eggs foaming in a pot. He's furious and the madness in his eyes reminds me of his sister, Annie.
Drawing in air until his chest is about to explode, he tightens his muscles then flips me under him on the bed. The mattress springs argue, squealing as he puts his weight on top of me. His breath skates over my nose and mouth. I can see his teeth glinting in a monstrous grin with the help of the moon through my window. “You should've just given up,” he says, panting from adrenaline, from effort, from the joy of beating me. “It wouldn't have been so bad. But now that you've hurt me, I'm going to make you hurt even more.”
I scream in his face as loud as I can, hoping that someone out there in the world will hear. It's all I can do, so I do it. I've never given up. Fighting is a part of me.
Kara yanks on his left arm, trying to pull him off of me. “Let go of her!” she yells
He shoves her hard enough that he sends Kara tumbling to the ground. “I get her not understanding,” he says, glancing at my sister. “But you? You should know better, Kara. You've been here before. You know exactly what I'm capable of. Do you really want me to remind you?”
Grunting, I work my legs upwards, trying to force the big man off of me. Vahn eyes me with disgust. To him, I'm some hopeless insect that doesn't know it's been beaten. He backhands me casually, the hit making my ears ring, my brain rustling in my skull. The second slap turns my muscles into jelly; I go limp on the blanket.
Like I'm in a dream, I watch Vahn climb off of me, heading for my sister. She's lying on the floor, propped up on her elbows, watching him approach with her lips pulled back in a grimace. “Maybe you missed me,” he says, standing over her. “Is that it? I thought you'd be relieved when I dumped you with the Bradleys, but perhaps a part of you liked the pain that I brought. Did it make you feel more alive? It made me feel alive doing it to you.”
“Move your body,” I tell myself, struggling to sit up, but every little motion makes the room spin, my stomach ready to empty its contents in a pile of hot sick. “Help her, you have to help her!”
Vahn crouched on the balls of his feet, smiling fondly at Kara. It's worse than when he looks angry. “I didn't think I'd miss it,” he whispers, reaching for her cheek. I'm amazed that she freezes, enduring how he strokes her skin. I've never seen her so frozen. “But now that I'm here, doing this to you again, I realize I did.”
Rocking sideways, I draw in a shuddering breath, and the sound of it turns Vahn towards me. His eyebrows creep to his hairline as he observes me hugging my belly, but managing to throw my legs over the edge of the bed. He didn't expect me to recover this much yet.
But that's because he doesn't know me – not at all.
And if he thinks Kara is some weak girl who craves pain at his hands he doesn't know her, either.
She shoots her leg upwards, driving it into his balls. He grunts, mouth curling into a tight shape as he drops from a crouch straight to his knees. Vahn folds over like a piece of ribbon burning in a fire, his head between his legs, his arms crossing over his midsection.
I think he's holding himself because of the injury. I don't see his hand go into his pocket of his coat and pull out the pistol until it's too late.
He turns, aiming at me. I throw my hands up, terrified to be staring down the muzzle of a gun. As much as I want to fight, I'm not crazy enough to believe I can dodge a bullet. “You fucking bitches,” he gasps, voice gritty. “I'm tempted to kill both of you right here, right now.”
“Don't!” Kara shouts. He glares down at her then pushes the gun right against her forehead. “Please, Vahn. It doesn't have to go this far.”
He doesn't blink as he considers her. My ears are pounding; every breath is a struggle. I've never been so tense and somehow the pressure continues to grow as I sit there on the bed, watching and waiting. I don't know how this is going to end but I have a terrible feeling that someone in this room is going to lose more than they ever realized.
Vahn adjusts his grip on the gun. “Sit on the other bed,” he says, gesturing from Kara to the opposite mattress. She stands up as slow as she can, keeping her hands by her shoulders, trying not to look like a threat. Her attention never moves from his face as she settles on the bed.
He glares at me as he rises fully, still clearly in pain, his forehead shiny with sweat. “Don't you dare move.”
I'm not going to as long as there's a pistol between us.
He pulls some rope from his pocket; my stomach drops. Rope isn't something you normally carry, not unless you prepared it ahead of time. Vahn came here to find us. He was on a mission.
“Hands behind your back,” he snaps at Kara. She drops her arms, letting him wind the rope around her wrists, then her ankles, leaving her kneeling on the bed. His efficiency disturbs me.
His dark eyes bounce to me. “Your turn,” he whispers. I swallow loudly, forcing myself to remain stoic while he ties my wrists together in front of me. He grabs a hold, yanking me to a standing position. “Out the door.” His palm slams into my shoulder, pushing me forward. He stops briefly to snatch up his phone, and in that moment, I look at Kara.
She's frowning severely, but at least she isn't crying. I couldn't keep it together if she did. Her head bobs, like she's telling me to do as Vahn asks. What other option is there? Even so, I don't like that he's bound her and left her there, while he's pushing me from the room. “Wait,” I say, digging my heels in when Vahn gives me a second shove. “What about Kara? What are you leaving her in here for?”
“I said move,” he growls.
“Just tell me what you're going to do,” I beg, putting my arm against the doorframe, making it hard for him to force me out. “I just want to know, then I swear, I'll do what you want! Whatever it is!” The not knowing is awful. Almost worse than having a gun aimed at me.
“Fuck this shit.” He releases me, putting some space between us. I start to turn, wondering what he's thinking. I get a good look at his arm winding up, the gun held high in the air. Kara starts to scream, but I never hear it. The handle of the gun connects with my temple, the pain sharp, explosive, and thankfully brief. Her silent, pale face is the last thing I see before I go unconscious.
I'M SWIMMING IN SYRUP, warm and drowning at the same time. Something is humming. Like wings flapping rapidly. I don't know what I'm hearing, but when I open my eyes, pain blossoms everywhere. It becomes more acute as I come fully back to consciousness.
I remember everything.
My eyes flutter as I work to force them open. I'm staring around at the inside of a helicopter. “You're awake,” Vahn says across from me.
Groaning, I sit up as all of my muscles argue with me. One side of my head feels heavier than the other, like it's stuffed with water balloons. One eyelid won't open all the way, either. I try to stretch my arms and test if anything is broken, but I can't. My wrists are bound in front of me. My feet are free, but they don't do me much good because I'm belted into the helicopter seat.
“Who's driving this thing?” I ask.
He chuckles sourly. “That's the first thing you ask about?”
My heart races faster. “Kara! What did you do to her?”
“She's fine for now. I left her tied up in her bedroom. She's a resilient one. Knowing her, she'll get free and try and chase after us. Not that it will matter.”
That sounds cryptic. Shivering, I study the rope around my wrists. He handled me so roughly that my skin is raw in places. Wiggling makes the pain sting, and it isn't doing much else, so I settle in the seat and drop my hands gently into my lap.
He watches me, his head bobbing up and down. “The look on your face says you're done fighting. Good.”
“I'm not done fighting,” I hiss. “I'll never be done fighting. I thought I was, but here you are. Why are you even doing this? I imagined Annie or Silas chasing after me, but you?”
“Fighting is what got you into this mess in the first place,” he says, sighing. “You know, when my sister asked me if we should let Franklin have his way with you, I was surprised. I didn't think she'd need my advice. She acts tough, but she has her soft spots. I thought things were all set after I chatted with her. Turns out it wasn't her that would be a problem, but god damn Dominic.”
