by Jamie Canosa
“I lost my temper, but—”
“No, buts.” He was two seconds from seeing what it looked like when I lost my temper. “You touch that girl again and I swear to God, Frank, this is over. I will walk and I will take her with me. You get me?”
“I get you.” He shoved my arm from where I’d planted it across his chest.
“Do you really?” I stepped back, giving him a little space. I didn’t want to fight him, but he needed to know I was serious. “Because I’m not fucking around here, Frank. We didn’t do this to hurt anyone. We did it for Sylvie. What would she think?”
“Don’t you say her goddamn name.” Frank’s growl would intimidate most people. It didn’t have that effect on me.
“Syl-vie. She would be horrified with the shit you just pulled in there and you know it.” If anyone could reach him, it was his sister. Even now.
“Fuck you.”
“Just don’t, Frank. There’s a line here and I’m not willing to cross it.”
“Screw you, asshole. You think you’re some kind of savior? You’re so much better than me? We both crossed the line so damn long ago we can’t even see it anymore. You’re right, this is about Sylvie. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get justice for her because I loved her. Can you say the same?”
I couldn’t deny that I’d crossed lines I never imagined crossing. The image of Ophelia’s puffy lip and the tears swimming in her eyes was something I doubted I’d ever be able to shake. It caused my fingers to curl and I could feel the imprints where my nails dug into my palms watching her cry. But there was another line, a darker line. And it was my purpose to keep us both the hell away from it.
“Don’t question how I felt about your sister, man. You know damn well I cared for her. But I respect her memory enough not to tarnish it. Ophelia had nothing to do with what happened to Sylvie. She doesn’t even know for chrissakes. You’re pissed. I get it. I’m pissed, too. But you can’t go taking that shit out on her.”
The crunch of gravel put a decisive end to our argument. An old black Chevy truck ambled up the drive.
“Frankie? Is that you, boy?” Old Mr. Willingston. He’d lived in the property next door to Frank’s grandad for as long as anyone could remember. I hadn’t seen him in years. Thought he must have moved into the city with everyone else. Or died. “Thought I saw headlights turning in here the other night. Figured I’d better come take a look. Owed your grandpa at least that much.”
The driver’s side door creaked open and Mr. Willingston looked like he could use a little oil himself as he lowered from the cab. I silently prayed to a god I didn’t believe in that Ophelia wouldn’t hear, or would at least be smart enough to keep her mouth shut.
“Well, well. It’s been some time, hasn’t it? Look at you boys. Sawyer . . . don’t you think I’ve forgotten about you. It was a real shame what happened. Missed seeing you kids around here these past years.”
“Thank you, Mr. Willingston. How’s your wife?” Frank could put on the charm when necessary.
“Oh, Louise passed on about a year ago now.” Loneliness crept into the old man’s gaze and I thought I understood how he felt. The life we’d been given . . . The path we’d chosen . . . It wasn’t going to end with me holding someone’s wrinkled hand in mine when I was eighty.
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” My sympathy was genuine, but when Frank shot me a look I knew it was time to move the reunion along. “What can we help you with today?”
“Oh, nothing. Just thought I’d make sure vandals weren’t up to no good over here. Squatters have become a problem in the area. Punks turning good, hard-working people’s homes into drug dens. It’s not right. Couldn’t let it happen to your grandad’s place.”
“I appreciate that.” Frank took Mr. Willingston’s arm, in a seemingly friendly gesture, and began leading him back to his truck. “But as you can see, it’s just Sawyer and me. We’re here to keep the place in shape. Make some repairs. We’ll be here a few days, but we’ll be awfully busy. Next time, I promise we’ll find time to stop by and say hello.”
“Oh . . . well . . .” Frank released him to open the door with a smile. “Alrighty, then. Don’t let me bother you. You boys get to work. If you need a hand, you know where to find me. I might be old, but there’s a few more hammer swings in these old bones.” He chuckled as he dragged himself up behind the wheel. “Take care of yourselves.” He patted the door a couple times through his open window, before throwing it in reverse and pulling away.
Frank scowled at the taillights as Mr. Willingston turned out of the drive. The whole point of coming all the way out here was so that no one would see us. My stomach turned over and I became aware of just how empty it was. We’d been so distracted by everything we had going on that we hadn’t eaten all day. And neither had Ophelia.
“I’m gonna order pizza for dinner.” Because nothing said ‘sorry you got slapped’ like pepperoni and cheese.
Frank dug in his pocket and pulled out the car keys. “I’ll go—”
“No.” Plucking the keys from his hand, I squeezed to feel the cold bite of metal digging into my skin. “I’ll go.”
“You’re going?”
“Yeah.” I was a coward, running away, and I knew it, but I couldn’t go back in there. Not yet. The little Sparrow was starting to get to me. I needed a break. A minute to breathe and get my head on straight. “Can you handle that?”
Second thoughts crept in. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
“Can I handle it? You mean without beating on the girl? Who the fuck do you think I am? My father? I lost my goddamn temper, Sawyer, not my fucking mind.”
Frank was pissed. He had every right to be. I sure as hell would have been if someone accused me of being anything like my father. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I knew Frank. I knew him better than anyone in the world. He might have been a little crazy, had a short fuse, but he wasn’t evil.
Chapter 7
~Ophelia~
Last semester, my English professor told us that life was like a book. We could close a chapter and open a brand new one any time we wanted. The room full of starry-eyed freshmen thought she was philosophical. I thought she was full of shit.
Life was like a book, but you couldn’t just set aside an old chapter because it was sad or ugly or embarrassing, and start fresh. In books and life, one chapter influenced the next. The things that happened in the past influenced where and who you were now. And the things that were happening to you now would influence your future. Considering my present, I couldn’t really wrap my head around what my future might look like.
I poked at my lip and my thumb came away bloody.
I wasn’t a brave person. I wished I was, but I wasn’t. A brave person wouldn’t have sat there, unrestrained, unsupervised. A brave person would have tried to escape. But I was smart. Smart enough to know there was only one door to the stable. Smart enough to know they were both more than likely standing right outside of it. I’d had a taste of Frank’s violence and I was smart enough to know I didn’t want a repeat.
So I sat. And I waited. For what? I had no idea. They could have been out there plotting how best to hide my body for all I knew. Bury me in the field, feed me to the neighbor’s pigs . . . Hell, they could leave me right where I was and I doubted anyone would ever find me.
The stall door creaked open and I found Frank standing there, studying me like some kind of specimen.
Just Frank.
Sawyer left me alone with him?
He scoffed at me. “Don’t look so pathetic. Your boyfriend went to pick up dinner. He won’t leave you with the Big Bad Wolf for long.”
For long minutes the only sounds were his boots scuffing across the floor as he kicked the scattered debris of the demolished television into a pile in the corner and the blood rushing in my ears. I folded my knees to my chest and pulled the comforter up around me as though it were some kind of shield.
&nb
sp; “I know Sawyer doesn’t believe it, but I’m curious . . .” Frank folded his arms across his chest and tipped his head to the side. “Do you know who your father is? What he does for a living? How he makes all that money to buy you your fancy house, and your fancy car, and your fancy clothes? Do you know how many people had to suffer so you could attend your preppy private school? Do you?”
I drove a Hyundai Sonata and I’d attended public school all of my life, but I didn’t think now was the time to argue semantics. I didn’t think now was the time to argue anything, so I kept my mouth shut. I assumed the question was rhetorical. Of course I knew who my father was. The whole country knew who he was. He was Reed Tanzen, CEO of one of the biggest corporations in America. But I had no idea what Frank was talking about. My father signed important papers and made important phone calls. He didn’t hurt anybody.
“Did you know I had a sister?” Frank dug his wallet from his back pocket and slipped out a photograph.
I was afraid to touch it when he passed it to me. The thing had been folded and refolded so many times it was beginning to tear at the seams. The image was of three people. In the center was a girl a bit younger than me. She looked small, thin, bordering on scrawny. My heart ached for her. She had the obvious potential for beauty, but her long blonde hair lacked a healthy shine and shadows darkened her pretty eyes. This was a girl who’d had a hard life.
To her left was Frank. He looked almost the same as he did now except . . . happier. There was a spark in his eye that had clearly been extinguished since the photo had been taken. And to her right . . . I gaped at a younger Sawyer. Unlike Frank, he was barely recognizable. The picture couldn’t have been more than a few years old, but he looked so different. Long, shaggy hair fell across his forehead into his eyes. And his smile . . . It broke my heart because I knew something must have happened to these three happy people. Something terrible.
Tears threatened, but I blinked them into submission, folding the picture and returning it to Frank.
“Her name was Sylvie.” He delicately tucked it back into his wallet and shoved it in his pocket. “She meant everything to me. She was the only good thing in my entire fucked up life. And your father took her from me.”
Warm vibrations echoed through my chest. The heavy little body shifted and I rubbed my cheek against his soft fur. I’d never been allowed to have a pet growing up. My mother always claimed they were too messy, as though she ever cleaned a day in her life. But if I had, I think I would have chosen a cat.
Soft purring soothed the aching pain at the base of my skull and my eyes drifted shut. I’d been up half the night trying to figure out what Frank had meant about his sister. My father was no Mother Theresa, but he didn’t go around taking people. No, that was all Frank. If he thought holding me hostage would somehow get her back . . . Well, I hoped he had a Plan B for all our sakes.
Smoke stretched, tiny claws digging into my shoulder and his bristly little tongue poked out on an extended yawn. Kitty breath, yuck. I scrunched my nose and smiled at him. How nice it must be to do whatever you wanted whenever you wanted—like napping in the middle of the day, in the middle of a felony—and never have a care in the world.
He nudged my hand with the top of his head and I obliged by scratching behind his ears. “Well, good afternoon to you, too.”
My voice felt rusty. I hadn’t spoken a word since Frank’s outburst. Just ate my dinner and went to bed, restrained, without complaint. I was terrified of saying the wrong thing. The whole atmosphere felt different—tenser—since my father’s speech aired. The gasoline had been poured. All I had to do now was strike the match and we’d all go up in flames.
Sawyer’s gaze drifted to where I lay cuddling my furry friend. I didn’t have to see him to know. I could feel his stare. He’d been at it all day when he thought I wouldn’t notice. What he failed to realize was that I was acutely aware of every single thing he did. Like the way he sat on the floor with his back against the side of the cot, discreetly positioning himself between me and Frank. It could have been unintentional, but I got the impression Sawyer didn’t do anything he didn’t mean to.
I watched him as he played, mesmerized by his complete surrender. Eyes closed, head tilted back, he gave himself entirely to the music. The haunting chords of acoustic guitar pulsed in the air around him. The tension he always carried in his shoulders, the strain that lined his face at all other times melted away as he breathed deep the melody, letting it wash through him. It was like watching a partial man made whole when he held that old guitar. In my entire life I’d never felt the kind of connection he had with his music to anything.
“What’s your favorite song?”
I startled to realize I’d started to drift off again. “What?”
“Your favorite song.” Sawyer shifted sideway to plant his elbow on the cot and stare up at me. “What is it?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“You have to have one,” he goaded.
“My favorite song . . .” Several sprang to mind—most straight off the Billboard charts of the past year or two—but my absolute favorite, as loathe as I was to admit it, was something Lisa had played for me. She’d only played it a few times before moving on to something else, but the lyrics, the melody . . . they stayed with me. And I had to admit, presenting Sawyer with a challenge was mildly amusing. I rattled off the title of a song no one had ever heard of by a group no one knew existed.
When his creased brow sank into a frown and he shook his head, a small, ridiculous part of me rejoiced. The victory may have been inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but it was still a victory. “I don’t think I know that one. Sing a little of it for me.”
Oh, no. No freaking way. It was probably a little vain and a lot stupid for me to feel embarrassed in front of my captor, but I’d heard him sing. No way was I assaulting all of our eardrums with my tone deaf vocal chords.
“C’mon. Just a little? Just so I can hear the tune,” he pressed.
Wasn’t happening. I shook my head, but he refused to be deterred.
In the end, I compromised by humming my favorite part. He listened for a moment and then started strumming along. At first it didn’t sound much like the song I loved, but he made a change here and an adjustment there and soon it was entirely recognizable.
“It goes up a little more at the end there, but otherwise . . .” He started over, switching to a higher chord for the last note. “That’s it. That’s the song. I thought you didn’t know it.”
“I’ve never heard it before,” he admitted. “But I like it.”
“What, are you trying to court her? Put that stupid thing away,” Frank grumbled, never looking up from his phone. What sounded like a basketball game held his attention.
Sawyer rolled his eyes and plucked a few more notes that sounded vaguely familiar. I wasn’t surprised that he did it without even looking. He’d just played a song he’d never heard before based on my off key humming and a little direction. How was that even possible?
“Where’d you learn to play?”
“Taught myself.” He shrugged as though that wasn’t more impressive than anything I’d done with my entire life up to that point. “Mostly by listening to the radio.”
Smoke prowled up my chest to head-butt the underside of my chin, unhappy that my attention was focused elsewhere. I scratched his back and he settled down.
“You’re talented.” So what if my praise was entirely self-serving? It was also the truth.
“I don’t—”
The scraping sound I’d come to associate with the stable door opening cut him off and Smoke’s ears perked up.
“Did you bring a friend?” I rubbed his furry head, but he continued to point his narrowed eyes at the stall door. “Maybe we can find you something to—”
“Franky!”
Sawyer surged to his feet, the guitar making a hollow clanging sound when it hit the ground.
“Sawyer? You boys in here?” t
he old voice warbled.
Holy crap. My heart slammed against my breast bone and I jumped to my feet without thinking. Of the million and one contingency plans I’d considered and discarded since my arrival, not one of them had included someone accidentally finding me.
What would happen if he saw me? Would he turn out to be my savior? Or was he the match that I’d been trying to avoid? What should I do? Should I bite my tongue and hope he leaves without making things worse? Should I scream and yell? Had the time come to fight back? Those and a million thoughts just like them floated through my head in a split second.
Frank took my options down to none when his meaty hand closed over my mouth from behind, hauling me back into his big body. Smoke hissed at my feet as I pried at his fingers, but he used his free arm to trap mine in front of me in a mock impression of a backward bear hug.
“Relax,” Sawyer whispered, slowly lifting his hands, palms facing the two of us. “I’ll get rid of him. Everybody just stay calm. And don’t do anything stupid.”
His sharp gaze collided with mine for that last bit before he stepped out of the stall.
“Oh, Sawyer, there you are. Is Franky here, too?”
“He . . . uh . . .” Sawyer muttered and Frank stiffened. “Frank ran into town to pick up some supplies. Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Willingston?”
“Well, now . . . I know you boys are busy. And I wasn’t plannin’ to bother you, honest. But the old tractor’s been givin’ me trouble for some time and this mornin’ she up and refused to start on me. I know what’s ailing the old girl and I got the parts to fix her. It’s just . . . these old hands . . . they don’t work quite as well as they used to.”
“I see,” Sawyer hedged.
Anxiety and adrenaline combined in a nauseating mix. My pulse quickened and my breathing turned shallow. Don’t do anything stupid. What could be more stupid than not taking my one chance at freedom?
“It won’t take long if ya wouldn’t mind helpin’ an old man out.”
