by Jamie Canosa
“In case something happens to me. I just want you to know where it is. If something happens—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. We’re getting out. All of us.”
“If something happens, Sawyer, take the money. Use it to get Sylvie and yourself out of here. Start over somewhere else.” His gaze collided with mine and I could tell he was serious. “Give her a good life, Sawyer. Just promise me that.”
Frank didn’t ask me for much and this was one promise I had no trouble making. “The best.”
A horse’s whinny drew us back out into the alleyway where Sylvie was brushing Stardust’s mane.
“Come on, Syl. It’s time to go,” Frank insisted, proving once more that the horse’s name should have remained Mildred.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders as she shuffled closer. Today was always a hard day for all of us, but we’d get through it like we always did. Together.
Bags packed and stacked by the front door, Sylvie sat at the kitchen table clinging to the stuffed cat her grandad had given her. The thing looked ancient, but he said it used to belong to her grandmother, so I knew Sylvie would treasure it even though she’d never met the woman.
“Did you guys have a nice time?” Mr. Varis, Sr. dropped a plate of cookies on the table. They were store bought, but we didn’t care.
“Oh, yes.” Sylvie snapped up two cookies.
Frank nodded and took a cookie for himself. I declined the offer. I’d eaten so much good food since we’d arrived—real, home-cooked meals—that I thought I might explode with a single bite more.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for inviting me again.” He wasn’t my grandfather, but he never failed to include me in these summer escapes. Each year as I grew older, I wondered more and more if he really knew what they meant to us. What the rest of our lives were like. If so, he never let on.
“Oh, Sawyer, you know you’re like one of my grandkids. Besides, what would the terrible trio be without its third member?” He’d called us that for as long as I could remember. The terrible trio. I liked it. I liked being considered a part of something. A family. Besides my own. For one week every year, we were our own little family—Frank, Sylvie, Grandad, and me—and it was perfect.
The sound of tires on the gravel drive brought an end to the daydream.
“Load up. Let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t have all damn day.” That was the man’s hello to his children after being apart from them for a week.
Frank and I hustled to get the car packed, while Sylvie hugged her grandad goodbye.
“Dad.” Mr. Varis nodded to the older man.
“Benny.” Grandad’s eyes narrowed on his son. “Have you been drinking?”
I was so used to seeing him that way that the glassy look in his eyes and slight slur to his words went unnoticed.
“You can’t get behind the wheel of that car and drive these children—”
“Don’t you lecture me on what I can and cannot do with my children, old man.” Tangling his fingers in Sylvie’s hair, he tugged her away from her grandad.
When she cried out in pain, Grandad made a move toward her, but Frank beat him there. “Get your goddamn hands off her.”
Mr. Varis glared into his son’s eyes with enough venom to kill an elephant. Frank didn’t even flinch.
“I said let’s go.” He gave Sylvie a rough shove toward the door and I was right there to catch her.
“Benjamin Francis, you were raised—”
“You’re drunk.” Frank cut through his grandad’s objection, knowing as well as I that this would only lead from bad to worse. “It’s raining, the roads are slick. Why don’t you let me drive?”
Frank had only had his permit for a few weeks, but I’d have preferred to get into a car with him any day of the week.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me I can’t drive my own damn car? Get your ass out there. Now.”
“No.” Frank held his ground, though the tension rocketed up by degrees and Sylvie huddled deeper into my embrace. “I’m not letting Syl get in that car if you’re driving.”
Mr. Varis took a sloppy swing and Frank tackled him. I twisted, swinging Sylvie out of the way just in time as they crashed to the floor. There was nothing more we could do but stay back and help clean up the mess when it was over. I knew that. Sylvie knew that. Grandad did not.
“You leave that boy alone! Get off him right now. Right now or I’ll—I’ll—call the—” Grandad made a choking sound and stumbled backward into the side board.
Only the sound of a glass vase shattering brought an end to the brawl.
“Grandad?” Frank shoved his father off of him and climbed to his feet.
Sylvie’s face had been buried in my shoulder up until that point and she fought to free herself, but it wasn’t something I thought she should see. The old man lay on the floor, gasping for air like a fish out of water, clutching the material of his red and black flannel shirt over his heart.
“Grandad!” Frank collapsed to his knees beside his grandfather.
“Shh. Shh, Syl, it’s alright.” Hot tears dampened my shirt collar as she continued to struggle in my arms.
“Sawyer?” She whimpered my name and I held her tighter.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Syl.”
“Call a goddamn ambulance!” Frank shouted at his father who belatedly seemed to realize what was happening.
Lights, sirens, emergency room, doctors, nurses . . . none of it was enough to save the life of the only good man any of us had ever known as we watched Sylvie’s wish burn to ash.
*Present day*
Holy-fucking-hell. I didn’t want to frighten Fi any more than she already was, but if I didn’t find something—and soon—to beat the shit out of, my brain would explode. She was raped. And her piece of shit father covered it up. Raped. And we thought kidnaping her would make him concede.
Now I understood why she was so damn scared. We’d gone about this all wrong. He was never going to give Frank what he wanted. So where did that leave her? Where did that leave any of us?
There had to be another way. Something other than a signed confession from Ophelia’s father to get Sylvie the justice she deserved. I lay beside Fi, wracking my brain for a solution. I couldn’t believe she was able to fall back to sleep, much less in my arms. After everything she told me . . . I doubted I’d sleep again for a while. I couldn’t get the image of her being held down and violated out of my mind. It made me physically sick. But there she was, arm draped across my stomach, head pillowed on my chest. Red hair spilled out behind her, glowing in the pale light of dawn.
It was probably a creepy thing to do, watching her sleep, but she looked so different. Sleep melted away all of the tension she carried around coiled up tight inside of her, leaving her softer, unguarded. In the dark, with only shadows for witnesses, I could admit to myself that she was beautiful. No, more than that. She was . . . intoxicating.
She’d needed something from me tonight and I’d found a way to give it to her. Now I had to figure out how to give her everything else.
I flipped through a mental who’s-who in the case of Sylvie Varis. Who knew the truth? Who covered it up? There was her doctor, of course, who refused to go on the record. The reporter, who withdrew his article, buried it to save his career.
But there had been an article. A story existed before Frank and I ever leaned his name. He must have had a source. Someone willing to talk. When he folded on us, he gave Frank his research as a sad sort of apology. I knew Frank. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d let out of his sight. It was here. And I was willing to bet I knew where.
Letting Fi go when she was in my arms was more difficult than it should have been. I worried the whole way down the alleyway that she’d have another nightmare and I wouldn’t be there to wake her from it. The tack room looked the same, but the smell was different. Gone was the comforting scent of leather as was all of the equipment, sold off piece by piece along with the horses t
o keep the property afloat.
Kneeling on the dirty floor, I ran my hands over the boards, feeling for any sort of gap. I couldn’t remember exactly where to look. I never thought I’d be digging through Frank’s things alone. Nothing. Instead, I laid flat on my side and pressed my ear to the floor, knocking on one board after another until one came back sounding hollow. My fingers were too big to jam into the crevice so I dug out the key to Fi’s cuffs that I’d found lying on the floor earlier and used it to pry up the loose board. The old Ninja Turtles lunch box was gone, but in its place was a manila envelope and several bent notebooks.
Jackpot.
There was enough information in the pages of those notebooks to choke a horse. Extensive medical jargon that made my head spin. I knew the phrase ‘the brain contained 34 micrograms of aluminum per gram of brain, compared to the normal levels of 0–2 micrograms per gram’ couldn’t have come from some two-bit reporter. He definitely had a source. I just needed to figure out who it was.
The envelope contained medical reports, coroner’s reports, even grainy, black and white photos of the bodies. A signature at the bottom of one of the pages read Doctor Vincent Jefferies. He was the coroner of Little Falls. But the other documents were from a regular doctor’s office. A log of visits and complaints from the patients before their deaths. Which was the source? The coroner or the doctor? Unless . . .
I dialed the number listed on the page header.
“Hometown Medical, how can I help you?”
“Is this Vincent Jeffries office?” Small towns. Small populations. Sometimes the local doctor moonlighted as the coroner.
“Yes it is. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to schedule an appointment.”
Chapter 12
~Ophelia~
“Where the fuck is he?”
I woke with a start and choked on my next breath. Flushed an angry red, neck corded, nostrils flaring . . . Frank looked like something right out of one of my nightmares. A beast set on devouring me.
“Wha—” I scooted up the cot so fast I cracked my head against the wall. “What?”
“Sawyer. Where is he?”
“I don’t . . .” My gaze bounced around the stall, trying to get my bearings. Late morning sunlight flooded in between the boards. The rain had stopped and birds chattered back and forth outside. Inside, the blankets had been tossed back on Sawyer’s side of the cot and the stall door stood open. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you fucking lie to me.” Spittle gathered in the corners of Frank’s mouth, making him look like a rabid animal. “What did you do?”
Do? I fisted the blanket, pulling it up against my chest like some kind of shield. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t know—”
“After all this, he just decides to up and leave without a word? And you want me to believe you had nothing to do with that . . . Sparrow?” Hearing that name tainted with Frank’s bitterness made my skin crawl.
“I don’t . . . I didn’t . . .” What else could I say? I didn’t have the slightest clue what was going on. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe after everything I’d told him last night, he realized what a clusterfuck this really was and decided to get the hell out before it blew up in all our faces.
Frank stalked across the stall and scooped something from the floor which he sent flying in my direction. Light glinted off the metal as it bounced into my lap.
“Why aren’t you cuffed?”
Another question I didn’t have an answer to. I traced the bandage wound around my wrist. A small patch was stained a pale pink, but the bleeding had stopped. Sawyer had been so careful last night, so gentle with me, so kind. Almost like he . . . cared? How stupid could I be? How desperate to actually let myself believe—
“Get up.” Fingers tangled in my hair and my scalp lit up as Frank used it to drag me from the cot. Straw stabbed the bare sole of my left foot as I latched onto his wrist to keep him from tearing all of the strands out. “Sylvie. Now Sawyer.” He shoved me aside and I stumbled into the wall. “He loved her. Did you know that? More than he could ever care for you. She was his family. I was his family . . .”
“Please . . .” Something stabbed me in the back and a tearing sound accompanied a sharp pain as I struggled to free the fabric of my shirt from a protruding nail. “I don’t know where Sawyer went.” My ankle throbbed. “I was asleep.” Blood whooshed in my ears. “I didn’t hear him leave. I didn’t make him leave.”
I glanced at the exit, but the cot stood in my way. An awful sense of dread expanded in my chest. Even with his back to me I could hear every snap and pop as Frank cracked his knuckles. My thoughts splintered.
“Y-you said Sawyer was your family, but it’s obvious you two aren’t related.” I was grasping at straws. “I know what it’s like . . . to want to choose a new family because the one you have sucks.”
Frank turned and I knew immediately that I’d said the exact wrong thing. I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving me lightheaded. I took a step back, but there was nowhere to run. The way he prowled towards me—slowly, deliberately—a hunter stalking his prey. The deadly calm in his flat eyes left no doubt . . . he’d snapped. Shut down. Unleashed some darker part of himself.
He was going to kill me.
Chapter 13
~Sawyer~
*2 years ago*
“We gotta get Sylvie outta here, Sawyer.” Frank was laying on his back, stretched out across my bed, staring at the ceiling.
“We all gotta get the hell outta here.” I stopped scribbling lyrics in my notebook to glance in his direction.
“No, I mean outta town. Far away. The farther the better.”
“Frank?” He sounded strange. “What happened?”
“Came home from work last night and I found the fucker in her room.” His jaw turned to granite as his eyes glassed over. “She was hiding in the corner and he was . . . standing there with . . . his junk hanging out.”
Fire erupted in my chest. Hot, burning, acidic rage. “I’m gonna—”
I reached for my cell, intent on calling . . . Sylvie? The cops? I wasn’t sure. But Frank slapped my hand away.
“Nothing happened.”
The inferno cooled to a single flame. “You’re sure?”
“Would the man still be breathing if I wasn’t?” The same fire burned in Frank’s gaze and I knew he meant what he said.
I sank onto the mattress, my knees suddenly weak. “What are we gonna do? We both work. We can’t watch her twenty-four-seven. She graduated. She’s got nowhere safe to go.”
“I know. That’s why we’re taking her away. Tonight.”
“Tonight? Where the hell are we supposed to go—”
“Not we. Just her. I’ve got it taken care of. I’ve been saving every cent for the past six years. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to get her a bus ticket to Little Falls.”
“And what the fuck is she supposed to do alone in some town in the middle of fucking nowhere?”
“It’s only a few hours from Grandad’s place. There’s an apartment. Furnished, good neighborhood. It’s even pet friendly if she wants to get that dog she’s always dreamed of having. I spoke to the landlord this morning. Rent’s paid up for the next four months. And I called around. Set her up with a job interview at a diner within walking distance. The owner sounded really sympathetic to her situation. I don’t think she’ll have any trouble getting the job.”
“Wait. Wait. When the hell did you do all of this?”
“I’ve been planning it for a while now.” No shit. “Just stepped up the timeline a little.”
“You’ve been planning to send my girlfriend away for ‘a while now’ and decided not to mention it to me?”
I wasn’t really as upset about it as I felt I should be. Sylvie and I stayed close through the years, playing the part—the comforter, the protector, the occasional make-out partner. I didn’t date any more girls and she never saw any other guys, not that Frank would have allowed it. Our
relationship came to be one of the few things in my life I could really count on. We were friends, family even, but it never grew into anything more. We both knew there was something missing, but neither of us was in a hurry to let go. If this was her chance to go off and find that missing piece—intimacy, love, if that even exited, and all the shit that came along with it, like happiness—then I wasn’t about to stand in her way.
“Look, I’m sorry. I know you guys are . . . tight or whatever.” Frank still preferred not to think about what went down behind closed doors between his sister and me. “I was planning to talk to you about this, but then yesterday . . .”
“I get it.” The time for planning was up. It was time for action. And he had bigger concerns than my hurt feelings.
*Present day*
An old man leaning on his golf club beamed about the little purple pill that ‘saved his game’ from the glossy page of the magazine in my lap. Beside me a woman sniffled and across the waiting room a runny-nosed toddler was coughing all over every toy in the place.
“Sawyer Tomlin?”
About time. I’d been sitting there for close to forty-five minutes. “That’s me.”
A display of heart healthy pamphlets fluttered as I dropped the magazine on the end table and stood.
“Right this way.” A tall woman with a friendly smile and long dark hair in pale pink scrubs led me into an exam room.
Cartoon fish swam across the walls and a purple octopus held a seashell in each of its tentacles. In the corner, a mobile of origami cranes dangled from the ceiling.
The nurse smiled. “The kids like it. My name’s Julie. If you’ll have a seat, Dr. Jefferies will be in shortly.”
“Thank you.” I regarded the paper covered exam table and dismissed it. I wasn’t there for a check-up.
Julie lingered a moment longer before flashing me a smile on her way out. She could have been flirting, but I’d never been very good at reading women. Maybe I just made her nervous.
The smell of antiseptic and bleach burned my nose and brought with it a wave of bad memories. Like the time in sixth grade when Dad had gotten carried away and broke my arm. The doctor hadn’t believed his story about me falling off my bike and I’d spent three hours sitting in the E.R. bullshitting my way through an interview with the hospital social worker. Or the time I actually had injured myself, putting my fist through the wall after a fight with my father. He hadn’t been pleased and he’d let me know it the minute we got home. There were more recent—more painful—memories, but I shut them down before they could take hold.
