by Lisa Daniels
“You’re not leaving yet!” Jackie, this time, emerged with his mother, and both of them descended on Emma like hawks. Emma let out some half-squeaks of protest, and Arthur watched as she was whisked out of the room, to be shown the rest of the mansion and, no doubt, to hear stories of baby Arthur doing stupid, baby things.
“When Arthur was 3, did you know, he once thought that white paint would kill him if he touched it. We’re not sure where he got this from—probably from one of my husband’s horror movies,” Jackie said, her voice drifting away as they left the living room. “So we used to draw lines around him… and then...”
Whenever I did something wrong, they used chalk to draw a line around me to stop me running away. And I’d stay in the chalk, terrified of stepping over the line. Arthur didn’t particularly find it funny, since he remembered how scared he’d been, but they loved retelling that particular story. Even Lamarya knew it—though, at the time, Yara hadn’t been there, and no one thought it important to mention Yara’s relation to him. Though if Lamarya flipped out with him talking to girls, perhaps the conclusion of their relationship was for the best.
He was about to get up and follow them, when Enyeto burst into the living room, his face drained of all color. “Arthur,” he panted, “the home phone. You’re being asked for.”
“By who?” Arthur said, suspecting he already knew the answer.
“Uncle Gilnes.”
“He wants to speak to me?” Arthur said, blood going cold at the thought. His uncle would clearly know he survived the assassination attempt. But why him, and not his brother instead?
He followed Enyeto’s broad back as he left, brain whirring with possibilities. Most of them bad.
His father, with those piercing gray eyes of his, and crooked nose, stood by the phone, looking as if he was about to pop a vein. He handed the phone to Arthur without a word, and Arthur bit into the mood, knowing it wouldn’t be for anything good.
“This is Arthur.”
“Hello, Nephew. How good to hear your voice. I heard that you ran into some trouble in one of the family fishing spots, so I just wanted to check in and make sure you were alright.”
“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
“Me? Oh, of course not. You know as well as I do that accidents do happen. Wherever you go. It’s the unfortunate consequence of living so far out in the middle of nowhere, isn’t it? Anyway. Do consider in the future if you’ll be willing to negotiate with me. I have the plans in place for a new factory. I imagine we’ll all feel a lot safer, won’t we, just clearing out the area so the wild bears don’t come.”
“You bastard,” Arthur hissed. “You tried to kill me! Don’t think I don’t know it was you. Your little lackey sung like a bird.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m done,” Arthur said, thrusting the phone back at his father. “He wanted to see if I was alive, because he sent the assassins.”
“I know,” his father replied. “Did he offer to trade again?”
“Yeah. Second factory. For our safety.”
His father rubbed his eyelids, sweating with stress. “I’ll try to reason with him. Go now, son.”
With a last, hateful look at the phone, Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath, before spinning on his feet and leaving the room.
Seemed as long as he lived and refused to capitulate to his uncle’s demands, the more chance someone he loved might die.
What a stupid fucking situation this was.
Chapter Seven – Emma
A part of Emma, though she didn’t want to admit it, hoped to the high heavens that this Great Spirit or whatever it was would appear when she went to that shrine. Take one look at her, and decide she was so worthy that she’d be transformed into a bear, and then all her problems would be over. Scared of Marcus? No problem. He’d be more scared if she transformed into a bear in front of him.
She’d honestly enjoyed been taken around that house. And since then, Arthur had invited her out a few more times, and she accepted willingly, happy to explore opportunities with him. She did, however, refuse to go to any lonely and remote place again, not trusting whatever feud Arthur’s family went through. They instead met up in the same bar he first saw her drinking in, and attempted conversation, getting to know one another without the pressure of family bearing down upon them like an albatross around the neck. She examined Arthur now as she brought over their drinks. He wore a casual black shirt with the image of some rock band or another she didn’t know about, jeans, and his hair resembled a scruffy mess. Those intriguing, light brown eyes of his, which sometimes appeared an almost steel gray in the right light, were furrowed in concentration as he examined his cellphone.
In the time since that interesting family haul-around, she found out that Arthur liked to play golf, specifically mini-golf. He didn’t socialize much, sticking to the family areas, and worked for his family in their own business, which happened to be farm-related work. Selling meat, eggs, and even fish to the region. Emma had bought some of the Valor products from small markets and enjoyed the flavor—great quality for affordable prices. In Phoenix, these products would have gone for three times the price or been found in restaurants for obscene amounts of money. Arthur wanted to set up his own mini-golf area, but he didn’t want to attract tourists to the town. He’d shown Emma his pet project. He used a printed diagram for the dimensions, and hand-carved and painted the obstacles himself. Six obstacles were complete so far, from a dinosaur with an open mouth to an annoying tunnel with a running waterfall to nudge the ball along if aimed right. Learning about the little things was great. Everyone was made up of big things and little things, after all. They had white lines on the ground and red lines that no one could ever cross.
He also heard more about her life, too. Not that she had much left to share. She’d said plenty at the camp, but he insisted on knowing more.
“Tell me more about this Marcus,” Arthur said, accepting the drink from her, ruffling his hair in that annoyingly endearing way. Emma couldn’t stop looking at him. Couldn’t stop imagining what might happen if they did take things further than just friendly meetups. “I already want to punch his face when I see him, but I want to know—why didn’t you get away sooner? Why did you stay with that dick for so long? What drove you to do that to yourself?” He pointed at her exposed arms, where the scar nicks shone in the dim light.
Emma gave a helpless shrug, instant hysteria rising inside her. She wanted to both vehemently reject talking about Marcus and start sobbing in the same second. Eventually, she wrestled some kind of control over her own emotions, then said, in a calm and dispassionate tone, “There’s not much more to say about him. I can’t tell you why I stayed with him so long. I knew I shouldn’t have, if that… helps. But… when he showed me his good side, it always used to fool me that maybe, maybe this time he’d change. I hated the bad moments. I craved the good ones. But without any kind of real affection, anywhere… with people blaming me for all their problems...” Emma hesitated. She didn’t want to recall the feelings of back then. But then again, she never did. She much preferred running away.
“I began to think that since I was the problem, if I just went away, then they could no longer blame me, could they? It wouldn’t be my fault about the drinking, or the taxes, or the loss of profits, because I’d no longer be around. Maybe then they’d look at themselves and start, I don’t know, taking responsibility.”
“Shit,” Arthur said softly. “You know that’s stupid logic, right?”
“I know,” Emma snapped, mouth tightening. “But that was my thinking back then.”
Arthur examined her for a moment, maybe thinking of apologizing. Then he raised his glass. “Man, people force us into some fucked-up situations.”
Emma agreed with him out of politeness, but firmly thought that no one had actually forced her.
She’d allowed herself to stay in that situation, for far longer th
an she ever should have. “I was thinking, Arthur. Will you take me to the grotto soon? I’d like to see it for myself.”
“Actually,” Arthur said, giving her a gentle smile, “I was considering taking you today. Since you’re back early from work. No one else will be visiting, I made sure, since all the families like to take turns, you know? I thought it best to go in the afternoon, though, since in the evening...” his voice trailed off, and guilt riddled his expression. “Well, it’s harder to stop an assassination attempt in the dark.”
Oh. Right. Assassins. “It’s not that essential,” she said, plastering on a smile she didn’t feel. The reminder that she and Arthur probably wouldn’t progress in their relations at all because of the sting of family drama didn’t settle well. It sloshed in her stomach with the coffee she’d drunk earlier, buzzed in her veins in an unpleasant way. She wanted to leave again. To just get out. But she didn’t want to break the tentative connection she and Arthur shared.
Even if that meant associating with highly dangerous bear shifters.
“It’ll be okay. Enyeto, Kuruk, and Yara will come and guard. I’m serious. We take your safety as a real concern. I don’t want you to feel bullied out of this...” His eyes took on a soft, pleading look, practically begging her to agree.
How could she refuse such a look? “Sure. Okay. If you’re taking that much care...”
“You’ll be the first human in over 50 years to do so. It’s a pretty big honor.” His words tumbled over one another, eager to convey the honor of this appointment, as if afraid that at any moment, she might withdraw her blessing.
Yes, maybe it would be okay. She didn’t have to be in a relationship with him or anything to do this after all, right? His leg casually bumped against hers underneath the table, sending a rush of heat through her body. It came so unexpectedly that she was momentarily speechless, unable to process anything. She calmed herself down enough, but another shadow was cast over the afternoon, turning it from sunrise to storms.
A shadow in the form of Marcus, strolling into the bar as if he owned it, with her parents in tow.
“I need to hide,” she squeaked, actually scrambling to duck underneath the table. Her heart hammered at a crazy rate. How the hell were they here? Too late—Marcus’s glinting blue eyes settled on her, and a predatory sneer covered his face, before the expression melted into concern.
“Oh, Emma! There you are! Emma! Are you okay? We’ve been looking all over for you. We were so worried!”
Emma wanted to sink into the floor and vanish.
Arthur read the situation. “These your parents and boyfriend?” he mouthed, and she nodded, her throat locked up, shame burning her cheeks, anxiety turning her into a wreck.
“Not concerned enough to send the police after her, I see,” Arthur replied back smoothly, taking up the reins. “Or did I miss the APB on her?”
“Who are you?” Marcus said, his eyes narrowing in distaste. “What are you doing with Emma?”
“Oh, Emma!” her mother said now, her eyes wide in accusation. “You’re not sleeping with someone else already? After you left dear Marcus without a word? No contact! And you’re just sitting here without a concern in the world? Do you know how frantic we’ve been? You should be ashamed of yourself!”
Arthur seemed to puff himself up, though Emma tried to form words, tried to express her logic, but it all tumbled back into that horrible, grasping fear that seized every atom and didn’t want to let go. Her legs shivered into water, unable to support her body, and her heart pounded so painfully that her arms trembled with every beat. Everything narrowed in on them, on these people, and she’d been avoiding them, not wanting to talk. Not wanting to deal with the people who helped put her in front of that bathroom mirror, staring into the shadow of what she used to be, preparing to let her life drip into the sink.
“Did it ever occur to you that the reason she didn’t contact you is because she doesn’t want anything to do with you?” He stood up, and he towered above Marcus, who had attempted to square himself up to the tank-like man-bear. “That all of you are fucking bullies, and have been using and abusing her for too long?”
“This isn’t your place to speak, asshole,” Marcus said, eyes flinted in hatred. Emma avoided looking into their eyes, still pathetically unable to speak. She hated her cowardice, hated it so much that tears brimmed, and she fought to keep them back. “We were all concerned and decided together to find her, once we realized where she went. Internet search history,” he added with a thin smile.
“You mean you all came to bully her to come back with you,” Arthur said, bristling with rage. “Like you’ve done so many times before, right?”
“What the fuck do you know?” her father said, practically spitting with rage. The bartender and two locals minding their own drinks stared at this unfolding drama with great interest. The bartender seemed to hover between wanting to grab his phone and watching the spectacle. Emma locked eyes with him—it was easier than staring at her family. Arthur was right, too. She wouldn’t be able to resist the pressure of all of them at once. She’d be so guilty, so ashamed, that she’d just crawl back under the onslaught of their righteous fury. “You know nothing about our family situation. Fuck off.”
“Oh, I will. But I’m taking her with me. You’re not going to bully her.” Arthur grabbed Emma’s hand, and she gratefully accepted it, though struggled to keep her weight steady. Why hadn’t she deleted her internet search history? She should have realized. Her mother and father knew nothing about the internet, really, but Marcus—he knew how to spy on others. He must have gone over to her parents’ place at one point, looked everything up, then persuaded them to help bring her home.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Marcus snarled, now raising a fist to hit Arthur, but Arthur gave a great, snarling rumble, freezing Marcus in place.
“Look at Emma right now,” Arthur said quietly, causing three sets of eyes to burn on her. “Look at how terrified she is, since you three came in. One moment, she’s having a nice conversation with me, smiling—but the second you three come in, all the light is sucked out. And you wonder why the fuck she wants to get away from you? Look at what you’ve done to her.”
“Nonsense,” Marcus said. “She’s just acting up. We never did anything wrong, did we? She’s overreacting, like she always does.”
Her father nodded in agreement, but her mother hesitated, now appearing doubtful herself.
With Arthur’s hand clutching Emma’s, with the way he ardently defended her, despite being outnumbered—it gave Emma some courage. She managed to fight past that horrible, quivering fear, and finally look at her mother in the eye, sensing the weak point there.
Emma raised her left arm, showing the long, white scar along it. She hardly dared to speak, to even attempt it, but it certainly drew their attention. “I tried to kill myself. I had enough. Enough of you two always blaming me… for, for your own failures.” Her voice trembled, but she continued. “Enough of Marcus… such a cruel man, always making everything seemed like my fault, making me… making me unsure of anything.”
“Oh, come now. Are you serious?” Marcus gave a light laugh, folding his arms. “You know as well as I do that this is silly. You wouldn’t try to kill yourself over a few arguments. Goodness, you’ve really exaggerated everything, haven’t you? And why? I cared for you, Emma. You know I do. What kind of reaction is this?” He glared at Arthur. “And you’ve gone straight into the arms of someone else. Without telling me anything. And you want to make out that it’s my fault? Our fault? We just wanted to know you were alive.”
Once again, Emma felt that pit of despair sinking into her. That sense of hopelessness, that doubt, where all her words and reasoning seemed sucked into a black hole, where nothing made sense, where her own mind began to doubt, and wonder, what if he was right, what if she had been overreacting?
“Sun shines out of your ass, doesn’t it?” Arthur growled. “Can’t do any wrong in your eyes, can you? Enough. I d
on’t care what the hell you say—this is the truth right here. A terrified woman who doesn’t want to speak to you.”
“Emma, come on, now,” Marcus said, turning his wheedling tone on, attempting a kind smile that didn’t look very kind at all. “We can talk it out. Maybe we can understand why this happened, and make sure you come back where you belong...”
“Actions,” Arthur hissed, puffing himself out more, like a bear prepared to defend its cubs, “speak louder than words. Your words mean shit. You came here, as three, knowing Emma can’t stand up to you. Look how she shrinks back. How she hunches her shoulders together, preparing for attack. You three—stay away from her.”
“The taxes!” her father howled, spittle flying out of his mouth. “You left us in so much trouble! We’re going to lose the house! How dare you leave us in this mess? How irresponsible! You come right back and fix it!”
“I told you,” Emma managed. “What not to do. I reminded you. Several times a month. What not to do. You ignored me. It’s not my problem anymore.” She shivered at her defiance, shocked at herself. Her mother showed the same emotion. Marcus sneered. Her father looked ready to pop a vein. Any moment, their fury would tumble out and slap her to the ground, leaving her unable to rise. She’d pay for this defiance. She’d damn well pay.
Arthur began bundling Emma out. Marcus attempted to block the way, but one fist slammed into his face sent him crumpling to the ground, screaming in indignation and pain. Her father made a jerking motion with his fingers but seemed to think better of dealing with a man almost twice his size, and her mother just watched, blue eyes still wearing that numb surprise. Arthur continued hauling her out, and they bundled together into his brother’s car, closed the doors, strapped the belts on, and drove off. No one came out of the bar to see where they were going or to attempt to stop them.
