by Amber Garza
“Aspen?” His voice made my blood run cold. It wasn’t Carter. Swiveling my head, I looked straight into Kurt’s beady eyes. “Miss me?”
TWENTY-SIX
The scream was fifteen years overdue, and I sure as hell made up for it. Opening my mouth, I screamed so loud I was sure the whole town heard me. Then I whipped my body around and sprinted. Ran like I should have on that fateful day when I was eight years old. As I ran, I whispered apologies to that little girl and promised her that this time I’d rescue her.
This time I’d save her. This time I wouldn’t let her down.
He wouldn’t take her. Not now. Not ever again.
“Aspen.”
Shit, he was out of the car. Footfalls came nearer and nearer. No, this couldn’t be happening. Dammit, Aspen, run faster. Her voice spoke inside of me, encouraging me, prompting me forward. That scared little girl. Desperation bubbled inside of me. God, I had to keep my promise to her. She wouldn’t survive this time.
His hand fanned over my arm, his fingers catching on my skin.
“No!” I hollered. “Get away from me.”
“Calm down, Aspen,” his voice was firm.
I couldn’t outrun him. Steeling myself, I whirled around, ready to fight. I clawed at his face, tears streaming down mine. “Not again. I won’t let you take me again.”
“Stop.” His hands closed around my wrists, panic choking me. I squeezed my eyes closed. “Aspen, open your eyes. It’s me. Carter.”
Carter? I stopped struggling, my body still. Opening my eyes, I took in Carter’s face – his dark eyes, his rugged charm, his full lips. “Carter?” My gaze flitted over his shoulder. To the field, to the car, to the road. “Where’s Kurt? I thought he found me.” The fight was withering, exhaustion setting in. “I’ve been so scared since the article came out.”
Carter’s eyebrows knit together. “You’ve been scared of what? That he’ll find you?”
I nodded, still struggling to breathe steadily. My heart hadn’t slowed down yet. It beat erratically in my chest.
“But, Aspen, Kurt’s dead.”
My knees buckled. Carter’s arms encircled me, keeping me upright. “What?”
“He’s gone. He’s been dead for years.”
Relief swept over me, and I sagged against him. Then Eve’s face flashed in my mind and fear returned. I stiffened. “Carter, I didn’t mean for Eve to die. You have to believe me. Please.”
“I believe you, Aspen.”
“So you’re not upset with me?”
“Not at all.” He shook his head. “Please come back home with me and we can talk, okay?”
“I don’t know.” I reached up, holding my head. “I’m confused. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Aspen. You know that.” His hand grazed my cheek. “I would never hurt you. You trust me, right?”
His eyes pierced mine, and I saw nothing but sincerity in them. I did trust him. I trusted him in a way I never trusted Kurt. When I got in Kurt’s car I ignored the funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, the little morsel of doubt. I never had that feeling with Carter. With Carter I had only felt peace. Plus, I wanted him to tell me how Kurt died. And I wanted to know more about Eve. So I nodded.
When we got back to Carter’s, I sat on the couch and propped my feet up on his coffee table.
“What happened to your feet?” Carter winced.
“I couldn’t run in my heels.”
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll be right back.”
The truth was that I didn’t feel any pain. My adrenaline was still pumping through my veins, my mind was still buzzing. When Carter returned he had a wet rag and a first aid kit. He sat on the coffee table facing me. Then he gingerly picked up my leg, holding my ankle in his hand and slowly swabbed my foot with the rag. It stung a little, and I hissed through my teeth.
“You okay?” He paused.
I nodded, so he continued. After cleaning off both feet, he rubbed Neosporin over my cuts and then bandaged them. He treated me delicately, careful not to hurt me any further. It made me feel foolish for running off before.
When he was finished, he looked at me from where he sat on the coffee table. “I want to show you something.” Jutting his arm out, he grabbed a framed picture from the end table next to the couch. He handed it to me. “This is my sister. Her name was Carly. My parents thought it would be cute if we had matching names.”
I held the picture in my hand, staring down at the girl who looked so much like Carter. She had his same dark hair and eyes, same smug smile.
“She was kidnapped from a grocery store. The police found her body a few days later just miles from the store. The man who took her was found that same week. He was sentenced to life, and he’s still behind bars,” he recited all of this as if he was reading an article. There was no emotion in his voice. It was monotone as he relayed the facts. I could tell it was his way of protecting himself. I understood all about that.
As I pondered what he said, all the air left me like a popped tire. It fizzed out until I felt deflated, flat. I set the picture down, confused. “Then why do you have the pictures of Eve?”
“Look at this.” Carter shoved a snapshot into my hand. “What do you see?”
“Eve,” I answered.
“What else?”
Squinting, I studied her surroundings. The truth shocked me. “It’s my backyard. When was Eve in my backyard?”
Carter sighed. “Aspen, this is a picture of you.”
My body went hot. “What?”
“That’s you.” He stood up, walking away from the couch. His briefcase was propped against the wall near the door, and he knelt beside it. Then he pulled out a laptop and carried it to the couch. After opening it, he typed in a few things and then flashed the screen in my direction. “See. This is the article about you. The picture is right there.”
Even with reality staring me in the face, I had trouble believing it. “But it doesn’t make any sense. I was sure it was Eve.”
Carter took my shaking hands in his. They calmed almost immediately from his touch. “Aspen, listen to me. Kurt only kidnapped you. There was no one else.”
“But that’s not true. Eve was there. I know it.” The room spun around me. “I’m not crazy.”
“I know you’re not.” Carter squeezed my hands. “Aspen, think for me. What really happened the day you escaped?”
I couldn’t stay here another moment.
For months I’d been working up the courage to escape. I knew I could do it. He was starting to trust me. My time outside of the room was growing. The last few weeks I’d made more of an effort to show him that I wouldn’t take advantage of an opportunity even if it presented itself. In fact, I’d been pretending to like it here.
As ashamed as I am to admit it, I even started calling him dad.
The word tasted like blood when I pushed it from my throat. Long afterwards the metallic taste would linger on my tongue, a reminder of my betrayal. In my mind I silently apologized to my real dad. The one who would never hurt me like this. The one who never touched me inappropriately or left bruises on my body.
I knew I wouldn’t survive much longer. My body could only handle so much. I was tired of sleeping with one eye open, dreading the creak of the bedroom door. I was tired of fearing his footfalls on the stairs, the crack of his knuckles, the zipper on his pants, his thick fingers.
When he let me out of my room that night I knew it was the last time. I walked out of it with finality, knowing I wasn’t going back in. Tonight I would fight to escape. And I would. One way or another.
At this point heaven would be as welcome as the front door. Either way, by morning I wouldn’t be here.
He had dinner ready. By the smell of it, I was guessing it wasn’t going to be appetizing. But I’d choke it down. It was all part of the plan. I ate in silence while he talked. About nothing. A bunch of words that meant nothing to me. Every time he opened his
mouth, I hated him even more. I’d never felt so much hate. It poisoned my insides, until I felt nothing else. Just hate. Pure, unadulterated hatred. I imagined it to be like a heavy armor, thick over my body. I’d wear it proudly. It would help me get the hell out of here.
I reached for my cup and drank the water quickly. Once I’d emptied the contents, I glanced up at him, an innocent smile on my face. “Can I get some more water?”
“I’ll get it.” He started to push away from the table.
Frustration burned through me. He was ruining my plan. “No. Really. I can do it. You worked so hard today. Just stay seated.”
Suspicion flashed in his eyes, and I worried that I’d wrecked everything. Perhaps I was being too nice. “Okay.” He shrugged, reaching for his beer. When I glanced over at the garbage can, I realized that he’d already had several. His eyes were a little glazed over. A small smile threatened to jump out on my lips, but I kept it under wraps. This was going to be too easy.
He clearly underestimated me.
Standing from the table, I carried my glass to the counter. Then I opened the freezer and pulled out an ice tray. When he glanced over his shoulder, I popped a cube of ice out. Obviously satisfied, he turned back around. With my other hand, I fumbled for the nearest drawer, the one where he kept the knives. I knew right where it was because it was what he’d used to threaten me with on more than one occasion. Silently I slid open the drawer, closing my fist around the handle of the sharpest one.
“What the hell?” He stood, catching me in the act.
My heart pounded beneath my flesh. But it didn’t matter. He was too late. I had the knife in my hand, and one of us was going down tonight. At this point I didn’t care which. His meaty hands reached for me, but I brought the knife down, slicing his skin. Blood splattered the front of my shirt, splashed on my face. While he was momentarily stunned, I took my opening, driving the knife into his chest.
He hollered, more blood gushing. I was covered in it now. Clutching his chest, he fell to the ground, the knife protruding from him.
I hurried for the door, my feet slipping on the blood on the floor. It coated my bare feet. With jerky movements, I unlocked the front door and sprinted outside. I didn’t bother turning around to see what had happened to him. I just started yelling, “Help! Someone call 911!”
It didn’t take long for the neighbors to come outside and see me standing in the front yard covered in blood. Rain pelted me, washing the blood from my skin. I lifted my hands to the sky, allowing it to purify me, wash me clean.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“It was me,” I breathed. “I did it. There was no Eve.” Staring down at the laptop, I scanned the pictures Carter had taken. There was determination and strength in my expression; bravery I had never associated with myself. In my mind Eve had always been the brave one. I was the coward. But Carter had captured that part of her that lived inside of me. The part of her that I had to draw upon to finally gain freedom.
Carter set the laptop aside and then moved from the coffee table to the couch, sweeping me up into his arms. I sagged against him, my fingers slipping beneath the collar of his jacket. His hands circled my back, comforting me while images assaulted me. Kurt’s hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, his body looming over my bed, his fists launching at me.
I pressed my face into Carter’s chest. “It was me. Not Eve. He didn’t hurt her. He hurt me. He…” a sob tore out of my throat, cutting off my words.
“Shh,” Carter tightened his hold on me. “I know. You don’t have to tell me.”
“I am crazy,” I spoke into his shirt.
“No. You’re not.” He stroked my hair. “Eve may not have been real, but you were right. She did save you. She was there for you when you needed her.”
“But I made her up.”
“I still talk to Carly. All the time. I tell her about my day. I’ve told her about you.” I shivered against him as he spoke. “I used to swear I saw her everywhere.”
“I know what you’re trying to do, but that’s completely different.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, because she was real.”
“And Eve was real to you.” Carter stamped a kiss on the crown of my head. “Carly is no more real than Eve. She’s no longer here, and yet I treat her like she is. It’s my way of coping with her death. What you went through was awful, Aspen. I can’t even imagine.” He shook his head, his chin bumping my head. “You had to cope somehow.”
“For years I’ve told everyone that he didn’t hurt me. Therapists, reporters, my parents. I truly believed he only abused her. All this time.” I lifted my head, peering up at Carter.
“It’s okay.”
“No one could ever get me to see the truth. Until you.” I sat up, searching his eyes. My hands fumbled over his face, touching his chin, his lips, his cheeks.
“It had nothing to do with me. You wouldn’t have remembered if you weren’t ready.”
“You’ve helped me so much, Carter. You’ve made me move on in ways I never thought possible.” I traced the stubble on his chin, the pads of my fingers running over his bottom lip. “Thank you.”
“I’d do anything for you, Aspen Fairchild.”
“Why? Why do you even want to still be around someone as crazy as me?”
“I’m the crazy one.” He smiled. “Crazy about you.”
“Even now. Even after tonight?”
“Especially after tonight.”
My eyes widened, remembering. “Oh, my god, I ruined our prom.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” He snatched my hand up, kissing my knuckles. “We can still go to the dance hall if you want. Or we can stay right here. I have music, and I’d be happy to hold you in my arms all night.”
“I’d like that.”
“Then give me a minute.” He released me, stood up and moved over to his stereo system. After pushing a few buttons, music filled the room. Soft jazz music with a soothing beat. He outstretched his hand. “Aspen, may I have this dance?”
I smiled, taking his hand. He helped me up, and the minute my feet hit the floor, I winced.
“Oh, Aspen. I forgot about your feet.” He lowered me back onto the couch and disappointment filled me. “Put your arms around my neck,” Carter instructed.
I raised my brows, wondering what he was up to. But curiosity got the better of me and I did as I was told. He put one arm on my back and another under my legs and scooped me up into his arms.
“Carter! You’re going to hurt yourself,” I warned, holding on tightly to him.
“Oh, please, you’re tiny. I’ve held camera equipment heavier than you.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I know, but I want to.” He looked into my eyes. “Besides, I promised you a dance, didn’t I?”
I nodded as he began to sway to the music. My legs dangled, my arms fastened around his neck. When his head lowered toward mine, my heart picked up speed and I parted my lips. He took the invitation, his mouth fastening over mine. I held onto him, my fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. His tongue slid over mine easily, delicately as if it were finding its way. His lips were light against mine, a faint push and pull. As the kiss deepened, his tongue moved swiftly, roughly, taking what it wanted. His fingers dug into my waist and the soft skin of my thighs as he clung to me, holding me tight. Carter moved his body in sync with the music, never missing a beat while his mouth eagerly explored mine. The music spun around us, cocooning us in its beauty. With my eyes closed, I saw splashes of colors, little explosions like fireworks. When our lips separated, I sighed, resting my head on Carter’s shoulder. It took several minutes to catch my breath, to gather my thoughts. Carter danced with me in his arms in silence. The lighting was dim, the moon shining in through the window. It was magical, even better than the dance hall, I imagined. As my mind whirred through the events of the night, a question surfaced in my mind.
“Is that why you were so interested in helping
with my story?” I asked. “Because of what happened with your sister?”
“At first, maybe, but then I met you.” His fingers ran through the ends of my hair as it swished along my back. “I can assure you that I have no ulterior motive here, Aspen. My interest in you has been solely because of you. I meant what I said to you before. I’ve been intrigued by you since the first moment I snapped your picture. You have something special inside. And I will do everything in my power to help you see that.”
“It may take some time.”
“I have all the time in the world.” He smiled. “I’m not giving up on you.”
I stared into his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that, because I don’t want you to.”
A week later I found myself sitting on my bed, staring down at the National View. The magazine had sent over an advanced hard copy for me to look over. My face was splashed on the cover, a huge, glossy picture of me in the backyard. Carter caught the perfect expression. In my eyes there is a hint of joy, a hint of sadness, a hint of hope. It encapsulates my story in one image. Only Carter could do that, and I’m grateful he was the one assigned to work with me.
For many reasons.
Sucking in a breath, I peeled back the cover. The pages whispered as I flipped through them until I reached my article. I knew now why I was so scared to read this. Deep in the recesses of my mind I had known the truth. The truth that I had tried so hard to keep buried.
But now that I’d faced it, I was ready. Ready to know everything. Every disgusting detail. Lowering my head, I began to read.
The first eight years of Aspen Fairchild’s life was idyllic. She lived in an upscale suburban community with parents who adored her. She rode bikes, played with the neighborhood kids, and did well in school. She enjoyed sports and hoped to one day play recreationally.
Her mother described her as an outgoing child who was full of life.
Aspen’s parents befriended a man named Kurt Masongill around the time Aspen was seven. He was a frequent guest in their home, often coming over for barbecues and parties. Frank Fairchild, Aspen’s dad, invited him golfing several times, and the two bonded quickly.
