by K. L. Savage
Something isn’t right.
The room is different.
I sit up with a gasp and let my eyes adjust to the dark room.
It’s colder, like something sucked the warmth out of it and left me for dead. I reach for my knife and the moonlight glitters across the blade. I listen, focusing on anything that doesn’t belong, but I don’t hear a thing.
And that’s the problem.
The only breaths I hear are my own. My arm swings out to feel Daphne’s side of the bed, but it’s cold. I reach for the lamp, knocking over a glass of water onto the floor before I can pull the string connected to the bulb.
Click.
The light illuminates the room.
“Daphne?” I still sound sleepy but alarmed at the same time.
The silk sheets on her side of the bed are almost unbothered. I bought silk sheets because I wanted her to be comfortable, but maybe she doesn’t like them and wanted to sleep somewhere else. I throw my legs over the edge of the mattress and my bare feet hit the hardwood floor. I try not to think of the worst. I try not to think like that, but negative notions are my specialty.
Negativity makes the world go round.
I flip on the bathroom light and peek my head in the bathroom. “Daphne? Comet? You here?” I ask into the acoustics of the restroom, but the only reply is the echo of my own voice. My heart is a wrecking ball threatening to crack my sternum.
The floor creaks with every step I take toward the bedroom door. My breaths are erratic as I think of the worst.
It’s fine.
She’s here. Or she’s in the clubhouse. She has to be. She said she didn’t want to leave, so she’s probably scared, wanting to be with the girls again since they have become good friends. Maybe I should have left her with Sarah to heal in the medical room. I just wanted her to wake up in our new bed, so she was comfortable. I remember hearing that silk sheets keep you cool when you’re warm and warm when it’s cold. I wanted what was best for her. That’s all.
When I get to the bedroom door, I examine her side of the bed. She’s unhooked her IV and fluid is dripping onto the floor from the bag hanging on the hook. Her phone is gone from the edge of the nightstand and her shoes, the blue Converse she loves so much, are missing. They were at the foot of the bed, the tips tucked between the space of the floor and the bedframe.
They were right there.
I open the door. The hinges don’t squeak like a lot of others at the clubhouse because they are new. I flip the hallway light on. The floors aren’t completed yet, and only a part of the wall is up. Everything else is just bare bones of the house’s structure. I stand there and listen for her, her sighs, her yawns, her heartbeat, the way she moves, I know it all. I know what every sound she makes sounds like, but I don’t hear anything.
This house is empty.
I sprint down the hall, my feet scratching against the unfinished floorboards—no doubt I’ll have splinters to pull out, but I don’t care—and throw the front door open. I don’t bother closing it either. I jump down the eight steps, landing directly on my feet before taking off across the desert to the clubhouse. Behind me, I hear a scurry of claws scratching the sand, and I don’t need to turn around to see who it is.
It’s Happy.
I leap over the bushes I can see and step on painful sharp twigs and rocks along the way. The sting in the back of my eyes is there. I don’t have a good feeling. My stomach hurts. My heart hurts. Something is wrong.
“No, please, no. I’ll do anything,” I beg to someone, to anyone, to fucking everyone. “She has to be there. She wouldn’t leave.”
She wouldn’t leave me.
I pass the black metal building of King’s Garage and head toward side door that takes me to Reaper’s office. I try to open the door, but it’s fucking locked! I bang my fists on the door rapidly, one after the other. It isn’t a knock.
It’s a plea to be let in.
Happy hits the side of my leg and I bend over to pick up him. He nuzzles his snout against my neck and the hug he is giving me means the world.
The hallway light comes on through the colorful stain glass window and the skull staring back at me appears to be on fire. I can’t see who is walking toward me, but I don’t stop hitting the door, even if it means I have to break it down.
The lock clicks, the knob turns, and a very tired, very sleepy Juliette answers. “Tongue? What’s wrong? I was just making tea. My throat is killing me from singing three nights in a row. I have to tell Tool I need a break,” she rambles tiredly, not giving me a chance to answer. She opens the door wider. “Gosh, come in. You must be so cold. Where is your key? You know you don’t have to knock.”
“Have you seen Daphne? Is Daphne here?” The words are rushed and hurried. I stumble against the wall and one of the pictures fall and breaks, which has a door opening beside us.
“Tongue?” Badge scratches the side of his head, then rubs his eyes, and scratches his chest. “It’s so early or late… or both.” He yawns. “What’s the deal?”
I run to my room, which is opposite of the kitchen, and place Happy in his tank so he can be warm. “Daphne? Is she here? She isn’t in bed. She isn’t in bed! I need to know she’s okay. She wasn’t beside me when I woke up. She’s gone.” When I get to the kitchen, the only light on is above the sink and Juliette’s mug is alone on the tabletop. A black mug with a teabag dipped inside has steam billowing out of it.
“No, Tongue. She isn’t here,” Juliette regretfully informs me, and worry frowns her lips. “How long has she been gone?”
“Are you sure she’s gone?” Badge asks, checking to see if there is any water left in the kettle sitting on the stove. When he nods to himself, he opens the cabinet next to him and grabs a plain white mug, like the kind they have at diners. He pulls out a chair at the table and steals one of Juliette’s bags of tea from the box. “Maybe she couldn’t sleep. Happens to me all the time.”
I run my hands through my hair and shake my head. “Sh—she wouldn’t,” I try to say. My thoughts are moving too fast. I turn around instead, ignoring them since they are no help, and try the basement. Maybe she was in pain and wanted Doc to give her more medicine.
Not caring about how quiet I am, I thud down the steps and flip on the light, but the beds are empty. “No.” I hold a hand over my heart. Denial sinks its fangs into me, snaking venom through my veins. That sensation in my stomach, the one that’s knotted and makes me feel sick, gets worse.
She’s gone.
When I get to the top step, I trip, but Slingshot is there at the door to catch me by the arm, so I don’t fall backward. He looks exhausted too. It seems the entire clubhouse is awake now, no thanks to me. Slingshot tugs me forward and shuts the door. His hair is wild. The man always has crazy bedhead. He grips my shoulders and tilts his chin down, lifting his eyes through his lashes. “Buddy, I need you to start taking some deep breaths. You’re freaking out. We can’t get anything done if you’re panicking. Deep breaths,” he reminds me. He inhales through his nose, lungs expanding, then exhales.
I follow his lead. I didn’t realize how much I needed to calm down and focus. The short breaths were making me lightheaded.
The kitchen chairs grind against the floor as he pulls two out. One for me and one for him. I sit down and tug at stands of my hair. I can’t do this. I can’t focus. What if she’s hurt? I grab the sides of my head and rock back and forth.
No one will ever be able to love you. You’re a fucking idiot. You’re nothing but a tight ass for my cock, Wayne. Nothing more, nothing less, and everyone will know that when they look at you.
My uncle’s words run through my head. Is that what happened? Did she finally see who I am?
A backhand to my face has my cheek flaming and my anger snapping to Slingshot. His steely gaze is on mine and he points at a finger at me. “Get it the fuck together right now. You’re fucking Wayne goddamn Hendrix. You cut people’s tongue’s out of their mouths and feed them to your swamp kit
ty.”
“What’s going on?” Reaper questions and everyone in the room sits up a little bit straighter.
Not me, though.
He doesn’t give a fuck about Daphne.
“Nothing. I’ll handle this on my own,” I say as I get up from the chair. No one is taking me seriously, and I’m too tired to fight with them. I’ll get more done on my own.
“Tongue, sit down, and tell us what is on your mind.” Reaper turns on the faucet and fills the coffee pot. “Please.”
“Hey, Tongue. How’s Daphne doing?” Mercy comes through the hallway next, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. “I know. You’re shocked I’m here, but I couldn’t leave.” He falls silent, having me connect the dots, which means he hasn’t told Reaper the truth. “Reaper let me stay.”
I fling the chair across the room and haul ass toward him, throwing my arm against his neck. “This is your fault. She left because of you! I should kill you. Right here. I’ll fucking gut you, right where you stand. Where is she? Where is my Comet?” I roar, smashing my forearm against his windpipe. “She left me in the middle of the night, and I have a feeling it has to do with you paying a little visit and saying you were her fucking father!”
“What the fuck?”
“Shit.”
“Holy fucking hell. The world cannot be that small…” Reaper grumbles under his breath just as he turns the coffee pot on.
“You want to know what’s wrong with me?” I turn to them. “She’s gone! You know better than to think she’d take a midnight stroll alone. She wouldn’t leave me. She wouldn’t.” I know I sound like I’m convincing myself and maybe I am, but I’m desperate. “She was fine until Mercy came in to talk to her about how he knew her mother. We all know how fragile of a mind Daphne has. God.” I let go of his throat and lace my hands behind my head. “What if she’s in the middle of an episode and she needs me?”
“Episode? What are you talking about? And she had the right to know who her father was! I deserve to know my daughter. She was kept from me for twenty-five years. I’m allowed to talk to her!” Mercy defends himself, looking just as scared as I feel. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing is wrong with her. She’s fucking perfect how she is.” The blade in my pocket is burning a hole right through, begging me to grab hold and cut Mercy’s tongue out.
“She has psychosis,” Reaper tells him. “Her version of reality isn’t always real.”
Badge gives me a glass of water. The condensation on the glass is cold and slick against my fingertips. I take a greedy gulp, but it does nothing to put out the new hellfire in my veins. “She saw her mom die and her psychosis formed. I think she saw her mom get murdered. I don’t think she killed herself. The dreams Daphne has been having lately are too damn real, and she wakes up gasping for air like she’s run a mile.”
“Dreams? Why didn’t you tell me this?” Reaper asks.
“I didn’t think you’d care,” I state, adding a bite to every word.
He’s hurt.
Good.
“Oh my god. I could have saved them so long ago,” Mercy says to himself. He props himself against the counter and sags. “It’s all my fault.”
I want to blame him and right now, I will, even if logic tells me it isn’t his fault. He didn’t know about her past.
“Well, looks like we are having Church. We have a ton to discuss.” Reaper checks the time on the clock hanging above the sink. “Five a.m. Hope you boys are rested.”
The front door slams open and my hopes are lifted when I think it’s Daphne, but it’s Braveheart.
Wait a minute.
“Hey, guys,” he greets, rubbing his hands together to get them warm again. “What’s with the gloomy faces?” His eyes land on me and something resembling confusion crosses his face. “You just missed Daphne. She left a few hours ago.”
Before I can blink, before I can breathe again, I have him face down against the table with a knife against the base of his skull. “You let her leave? Why? Why would you let her leave alone!” I apply more pressure to the end of the knife, a drop of blood pebbling on his skin.
“I didn’t think anything of it. She’s one of our own. I figure she can come and go as she pleases!” The last word is a loud shout as I apply even more force against his head.
“Fuck, I’ll go check the cameras. I’ll see if I can track the traffic cameras to see where she is going.” Badge drains the rest of his tea, then pours a cup of coffee. “We will find her, Tongue. We care. She is one of ours.”
I don’t say thank you as he leaves the room to go to his office. I’m too fucking busy debating if I want to kill Braveheart.
“Tongue, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Okay? I didn’t know. I thought maybe she was picking something up for you and wanted to keep it a surprise for your birthday or something—”
I stop him from saying anything else and pick his head up, then smack it down on the table again. “I don’t even know my own birthday!” I roar into his ear and lift the knife in the air. My uncle never celebrated my birthday. I can’t remember any birthdays before he had custody of me, either. I simply don’t know.
Reaper grabs my arm as I slice it through the air, just before it hits Braveheart in the middle of the head, which would have decapitated him senseless. I fight Reaper, but it’s my bad arm and the muscles start to shake. Braveheart takes the split second of my weakness for his advantage and rolls away.
“You need to calm down,” Reaper orders, snagging my other arm and yanking it behind my back.
I cry out as the scarred gunshot wound tugs. Painful tingles cascade through my tendons, numbing the tips of my fingers.
“Let me go,” I seethe, using my bodyweight to launch him to my left. He doesn’t expect it and Reaper’s grip loosens enough for me to shrug out of his hold. I reach across the table and snag the knife right before Slingshot tries to beat me to it.
I hold my trusty blade out in front of me, slashing it through the air. Sweat over my brows and down my eyes, stinging and burning from the salt. I’m frantic. I can’t decide who to look at. Everyone is crowding me.
Just like my Uncle did.
Bend over, Wayne.
My uncle’s cruel laughter echoes in my head.
No. No, I won’t bend over. “I won’t bend over!” I scream at them.
“Tongue, you’re safe here,” Reaper says with trepidation, slowly inching his way toward me. “You killed your uncle. Use that anger for Daphne.”
Daphne.
“Where is she? Where’s my Comet?” I swing the knife in front of Mercy’s face. “It’s your fault! It’s your fault she left me. She’s mine. She isn’t yours. She was never yours. You waited to take action. I didn’t.”
“We don’t know yet, but I swear on my life, we will bring your ol’ lady home.” Slingshot’s words hitch as he speaks, the whites of his eyes turning red.
No one will love you like I love you, Wayne. No one will take care of you like I do. Don’t you like this? Don’t you like when I touch you?
Something drips onto my cheek.
Tears.
A concept I’m still learning. Something I’ve never done before I met Daphne. She isn’t even here and she makes me exposed.
“I need her, Reaper.” I hit the side of my head with my fist. “Like you need Sarah. I need Daphne. She makes me better. I’m better.”
“You don’t think I don’t notice that? I do. I notice, and I’m sorry I haven’t said it before, but I’m proud of you, Tongue. I’m so proud of you. You’re a good friend. A good man. And you’re smart. You’ve excelled so much, and I can’t wait to see where this new you leads. But also, I’m going to need you to put down the knife.”
She won’t come back. She realized how stupid I am. My uncle was right. “He was right.” My head sways back and forth. “He was right.” I place the sharp tip into the middle of my elbow.
“Tongue, no, he wasn’t. He wasn’t right. You have proved him wrong, time and t
ime again.”
No. I was weak. I am weak. Daphne saw it just like my uncle did. I dig the knife into my skin and drag it down to my wrist. Blood spreads down my arm and spills onto the floor.
I go to cut the other, to release the pain, but there is a sharp pin prick against my neck. “I can’t let you do that, Tongue. Not on my watch,” Doc says, keeping an arm around my neck.
I tap his forearm with bloody fingers, but whatever he gave me begins to take over my body. The knife slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. I’m falling limp. The fight leaves my body and all I can see is Daphne’s face.
“There you go,” Doc croons, squatting to the floor as gravity takes hold of me so I don’t hit the ground face first. “It’s okay. We got you. Everything is going to be okay.”
“We need to call Seer,” someone says.
My vision darkens. Daphne’s smile is the light at the end of the dark tunnel I find myself walking down more times than not. I close my eyes as her light fades and time is no longer a bitch I’m subjected to.
And then everything is black.
I don’t know how long I’m out. Honestly, I don’t care either.
My head swims as I open my eyes.
I blink. The room doesn’t look familiar. I’m not in my room, or the house, or in the basement. But I shake that thought aside. I need to get up and find Daphne.
“Damn, looks like we’re more alike than you think, baby brother.”
My eyes finally come to focus, and I lift my head to look at the room across from mine. Porter is there, looking down at me from his standing position, smirking. He gives me a finger wave. “Good morning, Sunshine.”
“Shove your morning up your ass.”
“Oh, someone is cranky.”
I’m going to kill him.
And then I’m going to find Daphne and fucking kill whoever the fuck put me in the Asylum.
I forgot how hot it can get in New Orleans. My hair is sticking to the back of my neck from the humidity. The sun is hot and there isn’t a breeze to be felt. I wait outside the airport for my dad to pick me up, but I don’t see him yet. That’s okay. He is always fashionably late.
