In the Garden of Discontent

by Lily White

  My tears kept falling as his body moved inside mine, every thrust shoving that couch a little more forward, legs scraping the floor, his whispered words ripping pieces from me like shredded paper.

  With one hand holding me in place, his other reached around to snake up my shirt and grab my breast. Fingertips yanked my bra down so he could palm the weight, and pinch the tip, pain like lightning shooting down my body until it exploded in the place where his body entered mine with punishing thrusts.

  Still, he whispered, the words a low growl from how hard he fucked me. “I love you, Ensley.”

  Another thrust, the slap of skin. “Always have.”

  Another. “Always will.”

  The couch scraped across the floor, must have been carving trenches into the wood from the brutality of our love.

  His hand released my breast to move to my throat, fingers tight, my mouth falling open as he pulled my body up so my back was against his chest.

  And his voice was there, like it always would be when I needed someone to drag me back from the edge. “So, just let it all go.”

  I did.

  Every ounce of it.

  An orgasm raging through me with the fury of every blow against my body, every scar, every name they called me, every night I’d spent crying on that cat piss floor, every morning I spent contemplating how one bullet could end my life.

  It roared out of me, chased by the pleasure he gave, crushed by the strength of the hold he had on me.

  My fingernails scraped the skin of my back where my arms were pinned, and I shook against Noah, against that couch, my legs going weak but not buckling because he held me in place. Just like always. Never letting go.

  When it was over, when every muscle in my body gave out and the air rushed from my lungs, the tears came back like a flood.

  I was sobbing, shattering apart, and Noah spun me in place, his arm locking beneath my knees to lift me up and carry me around that couch so that he could sit down and hold me.

  He never stopped loving me.

  Not when we were kids.

  Not while he was locked away.

  Not tonight.

  And I just cried, the sobs shaking every part of me.

  His arms a cage that kept me safe.

  . . .

  I was walking out of the bedroom the next morning when I heard Noah moving that couch back into place. He was crouched down by the side of it, his fingers tracing the grooves the legs had dug into the wood, his brows tugged together in concentration.

  “Is it bad?”

  The corner of his mouth curled up and he ran a hand through his dark, disheveled hair, then scratched the stubble on his jaw.

  “I feel bad. This poor woman invites us to her place and we fuck up her floor.”

  A shake of my head. “We’ve fucked up a lot of things.”

  Noah laughed. “Yeah, we have. I never could fix my headboard, and Mom had a shit fit over it.”

  My thoughts raced back to the fight that broke his bed, my cheeks staining pink. We had our own brand of violence, then and now. Some things never change.

  “I tried cleaning up some of the blood. Got it off the floors, but there’s a handprint on the couch I can’t get rid of.”

  My eyes drifted from one hand to the next. Noah looked like he’d battled a feral tiger and lost.

  “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Shit happens.”

  With his shirt off, I could see the long marks I’d left on his back. The healing bite marks on his shoulder. Hell, I was a feral animal apparently, just like that mean, orange cat we’d buried when we first met.

  A knock dragged our attention to the front of the apartment. Noah pushed to his feet, tugged a throw blanket over the bloodstain on the couch and walked to answer the door.

  The kid from last night was standing there in a baggy shirt and even baggier jeans.

  “Grandma’s awake and ready to talk. Just wanted to let you both know. She said to let yourselves in the back door. Breakfast is ready.”

  Noah thanked him and shut the door, his massive body twisting around to look at me.

  “I don’t know what this woman is going to say to us.”

  He paused, his eyes searching my face. “You good? Do you think you can handle this or-“

  “I’m fine.”

  And I was. A dam had burst last night, all the heartache and pain I’d held onto for twenty-two years pouring out until my tears had dried up and my body went still. I’d fallen asleep in Noah’s arms and woke up beside him this morning. Just like old times.

  “Let’s just get this over with so I can go back to knowing you killed my family and you can go back to prison.”

  I turned to walk into the bedroom to grab my shoes, but I could feel Noah’s eyes pinning my back. But what else was there to say? What other possible explanation could there be? I saw him, plain as day. Knife in hand, blood splatter on his skin, a gun lying in a pool of blood near him.

  It had been a slaughter, and only one person was left standing.

  Noah led me to the main house, the Rocky Mountains towering at our backs and the scent of pancakes and bacon welcoming us inside.

  We found our way to the kitchen to see an older woman sitting at the table tugging a shawl around her shoulders, while another stood at the counter piling food onto a plate. She was a little older than us, but not as old as Sadie, the woman at the table, or our parents would have been.

  The woman with the food lifted her eyes to us, a broad smile stretching her mouth.

  “I’m glad to see you two found the place. We’re in the middle of nowhere, as you probably figured out.”

  Noah stepped forward to introduce himself, but I stayed back wondering how it wasn’t weird to these people that they were cooking breakfast for an escaped convict and the woman he abducted.

  Turning, I looked at the woman at the table and found that she was staring at both of us, her fingers tugging the shawl tighter. Maybe it was weird for her.

  But then she smiled when our eyes met and she tapped the table.

  “Come sit, Ensley. My, you have grown into a beautiful woman. You have the coloring of your father, but the bone structure of your mom.”

  I flinched a little at the comparison, but walked to sit opposite her. The woman’s eyes drifted over to Noah, memories glimmering behind them.

  “It’s nice to see the two of you together again. Especially after all that horrible business...”

  She paused, shook her head.

  “Well, anyway, I’m not sure if you remember me. I lived next door to you. I had a big, white dog you may have seen me walking around the neighborhood all the time. Do you remember?”

  I didn’t, but then I had always been too busy to pay much attention to what was going on around me. Noah glanced over a few times while he helped the other woman get the food together, concern lining his face.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”

  “Yes, well, you were always inside that house or running around with Noah, so I’m not surprised. My name is Margaret Marks. I watched the two of you grow up together. Thought you two were the sweetest little things. It’s a shame how hard you had it. Your mother-“

  She shook her head and refused to finish the thought.

  To my right, Noah set down two plates, the other woman rounding the table to sit next to Margaret. She introduced herself as Margaret’s daughter, Shelley.

  The conversation transitioned into small talk: the weather, our drive, how we liked the apartment and if we slept well. Anything more pleasant than the past or the fact that we were technically on the run.

  I could barely eat, my body tense and my stomach turning over itself, but then breakfast was over and Shelley got up to clean the dishes, refusing both of our help.

  “You should talk to mom,” she said, knowledge written in her eyes.

  Once the table was clear, Margaret tugged her shawl around her shoulders again and bounced her gaze between Noah and me.
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  “There’s no point in dancing around why the two of you are here. Sadie is a good woman,” Margaret looked at me as if I should hate the woman my father chose over me. And maybe I did. I hadn’t thought about it too much because it pained me to remember how he stopped coming around.

  “After that night, the night of the murders,” she shook her head, clutched the shawl as if it protected her from the memories.

  “We started talking. She’d called me after your father didn’t come home, and I told her what happened. Poor thing was beside herself, couldn’t stop crying. I’d wished I was there to give her a hug, especially since she was in that house all alone. But she’d asked me what happened. Again and again as if my answer would allow her to know the truth of who killed those poor kids.”

  Eyes meeting mine, she confessed, “Your father had asked me to keep an eye on you children. He asked me to report anything I heard or saw, and I’d told him about how your mother screamed at you a lot. How she was always yelling. But I never heard you or any of the younger ones crying and screaming as well, so I assumed she never hurt you.”

  I almost laughed, my thoughts going back to that shed.

  “Not until that last week, at least.”

  Pausing again, she shifted in her seat, her mouth tugging into a thin line.

  “I was out walking my new dog since the white one had grown old and died, and I was near the area between your two houses, admiring the flowers that always seemed to grow there. It wasn’t too late. The sun was setting, but there was still light outside. Anyway, while I walked past, I heard a child scream and cry, pure pain in that sound. I didn’t know what to think, so I called your father and told him what I heard. He said he’d come into town and check into it. He arrived the following night and, well, you know the rest.”

  My body stilled at her confession, teeth clenched as my eyes closed and my hands curled into fists.

  Noah tensed beside me, not knowing what I knew, not understanding that Margaret hadn’t understood what she’d just told me.

  Only I knew the truth.

  She was on the side of my house where the shed was attached, near the place where my mother had beaten me and allowed men to help me pay my way.

  I’d suffered so many nights in that place that I couldn’t count how many times it happened.

  But I never screamed.

  Not once.

  Not even when the pain was too much to bear.

  A new truth sunk deep beneath my skin to lock onto that beast that lived inside me. It grew larger, woke up, was snapping and shaking because this truth was worse than what happened to me. This truth meant I hadn’t protected the kids like I thought.

  I could barely hold on while she kept talking, could barely see straight for how angry I was.

  What had that bitch done to one of them? Had she beaten them like me, or had it been worse?

  “The night of the murders, I heard something strange while it must have been happening. I didn’t know what, of course, not until the gun shots at the end, but I did see someone run from your house. Out the back door and into the forest. I told the police what I saw, but they were too busy arresting Noah.”

  She stared at me.

  “I also told your attorney, but he brushed me off. Swore up and down that Noah was responsible and I was just in shock or still scared or whatever. He told me to keep it to myself and not bother you with it because you were in such a frail state. Apparently your psychologist was quite insistent that he be the one to talk to you and find out what you saw that night, so I figured I’d done as much as I could.”

  Everything she said was going in one ear and out the other. All I could think about was my brother and sisters. All I could do was wonder which child my bitch for a mother had hurt.

  Noah must have known I was sinking again, must have felt the chill of that darkness rising inside me.

  While Margaret continued talking, he wrapped an arm around my waist and tugged me closer.

  Always loving me, this man.

  Always making sure to hold on.

  I wanted to raise my mother from the dead just so I could kill her all over again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Noah

  December 30, 1996

  Damn flowers.

  Kicking at the hose, I tried to unkink the cheap, green plastic. It was all I could afford when I went up the store to buy it, my back aching and arm threatening to fall off when I walked five miles back to the house with it slung over my shoulder.

  Even after all of that and all the water I poured over the ground day after day, I couldn’t get more than a few patches of flowers to grow, mostly over the cat where its decaying body must have fertilized the ground, a few near the fence line closer to Ensley’s house.

  It was the wrong season. I knew that, but I’d made her a promise I was determined to keep. Beautiful colors would spring up out of the ground over the places we’d buried our secrets.

  Since that night in my room when Ensley fucked me and then said all those horrible things, I’d kept my light on every night, had sat back on my bed while she crawled through my window to curl up by my side, had enjoyed the time we had off from school during the holiday break, and I hadn’t asked her to explain what she’d said to me.

  Even though I could take an educated guess.

  Every night, she cried when she thought I was sleeping. And every night, I would clench my teeth to keep from telling her I was awake, that I could hear her, that I was here to make those tears go away if she would just talk to me.

  She would hold my face gently sometimes, kiss my forehead, my closed eyes, my lips, but those kisses were soft seconds, mere brushes of her lips against my skin because she tried not to wake me up without realizing I was right there with her. Like always.

  While she hurt, I hurt too. But I never told her I knew what she was doing. Never opened my eyes, never grabbed on to her like I wanted to do so that I could hold her in place and refuse to let go. I was too scared to lose her, too scared she’d run off like an animal almost trapped, never to be seen again.

  Whoever was using her at school was going to die when I finally found him. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. I didn’t want to do anything that would make Ensley shove me aside, didn’t want to chase her off by protecting her from the world. But I made the decision anyway.

  I was torn between believing she would shove me out of her life and wanting to take the chance she was bullshitting me. I was scared shitless. But I made the decision anyway.

  Still, I knew her. Knew her so fucking well that it kept me stuck in place, because when Ensley wanted to cut someone out, you could almost hear the scissors chopping. She had blinders she could toss up at any given time that were so damn effective that a person could be waving in her face and she still wouldn’t see them if she didn’t want to.

  I wouldn’t risk becoming that person.

  Why was she even letting those guys do those things? Why was the money so important? Was it for drugs? So she had enough to buy them?

  What the hell was going on with her?

  All the damn questions were screaming so loud that I hadn’t been able to sit on my bed and wait for her. The sun had gone down three hours ago and I’d left my house to grab the hose and try to force these flowers to spring to life.

  It was close to the time she would be sneaking over, and I’d follow her inside when she finally climbed out her window. Already, the light in the kids’ room was off, and I knew she was lying there in one of their beds, waiting for them to fall asleep.

  The plastic finally came loose, and a spray of water rushed over the grass between our houses.

  Starting at the top near the woods and working my way down, I wasn’t paying attention to much of anything until a flicker of light caught my attention.

  Glancing up, I narrowed my eyes at the shed that jutted out from the side of Ensley’s house. There was a faint female voice followed by a deeper male voice, something like met
al clinking and then a few seconds later a thump against the shed wall.

  That thump was followed by another. And another, the pace slow before picking up to go faster.

  My brows pulled together, and I dropped the hose. I crept around the end of the chain link fence, over the strip of grass, and around the fence by Ensley’s house. Walking slow so I didn’t make a sound, I crept farther up to the shed.

  I could hear a man moaning, the slap of skin, could hear somebody else whimper, and what sounded like chains.

  Confused, I crept up more and tucked myself on the side of the shed, scanning the old wood for any strip of light wide enough that you could see through the panels.

  Fuck, let me hear your voice. Do you like this?

  The deep voice only made me more desperate to see what was going on, and after walking the perimeter of the shed, I finally found a spot wide enough to look through.

  Yes. Keep going. Oh, so good.

  My spine went straight, jaw clenched. I knew that soulless voice like I knew my own. Pushing up on my toes, I closed one eye to look through the gap with the other, my hands balling into fists against the wood.

  She was chained by the wrists, her body facing the outside wall and her hips against a table that rocked and banged against the shed. All I could see was her head and shoulder and the son of a bitch behind her that gripped her hips and drove into her so hard that the chains rattled.

  I wanted to tear down the old wooden slats and strangle the asshole that was touching her. But I stopped myself.

  Ensley wasn’t crying out, wasn’t saying no. She was just hanging there like this was normal, like it was something she did all the time.

  Was this what she was talking about in my room?

  Shoving away from the wall, I walked the perimeter again to see if I could find another gap that was wide enough to watch from another angle, but then the fucker started calling her all those names she’d told me to call her, his voice hoarse and broken, the thumping even more violent as Ensley moaned.

  She fucking moaned, and I knew then that she was enjoying it.