by Snow, Nicole
That old promise.
The one where they say if you toss flowers over the cliff with the person you love, maybe you’ll be together forever.
So we pluck the petals with starry-eyed looks and hold them up high. And when we cast them over the edge and into the wind, sending them swirling into the night, I think I can see our forever.
Little do we know that our promise ends in less than a week.
Little do we know that when Rissa tries to document her old man’s abuse with a secret recording, instead she captures something worse.
Little do we know that when he’s shouting at someone over the toxic chemical runoff from the Galentron facility poisoning the aquifers underneath forest conservation land and eventually seeping into the town’s water tables...it means something far more sinister. He says it doesn’t matter, and these people won’t be here long enough to notice.
Except once I hear those words played back from the little device in her shaking hand, I do know.
I know exactly what’s going to happen, the way the mayor’s truly sold out this town.
I don’t know how to tell her.
I don’t know how to tell her about SP-73 or how Galentron just might wipe out Heart’s Edge on a whim.
I just know I have to stop that shit. My own happiness can’t cost more than every life in this town.
Fuck, I have to save Clarissa.
Even if it means losing her to save Heart’s Edge.
* * *
Present
What would my life be if one decision hadn’t changed everything?
If I’d stayed complacent, I wouldn’t have a life.
I’d have died with everyone here.
Or totally gone insane if I was extracted with other Galentron personnel and forced to watch while SP-73 ravaged everyone in this place I’ve come to care for.
Yeah, I could’ve just run away with her, but that would’ve meant leaving everyone else to their fate. Deanna. Gray. Warren. Blake. Ms. Wilma. So many people.
Couldn’t have lived with that on my conscience, even if Rissa never knew the truth.
So I did what I had to—even if that, too, cost lives. Even if it destroyed any chance I might ever have at rejoining normal society.
So here the fuck I am.
The monster, scarred by flame, too tainted by my past to ever hope she could love me again.
If I’m honest with myself, that’s what really has me out here in the dark, staring into the campfire. Clarissa and Zach and the cabin are just dim squares of golden light seeping through the windows.
When she’d wrapped her arms around me, when she’d leaned in close, I wondered.
How could she?
The way she kissed me the other day, is she still seeing the old Leo? The man who still knew how to smile? The man who wasn’t warped into a twisted fucking caricature?
If she sees me, truly sees me, I don’t get how.
Don’t get how she could look at me and not be revolted. Not see how destroyed I am, inside and out.
I try not to think about it as I heat water for instant coffee, watching the pot with an intensity born of habit to make sure it doesn’t boil over the little camp stove and douse out the flames.
Still, it’s impossible to get her off my mind. Clarissa Bell’s embedded so deep I’ll go to my grave with her name on my lips.
A sharp sound catches my attention, puts all my senses on high alert.
A snapping twig.
It’s stealthy, slow, but somebody’s out there.
I’m on my feet in an instant, melting into the trees. The sound comes closer—footsteps.
Probably tracking my firelight.
Let ’em.
It’ll draw them into the open, where I’ll see them first.
Fuck, who am I kidding? There’s no them.
It’s probably Fuchsia, playing her little games and coming to prod me over whether or not I’ve done her dirty work and cracked the encryption on that drive.
Which means that snapping sound was likely a decoy.
I’ve never met anyone who can move so silently in stiletto heels, but she wouldn’t miss this opportunity to screw with me.
Slowly, I circle to one side. I won’t be where she expects. I can’t trust her not to show up with a gun and demand all the data she thinks I’ve uncovered.
Without that info, we lose our chance at getting Deanna back.
One step at a time, I slip into the trees, listening for those hints of movement. Another footstep, another cracking twig, a rustling, and then she comes stepping boldly into the clearing.
Now, it’s my turn.
I throw my entire weight forward and slam into her.
Only, Fuchsia isn’t over six feet of solid muscle.
And Fuchsia wouldn’t shout “Fuck!” in that deep, annoyed voice as she goes down under me.
Warren and I land hard in a tangle just as it registers that it is Warren Ford.
Goddammit.
As the dust clears, I push myself up, looking down at him. He glowers up at me, his blue eyes flashing. “The fuck was that for?”
Blake emerges from the trees, grinning. “Someone got lonely out here.”
“You’re not funny,” I mutter, pushing myself to my feet, and then offering Warren a hand. “Sorry. Wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“Yeah, well, we thought we’d just drop in and check on things.” Grumbling, Warren takes my hand and hauls himself up, then dusts off his jeans and rakes a hand back through his crop of messy black hair. “And Grandma said you’re invited to breakfast.”
I blink. “Breakfast?”
“Breakfast,” Warren repeats, almost grudgingly. “Look, it’s Ms. Wilma...don’t argue. Just eat.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m already dreading this invitation. It goes without saying it’s extended to Clarissa and Zach, too.
Hell, do I even know how to act around people in the light of day? Especially the woman I love and our son?
“Breakfast,” I agree, but then beckon to them, sinking down to sit on my stump. “But first, I need to show you this.”
* * *
I shouldn’t have worried.
I haven’t been around Ms. Wilma in a long damn time, but I remember her like yesterday. Even in her eighties, that woman’s a force of nature.
She won’t let people feel uncomfortable around her.
She’s everywhere at once, plying us all with bacon, scrambled eggs, pancakes soaked in so much syrup I can smell its sweetness. Zach is already digging in, his face covered in sticky syrup; if he’s not careful, he’ll get it on his glasses.
I can’t help watching him fondly. I want to reach over and wipe his face clean and just hug him till he squeaks, my chest filling up with this warm, wonderful feeling.
Not gonna happen. Not today.
I’m the only one here who knows he’s my kid, and I’m not even supposed to know.
Plus, it’d be a little strange for a grown man to start coddling a boy who’s supposed to be a stranger. But as I glance up, I catch Rissa watching me.
There’s something haunted and longing in her eyes. Something I feel right down to my bones, an answer to this silent ache.
We’re gathered here as a family in everything but name.
I’m not ready for the hand tugging at my hood, though, as Ms. Wilma comes sailing past and drops a plate piled high with a lion-sized meal in front of me.
She clucks her tongue. “Oh, do take that hood off, boy. You can’t eat like that. You’ll make a mess.”
My heart goes heavy and still.
The only one I’ve shown my face to is Clarissa.
I’ve always managed to keep myself at least half-hidden in front of everyone else.
Shit. I don’t want to scare my boy.
But everyone’s watching me, the clank of forks against plates suddenly and strangely silent.
There’s no malice in their gazes.
Just quiet curiosity, warmth.
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These people used to be my friends, and it’s the oddest reunion ever. Guess I can’t hide forever.
Breathing shallow, I reach up and draw my mask down carefully, then pull my hood back.
There are no gasps. No nervous, flicking eyes. No muffled disgust.
Zach just grins at me, warm and approving. I’d almost think the kid seems happy to see my face, his eyes sparkling as he pops a messy, syrup-soggy triangle of pancake into his mouth with his bare fingers.
Then Blake lets out that goofy-ass laugh of his, tilting his head at me. “Looks more like a lion than a tiger, now, I reckon.”
Tiger?
My stomach twists. I stare at him, then at Warren. “You guys knew?”
Warren grins. “Yeah. We figured it out a little while ago while we were talking.” He stops then, his voice softening. “Welcome home, Leo.”
It hurts.
It goddamn hurts in the most beautiful fucking way, how these people accept me like I’m one of them. Ms. Wilma’s hand is on my shoulder, squeezing gently, as if to say, I told you so.
I look up and see Rissa watching me with that slow, shy smile. It’s the same as the first time I saw her when we were kids.
It says she’s happy for me.
Hell, I’m happy for me.
I duck my head, clearing my throat, unable to stop grinning as I dig into my food.
It’s relaxed and comfortable and easy as we all settle in to eat. We pass pitchers and plates around for seconds and top-ups, murmuring to each other.
We’re still short three people, but not long after, Haley comes in from putting the baby down and joins us, groaning about her one-year-old making her ravenous. Soon, the whole gang’s here as Doc and Ember arrive, claiming their own spots at the table.
Gray’s the one who broaches the subject first. He discreetly transfers his soaked pancakes to Ember’s plate and replaces them with a stack that aren’t disintegrating into mush in the syrup.
“So,” he says. “From what I understand, we’re in a bit of a stalemate.”
Warren grunts, propping his chin in his hand. “I don’t like it one bit. Anybody who’d kidnap and hurt a woman might start with a cellphone video, but won’t take long to move on to body parts.”
Clarissa goes pale. I almost wish I hadn’t shown Warren and Blake that video.
I make a soft, angry sound in the back of my throat, and Warren looks sheepish.
“Sorry, Rissa,” he says, and Haley smacks his arm.
“You’re honestly the most insensitive lunk.”
“I’m sorry!”
“He does have a point,” I growl. “With the cops doing nothing, we’re bogged down in a time-consuming gambit when the countdown to Deanna’s kidnapper getting impatient can’t be that long.”
“Every second is a second too long,” Clarissa whispers.
It’s sweet, how Zach seems to read his mother’s mood and leans over to rest his head on her arm, giving his own comfort.
Hell, we shouldn’t be talking about this in front of him, but he’s a smart kid. He knows something’s wrong.
Doc brings everything back on track in his usual brass tacks way. “Our efforts should be twofold. One, we try to crack the encryption on the drive ASAP, so we have our bargaining chip if Galentron’s really willing to try an even trade. Two, we try our damnedest to track down the kidnapper and possibly claim the upper hand by saving Deanna ourselves.”
“There’s one big high-heeled problem with that,” I say.
Gray grimaces around a mouthful of eggs. “Don’t say her name.”
“I kind of have to.”
“I don’t want to hear her name. Not at this table.”
“Look, man, not saying her name won’t make Fuchsia Delaney go away,” I tell him. “And you can bet she’s watching our every move with plans of her own. I don’t know why she’s so dead set on exposing Galentron when she doesn’t have a moral bone in her body, but she’d leave Deanna to rot if it meant getting her way. We’re just tools to her. We crack the data, we risk giving her what she wants and losing our leverage.”
“Then the third part of this,” Blake says with a wicked gleam in his eye, “should be keeping Fuchsia busy.”
Doc arches a brow. “No more fireworks, please.”
“Nahhh, not this time, Doc.” Blake spreads his hands with an easygoing grin. “But I bet me and War could make it look like we’re onto something. Go do some scouting around, act like we’re hunting for something out in the boonies. Make her curious enough to follow us around.”
“It’ll keep her out of our hair a little longer,” I agree, stealing a second for a bite of Ms. Wilma’s delicious bacon. “But we still have Nash to worry about.”
There’s a long silence. Then Clarissa says softly, “Nash is the man on the video. He’s the one who took my sister.”
I frown. “You’re totally sure? He might just be working with the kidnapper.”
“No. I know it.” Her throat works. “He cornered me and Zach at the museum. He said something about me having lovely hair...just like he said to Deanna. I remembered. It’s him.”
Such lovely hair.
It hits me in the balls—the memory of Nash’s face, fifteen years younger.
Dr. Ross’ polished shoe grinding into my cheek, holding me down.
I’ve disobeyed again.
Refused to respond to my trigger word.
Shut him out.
So I get punished.
But Dr. Ross’ golden boy gets a reward, and that reward is me—anything he wants to do to me.
Nash leans down, leering, his smile fucking eerie. He’s warped. Kid was crazy long before Dr. Ross got his hands on him, a natural psycho or something.
I think he enjoys this.
And it’s with sick pleasure that he strokes my hair back from my bruised and aching face as he growls, “You really do have nice hair.”
Then his fingers tighten, digging into my scalp in this harsh grip that nearly rips my hair out, turning my skull into a crown of scorching pain.
I won’t scream, but his smile only widens, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
“It’s such a shame I’ll have to get it all bloody, now isn’t it, Leo-Leo-Lion-boy?”
“—eo. Leo!”
It takes me a second to realize Clarissa’s calling my name. I suck in a sharp, chest-scouring breath, blinking as reality resolves around me.
Everyone’s staring at me.
Fuck.
Now I remember Nash.
Not everything. Enough.
Enough to know exactly why I blocked it all out, buried it deep inside these blank holes in my memory.
We were together in the Nighthawks program.
Kidnapped. Tortured. Conditioned.
I became the rebel.
He was everything they ever wanted.
I swallow this brutal lump in my throat, meeting everyone’s eyes.
“Sorry,” I bite off. “Sorry, guys. I was just remembering something about Nash. About my childhood.”
Ms. Wilma watches me with sympathy. “Did you ever really have a childhood, dearie?”
“Once.” I smile faintly. “I think everyone has the chance to be a kid at some point.”
“But when that gets stolen away...” She makes a clucking sound, then waves a hand. “Don’t mind me. Just an old woman’s memories. I recall quite some time ago several families grieving the loss of their missing dumplings.”
Yeah. I remember that too. I can tell she’s giving me a chance to deflect, and I’ll take it.
Because I was one of those missing kids.
Maybe I’ll never know who my mother and father were after those memories were torn out of me.
I lock eyes with Rissa.
With the way she’s watching me, maybe it’s not too late to make some new memories after all.
17
Wrong Turn (Clarissa)
I can’t sit still.
Believe me, I’m
trying.
Trying because I still want to keep this ugliness from touching Zach, from frightening him, from exposing him to the very real chance his Auntie Deanna could die.
That’s why I’m settled in with Ms. Wilma in her garden, lingering with my boy long after Warren and Blake left to keep Fuchsia busy and possibly even draw Nash’s attention as well. Leo’s also gone, back to working on the drive’s encryption, while Doc and Ember head over to The Menagerie to keep up appearances for anyone watching.
Doc said he has some contacts he could reach out to, but it’ll take time.
Communications could be monitored. We can’t risk creep-o Nash picking up on what we’re doing to try to outmaneuver him.
I shiver with a chill that has nothing to do with the autumn air.
Here in Ms. Wilma’s sunny atrium, it’s still summery hot. The glass traps the heat to make a greenhouse out of her little garden.
Such lovely hair. I can’t stop replaying that horrible phrase.
The way he looked at me, the fact that he knew my name...I should’ve trusted that prickle on the back of my neck and done something besides run.
Deep down, I think I knew.
Knew Nash was the one.
He took my sister, and then toyed with me like the gruesome psychopath he is.
I’m scared for Deedee every second she’s in his clutches. He’s someone truly dangerous. Someone Leo remembers, though he’s still full of so many secrets and won’t quite tell me how, or all the details of the Nighthawks program and what happened to him as a kid.
I still can’t believe he was there growing up.
It shouldn’t be possible. I know every freaking inch of those underground chambers, minus a few doors that were sealed up in the 1800s and never opened.
There’s just no way that sweet boy I remember, that boy I played with, that boy I loved was being tortured right below where I slept every night. Him, and who knows how many other kids.
I press my knuckles to my mouth, watching Zach as he creeps through the cattails around the pond, his eyes riveted on a mayfly perched on one stalk. He’s about the same age Leo was when I first met him as Tiger.