by Yessi Smith
“Don’t move your hands. You don’t want to make your boyfriend suffer, do you?”
I shake my head. I don’t. I want this to all be one of my nightmares. I want to go back to Harbour Island and sit along the shore with Travis while Leeloo plays in the surf.
I hope Derrick will take care of Leeloo when he can’t find us. Hell, I hope Heather has passed by Poppa’s house and fed Leeloo and let her outside to go to the stream she likes so much.
Mando puts a cloth drenched in water over my mouth, nose, and eyes, and I begin to choke. My hands want to grab the cloth, but I force them to stay still.
Drowning. I’m drowning, and for some ridiculous reason, I remember the large fish I encountered while diving with Travis.
My legs kick violently, trying to get me to the surface, but my hands stay clenched by my sides. Finally, Mando removes the cloth and I gasp for air, greedily taking more than my fill and cough.
Mando claps my shoulder, again congratulating me and bringing me back to my hellish reality. Before I catch my breath, he puts the cloth over my head again, and my mind reels in every direction.
Drowning. Despair. Death.
How I long for death. I welcome it more than the oxygen my body craves. To slip away. Quiet and unnoticed. To live among Travis’s stars.
When Mando removes the cloth from my face, I open my eyes but shut them when the sudden dizziness hits me. With my eyes closed, I take small breaths, not wanting to inhale more water when Mando puts the cloth back on me.
We do this for minutes, hours.
It doesn’t matter. Time no longer matters, not when there is too much time left.
When he finishes with me, he stalks over to Travis and kicks him in the stomach, making Travis curl into himself. Before he has time to regain his composure, Mando is pulling the rope, so Travis is hanging inches off the ground.
My mind goes wild, and I’m unable to keep myself quiet.
“I followed your rules!” I shout, watching Travis’s legs kick. “Mando! You said if I followed your rules—”
He laughs, interrupting my outrage. “Don’t you see, Holly?”
Travis continues to struggle while suspended in the air.
“I’m the one in charge here. I decide what happens.”
He won’t let me die. And he won’t kill Travis—at least, not yet.
He’s marking us. Destroying us piece by piece. A penance for sins neither of us committed.
The sad part? I’ll let Mando torture me, so he won’t hurt Travis. He’ll hurt Travis anyway. And Mando will enjoy every last bit of it.
We’re nothing more than his new playthings. He’ll keep us alive until he’s happy with his revenge.
There is no escape. There is no fight. There is no hope.
It’s just us, dying, in a shed.
Content, I hum as I prepare dinner while Erica watches television on our sofa. She’s been happy today, which in turn makes me happy. I like days like today because it’s almost as if I had my girl back.
Knowing it would make her happy, I called our son and invited him to dinner. When she heard he was coming, she insisted on wearing something other than her housedress, and I did my best to fix her hair to her liking.
From the kitchen, I can see them. Bub is sitting next to Erica with his arm on the headrest behind her.
We have been gifted a good son, a damn good boy. He works hard, loves his mom, and honors his dad. Erica raised him well while I tried not to screw up too badly.
Dinner is full of conversation with Bub filling us in on his life.
There’s no new love in his life, but I hope he finds someone soon, so he can give Erica a grandbaby to love as much as she loves him.
His job is stressful, but he enjoys it. He works too hard though, and I wish he’d take some downtime. Maybe he could go fishing.
But even stressed, he puts his mom first, making her laugh at his jokes. I love her laughter as much as I miss it. I wish I heard it more often.
I usher them out of the kitchen, so they can continue talking while I clean. Erica drifts to sleep quickly. It’s been one of her more active days.
After I finish cleaning up the dishes, I quietly tap Bub on the shoulder so as not to wake Erica from her nap, and I motion for him to follow me outside. I take Bub to the shed, eager to show him what I’ve done for his mom, for us.
He loves his mom just as much as I do. I know he’ll understand.
When I open the door, Holly lifts her head from Travis’s chest and looks back at us with fear in her eyes. I like the fear almost as much as I like the hope that lights up in her eyes, but it quickly dies away when confusion settles in.
“No!” she shouts, the corners of her mouth creasing as her eyes widen, disbelief spilling from the corners. “Not you,” she stammers.
“Derrick,” I say it, tasting the bitterness of his betrayal. “Why?” I wanted my voice to sound strong, accusing, but all I hear is the hurt behind his name.
Travis’s head snaps up when he hears me call to Derrick, and immediately, his body tenses when he sees Derrick with Mando. “You bastard!” Travis pulls against the chains locking him to the ground.
When I saw Derrick walk in first, for a moment, I thought we were saved, that all was not lost because he had kept his word. But when Mando walked in behind him, I spiraled out of control until I hit the pits of hell.
The wounds Mando had inflicted on me don’t compare to the pain of Derrick’s deception. It’s the wounds that never show on our bodies that destroy us.
“Good.” Mando smiles, as if he were a host welcoming his guests to a party. “We’ve all met.”
“I trusted you,” I whisper.
I look down when Derrick walks toward me, fighting back my tears so that he can’t see them. He kneels down beside me, and I stiffen when his hand touches my chin, lifting my face until I’m looking back at him.
“Holly.”
“I trusted you!”
Anger pumps in my veins, blinding me so that all I see is red. Jumping to my feet, I punch him in the jaw. I follow through with a hook to his kidney and I don’t stop when he falls to the ground. I kick him, even when he curls into himself and shouts my name.
With an unexpected smack across my face, Mando sends me to the ground.
My fault, I berate myself. I should’ve kept watch of Mando while I attacked Derrick.
Mando pounces on top of me, but he’s pulled back when Derrick grabs him by the collar.
“This has to stop, Dad.”
Dad?
I spit out blood and hobble back to Travis, prepared to defend him and my dying Poppa until my last breath.
“Run,” Travis whispers to me, motioning to the door with his head.
The room tightening its confines around me, and I sadly shake my head at him. With closed fists close to my chin, I stand in front of Travis and prepare myself for the fight. Derrick lifts his hands in the air, a sign of retreat, but I don’t trust him.
“Holly”—he slowly steps closer to me—“I didn’t know. You have to believe me. I didn’t know.”
“So, it’s just a coincidence that you happened to be my sketch artist, and we became friends?” My words bleed from my mouth, hoping the venom will poison him.
“No, I arranged that.”
He takes another step toward me, and my body eases into my fighting stance.
“I did it to protect you.”
Surprising me, he sits down a couple of feet away from me, but I refuse to let down my guard.
“Around the same time you were found wandering through Poppa’s woods, my dad went crazy. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.” He pauses, but then he continues when I don’t say anything, “These woods connect to Poppa’s. My dad let himself believe that your parents were responsible for my mom, but they’re not.”
“They are!” Mando roars, pacing behind Derrick like a caged beast.
“They’re not, Dad. You remember what happened,” Derrick coaxes.
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I watch in bewilderment as Mando begins to crumble before us.
“You told me what happened when you came home from the hospital,” Derrick says to his father.
Mando continues to pace, muttering nonsense I can’t understand.
“After you were found and in the hospital, it didn’t take me long to figure out that he was the one who had taken you. I spoke to the chief of police and told him I wanted to work with you to see if, together, we could come up with a sketch. I didn’t tell him about my dad’s involvement. I had to protect him, but I also wanted to protect you.” He sighs, running his hand over his face several times.
I stare at him, not able to understand the words spilling out of his mouth.
It’s all nonsense.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
“I already knew your memory was gone, but I had to see if you’d remember anything that could implicate my dad. And I wanted to keep you safe from him.”
“You know what they did to your mother, Bub! How could you betray her like that?”
“You betrayed her.”
“I love her.” He adamantly shakes his head at his son.
My stomach turns.
They’re crazy. Both of them are.
Going down to my knees, I take Travis’s hand and squeeze.
“I need to get us out of here,” I whisper, looking for something I can break his chains with so we can get out of here with Poppa while Derrick and Mando are occupied.
“Just go, Holly,” he whispers back.
I slowly stand back up when Mando stops pacing and faces the door. His eyes widen in obvious shock. Then, his face drops, and he’s suddenly on his knees, shaking and crying.
I turn to the door and stare.
When the door to the shed opens, the last person I expect to see is Erica. Her face is pale, her breathing erratic from the energy she used to get to us. She takes a quiet look around the shed—first at Travis, then at Holly, and finally at Ed, who’s still lying in the corner with a worn blanket covering his naked body.
Finally, she looks at me, and all I see is disappointment.
I fall to my knees, crying because she’s finally seen it—the blackness that lives in my soul. She kept it at bay when she was whole, but after the accident, the blackness seeped into my veins and spread like a disease until that was all that was left of me.
“Erica,” I whisper, bowing my head when she slowly approaches me.
“Why?” she questions me.
“They hurt you. They had to pay for hurting you.”
Spent, but determined, she clears her throat and speaks coherently for the first time since the accident.
“Mando, my sweet Mando.” She sighs and takes my face in her hands, kneeling in front of me. “I never wanted you to hurt anyone for me.”
“But I did.” My body shakes as I try to maintain control.
Can’t she see? I did this for her. I did this for the future that was taken from us.
Leaving her kneeling on the ground, I stand up and I walk past her.
“This ends now.” I smile at Holly and take a moment to drink in her fear.
I told her I was her keeper. I choose how long she lives and how she dies.
“Mando, don’t!” Erica calls after me, her voice trembling.
Enraged, I spin around and face her. For the first time, I hate my wife. I have done everything to support her, but the one time I want her support, she turns me down.
“I’m doing this for you!” I point a finger at her. “Don’t forget it. All of this is for you.”
“I don’t want it, Mando. Please, I don’t want it!”
“Then, you’ll die with the rest of them.”
I walk out of the shed and head to the house where my machete awaits me.
I’ll slaughter them all.
“We have to get out of here.” Derrick takes my arm and tries to usher me out of the shed without Poppa and Travis.
“What the fuck was that?” I shout at Derrick, my eyes wide, my body shaking.
“Who was he talking to?” Travis screams after Derrick.
He heads toward the door without me, but he turns around and glares at us. “My mom.”
I look around, even more confused. “Your mom?”
Derrick sighs. “She’s dead, Holly, and we’re running out of time.”
“Dead?” I stare at him, my heart drumming against my chest.
“She died the night of the accident.” Derrick runs a frustrated hand through his hair and swears under his breath. “They got in a fight while driving. My mom wanted a divorce, but my dad wouldn’t have it. He loved her too much. It was a sort of obsession, and she was tired of it. She couldn’t live with it anymore. That night, she told him she’d filed for a divorce. They fought, and I guess my mom didn’t see any other way out, so she unbuckled her seat belt and opened her door. She was about to jump when my dad grabbed her. He veered into the other lane and crashed into your parents.”
“But I thought…” I stammer out, but I stop because I don’t really know what I thought.
I was in shock when I spoke to the police. I remember speaking to them after Poppa identified my parents. I remember their mouths moving, but I can’t recall actually hearing what they said. Then, when Mando ran into me, he consoled me. He told me he didn’t blame my parents for the accident. He was sorry I’d lost my parents, but he was grateful God had spared his wife.
“He’s lived in a state of delusion since. He sees her. He talks to her. He takes care of her. He can’t live with what happened.”
“My parents. It wasn’t their fault?” I swallow hard against a lump in my throat forming. “Erica is dead?” My limbs shake, my skin crawling.
“Your parents are dead,” Mando interrupts. “I killed them. After the accident, I ran to their car. They thought I was going to help them. Instead, I killed them. I made your dad watch your mother die, and then I killed him.”
Agony crosses over his eyes for only a second, only to be replaced by a haunted expression, filled with pain and self-hatred. Still, he smiles, which infuriates me, but I keep my head bowed, so he doesn’t see my anger.
“Don’t worry. You’ll join them soon.”
Although my head is still bowed, I can see him approaching me with his machete by his side. I just need him to come a bit closer. I clench my hands into fists, squeezing them so hard that my hands begin to tingle. Just a couple of more steps.
Before he reaches me, Derrick tackles Mando to the ground. With the machete thrown away from the wrestling men, I grab it, and with two swift moves, I release Travis from his confines.
“Run!” He grabs my arm and pushes me toward the door.
I look back at him, ready to fight my way through him to get to Poppa if needed.
“I’ll get your grandpa. Get us a car!” Travis yells.
His plan makes sense, so I run out of the shed, hearing Derrick grunt as he struggles with his dad. Rays of light assault my eyes when I open the door to the shed. Since I know Derrick keeps his key in the ignition, I run toward his truck, leaves and small branches crunching beneath my feet, denting the soft ground with every step, and climb into the driver’s seat. With my hands shaking uncontrollably, it takes me a few tries to start the car. After I put the truck in drive, I slam my foot on the gas pedal and race toward the shed where Travis is carrying Poppa.
Once I get to them, I jump out and pull open the back door. A gun explodes from the shed, and my breathing stops. I’m paralyzed with fear, so Travis pushes past me and places Poppa’s limp body in the backseat. He then picks me up and sits me next to Poppa.
“Derrick?” I ask, staring at the shed, as Travis drives away. “He hasn’t come out. I heard a gun. Travis?”
But Travis never answers me.
The shed grows farther and farther away as Travis continues to drive, and still, I never see Derrick leave the shed.
I fight back the tears, and with careful movements, I take Poppa’s head an
d gently place it on my lap where I begin to smooth his hair out of his face. Dry blood sticks to his skin, holding his hair against his face. I work my way through each strand until all his hair is pushed back. His forehead is still hot from his fever, so I press my cold hands to it and hope it helps.
“Holly,” he murmurs my name.
I grab his hand. “I’m here, Poppa. We’re safe now.”
“Derrick?”
“Derrick saved us.”
Unable to fight them any longer, my tears fall down my face and onto Poppa.
Derrick saved us. The second he knocked his dad down, he chose us.
My steady legs carry me as I take deliberate slow steps. I approach Holly with the machete in my hand, the cool steel bringing me one step closer to death—her death. I’ve planned this moment with a calm and sober assessment of right and wrong, peace and violence. But in war, the lines blur, leaving in its wake heartache and death.
Thirsty for violence, I lick my lips and take another step toward my prey. Holly’s heart beats inside my own chest. Her thoughts are mine, and I revel in her fear.
The air thickens between us with one continuous pulse—fear.
Just as I go to reach her, my body is shoved to the ground. There isn’t time to react or retaliate.
Derrick plunges his fist into my face, and my nose explodes with pain. He then drives his fist into my stomach, and I fall to my knees, gasping for air.
“Bub,” I wheeze.
But he doesn’t stop.
Suddenly, he’s on top of me, so I fight back, haphazardly landing punches. We roll and grunt, neither caring that we are fighting the only family we have left. Blood splatters onto the concrete floor, but still, we continue. On automatic, we topple over, sinking our fists into each other.
Until I feel it—the cool steel pressed against my son’s back.
I pull the pistol out of Derrick’s halter before he has time to realize what I’m doing.
Shooting my son was never part of the plan, but plans change, shift in direction. We can either fall victim to them or adapt—even if the change hurts us…especially when it hurts us.