by Anne Malcom
She didn’t say his name. Couldn’t. Merely thinking it was like claws tearing at the flesh of her brain, her heart, her soul.
But Orion didn’t need to say his name. April knew exactly who she was talking about. Her small flinch told her that, the way her brows drew together, her forehead wrinkling.
Guilt painted her face, but she didn’t look away from Orion in shame like Maddox had. She met her stare evenly.
“At the beginning, we were all so frantic to find you, to figure out what happened,” April began. Her eyes stayed on Orion, though they were filled with tears and shame, her bottom lip quivering. “It was the first time I’d had something like that happen to me, like, my best friend in the world just . . . gone,” she continued. “We weren’t equipped to deal with the fact that we were never gonna find you. We were kids. And your brother, you know, he was always so quiet, so reserved. We tried to look out for him, invite him over, watch out for him at school. But then . . .” She trailed off. “I don’t have a good enough excuse for you, honestly. We never forgot about him, but we also didn’t know how bad it was, how bad it had gotten with him. I seriously didn’t know he was using like that. Not until it was too late. I felt like I blinked and he was gone.” She paused, eyes far away, maybe remembering him. “He didn’t kill himself, though, Ri. He was as obsessed with finding you as we were. He never gave up hope. It’s just—” Her voice cut out. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She took a deep breath and bowed her head.
Orion watched her, didn’t say a word, left a hollow silence between them.
“I don’t think he could take the pain anymore. He was trying to numb it,” April said finally, voice low, her eyes back on Orion. “Maddox tried to help after he got back from the academy. Tried to get him involved with the force. He tried everything he could, I promise you that. We both did. But it just . . . didn’t work. Your dad was gone by then. Your mom was on her way. He was looking straight down the barrel of a life without a family, without a chance.”
Orion still said nothing. Instead, she let it all wash over her. She tried to imagine what her brother would look like now if he were still alive. She felt the familiar well of tears, but she fought them back.
As if trying to fill the terrible silence, April continued, “At first, I thought he’d be okay. He looked different, harder, but I saw the sweet boy in him still, and he started working at the brewery. Seemed like he really enjoyed it. Then he got a girlfriend, the owner’s daughter. He loved her with something I knew, even then, was too strong, too powerful for a boy with a soft heart, for a teenager who had gone through what he had. And then, they got in a big fight and she broke up with him. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I know he fell off after that—” Her voice caught. A tear trailed down her cheek. “And then we got the call.”
Orion realized that April was waiting. Waiting for her to do something, say something. Hurl blame at her, scream, cry. Anything.
Sure, she felt like doing all of those things. A part of her did, at least. The other, bigger part—growing with every new blow—was numb and unwilling to accept the ugly truth. It was a dark fate. Because if her brother had been alive, she wouldn’t be able to execute her plans. She would’ve been forced to try to be human, forced to be the older sister to a brother who needed her. She would’ve done it for him. Pretended her entire life. She could’ve saved him.
As it was, this was giving her the permission to not pretend to be human, to lean into the monster the world had turned her into. To accept where the demons were taking her. He, too, was a victim she needed to fight for, to avenge, because had they not taken her that day, her brother would surely be alive.
“I appreciate you telling me, and for trying,” Orion said. She could think of nothing else to say. She didn’t have the energy to be a bitch to April, but she needed her to stop crying, to stop emoting. “But your obligation to me, to my family, has long expired, April. You don’t owe me anything anymore.”
April frowned. “I’m not here because I owe you anything. I’m here because I’m your friend, Ri. Because I missed you every fuckin’ day since you’ve been gone.”
“No.” Orion had intended the word to be devoid of emotion, but it was violent, passionate. “You were Ri’s friend. Orion doesn’t have any.”
April regarded her. “You’re not alone in this, Ri,” she said, voice soft, patient.
Orion gritted her teeth. “Yes, April, I am. My family, my entire fucking family, is dead. I don’t have any long-lost relatives crawling back into the picture, and if I did, they’d be here for the fame and a potential paycheck. I don’t have any friends, because I don’t know how to be a friend to anyone anymore. Do you understand that? I have no one. I am no one.”
“You have us,” April replied, refusing to back down, to cower at Orion’s ugly tone. “And you are Orion fucking Darby. You survived shit most horror authors couldn’t even dream up. You are the strongest bitch I know, Ri. The baddest.”
Orion laughed. She liked that the sound made April grimace. It was an ugly laugh. “April, I don’t want any friends. Don’t need any either,” she said, finally grasping that cold, emotionless tone she’d been searching for. “I’ve done this shit on my own, and that’s how I’d like to keep it. Because that girl you knew ten years ago? She’s gone, April. Dead. If I would’ve gotten home on time that night, and some other poor girl was taken instead, sure, maybe you and I would still be friends today. Or maybe, eventually, the novelty of having a trailer trash friend would wear off, you’d piss off to some private school on the East Coast, paid for with your parents’ money, and leave me at the Sunnyside Trailer Park to fucking rot. Maybe not. Only one of us here knows the truth. But I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
Orion paused, making sure her words were landing in the right place. And by the shimmering in April’s eyes, she could tell they were. She shrugged, forcing herself to be as cruel as she could. She leaned in, arched an eyebrow. “Tell me I’m lying.”
April shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Ri. You’re angry. And you have every right to be.”
Orion laughed again, still ugly and hollow. She took a breath, the air painful and thick, but she made sure to make the gesture seem easy.
“I know exactly what I’m saying!” Orion felt the words tear out of her mouth, liked the way April flinched. “I wouldn’t have been anything but a friend from high school that you forgot the name of in ten years,” she told April. “But now we don’t even have the high school history to cling to. I don’t know you. I know at thirteen you snuck beer for us from your dad’s fridge, loved Charmed, and hated algebra. That your biggest crush was Chad Michael Murray. I’m guessing all of that is moot now. You’re nothing but a stranger who knows what I used to like when I was younger. When I was someone else. Because while I can guess bits and pieces of your past ten years, I can tell for damn certain they have nothing in common with mine. I get the obligation, that you’re a good person. That maybe you feel guilty, nostalgic, whatever. But I don’t know how to lie, since life has made sure I know nothing but ugly truths.”
April stared at Orion for a long time, chewing at the inside of her lip, chewing on the truth. Orion wondered if she’d ever heard it that plainly before.
“Okay, so you wanna know me?” April finally said. She didn’t wait for an answer. “You wanna know who I am? I’m April Elizabeth Novak. I still like Charmed. I think it’s the epitome of girl power and I love their outfits. I have shitty taste in men, or the men I date have shitty taste in women, since I’m a pretty terrible girlfriend. I get bored easily with relationships, jobs, and hairstyles. I hate working out, but I’m unhealthy about my weight, so I starve myself on every day of the week except Sunday. I drink too much. I stay up too late, I play my music too loud.” She took a deep breath, the tears really rolling now, but with a new energy in her, a brightness in her eyes. “And you know why I didn’t end up at that private school on the East Coast on my parents’ dime? Because
I was such an emotional fucking basket case after my best friend in the world went missing that I stopped giving a shit about everything in my life. My grades went to hell, I started drinking more, doing drugs. I fucking gave up.”
She stood up before Orion could argue, could fling more ugly things at her to make her hate her.
She wiped her eyes and stood a little straighter. “No, I don’t know what you’ve lived through these past ten years, Ri. I can’t even fucking imagine. But you were my sister then, and you are my sister now, and I’m not fucking going anywhere. You’re not gonna push me away. You got that? No matter how cruel you are, no matter what mean things you might say to me, I’ve got thicker skin than you think and I’m just as stubborn as I was when we were kids.” She winked at her before snatching up her fringed purse. “I love you, Orion Darby. So get used to it,” she said, and then walked out the door.
“Maddox.”
Orion had expected April. Now that her old friend had made it clear she wasn’t going anywhere, Orion had become resigned to the fact she was not alone. She should’ve been more irritated about that, considering she’d gone to great pains to lie to herself about not needing anyone.
Little whispers of truth hit her then. Little pieces of relief that she didn’t have to weather the silence of this apartment until she was brave enough to take her future into her own hands.
Her body turned to stone with Maddox’s large frame standing in her doorway, a hand stuffed into his jeans pocket. He looked uncomfortable, as if he were worried about how she’d react at seeing him there, as if he hadn’t a clue how to act around women anymore since this one came back. She remembered the doorway seeming comically small with him in it. She felt comically small, fear bubbling up in her throat with the knowledge that this was a man, a strong man, and despite her workouts, she wasn’t strong enough to fight him off. It didn’t matter if it was Maddox, she knew the kind man with the soulful eyes wouldn’t hurt her. But the damaged, larger parts of her screamed that there was no such thing as a man who didn’t hurt women when he had the chance. That there was no such thing as a man without evil, and lust, and want.
She hadn’t seen him in weeks, not since the last of their interviews at the police station. Their lawyer had been present at all of these interviews, Orion had been thankful to the man, despite the fact that he wore too much aftershave and tried so hard not to be patronizing it was nauseating. He made sure the interviews remained professional and didn’t give Maddox the chance to try and step through the barrier of professionalism to try and rescue some lost past.
It was only on their second interview, a few days after they’d escaped, that they were told that Thing One had been captured. He had been hiding in the middle of the woods, eating from a landfill nearby. The man who had caused her so much pain, so much misery, was found living like a rodent. Fitting.
Orion had a vague reaction to the news. She took solace in the fact that he’d experienced even a few weeks of discomfort, in the fact that his discomfort would be intensified tenfold when he hit prison, that he would call a cell home then. But the feeling should’ve been more visceral. It should’ve been more of a victory. But it wasn’t. Not with the time to think on just how unimportant he’d been to the whole operation. They’d seemed so big, so powerful all these years, but they were nothing more than well-trained guard dogs. She should’ve been relieved, a little happy even, but she cried herself to sleep the night she learned Thing One was captured, because she thought of all the monsters out there in the world, walking around freely, taking, using, destroying the children in their paths.
Orion made sure to retreat into her cold, unfeeling place every time she saw Maddox. And since the news of Thing One’s capture, the feeling had grown stronger. Maddox brought with him a connection to not only the little girl she was in the past, but the girl who had spent ten years in hell too. Of course, she knew it was his job to talk about these things, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Which was why she had to be stone, so she wasn’t cut by the truth, by Maddox’s words, by the ugliness of the whole ordeal. And to protect her from the feelings seeing him gave her, like razor wire butterflies in her stomach, fluttering and cutting, ripping up her insides. Feelings of old mixing with new, confusing her—frightening her.
Once they were done with the final interviews, April had casually mentioned that Maddox wanted to drop by and check on Orion.
Orion had all but screamed in her face. Upon reflection, she was pretty sure she had screamed in her face.
To her credit, April hadn’t reacted to this sudden burst of near hysterical energy. She had just nodded in understanding and continued talking about how she had to binge Breaking Bad.
Which, she did.
April had been right about the show—it was damn good. So good that Orion had gotten sucked in and watched an entire season with April on the sofa and she’d almost felt . . . comfortable? Almost safe. Like she had all those years ago when they’d sit together eating Little Debbies and watching Charmed.
April was resilient, she’d give her that. The other night with the ugly words, the ugly side of Orion hadn’t scared her off. She hadn’t stopped with the visits, hadn’t mentioned leaving the apartment, or anything serious, apart from the other night.
She mostly babbled on about bad dates, about her asshole boss, about Eric who Orion was beginning to understand April was in love with.
Orion was waiting for her to give up. Expecting it. Her guilt to run out of her like a bathtub emptying out. She was young. Orion was a part of her past. April was a good person, but she’d always been a little selfish. A little flaky. So, Orion expected her to flake off by now, half-expected to discover some selfish plan of April’s to get all her money. Whatever shine that had come from her “best friend” returning from the proverbial grave had worn off and showed just how tarnished and ugly she really was.
But people changed, apparently. And April wasn’t giving up.
That was why Orion answered the door.
Because she was softening. As well as someone like her could, at least. Something was happening to her previously iron-clad resolve. Connections were messy with the plans she had ahead of her. Messy.
Deadly.
Ten
It had been hell not seeing her.
Maddox thought he was somewhat of an expert on hell, given his job, what he’d seen, and the demons he carried around with him. Of course, all of that had changed when Orion came back. He saw hell in her eyes that he couldn’t even comprehend.
So yeah, compared to what she went through, a few weeks of sleepless nights, shitty days, and countless bottles of whiskey was fucking Disneyland.
Nonetheless, he’d gone crazy.
He’d spent years thinking about her, not knowing where she was, thinking she was most likely buried in a shallow grave where no one would ever find her.
He had always believed she was alive. Or so he had thought, until he saw her. Listened to her speak in that flat yet strong tone while she stared at him through lifeless, yet beautiful eyes. Ri was dead. She made that clear every time he saw her. And he believed her. This was nothing like the girl he’d entombed in his mind.
But he wanted her, this new version. This woman who had survived hell. He wanted to get to know her, to help her, protect her. Fuck, he probably wanted it all for selfish reasons. To see her make a semblance of a life so it didn’t feel like he’d failed her. Or maybe just to torture himself with her presence because he deserved that punishment.
She had grown up beautiful. Anyone could’ve seen that. Even in the hand-me-down clothes she’d worn as a child, even with the last name that seemed to stick on her like gum. She was beautiful. It was that simple.
But her beauty now was nothing but simple. It was warped. Stained with pain, with death, with a kind of hollowness that Maddox hadn’t known could exist.
He had tried to tell himself that it would dissipate with the weeks of freedom. Once she had time to
adjust to her new life. When he had time to either rid himself of his guilt or learn to live with it. He thought he was ready to let her go, to let go of any hope or notion that they could ever know each other again. He was alright with a future without knowing Orion Darby, or so he told himself.
But her opening that door had proved him wrong. He’d known deep down that he was wrong anyway. He knew that shit didn’t just fucking float away into oblivion. She wasn’t dead, and behind her cold eyes and blank stare, he saw the old Orion was in there too.
“Maddox,” she said, her tone dipped in annoyance, rigidity.
The way she said his name made him want to flinch. He half-thought that’s what she wanted. Her nose furrowed ever so slightly in what he could guess was irritation. Nothing else on her face betrayed an emotion. Betrayed their history. Then again, it was buried under years of torture and abuse.
Fuck, she was beautiful, but in a way that was really hard to look at. In a way that made him hate himself because he shouldn’t be thinking that shit right now. He came for a purpose, and that’s where his mind needed to be.
But he was thinking about her, and the hell she’d lived through, and he was thinking about the news he was about to drop on her. Whether the words would hurt her or help her, he didn’t know. She looked beautiful, the way the morning light lit her face, made her eyes come alive, if only for a moment.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her eyes darkening again. Her voice was soft, in volume at least. Everything else about it was a hard edge. Cutting at him. Scarring him.
He cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”
She moved closer to the door frame, pulling the door with her, physically barring him with her small body. It wasn’t as small as it had been before, he noted. Then he silently scolded himself for checking her out.
In the hospital bed, she’d been a slip of a woman, a ghost. She had been at least twenty pounds underweight, signs of malnourishment clinging to her like her skin to her bones.