by Keary Taylor
Because it’s there, in the back of our heads. There will be no time to grow it back out. Because I only have three weeks and three days left on this earth.
“You ready?” I ask, moving on, because I won’t spoil this night for either of us.
Dodging boxes, Iona goes back for her purse.
Her entire apartment is packed up. She found a new one, across town. Where she will never have to walk the same path she frequented with Jack. In two days’ time, I will be moving all of her belongings into a truck, and then into the new building where she will continue to rebuild her life.
But for this day, the night is spent at a fancy restaurant across town. It actually looks out over the river. The evening draws to a close as we clear our plates. When Iona finishes her fish, potatoes, and steamed vegetables, every bite of them, she reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“I have an idea,” she says. She keeps looking at my hand. “It’s the only thing I can think of. So please listen. Really listen.”
Maybe my false front of hope hasn’t been as solid as I thought it was.
“Of course,” I promise her.
She draws two little lines with her finger on my hand, and I realize it’s a cross. “The town was cursed because it was built upon sacred grounds, correct?”
I watch her, moving from the cross, to random swirls and shapes. “It’s always been assumed that was the reason. Pain and torture for all the lives lost in that battle. For building upon what we didn’t know was there.”
Iona nods. In the glowing candlelight of the dinner table, I can’t help but think how beautiful she is.
Her cheeks have filled back in, no longer gaunt and starved. Her hips have shape to them. She’s still thin, it will take several months more before she’s returned to her previous self.
But she’s beautiful.
“What if we remove what was wrongfully placed there?” she asks quietly, and her fingers finally still.
Two heartbeats. Three. Four.
“What do you mean?”
She doesn’t answer me immediately. She places her hand over mine, holding it lightly. And then, her eyes meet mine.
“What if we burn the town of Roselock to the ground?” she asks. “Level it so it is as if it never existed.”
Something pulses in my chest. Throbs. Surges.
“What if we burn all those houses, one by one, until they no longer exist?” she says. “What if we burn the church, as if it had never been built? And then we create some kind of…memorial, for all those lives that were lost?”
There are too many thoughts running through my head to respond. Too many questions. Too many doubts.
“If we fix what was done, we can break the curse, Sully,” Iona says with hope. “Reverse what was done, as much of it as we can.”
Pounding. Racing. My heart doesn’t know what to do.
“Sully, we destroy Roselock, every bit of it,” she says, the hope and desperation rising in her voice. She leans in closer, her hand tightening around mine. “And we make sure you are nowhere close to it when May seventh arrives. And we save your life, Sully.”
Her voice cracks slightly when my name escapes her lips.
I nod. Because that pleading in her eyes fractures every bit of me. “It might…” Even saying the words makes me too scared to hope. “It might work.”
She looks at me, not quite daring to believe that I’m opening the door of consideration. But slowly, a smile curls on her lips.
“We can do this, Sully,” she says. “I am going to help you. And you are going to live.”
I lean in closer, trying so hard to give her what she wants.
The waiter walks up. “Your check, sir,” he says. “No rush.”
I look up at him, maybe managing a polite thank you. Again, I hate when Iona reaches for it, and then produces the money to pay the bill. Standing, I pull her seat for her, and arm in arm, we walk out the front doors.
With the beauty of the day, we decided to walk. Now that the sun has set, the air is much cooler. I shrug out of my jacket to place it around Iona’s shoulders.
She gives a little contented sigh and clings to my arm, resting her head against my shoulder.
“My family likes you, you know,” she says as we slowly walk down the sidewalk.
The view is spectacular. The tracks of the train stretch before and behind us, and just beyond that is the grassy bank of the Kanawha River. With the sun set low behind the hills, the sky bleeds gold and red.
“I like them,” I say, sliding my hands into my pockets. “Cressida can be a little intense, but I think I’m finally getting used to her.”
Iona laughs, shaking her head. “She was certainly born as her own self-assured person. Once you realize you can agree to disagree with her, she’s not as scary.”
I smile and nod.
Down we walk, along this sidewalk, which will eventually turn, and lead us back into town.
“Do you think it could work, Sully?” she asks. And her steps slow, though she keeps moving. “I’ve studied and searched. This…this is the only solution I can think of. It has to work, doesn’t it?”
“It’s a good idea,” I say, trying not to sound too doubtful. “Logically, it’s the thing that makes the most sense.”
She turns her face up toward mine, biting one corner of her lower lip. “It has to work. I don’t want to lose you, Sully.”
I bend down, lowering my face to hers. And press my lips to her own.
“I won’t lie,” I confess as I straighten when the blast of the train horn sounds, quickly approaching. “It’s hard to imagine. That after two hundred years, all of the insanity of Roselock could come to an end.” The sound of the train grows louder and louder, the ground rumbling. “That after my entire life, always knowing exactly when the end would come, to see it all come to some kind of...logical…conclusion.”
A stone drops in my stomach.
Because suddenly, Iona’s expression slackens.
Something dark sparks in her eyes.
Her grip on my arm loosens.
The tremor of the train’s approaching power shakes the ground. The honking of its horn obliterates my ears.
The look in Iona’s eyes distances.
“Iona?” I question.
She lets go of my arm.
She turns away, taking a step toward the track.
And just before the train levels with us
Iona jumps.
Chapter Sixty
IONA
It was like a sweet release.
Something snapping.
A cord cut.
I didn’t have to hold on to anything. I could just let go. Could just stop trying to keep everything pulled together.
And just give in to the monster.
The monster told me it was time to jump.
So I followed its voice.
I leapt.
And found blissful release from this life.
Now here I stand, watching it all as if in a blurry fast-forward time lapse.
The splatter. The crunch. The spray.
Sully’s bone-shattering, earth-moving scream.
The screech of iron on iron as the train skidded to a halt.
The sirens and the screams of ambulances and police cars.
And Sully… Poor, poor Sully.
A blur, that’s all I could see. A blur I couldn’t touch. Couldn’t break through. Couldn’t say a word through.
A screaming, crying, mourning family.
A packed funeral.
A grim-faced man who had done so much for me.
And then a cursed town that brought nothing but pain.
Chapter Sixty-One
SULLY
A week. An agonizing, pain filled, confused, cursed week.
Seven days of repeating the same story over and over. To Iona’s family. To the police. To the paramedics. Again, to the police.
What happened?
Why would Iona jump in front of a tr
ain?
I endured the screaming accusations of Iona’s family.
I bore the questioning stares of half a town at the funeral.
My things and I were tossed out of Iona’s apartment the day after.
I only managed to grab two things before they shoved me out.
Her photo album and her purse.
Quickly, I slipped one inside the other, wrapped them in my jacket, and set them in the passenger seat of my car. I left the town of Ander. For the very last time, ever.
For the last time, ever, I drove down the roads, turning off the highway. Faster and faster, I pressed the gas. Faster to the answers I’ve now had to wait an entire week for.
The bumpy road of Roselock greets me this fading evening. Over potholes and riveted washouts I work my way through the trees, and then past crumbling homes.
Burn it all down to the ground, she’d said.
I’ll do it now, just to spite it all. Just to punish something. Anything.
Something needs to pay for what has been done.
I pull my car into the shed once more, because it will never need to come out again after this day. Carefully, I take the photo album and purse, still wrapped in my jacket, and make my way into the church.
On my way inside, I snap off a single red rose, cutting my hand on the thorns.
The chapel is dusty and dirty as ever as I stalk through it. It is colder inside than it is outside, but I don’t bother lighting a fire.
I hook down the hall to the right, and head straight for my bedroom.
There’s a shirt of Iona’s pushed into the corner.
A spare brush she brought from home rests on the nightstand.
A tube of lipstick sits on my dresser, just under the mirror.
The woman who formed to fit the shape of my heart, and took up permanent residence there, left traces of herself over every space.
And now she’s dead.
My fingers roll into a fist. I throw the photo album to the bed, the rose immediately following it. And I swing.
My fists connect with wood, splintering apart a frame that sat on the dresser. Next, an old lamp shatters. I sweep my hands across the table in the corner, scattering tools and books as a furious cry erupts from my chest.
Everything. After everything, she still took her own life.
After everything, even after the fail-safe, Jack still won.
I stand with my hands braced on the top of the dresser, panting. Huffing. My head swims. Into the darkness my mind wants to spiral. To drown. To end the suffering.
But I have to know.
Have to find some kind of answer.
I turn, looking over my shoulder. To the photo album that lies open and facedown on the bed.
Two more calming breaths, I cross the room.
I grab the photo album.
And a rushing warmth filters through my veins.
“Sully.”
Her voice cracks, a sob barely contained.
I turn to see Iona standing behind me, by the door.
She looks beautiful. Her skin radiant. Her brown hair braided back. Her cheeks lively and healthy.
But her lower lip trembles. Tears swim in her eyes.
She takes a step forward, her hand gripping the opposite forearm. “Sully, I’m so sorry.”
And it fractures me. Splinters apart every ounce of self-control I’ve executed this week. I take two steps toward her, and fall to my knees, a broken man.
“I’m so sorry, Sully,” she whispers in broken words as she stands before me and looks down. “I’m so sorry.”
I let my head fall, my emotions breaking. Sobs crash through my chest. The dam is broken, releasing from my eyes.
And I lose myself.
Chapter Sixty-Two
SULLY
In the darkest part of the night, when the sun is so far away from me, it’s a planet away, when the moon is no more than a tiny sliver of light hidden behind the trees, I take Iona’s purse and walk into the Sunday School room.
One candle, that’s all I light.
I drop the purse onto the chair, staring death and damnation upon it. My jaw clenched tight, I reach into it. And close my fingers around the cold metal.
The temperature of the room instantly drops. The short, little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“So much for your promises to leave me alone.”
Jack appears just to my left. Smug and confident, he stands there, arms crossed over his chest. He smiles.
I just stand there, my gaze fixed on him. My fingers curled around his watch. His tool of destruction.
“It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” Jack says. “The moment you see it in their eyes. When mentally they just…cave.”
Still no words, I keep staring at the man.
“It’s too bad it’s just me on this side of the gate,” Jack says. He steps forward, beginning a little circle around me. “I would love to speak to her, or any of them, really. To interview them, to really get in their heads, and find what it felt like, when they finally granted me total occupation.”
My throat tightens at the same time my other fist does. A spark. A violent streak of lightning flashes through my veins.
But still I don’t say anything.
“You’re a resolved man, aren’t you, Sully Whitmore?” Jack says. He comes to a stop, and he lowers his gaze to meet my eyes. And I see a shift there. To something probing and analyzing. Something that can reach down into a soul’s depths and retrieve the contents to look them over. “What is it? Why are you such a…weighed down being?”
I won’t answer him. Won’t give him anything more than he’s already taken.
“You don’t have much time left, do you?” Jack concludes. “Somehow…somehow you know the end is coming for you. That’s why you aren’t more violent. That’s why you wear that mask. Because, in the end, you knew your time with Iona was limited, anyway.”
Every muscle in my body is tense. Flexed and ready to snap.
But I stand here, frozen.
Jack nods his head, satisfied he’s guessed right, which he has. And I loathe that.
“Since you’re a man who will soon be taking his secrets to the grave, I will tell you the truths of total occupation.” Something sparkles in his eyes. Elation. A secret kept and soon to be shared. An evil plan now come to fruition. “Open the watch.”
I blink once, confused at his simple request.
“Open it,” he instructs once more, nodding his head toward the object in my hand.
I look down at it, and seeing how no more harm could come, I open it.
The glass inside is cracked, the metal slightly bent from my multiple times of abuse to it.
“Press your thumb down on the inside face of the lid,” he continues instructing.
I do, and suddenly, a latch releases, and a thin metal divider swings open. A folded piece of paper flutters out and down to the floor. I bend to retrieve it, folding it open.
It’s a small piece, only three inches by two inches. Neat, organized handwriting covers its surface.
“These are the steps to total occupation, Sully,” Jack says, and I can hear the smile in his face. “The five elements of humanity, of freewill and life, and the trigger words to take away every single one of them.”
Love—Adore.
“Iona made love to me for the first time four weeks after we met,” Jack repeats the story he’s already boasted about. “I told you that was when I hypnotized her. It was then that I implanted this entire journey. Every word. The fail-safe. When she awoke, I told her that I adored her, and the very next words out of her mouth were that she loved me.”
Health—Robust.
“While I could not trigger any physical diseases to compromise her health, I could make her put her own health at risk by taking away a very natural human instinct: the need for nourishment.” Jack’s wicked smile shifts, displaying his pride. “While in Florida, I told her we could have as robust of a travel life as she
would like, and from that moment on, she only ate when others forced her.”
Heat builds in my veins. A slow burn, threatening to consume me.
Freedom—Liberate.
“I took away her freedom to do whatever she pleased with whomever she pleased, at a bar when we were out with her sister, Viola.” He continues his tale of manipulation. “Every relationship that had been important to her, every spare moment to herself, all turned toward me. Iona never went anywhere, unless it was at my suggestion.”
My eyes slide closed, as the heat in me burns so hot, it feels like ice.
“And things would have ended there, with her loving me obsessively, never to have an appetite again, in absolute seclusion, for the rest of her days,” Jack says as he takes a step toward me. “Had you not come into the picture. Had Iona not sought you out. Had you not opened the gate and let me back into her life.”
Safety—Harbor.
“You know that moment I said that word to her,” Jack says. “You facilitated that step. And I thank you for allowing me to continue this work.”
I snap.
My arm flings out, my fist aiming for his head, only it hits nothing but ice-cold air. So I take a step away, putting some distance between us.
Don’t drown, baby, Jack had said to Iona. I wish I could still be there. Wish I could be your safe harbor. But you have to be strong. Can you do that for me?
The bastard.
“You gave me the fail-safe,” I growl, facing the door to exit the room. “And it worked. It all stopped. She was getting better. She…Iona moved on.”
A little chuckle sounds from behind me.
And then a gratified sigh. “The one untested piece to this puzzle,” he says. “The fail-safe was installed in case anyone ever began to suspect. In case I ever needed to pause the experiment. It was never a cure. Never a release.”
I look over my shoulder at Jack. He looks up at me from under his eyelashes, the face of absolute evil who does not think any of their actions were wrong.