Captured by You

by Amber Hart

  I’m not at the habitat. I’m in Clovis’s room. Tucked under a comforter that feels like air. On a plush mattress that hugs me in my sleep. Clovis is there, snoring lightly. Probably because he was up part of the night, comforting me.

  —

  “Raven,” he whispers. “Wake up. It’s just a dream.”

  Clovis is lying next to me, shaking my shoulder. It’s the second time he’s woken me tonight.

  “It’s okay,” he says.

  I try to catch my breath. His room is too dark to see anything but the faint outline of his face.

  “You had a dream,” he says.

  “A nightmare,” I whisper.

  Clovis rubs my back softly. “Yes. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” What I really want to do is sleep for more than an hour without waking in a cold sweat. The way Clovis touches me, like a comforting friend, is soothing. My eyes want to close again—I’m so tired—but I force them open. I try to think of something good. Mama. My friends. Leahcim. Jospin.

  “You can sleep here,” I offer.

  Because I trust him and it’s nice to have something near me in the dark. I feel bad about how cramped and uncomfortable he must be on the couch, how he isn’t sleeping either if he’s having to wake me.

  He nods, continuing to rub my back.

  I wait just long enough, until the nightmare fades, before I close my eyes. Sleep finally finds me.

  —

  I sink into my thoughts, not wanting this to be real just yet. Not wanting to wake from the few hours of sleep that I actually managed to get, though they were filled with haunting images.

  Jospin.

  I was dreaming of Jospin. We were at his place, watching a movie. His hands moved to touch me, so soft and right. I pressed into him, finding his lips. The second my tongue met his, he responded with fervor, sending a wild mix of thrill and excitement coursing through me. He kissed me as if he loved me, as if he would never let me go. His hand slid under my shirt, up my back, pulling me tight. And then he moaned. It sounded almost painful.

  Something dripped onto the floor. I looked down to see blood. I followed the trail up to Jospin’s face. He was cut up. Dying. And then he let me go.

  His face switched suddenly. Now I was looking at Mr. Tondjii.

  “You killed my boy,” he snarled. “This is all your fault.”

  —

  “I need to paint.”

  This is what I tell Clovis as we head downstairs for breakfast.

  “Can it wait?” he asks.

  “No.”

  My reply is quick. Honest. No, it cannot wait. My feet leave the marble stairs and sink into the plush carpet of the living room. There are other pack members at the table, eating already. I don’t see Mr. Tondjii, to my surprise. Clovis bends to kiss me on the head and delivers the gift of a few words that no one else can hear.

  “He’s tending to business. Eat.”

  So, Mr. Tondjii won’t be down here with us. My relief is immediate. Until I see Mattius watching me.

  Clovis takes my hand and leads me to the selection of food on the oversize island in the middle of the kitchen. It’s a buffet. Fruit and breads and, on a warmer, something that looks like Cream of Wheat. I help myself to fruit salad and a piece of bread peppered with nuts and seeds and grain, enough to energize me.

  We take a seat at the table, though it makes me nervous. We passed an older woman—another poacher’s wife, Clovis informed me—on the way down the stairs, but aside from her and Mrs. Tondjii, I’m the only female here. Definitely the only one currently at the table. I can only guess where the clothes that have been provided for me came from. Ex-girlfriends? Daughters? There was more than enough to choose from, but I tried to stick to the most basic of items.

  I am very aware of the way the other men stare at me like I’m what they want to be eating instead of the plethora of food spread out before them. Clovis doesn’t seem fazed. I guess looking is okay—maybe the least of all evils here.

  I keep my eyes downcast. Eat my food quickly and listen to them speak in a language I don’t understand. I have a feeling that Mattius is still staring at me, but I don’t check to see if my intuition is right.

  “What now?” I ask Clovis, taking the last bite of bread. My plate is clean.

  “How does a trip into the jungle sound?” Clovis asks, like it’s no big deal. Just some time to kill, so why not.

  A thrill kicks through me. I hold tight to my energy. I can’t let my voice betray how much I like that idea.

  I shrug. “Whatever you want.”

  Clovis pats my leg under the table. It feels like he’s telling me, Good job.

  “I don’t have patrol until tonight. You can come if you want. Otherwise, we’re good,” Clovis says, laying out the plan.

  I wonder if the other men will mind. Joining Clovis seems better than staying at the house with them.

  “Fine with me,” I say.

  I brave a glance at Mattius and find him looking right back at me, as I suspected.

  “What are you doing today?” I ask. I think about how I’m supposed to be one of them, getting along with the others.

  “Don’t know,” Mattius replies. There is a hint of surprise in his voice. “Why?”

  I continue to look directly at him. “Didn’t know if maybe you wanted to come into the forest with us.”

  He definitely looks surprised now. I almost smile.

  “Unless you wanted to go alone?” I ask Clovis suggestively. Like maybe we would be doing things in the forest. Passionate things.

  This must be what sells it for Mattius, because he says, “No, thanks. I’m fine here. You guys have fun.”

  Good thing. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d actually said yes. It was a gamble.

  I won.

  Chapter 6

  Jospin

  I wake to find myself in a room I don’t immediately recognize. I rub sleep from my eyes, stretch with a tired grunt—and I remember clearly.

  Chloe finally left me alone yesterday. It took me only a minute to unpack my clothes onto the fixed shelves against the wall. I put my weapons—aside from the ones strapped to my body—in my bag and stuffed the bag under the bed. Tried to find sleep in a place entirely foreign to me, with an uninviting melody of gorilla sounds playing in the background. The door does have a dead bolt. Enough security to feel safe to dream in a place like this. A place where they could hurt me, though they claim to be peaceful.

  I’m awake now. Wondering how I managed to sleep at all.

  This is how Raven lived.

  I now know what it was like for her. The small room and no space and people always milling about. I hear their voices down the hall, mixed with a longer, farther-off sound of apes. Sometimes doors shut with a thud that shakes the walls. Every now and again a laugh penetrates the controlled chaos around me. They laugh here. Like it’s something free.

  I didn’t laugh often at home.

  I was either at my place, alone, or around the pack, where I had to be on my toes. Or I was with Father, which was never about laughing, always about business. Maybe that’s why he has his house parties, to allow the men to see him in a different light. As the alpha who lets his men have a good time. Plenty of games, alcohol, and women. The best relief.

  These are the thoughts I’m left with as I lie in bed alone, wishing Raven were here. Raven made me laugh sometimes. I wonder if we would laugh more if we were both here.

  I can’t stand missing her this badly, so I get up and get dressed. I decide to walk. I have no idea where I’m going, but I move, down a hall, through some sort of corridor. I don’t want to head in the direction of the gorillas, where the noise is the loudest, so I take another route. It leads me to a cafeteria. A couple of people are sitting inside. Both Cameroonian. Volunteer workers, probably.

  I’m not in the mood to talk to people, so, even though they’ve spotted me, I move on. Some doors are shut, some open. I see another bedroom like mi
ne, then a room with buckets, a few sinks, an island, and long countertops, like a kitchen. I see another room, with a group of chairs—a lounge perhaps.

  It’s not here, whatever it is I thought I’d find by walking around.

  I make my way back to my room. Once inside, I pace back and forth. Try to process everything. Raven is at the compound and I am here. Our lives have reversed. I glance out the window longingly. The forest is alive with sounds and colors. Stalks of flowers reach for the sky. Branches bloom with leaves, and creatures crawl about—like the worm inching his way along, the butterfly resting on bark, nearly camouflaged if not for the fluttering of its wings, and the ants that march down the tree trunk to the ground.

  I grab a few extra rounds of ammo and stuff them in my pockets. Though I’m playing with fire, I decide to head outside. It’s not safe. It’s surely not ideal. But I need a release and I’m not getting it here.

  I find the front door and brace myself for the forest. The smell of wood, sap oozing from trees to infuse the air with a sweet fragrance. The sounds.

  Chirp, chirp, tweet.

  Thump, thawk, shhh.

  I smile. I don’t mean to. It’s just that the jungle does this to me. Makes me come alive, makes my blood thrum and my muscles tighten, and I know that I’ll find what I need here. I’m at peace. This is my real home.

  I search my line of sight for the highest tree and find it. My boots attach easily to the bark, and I climb to the top. From here, I can see everything. I peer down at what looks like a field of grass and bushes. Reality: It’s the tops of trees. It’s what the ceiling of the forest looks like. This is my vantage point.

  From here I smell wind. Not dank earth and wooded forest but clean, refreshing clouds. It’s a special thing. To smell clouds. To be so high that you can touch them. Breathe them in, a little heavy and sort of wet.

  I love this feeling. I hold on to it for a few breaths. Let my eyes settle over the expanse of green. From here, only birds can see me. A few, some yards off, are puffing their feathers up and down. Trying to attract a mate. What a place to do it, on a branch so far up and away from it all.

  I want to bring Raven here one day, let her see the world from this view. It looks different. It puts things into perspective. I’m so small down there. Up here, I’m king.

  Unfortunately, I’m too high up. I won’t see into the forest from here, so I have to work my way down. But first I wanted this. A breath of the freshest air. A calm stealing through my veins so I can think clearly.

  I need to get Raven back.

  I love her. I miss her.

  I’m not used to being weak—maybe that’s the problem. Because the truth is that loving Raven makes me weak. No, that’s not right. Loving Raven in the jungle makes me weak. Yes, that’s the difference. She would never be accepted as my mate, because I was pruned to be alpha, and an American habitat worker would never do. She would be seen as vulnerable, as my weak spot. She doesn’t know this jungle. It’s not her home. I would have to pick a mate who comes from the land I’m protecting. It’s just the way things are.

  But you’re not lined up to be alpha anymore.

  I’ve never loved someone enough to give up my whole life before.

  Maybe somewhere else, in a city with busy streets that don’t care, Raven and I could be accepted. Just a regular couple doing ordinary things. I don’t even know what constitutes normal outside these trees. That’s why I know the thought is absurd. I belong here.

  I need to find a way back to my tribe. Maybe I can rescue Raven and send her back home, out of this jungle, before I find them. I haven’t decided what to do with Clovis yet. I can’t kill him, not after he saved Raven’s life. He’s protecting her while I can’t, that much I know. I knew the second I looked into his eyes—hearing my father’s footsteps in the distance, coming for us—that he would keep her alive long enough for me to come for her.

  It makes me sick to think about what he’s said to the pack. Maybe that she’s his. That would be acceptable, since Clovis is not in line to be alpha. My stomach knots.

  The more I think about it, the more I realize that I will never be accepted back into my tribe, no matter what I do. Saving Raven stole that chance. The realization knocks the breath out of me.

  Pain like the deepest knife.

  I never wanted to leave them.

  I have to now.

  I’ll go somewhere else, outside this immediate territory. Somewhere people won’t know me as the heir to a poaching empire. A pocket of the rain forest where I can start over. Build a home and make weapons and live off the land. It’s all I’m good for now.

  If Raven doesn’t want to go home, I could bring her with me. Start a life. Or maybe not. She doesn’t love the forest like I do. She only came as a favor, to find answers about her father’s death.

  What happens now that she has them?

  Maybe we have an expiration date, Raven and I. Maybe she’ll leave this forest and I will have given up everything for a girl who was never really mine. Or maybe she’ll stay. Maybe she’ll learn the whisper of the trees and the ways of the animals.

  The possibilities are killing me. I maneuver down the tree until I’m out of the clouds and I can see into the forest underneath an awning of green leaves. I scan the forest floor. I check for danger: tribe members, other poachers, spies.

  There’s nothing. So I follow the bark all the way down the tree until my feet hit dirt. And then I run. I don’t have the luxury of time. Just a fast-paced run until my lungs feel stretched and my heart feels hollow. Until I forget everything but breathing.

  Chapter 7

  Raven

  Colors swirl like a tornado, paint slashing white paper. I don’t have a method behind this picture. Just anger. Just dark-colored smears and disoriented thoughts.

  I don’t belong at the compound.

  I stop painting for a moment. Stare at my stained hands. Try not to think about how this paint came from Mr. Tondjii’s warehouse, the same warehouse that holds boxes of canned food and gorilla meat.

  The paper comes from Mr. Tondjii’s warehouse too. I can’t risk going to the habitat for my canvases. And, truthfully, there’s no guarantee that I’d ever have the strength to leave the habitat again if I were to see Jospin there, where I feel the safest—no guarantee that I’d come back to the compound to finish what I started.

  I rip up the picture and start another one. Clovis gives me space. Watching as I work on the forest floor, but not saying a word. Keeping me safe and letting me go. It amazes me that he can lock it all up inside. His expression is neutral, as if he’s admiring the sun-speckled jungle. But I wonder: Does he ever want to let it all out? The lies and pain? His life is just as much at risk as mine, but he handles it better. He’s been dealing with it for so much longer than I have. Deceiving the alpha for a small chance to change the jungle.

  Clovis claims he’s doing the right thing, even if he loses his life because of his so-called treachery. How many lives have I stolen? he questions. So many, Raven, he says. It’s all I have left to offer, he declares, to save what’s left of the gorilla species.

  It’s all I have left to offer is what resonates with me. Because that’s exactly how I feel. This is all I have left to offer Dad, to carry out the mission that he started.

  That he died for.

  My second painting is slower. I’m holding paint tubes with my injured hand, the one that still can’t make a complete fist. Though I exercise it, I know it will never be the same, yet I still hope. Maybe that’s pointless, but I don’t care.

  There are only three colors in my hand—purple, gray, and red—but I make do. This time, I paint the forest. Trees with leaves like cupped palms, trees with leaves like razor blades. My art forest is ghostly, murky. Smudges that could be anything. All they need to do is take a more definite shape. Form their destinies, these shadow things.

  If I tried hard enough, could I do the same? Shape my destiny? Claim it as my own? Maybe I decide. Maybe it�
�s up to me, not to fate. Maybe fate is a trickster who fools you into thinking you have no control. I don’t know. But I have to try. My life might not be safe, but at least I’ll know that I chose this: to stop a monster.

  Because Mr. Tondjii is just that.

  I paint more and think of Jospin. Tears ask my permission to gather, to fall down my face, but I don’t let them. I don’t know if anyone, besides Clovis, is watching. Surely they are. Surely they don’t trust me just yet. Smart of them. So I’ll give them this: a girl who likes to paint. That’s all they know from the outside.

  You’ll never see my insides.

  By the end, I’m holding a picture of myself standing in shadow, looking out at the forest. Tiny relics rest at my painted feet. An eternity symbol for Dad, a knife for Jospin, a splotch of purple in the loose shape of a heart for Mama, the word life in sprawling, curling script. All right there, seemingly within reach. Yet Painted Me can’t grab them, because she’s too focused on the forest, which is covered in blood. Streaks of what look like ashen people line the forest. The sky seems to be falling. A world collapsing slowly above their heads.

  I glance down at my real shadow. It’s sitting on the forest floor, its posture rigid. I think about the familiarity of my shadow. Find comfort in it. My shadow understands me. Copies my every move perfectly. Has been with me from the beginning. I can count on my shadow to always be there, one of the only things that will never leave me. My shadow reflects the darkest side of me. Even in the face of so much light. Especially then.

  “What does it mean?”

  Hearing Clovis’s voice startles me out of concentration. I peer at him. Dreads brushing his shoulders, his dark skin baking in spears of sunshine, arms leaning on his knees, sitting on a rock, and bending toward me to better look at my painting. His voice is soft and deep in case we’re not alone.

  “It means,” I say, whispering back, “that I will crumble their world, the poachers, every one of them.”

  Clovis’s lips twitch into the beginning of a smile. “Good.”