Sever

by J. M. Miller

  He didn’t reply, and I didn’t really expect him to. I just needed him to know the reason I’d taken the job, whether he believed it or not.

  I broke eye contact, unable to face him any longer. There was no more to explain and no real reason to try. I readjusted my body and stretched my hands for my pockets again, only to feel them pulled back and enclosed within Damian’s.

  “Let me try again,” he said. It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the glass.

  I nodded, shifting my body as I had before to give him access.

  One hand inched down, sliding into my denim pocket for the second time. He repositioned his body and wiggled his fingers farther, running over the curve of my butt. He was getting close. I scooted my body up, hoping to give him a little more reach.

  “Ah,” he said with a hiss.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sliced my finger. I’ve almost got it. I just need to—”

  “Comfortable?” Seth’s voice startled us both. He stared down from the second floor, dangling a turntable between his fingers over the wooden railing. I hadn’t even noticed that his ranting had stopped or that the house had gotten quiet.

  Within a second, his expression changed from cocky to angry. His lips pinched together and he dropped the turntable. It crashed to the floor with a sharp crack. The platter rolled a few feet away, wobbling on edge until the momentum died.

  “Ahhh!” Damian yelled. His body shook as he stared at the pieces on the floor.

  Seth sprinted down the stairs and lunged between us, shaking the ties and grabbing at our hands. “Open,” he commanded and pried the glass from Damian’s fingers. He stepped back and held our freedom between in his fingers. “Nice try.”

  I bowed my head for a moment, cursing and screaming on the inside.

  Seth smiled, but it faded fast. His eyes took a few long blinks down at his boots before scuffing them along the floor on his way to the kitchen. The last few drinks had undeniably taken effect, but that wasn’t stopping him from having more. He added a couple ice cubes to his glass then tipped the bottle to its rim. After downing the first drink, he poured another and threw it back too. The empty glass clinked back down on the granite.

  Taking two steps from the island, he clenched his fists at his sides and rolled his shoulders back. “They weren’t up there, D. So I guess I get to break something else.”

  My body shook me awake for the first time in close to a year. I grabbed at my chest and gasped into the darkness of my bedroom, heaving for more air, close to hyperventilating.

  It’s not real, I thought over and over again until my breathing settled. He’s dead. He’s dead. It’s already over.

  Moving back to Havre de Grace had to be the reason I was having the dreams again. Seeing the same places, walking the same streets. I worked hard to suppress the memories every day, but being back here had strengthened them.

  I wiped the sweat and tears from my face, hoping to erase the images from my mind.

  Mom’s screams. The locked door. The struggle to open it with my trembling six-year-old hands. The terror in her bloodshot eyes when I finally got to her. His fists swinging again and again as she lay pinned beneath him. The rage spitting from his blue eyes when he turned to me.

  I wiped my face again, knowing the images would never leave that easily. They’d be with me the rest of the night. They’d be with me forever.

  Like so many times before, I was out the door with no destination. The only chance I had at stifling the memories was to do something that both scared me and freed me, which almost always meant going somewhere off limits.

  The night was warm for late February, with fog billowing taller than the trees. The closer I walked toward the bay, the thicker the fog grew, dense enough to swallow the streetlights, stretching the light through the air. I moved a without plan, ultimately finding myself at the Concord Point Lighthouse, one of the town’s most notable historic sites. I’d driven and walked by more times than I could count, though I’d only climbed the short distance to the top once. Mom had taken me not long after the night her boyfriend John died. Maybe that was why I’d never returned.

  The pain after the back of his hand smashed against my cheek.

  My hands were deep inside my pockets, one hand on my knife, the other on my pick set. I scoped the surrounding park. It was wide open with an unobstructed view of the road and the two-story keeper’s house—now the gift shop and museum—across the street. Not the most discreet scene.

  There were no signs of movement along the streets or in the park, though, which wasn’t too surprising for midnight on a Thursday. Between the lighthouse’s main light and the ground lights shining up its white stone exterior, I needed all the cover I could get. The trees worked, but they grew sparser the closer I moved.

  Her screams as his body lay lifeless on the floor. My heart beating. My breaths ragged. The blood on my hands, on the knife.

  Hiding beside the closest tree, I wiped my face again and stared at the white wooden door roughly twenty yards away. I just had to go for it. There was no other place to go.

  Crouching low, I darted across the snow, yanking the pick set from my pocket. The commercial padlock was nothing special, and I glanced around one last time before grabbing hold of it. It took under a minute to rake. I flipped the latch back then slipped the tension wrench into the antique lock built into the door. After a few more seconds, I was pushing the door open and closing it behind me.

  Light flooded in through a four-paneled window sunk into the thick wall, illuminating the cylindrical room. I gripped the iron railing all the way up the spiral stairs, hoping my wet boots wouldn’t slide on the slick stone surface. After reaching the top and climbing the short iron ladder, I pushed open the wooden trapdoor and crawled into the lantern room.

  It was a lot smaller than I remembered, maybe five feet in diameter. The lower half of the surrounding walls was wood paneling and the upper half was all glass. I didn’t stand up for fear of being seen, which would be easy inside a room lit up like the sun. Instead, I crawled to the wall and peeked out the window. Fog masked most everything in the distance, but I knew a small fishing pier jutted out into the water a little to the south and an empty marina was around a small bend to the north.

  I stared out to the foggy water, steering my thoughts away from the dreams by thinking about Damian. A few minutes later, red and blue lights flickered inside the luminous fog. I crouched lower and turned around toward the road. A police car pulled silently in front of the keeper’s house. Two officers stepped out into the haze and started walking the shoveled sidewalk toward the lighthouse.

  Shit. My eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape I knew wasn’t there.

  Before the officers made it to the door, another car pulled up. The driver of the dark sedan got out and hurried to join them. The closer they got, the clearer their voices were. I couldn’t risk being seen, so I closed the trapdoor and sat on the floor, listening hard to decipher their words.

  “I’ve got it,” a guy said, and I heard the metal latch on the door clink. “Sorry you guys had to come down here. I’m sure the alarm is just acting up again.”

  Alarm?

  The door opened downstairs and my heart jolted, pounding the beat of yet another fear: jail. My breaths sped up, and my mind went frantic, running through all the outcomes.

  “Yeah, it definitely looks like the alarm again,” the guy said. His voice sounded like Damian’s. I shook my head, knowing my mind was reaching for any option that could help.

  “We should probably check the lens to make sure no one tried to mess with it,” a deeper voice stated.

  “Right,” the first guy confirmed. “I can run up real quick. Give me a sec.”

  I pulled my shaky knees close to my body and looked around. The wall behind me had a set of small double doors that opened onto a metal catwalk, which wrapped around the lantern room of the lighthouse. Attempting to climb outside would take too long an
d would be way too noisy. I set my focus back on the trapdoor and considered sitting on it so they couldn’t get in, but that would only delay the inevitable. I watched and held my breath, the only things left to do.

  The black wood door cracked open and a hand slid around the edge, grasping the side and pushing the door open farther. Brown bristly hair came into view first, followed quickly by a pair of hazel eyes. Damian.

  “Padlock?” he whispered, extending his hand. I handed it over without a word, still shocked by the sight of him. He winked once and disappeared downstairs.

  I let out a relieved breath and attempted to listen again over the sound of my heart.

  “Everything’s fine up there. I’m just going to leave the alarm off for tonight until my mom figures out what the committee wants to do,” Damian said to the officers.

  The door closed with a bang and a clink of the latch before their voices faded. I sat up and peeked through the window as both cars started and drove away.

  He’d covered for me.

  I had no idea what kind of risk he was taking, but just the mention of his mom made me nervous. Knowing she was the type to strong-arm him into dating who she wanted him to told me plenty. That went above the average parental manipulation. It’d been about two weeks since Damian and I had worked out the ex-girlfriend dilemma so I doubted his mom knew about me. Otherwise, she might have made another appearance at Rewind.

  In spite of those concerns, Damian and I were getting closer. We’d worked together again this past weekend and even saw each other a couple times at school. When work wasn’t busy, he taught me more DJ basics, and we’d found a few moments to run our kissing practice drills. Pam had gone out for lunch again during our overlapping shifts, and Damian had taken full advantage of that time.

  I traced a finger over my lips, thinking about his kisses, wondering if we’d kiss when he came back. He’d left so quickly after he grabbed …

  The lock.

  Just as my heart had started to calm, reality hit. I was locked in. I peered through the window again, not seeing the dark sedan he’d driven. My heart sped up again and I flung open the trapdoor.

  My feet moved me fast down the ladder and spiral stairs. I slipped four stairs from the bottom, landing hard on my butt and sliding the rest of the way, but I felt nothing. I grabbed the doorknob and turned. Nothing.

  “Dammit.” My voice shook. Twisting and tugging, pushing and pulling, I rattled the wooden door but it wouldn’t budge. “No, no, no.” My tears spilled down my cheeks. “Open, dammit. Open!” A cry escaped my lips.

  I slammed my boot into the door, aiming beside the knob, hoping a miracle would bust the padlock’s latch on the other side of the thick mahogany. My breaths were fast and erratic, pushing the hysteria even further. Trying to grasp the handle again, I watched my hands tremble like they had years before, like they had that night.

  I can’t get out. I almost hadn’t been able to get out when she’d needed me most. I was almost too late.

  “Syn?” Damian’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Are you okay? Stand back. I’m opening the door.”

  As soon as he opened it, I crashed into his body. I wanted to slice him open for locking me in, but my hands were too shaky to grab my knife and his arms were too strong. They wrapped around me, pulling me close, holding me tight.

  “I’m here. What happened? Are you hurt?” His words were quick and worried. He held me for a minute without asking again, letting me settle. His cheek pressed against the side of my head, and his breaths were nearly as fast as my own.

  “You locked me in,” I mumbled to his chest, attempting to regain my composure.

  “I had to. They would’ve known something was up if I hadn’t. Is that why you’re upset? Did you think I’d leave you here?” He pulled back a bit.

  It was enough room for me to step into him and shove him back into the door, which slammed the world out. Anger ripped through me. I hated losing control. “What else am I supposed to think?” I yelled, wiping my face with my jacket sleeves and turning back to the steps. I wanted to leave, but I had nowhere to go.

  I climbed the stairs and returned to the lantern room, not hearing him follow. Now he had a real reason to be scared of me. Not many people can handle crazy up close, and he’d just gotten a front row seat.

  After a minute or so, a pair of hands shoved a thick blanket and a backpack through the trapdoor. Damian’s calm eyes followed a second later, assessing me from the ladder. He pulled himself up and slid beside me, leaving some space between us.

  “I’m sorry, Syn. I didn’t mean to scare you. When we got here, I distracted them from the missing padlock, but I knew they would look before we left, so I had to lock you in. There was no other way to do it without them getting suspicious.”

  I kept my eyes on my bent knees, tracing the lines of my flannel pajamas as I inhaled a steadying breath. The point he made was logical and I hated that my common sense had been blinded by fear. “So you knew I was the one who broke in? That’s why you distracted them?”

  “No one’s broken in here for a while, especially with the alarm. If it had been someone else, I would’ve been in deep shit.” He let out a breathy laugh, inching closer as he reached for my hand, which was still wrapped around my bent legs.

  “I didn’t notice the alarm,” I replied, a little embarrassed.

  “It’s behind the door,” he said lightly, an afterthought.

  I could feel his eyes on me but I didn’t want to look. The events of the night were piling up and I didn’t know how to deal with everything in front of him. I couldn’t explain what was really happening. I couldn’t tell him about the dreams, about John’s death.

  “Do you want me to leave?” he whispered. “You weren’t expecting me to crash your break-in, so I’d totally understand if you do. I also know you’re upset, and I don’t want to leave you.” He tugged at my fingers, coaxing my hand into his.

  I finally shifted my body and turned my gaze to him. “No, don’t leave. I’m really glad you’re here, and I’m sorry for freaking out.”

  His rough fingers rolled over mine, gentle and reassuring. He cracked a smile. “Don’t lie. You’re just glad the cops didn’t see you.”

  “That too.” I let out a weak laugh and looked over at the navy blue blanket.

  His eyes tracked mine. “I actually come up here sometimes too. Legally, though.”

  “Show off,” I quipped in a rough tone. “Do you always bring a blanket when you come up here … alone?”

  He looked away as though he were trying to hide, but the room was bright enough to see everything. “If it’s cold, yeah. I think it’s a good place to get away too.” He grabbed the blanket and pulled it over both of our legs. “I also bring my laptop and touchpad to make sweet music with myself.”

  The joke made me chuckle, breaking up the chaos in my head. I let it hang in the air for a while before speaking again, hoping the atmosphere would settle between us. “So what’s the deal? Are you a volunteer here?” I asked, lifting my eyes directly to the light.

  The lens was fascinating. Supported by an iron post in the center of the room, circular glass with cut layers at the top and bottom encased the bulb. I stared at the prisms as the light beamed out into the night.

  “Yeah. My mom signed up shortly after we moved here—part of her quest to take over the town. I started a few years back, partly because community activities look good on college applications, but also because it’s just a cool landmark. My mom is one of the few people who have keys to the place. I’m not technically supposed to use them to save hot girls from being arrested, but I figured I’d make an exception.”

  “Lucky me,” I replied, raising my eyebrows with a grin.

  He laughed a little and rubbed his hands over his bent knees. “We were lucky my mom left her phone downstairs and I was able to intercept the call from the alarm company. I had an idea it was you. I didn’t think you were into breaking and entering anymore. Wh
at is it, the thrill?”

  “Something like that,” I admitted, trying to be as vague as possible.

  He nodded and screwed up his lips. “You ever get caught?”

  “Yeah.” I let out a relieved breath, grateful he’d moved away from the reason why. “I used to go to The Wright Brothers National Memorial in Kill Devil Hills all the time, usually late so I was alone. It sits high on a wide open hill, across the street from my old school. The tower has a beacon similar to a lighthouse,” I said, lifting my chin up toward the lens. “It was peaceful at night, lying at the base of the monument. I don’t know. It just calmed me, I guess. Sometimes I hoped to soak up their genius and passion, as if lying on the concrete would make that happen.” I laughed nervously. “Anyway, there isn’t a trespassing law there, but one night a group of people showed up. They didn’t exactly look like the type I wanted to become friends with at two in the morning, so I went over to the school instead and got nailed for trespassing. Then a few months later, I got the misdemeanor B and E for busting into an old concession stand. It was another one I frequented, kinda like up here. This one was stripped, though, so they couldn’t pin me with burglary. I had a few months of community service and a good amount in fines.”

  “So tonight could have been bad for you,” he noted.

  “Possibly. It would’ve been another misdemeanor at least, maybe a felony now that I’m eighteen. I don’t know.”

  “So why risk it? Why even bother?”

  “Because for me, the consequence doesn’t seem all that bad.” I needed to change the subject. “What about you, Stripes? I remember how nervous you used to get. Have you ever been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to?”

  “It depends who you ask.”

  That piqued my interest. I sat up straighter, twisted my body toward him, and tucked my chilly hands beneath the blanket. “Really?”

  He ran a hand over his head, disheveling his hair into a mess that only made him look even sexier. Leaning away from me, he grabbed his backpack and removed the gear he’d told me at Rewind was his basic go-to setup for creating new tracks: a laptop, his headphones, and a touchpad MIDI controller with several rows of light-up buttons.