Dad.
I want so badly to follow that thread to where it leads, but it’s beyond me. Not even Charlie’s eyes can help me see that far. But I can sense something at the end. A song of Light like the one inside of me, only a million times stronger. One that sends the shadows of the Black Nothing scuttling back to their corners.
I let go and move on to the last thread. Pure gold. It’s the brightest of them all. The one that brought me into the Fold. The one that’s been tugging at me all along. The one that’s shielding me, even now. My hand lingers over it, and I know where it will take me long before I finally build up the courage to reach for it.
THIRTY-NINE
Golden fire burns my skin, scorching a path through my nerves all the way up into my brain.
The current carries me over the edge into the dark.
Falling. I think I’m going to fall forever when gravity hits me with a thousand pounds of pressure. It crushes me face-first into the ground.
I lie in the dirt. My lungs suck down hot, humid air that reeks of clay and diesel fuel.
Humidity rushes over me in a sticky wave as the picture in front of me sharpens. The last traces of daylight filter through the branches above my head. Woods. I’m in the woods. Only these are nothing like the ones I left behind. These trees aren’t Douglas fir, but loblolly pine and oak, overrun by kudzu.
When my head finally stops spinning, my eyes open to a packed campground flanked by Oklahoma woods. Part of me was expecting it, and still, the sight of those two long rows of trailers has dread coiling in my stomach. My gaze cuts to the entrance, and beyond it, the highway. Dark is falling fast.
It won’t be long now.
Bile burns the back of my throat. This is happening. It doesn’t matter that I’m not ready for it. Charlie’s hints. My shadow self—everything has been leading back to this.
A figure materializes out of the darkness. The girl walks slowly along the roadside toward the park, her back hunched. The last heat of the day shimmers against the pavement as she cuts through the clotheslines and rusted lawn furniture toward me.
Hurry! Please, hurry! I scream, but she doesn’t hear me. I want to reach into her head and shake her until she pays attention. If I can warn her, if I can make her listen, maybe I can stop all this from happening.
The girl keeps walking. Helplessness builds inside of me until I’m drowning in it. My eyes scan the park, taking in details I never noticed before. Like how quiet the night is. Dozens of families live here, but the only sound comes from a dog barking somewhere nearby.
As if sensing the change, the girl pauses at the top of the longest row of trailers to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her body goes rigid when she spots the truck. It’s parked in the shadow of an ancient RV. The familiar orange flames painted across the hood practically glow in the darkness. I know what she’s thinking, feeling, dreading at this very moment, but even in the memory, it’s like looking at a stranger. Shock crosses her face, followed swiftly by terror. Then she is running as fast as her legs will carry her.
OhGodOhGodOhGodPleaseGodPleaseGod. Every footfall is a plea as she races for the fifth trailer on the right. The door hangs on its hinges. The lock is busted in. Broken glass crunches under her feet as she climbs the step. The girl pauses on the threshold, her heart slamming against her ribs. How did he find them? She’d been so careful. Finding a job where she’d be paid under the table. Using fake names. She’d thought they could disappear. Didn’t people do it all the time?
She crosses over the threshold. Everything is upside down. The couch. The coffee table. Mom’s box of costume jewelry, smashed to pieces. Maps lie on the floor in tatters. A thousand fragments of three fragmented lives.
Something moves in the corner of my vision. A hand reaches for me.
Charlie.
I scream his name, but the word comes out of her mouth. We fall on our knees beside him. Blood drips from his temple, down his chin. Glass dusts his face, and cuts fan out over his skin.
No! Please. The words echo through my head as she reaches for him. That’s when I feel it. The sweat dripping down her back. The glass cutting into her legs. The cracks on her lips straining as they move. I can feel it because it is my face. My legs. My lips saying prayers they don’t believe in. And it doesn’t matter. Right here and right now, it doesn’t matter what I believe, or what I said, or what I think I know. Charlie. Charlie is the only thing that matters. He is my reason. My meaning. The answer to every question in my universe.
“Breathe, Charlie,” says a voice. Mine. “Just keep breathing.”
And I promise. I promise whoever is listening. If you get us out of this, I will stop running. I’ll build someplace safe for us to hide. I will dedicate my life to protecting him. Please, Charlie. Just stay with me a little longer, and I swear I will never leave you.
Prayers tumble from my lips as my fingers crush the fabric of his shirt.
It happens so fast I almost miss it.
A tug in the center of my chest.
A glimmer of gold.
The flash of a gilded thread that runs from my chest to Charlie’s.
I barely catch a glimpse of it before it disappears.
I blink and look around me for the girl who was here just a second ago. The one who is living this night for the first time. But like the thread, she’s gone. It’s just me and Charlie in this trailer torn to pieces. And then my brother is lying in my arms.
Every part of his exposed skin is covered in blood, and his left arm hangs limp at his side.
I reach for his pulse to find it quiet but steady. Same as it was the first time I lived through this.
I’ve lived through this. We’ve all lived through this.
Then Charlie moans, and every thought leaves my mind.
I grab one of the cushions and place it under his head. His eyes stay closed as he reaches for me with his good hand. Our fingers lock. Tears of gratitude burn my eyes. Because even though he’s hurt, he’s here. We both are. For however long this lasts.
“He took her.” The words are all breath.
I nod. Mom isn’t the same woman she was when my father was alive, but she never would’ve left Charlie like this. That monster had to drag her out of here.
“Where?” My mouth asks the question even though I already know the answer. My thoughts feel crowded and a little foreign. Almost as if I’m sharing headspace with the girl who should be here instead of me. Like this scene has already been written, and I have to say the lines.
“I didn’t—” The words drain him. “I didn’t hear him drive away.”
I know where the monster took her. I know exactly what I’ll find when I walk out of this trailer, but I grab a towel and press it to the gash in Charlie’s head. When that’s done, I lift his good arm and use it to apply pressure to the wound. The rag turns red within seconds.
“I’ll be back soon.” It takes all of my resolve to stand up. To leave my brother when I’ve only just found him, but whatever darkness I am here to face, it is waiting for me in those woods.
Charlie says nothing as I pull a quilt over him. Bits of glass clatter to the linoleum. When he’s as comfortable as I can make him, I slip outside. My feet hit the dirt road at a run.
Too much time has passed. I can’t change what has already happened. I can’t fix the damage that’s already been done, but if I can just get to a phone. If I can get a call out to the police, maybe I can stop what happens next.
“Help! Help!”
Not a single person is out. Not a single door is open. I pound on the nearest one.
“Please! Please, I need to use your phone!”
A scream rises from the woods. My gut clenches at the sound. It’s already too late for Mom, but maybe, just maybe, it doesn’t have to be too late for me.
I pick another door to pound on. Televisions blare behind it, but there’s nobody home.
Footsteps sound behind me. I spin on my heels to see the weary woman from the neighboring tra
iler. She approaches, her tired eyes looking everywhere but at me.
“Can I use your phone?” When she doesn’t answer, I step directly into her path. “Please. My mother. There’s a man with her. He’s hurt her before. We tried to get away but he’s found us and now she’s—”
The woman pushes past me. Desperation claws its way up my throat. “Please.”
“We don’t want any trouble.” Her words are mumbled as she opens the door. The one I was pounding on less than thirty seconds ago. A thin man with a beard stands behind her in the opening. The smell of stale cigarettes curls my nose as she ducks under his arm. He starts to close the door right in my face, but I move faster than he does.
“Damn,” the man hisses as the door collides with my shoulder. Pain shoots up my arm. The man doesn’t move to help me, but he doesn’t push me back, either. He just watches me with eyes that are already erasing this moment from his memory.
Just like all those people who walked past a broken woman on a park bench in that beautiful city park in Illinois.
I grind my teeth against the throbbing in my arm. Begging hasn’t worked. It’s time for a new strategy. “Call the police. Something terrible will happen if you don’t.”
I don’t give them a chance to brush me off. I walk down the dirt lane toward the scrap heap.
I’ve lost precious time trying to find a phone. The moon hangs full and heavy over the trees. I’ve almost reached them when something moves at the edge of the woods.
“Mom!”
Dirt and blood stain her dress. The one my father loved, with soft folds of blue fabric that crashed around her ankles when she moved. Now it hangs off her frame in tatters. Her cheek is already turning black. Blood oozes out of an ugly gash in the side of her head. The monster usually avoided her face, but today, he was out to prove a point: This is what you get when you try to run away.
The neck of Mom’s dress is torn straight down to her waist, revealing the plain white bra underneath. I’ve shared a bedroom with my mother for years, but I’ve never seen her look so naked, so exposed. Her humiliation is an open wound. There is no more hiding it.
Her gaze slides past me. Vacant. Unseeing. My proud mother. My mother who always walked like she mattered even when she was carrying other people’s dirty plates. My mother who sang along to the radio, and who never let us leave the house without looking our best, even if our best was secondhand. She’s already halfway gone. I can see it in her eyes, and I don’t blame her for leaving. Because sometimes you have to leave to survive.
There is more to life than survival, Rosie.
I push the fabric back over her shoulder. It falls right back down again. Moaning, she crawls past me. Cuts fan out over her knuckles, and her nails are filthy half-moons. Rocks bite into her bruised knees as she drags herself down the thirty-yard stretch of dirt to our door.
“Mom, stop.”
She keeps crawling, framed by the silhouette of homes on either side.
Hot tears flow down my cheeks as I approach my mother. She shrinks away. Like she can’t stand to be touched. Like she doesn’t even know me.
I kneel beside her. “Mom, look at me.”
Blinking, she meets my gaze. Recognition rocks through her. Tears slide down her face. She grasps at her dress, trying to cover herself.
I rip off my shirt and throw it over her shoulders. The night is hot and clammy against my bare skin. Mom pushes me away, but I’m stronger than she is. I’ve been stronger for a long time. I just never knew it until now.
Sweat drips down my back as I heave her to her feet. Together, we stumble for the trailer. A flash of movement in a window to my left. I lift my chin because if anyone is watching this, I want them to know. That this shame is theirs. Not hers. Not mine. Because doing nothing is the worst crime of all, and pretending not to see is like pretending not to be human.
I can’t pretend anymore.
The police don’t come. I didn’t really expect them to. Even though the monster is still out there somewhere in those woods, the first thing I do when we’re back inside is tend to Charlie. He’ll need stitches, but the trip to a hospital in another town is going to have to wait just a little longer.
In the bathroom, I turn the water up as hot as it will go. Gently, I help Mom into the shower. There isn’t room for her to sit, so she stands, huddled in the corner while steam fills the room. Sobs rack her body as I use a cloth to clean her cuts and bruises. All the while, the sadness inside of me solidifies into hate.
When Mom is finally sleeping in our bed, I pick up a shirt from the mess on the floor. Charlie’s favorite green hoodie. I throw it on over my bra before I move to the back of the closet where we keep what’s left of Dad’s things. The box I’m looking for is there on the top shelf. I pull it out. When the monster comes back for his keys, I am waiting.
He walks in the door like he owns it. This monster that beat my brother. He walks in the door, and he studies me with eyes that are too dark and too dead of anything human. And I know that he isn’t going to stop this time. This will never stop unless I end it.
I stand in front of him, my dad’s gun clutched in my hand.
The monster laughs. He laughs, and he tells me that I won’t shoot him. That I don’t have the balls.
“Rosie, no.” Charlie tries to grab me, but his hand won’t work. It won’t work because it’s broken.
My brother, who would never touch anyone in anger. My brother who rescues fireflies from glass jars and dying rabbits on the side of the road. Broken.
Because of him.
Something awakens inside of me. A monster to meet the one standing there in this broken trailer. It screams at the sight of Charlie, injured on the floor. My vision goes black at the edges.
I squeeze the trigger.
The force of the blast rocks me back into the wall.
Blood splatters my face. It fills my mouth with coppery sweetness.
Dazed, I stare down at the gun in my hands. The red stain down the front of my hoodie. Charlie on the floor. Looking at me with our mother’s eyes. A violet dulled by sadness that knows no words, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe because I know.
I’m the one who put it there.
Charlie cries. Silent sobs that won’t let up. I watch the tears fall down his cheeks, and I realize the thing I have broken, the thing that can never, ever be fixed isn’t my brother.
It isn’t even the man lying still in a growing pool of blood.
The world spins, and then I’m on the floor, rocking back and forth like I did the first time this night happened.
Just like then, the monster inside of me goes quiet, taking all the rage and violence with it. Another emotion rises up to fill the void they leave behind. It hits me with everything I’ve done to survive. All the things I’ve tried to become to get back to this one single moment. So much effort.
Wasted.
The feeling of failure is too big to hold. It’s going to break me apart, and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore. Because this was my chance. My one chance to fix things. To make a different choice. To chart a different path and I couldn’t. I wasn’t enough.
You never were.
The gun falls from my hands. I watch it clatter to the floor, and I try to clean the blood from my hands. It won’t come off. No matter how hard I rub. Just like the first time this happened.
Then something happens that didn’t happen before.
My skin. It ripples. The change starts at my fingertips. Black tendrils of shadow seep out from under my nails to wrap around my hands. They travel up my arms, around my chest, an oil slick spreading over every inch of me.
It makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
The shadows rise higher. Up my shoulders. My neck. I rear back, but they don’t stop. I claw at them, leaving deep gouges in my flesh. The shadows just keep spreading.
I scramble backward into the wall, and then I keep going, right through it.
The tr
ailer walls. The body on the floor. Charlie. Everything disappears until it’s just me and my dad’s gun alone in a darkness too loud for thoughts.
The shadows reach my face. They stain my cheeks. Cover my eyes with nightmares. They break for my mouth.
By the time the shadows reach my lips, nothing can get past them.
Not even my screams.
FORTY
Drowning.
I am drowning in
Black.
Not a color.
A place.
Roaring Ocean between worlds.
Don’t, says a voice low and rich as gravel.
Don’t disappear without me.
Drowning
Drowning
Almost gone.
Sometimes there are no good choices.
You made the only choice you could live with.
Now let it go.
Let it go, Rose.
Another voice. Softer. So soft.
You promised.
Drowning.
I am drowning.
Remember your promise, Rosie.
Remember, the second voice says.
Over and over and over.
Drowning.
I am drowning
I am …
Someone. Somewhere. Once …
upon a time I read the words and the words were magic. They belonged to him and he was
Twilight eyes.
Wind-chime laugh.
Baby hair gliding through my fingers, falling
falling
falling like feathers
to the bathroom floor.
Lying side by side in the dark. Secret stars streak past the window.
Sand dollars and promises
Umbrellas on dashboards and eggs made of straw.
This, says the voice. THIS is important.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Because.
Not just a voice. HIS voice.
His eyes.
His laugh.
Before I Disappear Page 28