House of V

by Raen Smith

  I needed out. Now.

  That’s when I saw her. A pink stream flashed across her face before her eyes disappeared into the darkness. I saw another silhouette beside her, close, hovering over her. He was hunched, ready to attack. I closed my own eyes, feeling my heart thrash in my chest, the adrenaline spiking through my body. It caught in my throat, like it always did, making me stop.

  I didn’t want to believe what I saw, and I didn’t want to feel what I felt, but I knew it was there, lurking and calling for me. I waited for another flash of light to see her face again, but it never came. I had never seen the woman before, however I have seen the look on her face. It was an expression of pain and a twisted look of fear.

  I darted toward the spot where the woman was, but her body was gone. I shook my head, trying to release the image from my head, yet it was real, I saw it.

  Damn it, I saw it.

  I moved along the wall again, the point of my knife tipping into my thigh when I hit the metal casing of a door. A cool breeze still lingered in the air before it vanished into the thick heat of the crowd. She was out there. I slipped my hand beneath my skirt, gripping the handle firmly as my skin stretched over my knuckles. I pulled out the blade Ryan had given me, holding it tight against my chest.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  My back slid against the metal of the bar, opening the steel door only inches so I could slip through. A muffled scream sounded in the alley as I squinted, my eyes adjusting to the dark, cool air of the night. The alley was a narrow passage of maybe fifteen feet with garbage containers flanking both sides. I crouched along the wall and scanned the scene ahead of me. There was only one way out, and it was thirty feet in front of me.

  I had moved a step out when I felt a throbbing thud in the middle of my back. I sprawled to the ground, still gripping my knife, registering the kick of a boot that knocked the wind out of me. I gasped for air, feeling my chest constrict into a tiny ball incapable of consuming any oxygen. My throat convulsed anyway, trying to suck in any sign of life.

  The burn overcame me as a cowboy boot appeared in front of my face. Next to it, the woman’s red flats dangled just an inch off the ground. Her shoes mildly kicked against my shoulder before she let out another muffled scream. The kicking stopped, and the red flats went slack. I wouldn’t let her go down like this. My mouth sputtered against the pavement as I dragged the knife from beneath me with a slow, deliberate pull.

  The sound of a struggle was no longer evident in the woman’s body next to me as he moved forward. His boots stopped two feet in front of me as he contemplated whether or not he should leave me. The knife was close, up to my chest now, but my body felt incredibly heavy above it. Impossibly heavy, yet it was now or never.

  I yanked my arm out and stabbed the blade into the boot in front of me. It connected, sinking through the leather and into his flesh. I pulled up and thrashed at his calf, connecting twice before the woman’s red flats planted on the ground and staggered away from me. The man yelled out, grabbing at the wound in his leg, the red stains squirting through his fingers.

  I thrust my body into an upright position from the ground; the burn in my lungs still festered as I lunged at him again. His arm grabbed my wrist, twisting my arm until the knife clattered to the ground. I let out a small groan as he kicked it away and wound my body around. I followed his lead and broke out of his weak grip until the man in the cowboy hat stood a few feet in front of me.

  “You bitch. What are you going to do?” the man asked in clear, unaccented English. His stoic face broke into a cocky grin.

  I was right, American.

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked, my eyes burning into him.

  “Snivel and cry like all the other women do,” he answered as he finally pulled his hand up from his bleeding leg then wiped it on his jacket.

  “I don’t cry.” I shrugged my shoulders, knowing this would piss him off.

  “You haven’t met me before,” he snarled.

  I swallowed the laugh that was bubbling in my throat. He didn’t know who was standing in front of him. “Must be my lucky night,” I answered instead.

  “You’ve got a mouth on you. You’re ruining my fun for the evening,” he warned.

  I shrugged my shoulders again, eyeing the blade four feet to my right before moving my stare back on him. He had to be just over six feet, maybe one-hundred-eighty pounds. His eyes were set in a shadowed, hard face, his skin pulled tight except for the slight sag under his eyes. He tipped the cowboy hat down with a flick of his hand before his arms shot at me.

  I lunged underneath him, rolling to my blade to snag it up in one quick swoop. I sprung back up to my feet and swiped through the air again, but missed. Shit. I never missed. I kicked my leg forward and connected with his groin, making him stagger back for a few steps, giving me room. I glanced to the right, the only way out, before I looked back to see him raise his hands in the air. A white flag of surrender. I gripped my knife tighter, ready to attack, ready to slice through his neck.

  “All right, all right. I’m done,” the cowboy sputtered with a cough. “Just go before I change my mind, you little bitch.”

  The words rang in my ears, my head cocking to the side as I studied the cowboy. Change his mind? It wasn’t about him; he was lucky that I was going to change my mind. I hesitated, the sound of laughter ringing on the other side of the alley. I counted to five, my mantra slow and steady, as I took one last look at the cowboy, now holding his leg and tending to his foot, before I disappeared down the alley and jogged to the street. I tucked the knife inside my jacket sleeve as I met the small group of four women glowing and chattering in the night, oblivious to the danger only thirty feet away.

  “There’s some asshole drunk in the alley. I’d watch out for him. Looks a little rapey if you ask me,” I said as I walked past them. I heard their footsteps continue and one of the girls say “what” in Norwegian. I had fallen into English so quick with the cowboy that I slipped up with the women.

  Be unnoticeable.

  I glanced down the street, my eyes scanning for the red flats of the woman from the alley, but I didn’t find the red flats or the woman. She was gone. Good, at least she made it out. I turned on the street, headed back to the lot where Ryan’s truck was parked.

  Leaned up against the door, Ryan stood with his legs crossed in front of him and his hands stuffed inside his pockets. His truck sat directly beneath a light post, the glare shining down on his face that softened when he saw me.

  Seeing his face made me realize that I shouldn’t have come back. I should’ve run the other way. He was better off without me. Most people were. Elizabeth… Ethan… The list could go on and on.

  “We should go,” I said as I walked up to him. The cowboy was just down the road, and I didn’t want to take any chances. I needed to get Ryan out of here.

  “Where did you go?” Ryan scrambled to his feet.

  “The bathroom,” I lied as I grabbed the handle of the passenger side door. His hand caught mine, turning me toward him.

  “So going to the bathroom equates to us leaving?” Ryan searched my face.

  There it was again. Those eyes.

  “Yes,” I lied again, knowing that I was hurting him. This time, the lie stung. I cared, but I didn’t want to. I was Evie Parker. I took a deep breath and repeated calmly, “We should go.”

  Ryan gave me a look that I knew, the look that I hated seeing and had already seen once earlier tonight. Disappointment. He broke my gaze, jogged around the fender and jumped into the truck. I glanced behind my shoulder one last time before I slid onto the seat and slammed the door shut. The cowboy was gone. I exhaled, letting my head fall onto the seat.

  “Why were you out here anyway?” I asked as Ryan threw the truck in reverse and skidded out the parking lot. I rolled the window down and let the cool air brush against my face. I felt a tacky liquid begin to adhere and dry to the skin on my arm. The cowboy’s blood.

  “I fig
ured you were leaving. I thought you might take my truck,” Ryan replied flatly.

  “I wouldn’t do that.” My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to be.

  “Leave or take my truck?”

  “Take your truck,” I answered, knowing that he wasn’t going to like what came out of my mouth, but it was the truth, and it stung us both.

  Ryan nodded his head and rolled down his own window. “You’re a bomb waiting to explode, Evie. I thought it was just all about your dad before. That Holston Parker being alive was making you so obsessed, so driven. But he’s gone now. It’s been a year. And you’re different now, I will give you that, but just not who I remember you as. Not like when you were a teenager, when you were friends with Elizabeth. You’re just not the same person I used to know.”

  “That was more than ten years ago,” I replied, ignoring the bomb reference. “Time changes everyone. Are you the same person you were ten year ago?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to think so. At least who I am on the inside is the same.” He thumped his hand against his chest. “This inside, this is the same Ryan that you’ve always known, but in there,” he pointed to my chest, “I don’t know what’s there anymore, Evie. It’s filled with so much hate and rage.”

  “I’ve been through a lot in ten years.” I looked at the town disappearing in the side mirror. The lights of the buildings finally faded into the darkness. I couldn’t argue with his point, I felt the rage deep inside, too, but I had thought I had it under control. I had thought removing the toxicity of Holston Parker would make me whole again, but I had been wrong, dead wrong. My heart was filled with black.

  “I never said you haven’t been through a lot. But it’s over now. Elizabeth is long gone. My dad is gone. Ethan is gone. And your dad, he’s gone. There’s nothing tying you to him anymore. You can be whoever you want to be. Ivy Stone. Anyone. Freedom, as long as we’re careful about it.” Ryan slowed his words, as he chose his next ones with more calculation, “We can live wherever we want to live. We can be whoever we want to be. As long as you promise to start working on you, the real you, I’ll be here to help you along the way. If you try to mend the broken pieces and get rid of the rage you still hold on to, I’ll be here forever. I’m only asking you to try, Evie.”

  I was silent because I didn’t know how to tell him that I couldn’t commit to that right now. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to commit to it. I’d always feel an obligation to Ryan; that he’d go down with me. It was better to cut the ties now before it was too late. Before I filled his heart with the same blackness that filled mine.

  Ryan reached out toward me, his hand finding the bottom of my skirt.

  “Jesus, not now, Ryan,” I said as his hand reached up my skirt to my thigh. He stopped at the holster, feeling around at the empty slot where the knife should have been. His hand slid back down my leg and away from me.

  “Where is it?” he demanded, his voice angry now.

  I was silent as I slid my left hand into my right sleeve, retrieving the bloody blade to set it in my lap. It wobbled with the movement of the truck, rocking back and forth with a beautiful eeriness I admired.

  God, what was wrong with me?

  “What happened?” he yelled now, slamming his hand against the wheel, but I didn’t flinch. I was waiting for it.

  “It was the cowboy at the bar.” I said, my body clenching as I thought of the way he flicked the tip of his hat down toward me. That had set me off. My hand gripped the knife tighter. I should have sliced through his throat.

  “Did you kill him?” Ryan yelled. “Jesus Christ, Evie. Did you kill him?”

  “No, I didn’t kill him, although I should have,” I replied coolly, loosening the grip on my knife. I let it sink back onto the fabric of the skirt. It would have to be burned, along with my jacket. I would need another new jacket. How many more of these would I need in my lifetime?

  “What did he do?” Ryan asked, his voice now leveling off as he moved his hand behind his head, rubbing his scalp hard.

  “He took a woman.”

  “He took her?”

  “Yeah, he took her. I wasn’t looking out for him, despite what you might think. I was looking for a way to get out of there. There was a huge rave in the back, people everywhere. Drugged out, drunk, whatever, you name it. I was going to find another way out when I saw her. You should have seen her face, Ryan. She was scared for her life. He brought her back in the alley to do whatever he does to women. Rape. Murder. I don’t know what he does. Whatever people like him do,” I said, feeling the heat explode from my body. Ryan was working me up now, making me explain myself and my actions, but I didn’t kill the cowboy even though I had wanted to. I deserved a medal, but Ryan didn’t realize that.

  “People like him?” Ryan asked, his voice barely audible.

  “Yeah, assholes like him. He was American, by the way. He almost knocked me out, but I stabbed his foot and his calf. That’s when she got away - the woman he had. She ran off. Then I kicked him the groin, and I left without slicing through his throat like he deserved. I looked for the girl, the woman in the red shoes, but I couldn’t find her,” I finished.

  “And who all saw you?” Ryan asked.

  “The cowboy and the girl,” I said. The woman was gone in a second, but she had seen me. She had seen my face. I looked out the window as the sea came into view on my right. We were nearing Ballstad, our home. I inhaled the sea air, wondering how long it would be before I smelled it again, if ever.

  “You think she’ll tell? Go to the police?”

  “I don’t know, Ryan. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “You know I love you, right?” he whispered.

  “Yeah, I know,” I replied, resting my head against the window, knowing that my next words were going to wreck us both, but I said them anyway because I meant them despite what I was going to do. “I love you, too.”

  4

  Delaney's second email from June 16

  V,

  I hope you got my first email. I know, I know, use sparingly.

  Sister Josephine received a note this morning that she hasn’t brought to the police. She said you would know how to handle the situation. I told her I would contact you (she told me I shouldn’t ever lie to anyone, let alone a nun, again), but I also urged her to contact the police. She didn’t like that response.

  It was a handwritten note, left in the confessional at St. Mary’s.

  “Tread carefully, Sister Josephine. Psalm 116:15:Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.”

  Whatever it is that’s been started, I don’t want any part of it. I can’t do this again. I told Sister Josephine that I would give you a day to get back to me. I guess as a courtesy to her and to you. If you don’t respond within twenty-four hours, I’m going to the police. Sanchez can surely handle it, I hope.

  I do miss you. Please consider coming back.

  Much love,

  D

  5

  June 17, 11:30 p.m.

  Norway

  I shed my clothes, sliding the skirt down until it was a ball on the floor in the middle of Ryan’s living room while he stood in the glow of the kitchen light watching me. I didn’t need to look at him to know he was watching me, it was pretty obvious, but I didn’t let it bother me. I’d had enough disappointed people in my life to know that he didn’t know what to do with me.

  I wiggled my shoulders, slipping the leather jacket off them and onto the heap with the skirt. I then lifted my shirt over my head, now standing in just my bra and underwear with my holster still around my thigh when I heard footsteps.

  Ryan came up behind me and reached toward my thigh, pushing the holster down past by knee and finally to the floor. He placed his hands on my shoulders and kissed the right one lightly until he moved toward the fireplace to pick up two logs from the stack next to the fireplace. Kneeling down, he lit a match and nursed the flames, tucking a handful of paper beneath the logs. Still crouc
hed, he turned toward me with his hands opened.

  Ryan was still here with open arms. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve him.

  Gathering the pile of clothes, I pushed them into his waiting hands and watched him scatter them among the flames. The pungent smell of burning hair wafted through the air as the flames licked my leather jacket.

  I stood, watching the flames as Ryan walked around the house again, double-checking every door and bolting them shut. I didn’t bother to remind him that I would know if someone was within fifteen feet of the house thanks to the video surveillance and alarm system I set up the first week we came back. I would let him soak in the feeling that he was protecting me, protecting us. He stopped at the front door, peering out the side window before returning to me in front of the fire.

  “Now what?” he asked as he circled his arms around me. My body responded to his touch, craving him more than ever. Leaving would be easier if he would simply push me away. All of this would have been easier on my own.

  “We stay here,” I said, knowing tonight would be my last night with him. I wanted just one more night, one more time. I wanted to remember the feeling of the two of us together.

  “Stay?” Ryan asked with a raise of his brows as he spun me to face him. “Did I hear that right?”

  “Stay,” I whispered before I pushed my lips into his. He pulled me in and bent down to consume me. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he lifted me up with one arm and unhooked my bra. It clattered to the ground as we collapsed onto the couch, me on top of him, just like we had every night for the last three hundred sixty-five days. I would miss this.

  Damn, I would miss this.

  ***

  I waited for the sound of Ryan sleeping, the slow and methodic inhale and exhale that I heard every night. He was a deep-sleeper, prone to falling asleep the second his head hit the pillow. Not me, I was late to bed and early to rise. Ryan joked one day that he was sleeping with a vampire since he’d never actually seen me sleeping. I’d trained my body to function on only three to four hours of sleep each night a long time ago, sometime in my teens. It was after Elizabeth had died, AD. I sometimes thought about my life in terms of Elizabeth’s death. Before death, BD, and after death, AD. Although my entire life had been pretty dismal - hell, I think it was safe to say it had been a train wreck - AD was filled with some of my darkest days.