Once the traffic around us had thinned, Ethan’s driving grew ever more aggressive. He’d slow the Hummer down before speeding suddenly to ram into the back of my truck with almost enough force to send me through the windshield. My hands shook as I just tried to keep the car on the road, looking desperately for any opportunity to get away from him. I whimpered each time he smacked his vehicle into mine. The truck jolted forward roughly with every impact and at least once it crabbed to the side. Tears pricked at my eyes, and the vinyl on the wheel melted away to reveal a metal frame. I watched the rearview mirror rather than the road ahead. All I could do was look for any signs he was about to try to ram me off the road again.
The next time he tried to ram me I twisted the truck to the right as I applied the brakes. The extra momentum he had in the Hummer brought it halfway alongside me.
Too late, I saw my potentially fatal mistake.
The new position of his Hummer gave him the opportunity to smash against the side of the F150. Each time he did, another involuntary scream raced from my throat. A bridge loomed near us and Ethan’s attack grew more incessant. Each time he rammed the side of my vehicle, the exposed metal on the steering wheel bit into my fingers and I lost control of the truck.
Once we hit the bridge, my vehicle pin-balled between the Hummer and the guardrail on the bridge. I’d lost control of the situation. There was only one possible outcome. I made my choice—an easy one to make considering the vehicle was slowing.
If Ethan was able to bring it to a complete stop while I was still inside . . .
It didn’t bear thinking about.
I yanked at my seatbelt, freeing myself from the restraint. Once I was clear, I pulled my feet up and climbed over to the passenger side. Trying to focus on each task one at a time as I moved as fast as I could, I wound down the window.
Timing my movement between bounces, I pulled myself out of the seat until I was sitting in the window cavity. The truck careened along out of control at some crazy, breakneck speed, despite the friction of the constant attack slowing it down.
That was all the more reason I needed to get the hell out.
The wind whipped at my hair, lifting it until it was a halo of flames around my head. Risking a quick glance at the Hummer, I watched Ethan’s face twist into one of shock at my appearance.
I drew my legs free from the now completely out of control truck and balanced on the windowsill, holding to the roof with everything I had.
Under the heat of my hands, the metal buckled and curled, and the paint peeled away. The next time my truck struck the guardrail, I made my move.
I mustered all of my strength and leapt out of the window, aiming for the lake below.
CHAPTER TEN
THE WATER was colder than I would have expected as it worked its way around my body like claws, dragging me to the depths. I was surrounded by snapping and popping sounds as the lake instantly drew the heat from my skin. My momentum carried me deep under the water until I was so deep I risked not being able to fight my way back to the surface. Finally, I was able to stop the downward pull and dragged my arms through the water to try to force myself up and away from the place I went under before I had to surface. My lungs burned as I forced myself to open my eyes and orient myself under the water. Despite the danger of boats and debris, I thought the safest place for me to go would be under the bridge and then to follow it back the way I’d come. I was certain Ethan would expect me to continue in the direction I’d been driving in.
I broke the surface but only kept my head above water long enough to swallow a fresh lungful of air, and then I dove back into the depths of the lake and moved toward the shore. My arms ached as I struggled against the strong currents and whirlpools near the pylons of the bridge. I forced myself back to the surface and hid between the supports, clutching to the concrete as I tried to recover my breath and orientate myself for what I hoped would be the final leg of my swim.
I pulled myself ashore, exhausted and on the verge of collapse. Without allowing myself a moment to relax, I dragged myself into an area of dense trees and finally rested my body for a moment. Sirens wailed in the distance, and I wondered whether they were for the accident scene of my truck. At some point, I might have even slumped into unconsciousness—certainly the sun seemed to pass noon quicker than I would have expected otherwise.
My still partly wet and extremely muddy clothes clung tightly to my body, dissipating any heat I tried to infuse into my limbs. Eventually, the need for answers and to check on the two most important people in my life overshadowed the fatigue in my body, and I headed back toward Charlotte. I had to know whether Dad and Clay were okay. There were so many questions and worries eating me from the inside that I could barely restrain myself from running most of the way home.
Due to the caution I took at every road and intersection, the journey back was almost twice as long as it should been. By the time I neared the end of my street, it was well after dusk, and the dark of night clung to everything.
I’d barely turned onto the road when red and blue lights flashed out chaotic patterns that beat against the white houses and bounced off car windows all around me. A second after I’d seen the lights, the cacophony of sirens all wailing a slightly different tune filled the air. I watched the macabre disco pass by in a dizzying rush, all spilling from my street out into the rest of city. Knowing I must have looked an absolute mess, I turned my head away from the procession of vehicles to avoid raising any unwanted interest.
“Evie!”
I jumped a mile when I heard my name called from a patch of trees halfway down the street. “Clay!” I screamed his name before racing toward his voice, not even stopping to consider the possibility of any lingering danger. “I was so worried. I thought I’d never see you again.”
He stepped out of the shadow, and I immediately noticed a dark patch staining his cheek. Another red mark ran the length of his face. It was clear he’d been hurt in the fight. He’d incurred the injuries because of me—fighting for me.
“What happened?” I asked, running my finger over the skin below the gash.
He tilted his head away from my touch. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You got hurt saving me—of course it matters,” I said. Then I smiled at him. He was okay. We were both okay. That simple fact was more than I could have hoped for when I heard his brother and father that morning. “Don’t worry though, Dad’s very adept at first aid. There was a time he was going to be a doctor, you know?”
The corners of his mouth turned down even further as he snapped his head away from a fresh attempt to examine his wound. “I came here as quickly as I could. I hoped you’d come back here even though it was dangerous to return. I had to know you were safe, especially considering—” he stopped as a choking sound stole his voice.
“Considering what?” I reached for his hand and placed it on my cheek.
He didn’t answer me; instead, his face crumpled into a mask of grief. When his gaze slide past mine, his eyes were hollow—empty. He blinked his lifeless eyes and pushed his bottom jaw out as a subdued sob left his throat. I didn’t understand his distress.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I reassured him, holding his face in my hands and drawing his eyes to mine. He couldn’t hold my gaze, and I figured it might have been because he’d worked himself up with concern for me. I pressed my lips to his again and again, but instead of calming him it made him start to sob. “I had a close call,” I gently brushed the skin underneath the cut on his face, “but I’m safe. We both are.”
He shook his head. Nothing I did or said seemed to calm him in the least. If anything, it all served to make him more agitated. “There was a fire,” he said, turning his head in the direction of the house.
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you were in there. I thought . . .” he choked on his breath. “But you weren’t and, oh god, I’m so sorry, Evie.”
“What is it?” My heart raced as I realized his concern
might not have been for me.
“Your house, it’s . . .” He choked again before taking a deep breath and looking away.
My hands closed over my mouth to stop from crying out as the cause of his agitation became clear. Then I remembered the coroner’s van that had passed me earlier, and the reality of it hit me with full force. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” I wailed.
Clay closed his eyes and took another breath before shaking his head. He couldn’t even look me in the eye as he delivered the news, “Your Dad . . . he didn’t make it.”
I shook my head. “No, he would have left.” After the initial thought flooded through me, my mind shut down and refused to process his words. They can’t be right. “How can you say that?” I cried. “He’s okay! He’s got to be okay. He just escaped without anyone seeing him, that’s all. We’ve done it before.”
Clay shook his head sadly.
“We’ve done it before!” I screamed with all the fury I could muster. Dad couldn’t . . . he couldn’t just be gone.
The forlorn look on Clay’s face wiped away all traces of hope that had begun to build in me.
“No,” I whispered as my knees gave way.
He stepped into the space between my arms and pressed his body against mine, holding my weight against himself. As I fell to pieces, he found the strength he needed to support me.
“What happened?” I asked, needing to hear his voice and wanting confirmation of what I already suspected. Even though doing so would allow the worst of my fears to come to light.
“When I got there, he . . .” A shuddering sob ripped through him. “He was already . . .” He held my head against his chest as sobs escaped me. “Evie, I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered.
His words and the sorrowful tone of his voice were too much for me to handle. I ripped myself out of his arms and ran toward the house, taking great gasping breaths as I sprinted as fast as I could. I stumbled as I got closer to the smoldering site, falling heavily onto the grass. My head spun as I tried to pull myself upright, but I couldn’t gain control of my legs or get enough air into my lungs. I dragged myself up until I was supported on all fours. Dizziness overtook me as reality hit me. I’d lost my father. The taste of smoke burned my tongue and forced vomit into my throat.
Strong hands wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me upright. Clay held me against the front of his body, supporting me completely with his arms crossed in front of my chest. He nuzzled his nose into my hair and tried to comfort me, tried to make me leave before I saw anymore, but I had to know. I had to see for myself.
With Clay trailing behind me every step of the way, I covered the last of the distance toward the house and fell to my knees again. The house that Dad and I had shared until early that morning was gone. In its place was a hideous skeleton of ash and debris, rising up out of the block. The trees that had surrounded our makeshift home were largely untouched by the fire that had consumed everything else but bent inward toward the yawning space as if they too were mourning a loss.
A high keening sound issued from me as the gruesome reality tore through my mind and ripped the tattered shreds of my heart into tiny pieces. Clay pulled me against his body to try to stop the sound.
“It’s my fault,” I whispered as a fresh wave of nausea ripped through me. “It’s all my fault.” The words spilled from my mouth again and again without thought. I couldn’t stop them even if I’d tried.
“I’m sorry,” Clay murmured.
“It’s my fault.” I raised my eyes to his as the words escaped again and saw him flinch in response. I tugged at my hair, wishing I could tear out the ruby-colored evidence of my uniqueness and somehow become a normal person; a person who didn’t get her father killed because of her own selfish desires.
Words of anger and sorrow poured from me so swiftly that I couldn’t even be certain of what I’d said. My eyes burned with the dried salt of my tears, and my sobs came in great, painful chest-wrenching cries. Eventually, realizing that they weren’t helping, I slowed my sobs and stilled my tongue.
One inescapable fact kept circling my mind—if I hadn’t left Dad, he might have still been alive. He’d had no warning of the impending attack and was alone when it happened. Clay placed his hands on my shoulders and helped me back to my feet before wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against his body. With my cheek pressed tightly to his chest, I could hear the thundering of his rapid heartbeat.
“It’s all my fault,” I said again, pressing my body against Clay’s as if getting closer to him would somehow remove the pain.
“It’s not,” he insisted, lifting my chin to look at him.
I absorbed the sorrow and guilt in his eyes and understood what he meant. He’d been the one who had hunted me down and accidentally tipped off his family to my whereabouts. He’d been the reason I’d left the house when Dad had needed me most. He was the reason I’d had to endure the terror of fleeing from his brother rather than being where I should have been, at Dad’s side.
It was Clay’s family that had murdered my father. He’d known it could happen, and yet he’d forced his way back into my life anyway.
Everything fell into place in my mind. “This is your fault,” I whispered venomously.
His hold on me loosened slightly with my words, and I took the chance to pull myself fully away from him.
“You . . . you killed him!” My voice escaped as a high-pitched wail that I didn’t recognize. “You took him from me!”
Tears tracked down Clay’s face. He reached out his arms as if he wanted to hold me again, but didn’t move any closer. The defeat on his face confirmed that I was right. Whether by his action or inaction, he’d caused my father’s death. Whereas a few moments earlier, all I needed was for him to comfort me, now I wanted retribution.
“You did this to me!” I stepped toward him and smacked both of my fists against his chest in time with my words. His choices had led us to this seemingly inevitable end; he was as guilty as if he’d pulled the trigger himself. “You killed my Daddy!”
He dropped his chin to his chest as he stood still and took my abuse without fighting back or resisting. It wasn’t what I wanted; I needed him to be tormented and hurting to ease my own pain. If only I could share the agony that was flooding through every inch of my body and soul, it would ease my suffering. I wanted to be the one to inflict it on him, but I wanted to have to fight for it. I didn’t want him to just passively accept it all.
“You stole him from me!” My body warmed. as anger and sorrow flowed through me. My fists ached as they beat against Clay’s chest. As each strike fell, my emptiness grew. Inflicting physical pain on him wasn’t helping like I’d thought it would.
I needed something more.
“I hate you!” I screamed.
The words spurred him into action; he finally stopped my assault by grabbing my wrists and lifting my hands away from his body. He gripped them tightly as I continued to struggle with tears and convulsing sobs flowing from me without restraint. He pulled me into an embrace just firm enough to pin my arms and hands between us against his chest.
“We need to leave here,” he whispered against the top of my head. “It’s not safe for you.”
I tried to resist as he pulled me away from the site but, for possibly the first time ever, he used his strength against me. “Just let me find you somewhere to stay for tonight,” he said as his hands closed around my shoulder to guide me from the place where my father had lost his life. “Then I’ll go.”
I shivered as the reality of the situation struck. I had no home, no family, nothing. All I had left were the clothes on my back and even those were filthy—covered with mud, tears, and splatters of vomit.
At the thought, the fight left me completely, and I allowed Clay to guide me. I was little more than a zombie walking around with a dead heart and empty mind as he led me through the suburban streets. I was barely aware of the lights of the motel or sounds of the traffic around us.
Clay sh
ook my shoulders lightly to rouse me from my trance.
“I’ve started a shower. It might make you feel better.”
I nodded, even though a bit of warm water on my skin would do nothing to cleanse the murky grime that coated my soul. As I trudged to the bathroom, I shed my clothes. I didn’t know or even care whether Clay was still in the room.
When I reached the bathroom, I drew back the shower curtain and stood beneath the stream. Before long, each droplet was like a lead bullet striking my skin.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
With a sob, I sank to the floor of the shower, allowing the water to carry away the evidence of my agony.
Clay came in sometime later when the tears were gone and nothing but a cold emptiness remained. I’d shut off the water in the shower, but couldn’t find the strength to get to my feet.
“Are you okay?”
I shook my head even though there was a shower curtain between us and he probably couldn’t see me. Talking seemed like too much effort. Just like standing.
Or breathing.
The morning seemed like a distant memory, and I wished I could go back and start the day again.
“Evie?” He paused again and the silence stretched out between us. “Evie, I’m going to open the curtain, okay?”
I closed my eyes to avoid looking at him as he drew the curtain back. Something soft and dry draped around my body a moment later.
Clay lifted me from the base of the shower as he supported me in his arms. I pressed my head against his T-shirt as a fresh wave of sorrow washed over me. Every time I thought I’d cried my last tear they started again, as if they would never stop.
With great care, he placed me onto the bed and brushed the wet hair from my face. His fingers lingered over my cheek as he wiped away my tears. After checking I was okay, he reached around me for something on the bed. He held up a new sleep shirt, and I sat up to slip it over my head. It barely skimmed the base of my hips, but the last thing I cared about in that moment was my modesty.
Through the Fire (Daughter of Fire Book 1) Page 8