Fiercely Emma: Cake Series Book Three

by J. Bengtsson

  The hair-raising screams stabbed through the walls of our modest home, jolting me from a fitful sleep. Tiny arms wrapped tighter around me as Grace buried her head in my stomach and whimpered. Since Jake’s return, she hadn’t slept one night in her own bed.

  “Shh. Shh. It’s okay.” I stroked her pajama-clad back. “He’s having another nightmare. You’re okay.”

  But she wasn’t. These past few weeks had been beyond traumatizing for her. Jake was not the brother any of us remembered, but for Grace it was especially confusing, as she’d never been given a reasonable explanation as to why the boy she adored had come home a shell of his former self. I got it – Mom thought she was too young to burden with such information – but at this point, her day to day existence was so terrifying, what did it really matter?

  Quinn burst into my room carrying his pillow, blanket, and stuffed cheetah. With a frightened look on his face, he swung the door shut before jumping into my bed and wedging himself securely against me. I watched him slap his hands over his ears to keep the screaming out. This had become a near nightly ritual since Jake’s homecoming: me in bed with Grace and Quinn. Before this whole ordeal began, neither one of them had looked to me as a source of comfort. I was just the boring older sister. Who would want me when there were fun boys around?

  Oh, how the tides had turned. There were no more fun boys in our house. Clearly Keith was their best shot, but although he’d stayed home since Jake’s return, he was on and off… and not just of drugs. Some days he was almost normal, but other days his erratic, aggressive behavior and vampire-like, bloodshot eyes made him unsuitable comfort food for our little siblings. Kyle was…well… doing what he did best these days, staying the hell out of the way. Jake’s outbursts were so violent and unpredictable that it was deemed too dangerous for him to remain in the room they’d once shared, so he’d now taken up residency in Keith’s. And Jake… even if we wanted to have a conversation with him, we couldn’t… I mean, my god, that poor boy lived inside his own private nightmare world, chock full of demons and monsters, where the main form of communication was screaming.

  All of a sudden, the sister no one wanted to hang out with had become the go-to girl in the McKallister household. Any decisions that were not Jake-related went through me first. I’d been dropped into the role of surrogate mother, and not to brag, I’d become a fairly efficient substitute for the real thing. Soon, it seemed, I couldn’t move anywhere throughout the house without my dual chattering shadows. Surprisingly, I welcomed Grace and Quinn with open arms. The angry, egocentric teen I’d been a few months ago was gone. Life these days was too harsh and unforgiving for such self-serving antics. My focus now was safeguarding the future of two innocent little souls.

  Huddled on the bed, I soothed the frightened kids with soft whispers of reassurance. Jake’s nightmares were rightfully unnerving, sending an icy chill through the bones of those of us who were awakened by them nightly. Clearly he was reliving the horrors of his imprisonment, and we all felt his mind-numbing fear. Sometimes, his sleep-talking outbursts even revealed the injustices inflicted upon him. Those were the scariest moments – the ones where I instructed Grace and Quinn to cover their ears. Listening to Jake beg for mercy or plead for his life was not something their young ears needed to hear. I wished mine wouldn’t either.

  “Emma, make the tent,” Quinn cautiously whispered, as if Jake could hear his voice over all the screaming.

  “I’m already on it,” I answered, as I crawled to my knees and tied my blanket to the headboard posts, creating a little tent for the three of us to take shelter under. The screams intensified as I reached into my side table to fetch the flashlight and the book I’d read to them from last night. Through the thin walls, I could hear Mom and Dad trying to soothe Jake, to no avail. Tonight, as with most nights, my brother was inconsolable, and even the slightest touch was enough to send him reeling in horror and violently lashing out at anyone in the vicinity. As a result, my parents had no choice but to keep a safe distance and watch helplessly as their broken son raged into the night against the ghost who continued to torment him. I’d come to realize that the only way these episodes ended was when he’d screamed himself to exhaustion. Only then would peace be restored… at least until the following night.

  “I want him to stop,” Grace cried out, covering her ears. “Why don’t they make him stop?”

  “They’re trying, Grace. Jake needs time to adjust.”

  “That’s not Jake,” she said, her face scrunched in anger. “That’s not my brother.”

  Her words shocked me. I’d never heard Grace voice such contempt. It was no secret that she was distrustful of Jake, based on her adverse reaction towards him anytime he was near, but this was something else.

  “I wish he’d just go away and never come back.”

  “Don’t ever let me hear you say that again,” I answered in a harsh voice. “That’s just mean.”

  Grace’s body immediately began to shake, and her lips puckered in protest. Oh, crap. Before I could stop her, my sister erupted into uncontrollable sobbing.

  “Oh, great.” Quinn sighed dramatically. “Now we have stereo sound.”

  His statement was so random and so out of place coming from a kid his age that I actually giggled. My baby brother joined me in some inappropriately placed laughter. Grace stopped her crying long enough to punch Quinn in the back.

  “Hey,” I admonished, grabbing the offending hand, “No hitting in the sacred tent.”

  “Stop laughing at me then!” she demanded, crossing her arms in front of her slight chest.

  “Okay, I’ll stop.” I hugged Grace, and she slowly relaxed enough to sink back into me.

  Quinn continued to laugh but now only to annoy her. I gave him a dirty look.

  “Zip it,” I warned.

  Another loud scream cut through the night, sending a shiver through my little sister.

  “Emma?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Grace asked, her voice so tiny and defenseless that tears sprang instantly to my eyes.

  I’d been dreading this conversation. Mom’s insistence that we keep the two in the dark about Jake’s kidnapping was understandable, given the horrific circumstances, but they obviously knew something wasn’t right. Besides that, Grace’s attitude toward Jake concerned me.

  “He was kidnapped,” Quinn answered, acting as if it were common knowledge.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I hear things. I’m not a baby. I’m going to be seven next week.”

  Uncertain how to proceed – I was, after all, new to this mothering gig – I asked, “What have you heard?”

  My little brother winced and looked away. I didn’t push for an answer since his body language told me he knew way more than he should. Mom was wrong. How could she hope to shield them when reality screamed in their ears? And by not allowing them to talk about it, she was creating added fear and confusion.

  “Okay, I’m going to tell you both something, but you guys have to promise not to tell Mom I told you, okay?”

  Grace snorted up her snot and studied me with curious eyes. “I promise.”

  Quinn kept his head down but nodded his agreement.

  “Quinn is right. Jake was kidnapped. Do you know what that means?”

  My little brother nodded, but my sister sat there dumbfounded.

  “It means that a man came and took Jake away from us even though he didn’t want to go.”

  “Is he going to come for me next?” Grace asked, peeking up at me through innocent eyes. I hesitated before continuing. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe this was too much for her.

  “No. He’s never coming back.”

  “Then why is Jake so afraid?” Quinn said.

  “I don’t know. Some bad things happened to him while he was away, and that made him really sad … and scared. I think that’s why he screams. I’d scream too if I was him. Wouldn’t you?”

  Both my sibl
ings nodded innocuously as if my simplistic explanation made perfect sense to them.

  “I know Jake’s different, and sometimes his behavior is scary, but he’s still our brother, and he needs us now more than ever. So we have to be strong and brave even when the screaming scares us. We owe that to Jake because he fought so hard to come back to us. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” they both answered in unison.

  “And that’s why Mom and Dad can’t be with you as much as they were before.”

  “I don’t care,” Quinn said, acting tough, but there was clear sadness in his words. “I like you better.”

  “Me too,” Grace said, hugging my arm.

  “I’m happy you like being with me, but cut Mom and Dad some slack. They love us more than anything in the world, but right now, Jake needs them more than we do. Once he’s better, they’ll be good parents again.”

  It was interesting that I was giving such advice to my siblings when I was the one who couldn’t seem to give my mother even the slightest break.

  “Until then, you’re stuck with me and my totally awesome blanket tents”

  Grace continued rubbing her face against my arm. “I love you, Emma. You’re my favoritest sister ever.”

  I felt my heart melting. How had I deprived myself of her sweetness for all those years? If there was one good thing that had come from this whole terrible ordeal, it was my renewed sense of family. I’d never take those I loved for granted again.

  “She’s your only sister, dummy.”

  “Quinn!” I gasped, playfully slapping my hand over his mouth. “Way to ruin the moment.”

  17

  Finn: Light ’Em Up

  Pulling off the freeway, we drove another couple of miles down side streets until we arrived in front of Perryland. The first couple hours in the car with Emma had been fun and easy, but as we drew closer to the compound, anxiousness began to rattle my nerves. She’d asked me a few generic questions about my family on the way, but for some strange reason, I was getting the distinct impression Emma was expecting to meet them.

  “It’s right there on the right. You can just pull over here.”

  She glided the car to a stop and started gathering her belongings and shoving them in her purse. The expectant gaze she flashed up at me was my answer. Oh, shit.

  When she’d admitted to me on the ride over that she was in a hurry to get home to prepare for her upcoming twelve-hour workday, I hoped that was reason enough to keep her from rendezvousing with the parasitic Perry clan. Sure, I’d told Emma the basics about my family, but even I wasn’t stupid enough to give her the full, unappetizing details. That would just be inviting ridicule. If this weekend was any indication, Emma had the world’s most interesting and engaging family, and mine was sure to terrify in comparison.

  Still, I really liked this girl, and if I turned her away now, would she think I was shady? I needed to say something to get her to leave before disaster struck, but in a tone that wouldn’t scare her away. I couldn’t put off discussing the people who’d raised me forever, so I decided that full disclosure was in order.

  “So I know we’ve talked a little about my unconventional family, but I’m not sure if I emphasized strongly enough that I come from a long, proud line of white trash.”

  She grinned, not seeming in the least bit put off by my admission. That was a good sign. “How trashy are we talking?”

  “Um… Jerry Springer level.”

  Emma’s captivating eyes shimmered as she cast me an amused sidelong glance. “Exactly how far back does this glorious bloodline go?”

  “You know the royal family in England?”

  She nodded, the smile on her face widening.

  “Probably that far.”

  Scanning her eyes over the deceptively unassuming property, Emma nodded as if she were processing this new piece of information about me.

  “Wow, I thought you were just some average guy, but look at you. You’re practically royalty.”

  I grinned. She took that well. Normally I didn’t give a crap what people thought, and I’d really never met a woman who had a problem with my rickety heritage – but then, I’d never met anyone like Emma. Something about her made me want to try harder… be better.

  “So what qualifies as white trash in your book?”

  “My mother’s sixteen years older than me.”

  She fixed me with a disapproving stare. “Having a baby young doesn’t qualify as white trash.”

  “I realize that, but in this unique case, it most certainly does. And I’m definitely not ripping on them, because I can assure you, they wear the badge with pride.”

  “Well, in that case,” Emma said, “I guess you’re entitled to label them what you will. So what about your dad?”

  I tilted my head and quirked my eyebrows in her direction, attempting to non-verbally communicate to Emma how ridiculous her question really was. “Oh, there are no dads in my story. For a time there, I was hopeful, because Shelby – that’s my mom – had narrowed it down to four guys, but sadly none of them panned out.”

  “Panned out?” she asked, amused. “Your mom was sixteen when she had you. How many guys could she possibly have slept with?”

  “You’d be surprised, Emma. Shelby was at the top of her class.”

  “You call your mom Shelby?”

  “Her idea. Not mine. Growing up, she didn’t want me cockblocking her.”

  “You’re lying,” Emma sputtered, nonplussed. With Shelby, there were plenty of shocking moments, but I’d become so used to them that it surprised me when others reacted strongly. If she stuck with me, I feared there would be a lot of disbelief in Emma’s future.

  “Honest to god. She thought Mom made her sound old, so the only time I was allowed to call her that was when the social service worker made her monthly visit or when she was trying to hustle some guy into giving her money by claiming I was his.”

  “Wow, she sounds… um… enterprising. I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Sure, some day.”

  “Why not today?”

  “I can think of a lot of reasons why not. Besides, meeting Shelby is like an eighth date sort of activity. This curb, right here, this is where we part ways.”

  She opened her door stubbornly, and I reached over and closed it. “No.”

  Not a chance was Emma walking into the hornet’s nest unannounced.

  “Come on, Finn, I showed you my family,” she whined.

  “Because they’re literally kick-ass awesome!” I said, my voice an octave higher just from the memory of their splendor. Emma’s pedigree was something to be proud of, and although I wasn’t entirely embarrassed by my family, I certainly wasn’t going to parade them around normal people either. “Besides, the house is really rundown.”

  “I don’t care about stuff like that.”

  “No? Well, it’s messy, too… we’re talking dirt, grease, trash… all the stuff you love. Plus there are animals and kids all over the damn place. Are you ready to drop me off at the curb now?”

  “Strangely enough,” she said, grinning, “you’ve only intrigued me more. And I really hate to be so petty, but you’re forcing my hand here… you owe me, Finn. I saved your ass on multiple occasions this weekend, and all I ask in return is to pull up that driveway and meet the woman who birthed you. Is that so much to ask?”

  I’d only known Emma for two days, but that sassy-ass attitude lit a fire in me that I struggled to control. Grabbing her arm, I pulled her to me. The determination on her face melted almost immediately when she caught the meaning of my sudden aggressiveness. My lips crushed into hers, and in a tangle of arms and legs and steering wheel, the two of us were again locked in a smoldering kiss. My fingers slid up her shirt as her arms gripped my shoulders tight. Her moaning, my groaning… then a hand on my chest pushing me away.

  “What was that?” she asked, startled by something out the window.

  I turned but saw nothing, so I shrugged my response and we
nt back to her lips.

  Again she pushed me back. “It was like a helmet. Camouflage, in the bushes over there?” She pointed to our property behind the fence.

  I squinted into the bright sunlight. “Do you still see it?”

  “No. But I promise you, something was there.”

  “It’s probably one of the kids. I told you, at least twenty family members live here. There’s no doubt in my mind you saw one of them. These people aren’t real good about respecting personal space. I’ve been trying to distance myself from them for years, but they won’t let me go.”

  “That’s family… they’re sticky, like syrup.”

  “See, your type of sticky is sweet. My type of sticky is like a stubborn Band-Aid that adheres to every tiny little hair and stings like a bitch when you pull it off. And not only that, but while you’re rubbing out the ache, they hit you up for money.”

  “Do you give it?”

  “You mean money?”

  “Yeah, do you give them money?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why they’re extra sticky.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not easy to say no to my mother. She’s like a sucker fish in suggestive clothing.”

  “Do you always talk about her like that?”

  “No, usually I’m not as nice.”

  Emma laughed. “Stop stalling. Let’s go. Rip off the damn Band-Aid and introduce me to your mom.”

  “Fine. But I’m warning you now, if my cousin Bucky is around, you need to hold onto your purse.”

  I stepped out of the car to open the gate and waved Emma through before jumping back in to make the drive up the crumbling concrete path.

  “Huh, where is everyone?” I asked, looking around the empty front yard. Something wasn’t right. It was too quiet. “They usually scatter like ashes.”

  “Who?”

  “The kids. Where are…”

  The first popping sound startled us both, and a yellow splat appeared on the car window. Suddenly the camouflage helmet she’d seen made perfect sense. An explosion of color accompanied by a series of loud cracks followed. We looked at each other in confusion as a group of heavily armed toddlers swarmed out of the bushes. Emma slammed on the brakes.