by KL Donn
Slowing down just enough for Creed to toss his gear in the back and hop in the passenger’s seat, he sped up again making their way to the airport as fast as they could.
·٠•● ●•٠·
Eliminating targets were one of the things Creed struggled with when going out on a job. They didn’t just accept the intel Uncle Sam gave them, they did their own research. Every once in a while they would get faulty info and have to scrap the job and head back to their unit, but the ones that were accurate, he always relished in the chase. Knowing they were helping to dispel the world of one more sick son of a bitch helped ease his conscience a bit.
They’d done some bad things in their time in the Marines, questionable things, where they had to follow orders or be court-martialed. So as soon as they could, they opted out and branched out to basically become mercenaries for their government. It gave them the freedom they needed to choose which assignments they did or did not take. It also meant they left at a moment’s notice because if they were being called, it indicated that things were dire and no one else wanted the job— whether because retaliation was a major issue or because they were just too frightened to do it themselves. Sometimes it was both. They were so good at their job that they were often called in from other governments to eliminate a target they couldn’t touch for political reasons.
They’d gotten the call for this particular job the first night Nate and Ty had forced them to go home instead of watching over Kennedy the way they had been since she’d been admitted to the hospital. They hadn’t been able to do anymore than call Nate and explain they had to leave before they hopped on the jet for Argentina.
Every thought of Kennedy left their minds while they checked the intel on their mark, one José Martinez, a drug runner and child slave trader. All indications showed him as one sick bastard and he needed to be eliminated immediately. It took them a week to find him on his compound deep in the Patagonia Forest region close to the Chile border. He was a smart bastard with his hideout far from any rivers or roads so there was no easy access. Hiking was the only way to get to him.
They spent nearly a week tracking him once their informant had told them where his compound was. After finding him, they both took up a sniper spot on opposite sides of the mountain waiting for him to appear because apparently, he liked to stay hidden like the rat he was. So when Creed had gotten his first glance of him beating a woman he took it and shot Martinez right between the eyes.
After packing away his rifle, he ran as fast as he could down the mountain to meet Linc before jumping in the Jeep, and now they were on their way to the jet and back to Austin. Not knowing if they would be pursued by Martinez’s men had them both too tense to talk about anything until they pulled up to the airplane.
At the captain’s nod, they were in the air about fifteen minutes later. Finally able to relax, Creed opened his laptop to check his email and boot up his phone because they kept all electronics, except for their two-way mics, on the plane so there was no distraction or possible giveaways during the mission.
When both of their phones started beeping like crazy, he had an ominous feeling snake up his spine. Looking at his messages, he saw dozens of texts from Nate and Ty. Opening them up, he scrolled to the top and his heart nearly exploded in panic…
Nate: Kenny’s gone…
That was all he had read before he exploded. “Motherfucker!” he screamed out, stomping to the cockpit and telling the pilot, “The faster, the better.”
Sitting back in his seat he looked at Linc, who was typing furiously on his phone, presumably to Nate or Ty. “Well?” he questioned more harshly than he’d intended.
“She left less than a day after us, drained her bank accounts and hopped on a bus. They haven’t been able to track her since she was spotted at the bus depot.” The frustration and worry in his voice were clear as day to Creed.
“How much money did she have?”
“Nearly three hundred grand. I don’t get how she could have drained it all in one night, but she did.”
“Fuck. How does a nineteen-year-old girl have that much money?” He wondered aloud.
“Trust fund. Had her passport and copies of her ID in a safe deposit box at the same bank too,” Linc bit out. “They’re meeting us at the airport when we land.”
Typing out a quick message to Nate, he asked him where she would go, who she would run to. Waiting for him to reply was brutal. He was pissed off she would run and worried that she’d hurt herself like she tried to before her coma. She hadn’t spoken to anyone so they had no idea where her head was at.
“We have to find her,” he whispered out. Not really expecting an answer from Linc, but he saw him nod in agreement.
Three
Sitting on the beach running her fingers through the sand and watching the ocean waves crash against the rocky shore, Kenny felt her first moment of peace in weeks. Breathing in the salty air while the sun set gave her a sense of relief she hadn’t felt in the nearly four months since her abduction and torture.
Her mind was still stuck in the past most days. She continued to struggle to be around people even at her best. Coming to the rocky beach at the end of the day helped her mind relax and sometimes forget long enough so that she could sleep.
She felt immense guilt over leaving the way she had but having so many people around her, especially ones she didn’t know, had her so terrified that her skin would crawl and her mind would replay her horrors. Every noise made her jump and her heart raced so fast that she couldn’t catch her breath. Staying was doing her more harm than good, so she’d left.
Draining her accounts hadn’t been easy, but since she banked at such a large corporation and the branch manager knew her so well because she had gone to high school with his daughter, and they’d been best friends, he’d expedited things and got her the funds she needed. Knowing some of what happened to her had probably helped his decision too.
She left everything but her ID and the letters from Emily behind, needing to find the new Kennedy Maxwell, find out who this broken girl now was. She’d written so many postcards to her parents that she had lost count, but she struggled to find the right words so she hadn’t sent any of them. She knew she had to soon so they didn’t fear the worst; that she’d hurt herself.
Digging through her small satchel sitting in the sand beside her, she grabbed her pen that she’d found in a flea market— it was wrapped in yellow ribbon and had a sunflower on top. When she saw it, she was drawn to it. Not really sure why, but it had made her smile for the first time since the day she and Emily had been kidnapped. Grabbing the postcard she had picked up in town that day, she put pen to paper and started writing again.
Dear Momma, Dad A, and Dad J,
I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say other than that. I know you’re worried, and I hate that I’ve given you this doubt. You probably think I’ve hurt myself, but I haven’t. I’m as ok as I can be, I suppose.
I need time. Time to find me. Time to work through my mind. I’m broken. So broken that I fear I’ll never be fixed again. Some days like today, I feel like I can breathe and every inhale feels like it heals a part of my soul.
I found this pen, I’m using it now; it’s the first thing I’ve smiled about since leaving. I look at it and Momma, I think of you; of the way we would run through wildflowers when I was younger. You remember, don’t you? And Daddy A, as I sit watching the waves crash, I think of all the times we went swimming in the ocean or to find sea shells in the sand. Daddy J, I think you’d like it here, there are so many places to fish, and the warm air is like a balm to my soul.
I’m sorry for the pain you feel. Please know I love you, but I just need to find me again. Tell Emily… She has her keys ;) She’ll know. I probably missed Nate and Ty’s wedding to Keeley and I’m sorry. Please give my love to everyone.
Forever yours, Kenny
Kissing the bottom of the card, she decided that was going to have to be good enough. With one last look
at the setting sun, she made her way to the post box at the end of the street near her villa.
Since coming to Italy two months ago, she had found more peace than when she had everyone trying to help her. She was far from whole again, but her chest wasn’t tight and she felt like she could breathe again.
Porto Venere is a small fishing town in the province of La Spezia, located on the Ligurian Coast of northern Italy— she instantly fell in love with the small village she was cocooned in. The atmosphere was welcoming, the people were friendly, yet not pushy. Her little villa was just on the outskirts of town near a rocky beach, which was isolated from the more public ones. Her neighbors were few and far between.
There was one girl who she felt drawn to— Deedee. She didn’t know her story, but they often walked the beach together in the mornings. Sometimes they would talk, but mostly they just enjoyed the serenity together; neither really wanting to say why they were running.
Deedee had the same haunted look in her eyes as Kennedy did when she would look in the mirror. Beautiful, dark, long hair and the oddest eyes she had ever seen. One was so dark it was nearly black while the other was this strange mix of green and blue. She’d told her once that it was a birth defect, but she suspected there was more to that story. Not wanting to push her new friend, she left it alone.
Putting the postcard in her mail and lifting the little flag so the mail truck knew she had something to be picked up, she started the short walk back to her cottage when a car rolled down the street slowly. Her body started shaking because she didn’t recognize it, and while she knew her captors were dead, it didn’t stop her body from reacting when she was terrified.
Frozen in place, she couldn’t get her legs to move as the shiny, white Mercedes drove past her and slowed to a crawl once it reached her friend’s home. Stopping for a few moments, the person idled on the street before speeding off.
Shaking off her paranoia, she made her way to her front door when she heard another door slam. Looking over to her friend’s house, she saw her run out the back and towards Kennedy’s cottage. Running towards her, Ken met her halfway between their homes. Out of breath, Deedee grabbed her arm and pulled her to her back door, making Kenny flinch because she still couldn’t stand to be touched.
“Dee, wait… What’s going on?” She tried asking.
“Nothing, just please, let’s go inside,” she begged. Worry laced her voice.
Nodding her head, they made their way inside. Closing and locking the doors, she went in the kitchen to pour them some lemonade while she watched Deedee run around the house locking the windows. “Dee?” she questioned again.
“Not unless you’re ready, Ken,” she countered firmly.
Nodding her head, she handed Deedee her drink. They stood there watching each other for a few minutes before Kenny finally sighed and went into the living room. She turned Netflix on to one of their favorite shows, Orange Is the New Black.
After what felt like hours passed but was really only thirty minutes, Deedee finally entered the room and spoke to her. “I’m sorry, Ken. I shouldn’t have shut you down like that. I know you want to help, but I’m good, I promise. And you know I will never force you to talk, no matter how bitchy I may be.” Leaning down, she was about to kiss Kennedy’s cheek when she flinched away. “Fuck a duck. I’m so sorry!” she cried out, realizing she’d grabbed her arm when they were outside too.
“It’s ok, Dee,” she tried to soothe.
“It’s not; it’s really not. I know the pain you have. I watch you struggle just to get through the market. I’m so sorry, Kenny!”
She could see the tears welling in her friend’s eyes, so she sucked in a breath and forced herself to grab her hand saying, “Go home and get some rest. It’s fine. I’m fine.” She implored looking into her strange eyes.
Nodding her head, Deedee went to the back door and let herself out with a whispered goodnight. Kenny sat there for a while watching TV, waiting for her mind and eyes to be so tired she’d just drop. Some days it worked, most days it didn’t.
Sleep was a major issue for her. When she closed her eyes, she would be thrown back in time to when she was chained to the wall in the dusty, old cabin being tortured.
At the time she arrived in Italy so many weeks ago, she’d been so broken; a shell of the girl she once was. She didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, and could barely function long enough to go outside. Knowing just how damaged she had been made her cringe. She was still broken but meeting Deedee and some of the people in town had helped open her mind to seek help. So three times a week she drove to Florence for therapy with a world-renowned psychologist from England, Dr. James Schroder.
At first she couldn’t go into his office alone. She would panic and couldn’t stop shaking so his assistant would come in, sit beside her and put headphones on so she didn’t hear the session. It helped to calm some of her fears. She didn’t want people knowing just how fucked up she was, but she needed to feel safe even more.
In the beginning she would sit there and stare at him, waiting for him to try something. What she didn’t know was her trust in humanity was lost. After a few weeks of her staring and him trying to engage her, he finally gave her a pen and paper and she would write for hours. She purged her every thought and emotion. Sometimes it was about hate, then there were the regrets she had. But mostly it was about the pain.
She wrote every depraved thing that had been done to her. Every evil word said. But not once had he asked her to share her words with him. She knew he would eventually, but for now he had her write what she felt. Sometimes he asked her to draw pictures, and initially, she didn’t understand. She had thought that was more for children when they couldn’t express their trauma, but the more she drew the more she realized how cathartic it could be.
He did ask to see her drawings, and sometimes that felt more personal than showing him her journal entries. He always knew how her day was going by the drawings. If she drew the ocean with waves crashing down after a big high, she was having a bad day. If she drew a serene sunset with lots of colors, blending the different pink, orange, and red hues, she had a good day. She hadn’t realized she was doing that until he pointed it out to her.
Now she paid attention to the detail she put into it, making sure every line of a wave or ray of sun was just right. It helped ease the pain in her heart. The pain in her mind and body was a whole other matter, though.
Crawling into bed, she pulled her journal out and started to write:
Dear diary…
I still never know how to start. You’re like an old friend waiting to see how I’ll screw up. Like a soft cushion wanting to embrace me. I never doubt your commitment to me, but today I wish I did.
I’m stuck in this body, a body I have come to hate; the scars are reminders I wish to forget. My mind is in turmoil and I’m struggling. I dream of how she hurt me every day, and I wish I could hurt her back. Make her feel an ounce of what I do. To know the struggle and self-doubt. The internal loathing is something I’m not sure I can live with anymore.
I sat on an overhang above the shoreline today to draw, and all I wanted to do was jump. I feel like letting go is the only way to be free. The only way to finally let go. But then I think of the darkness, and the dark scares me more than anything else.
Dee touched me today… I wanted to scream! The ice in my veins felt like jagged glass slicing through the skin and I wanted to rage, but she was panicking about something and for once, I feel like maybe I’m making progress?
I still haven’t opened Emily’s letters. I know I need to read them, but I don’t know if I can handle her guilt on top of my own emotions. I wish she’d never written them, but that’s selfish because I know she blames herself for what happened to me. I don’t. At least, I don’t think I do? I have an appointment with Dr. Schroder tomorrow, maybe for once I’ll talk to him?
See you on the other side,
Still broken.
Putting her journal away, she laid down i
n bed staring at the roof, watching the light flicker from the moon as the clouds rolled across the sky. It was going to storm; she could almost smell the rain in the air. Hopefully not too bad, she couldn’t handle the thunder anymore.
She remembered a time when she was a little girl and she and her mom would dance in the driveway while the rain pounded down, the thunder like a drum beat for them to dance to, and the lightening their own spotlights. Her dads hated it, always saying how embarrassing it was and how one day they’d get struck, but they watched with indulgent smiles.
Thinking of her parents had tears welling in her eyes. She missed them something fierce, but being around people that knew what happened to her wasn’t something she wanted or needed right then. Grabbing her phone she looked at it, debating whether or not to phone them. She knew they must be worried and that her brothers and their friends were probably looking for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. As much as she wanted them to know she was safe and sound, she wanted the peace of mind being without her old life gave her.
Rolling over she put the phone back down and closed her eyes, only to dream of smooth whiskey and dark promises.
Four
Pulling up out front of the Maxwell’s home, Creed felt hope for the first time in the nearly two months Kenny had been gone. They’d received a postcard from her the day before and called their sons, who in turn called him and Linc that morning. Climbing from his truck, he waited in front of it for Linc to join him before making their way up the front porch.
The door opened before they even had a chance to knock. Greeted by a smiling Amber and seeing bags packed just beyond the front foyer, his brows drew together in confusion. Nate had told them that he wanted Creed and Linc to check things out, make sure it was, in fact, Kenny sending the postcard.
“What’s going on Mrs. M?” Linc asked sounding as confused as him.