by Ariel Bonin
Suddenly, Andrew's prayers were answered when Caren rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Go to Zoey," she whispered. "I'll take care of Lindsey."
With some reluctance, Andrew released her and allowed Caren to take his place. She rubbed the weeping woman's back and said with the utmost sympathy, "Come on, Linds. Let's get you cleaned up."
_____
Andrew tried to wash his blood-stained face with water from a nearby well, but knew he wouldn't be able to get rid of it all. The stickiness was caked into his beard, but he didn't care. His daughter was avoiding him and Lindsey was a train wreck, both physically and emotionally. He observed her sitting alone on the porch of a house they'd stayed at for the night. Purple circled her left eye and a gash cut through the same brow. Her bottom lip stuck out more than usual from where it'd split at the hand of her attacker. Caren had managed to clean the wounds to the best of her ability, digging out gravel for well over an hour. He wished he could bear the injuries for her—inside and out. After everything he'd endured, he only exhibited a decent shiner.
The silent state in which Lindsey sat scared the bejesus out of him. She spoke to no one and wouldn't allow any man to get near her, except for him. Robert had tried to give her a drink of water and she'd flinched away from him, leaving it up to Caren to accept the innocent offering. She knew the man would never lay a finger on her, but her damaged condition had left her abnormally reserved.
With good reason, Andrew thought as waves of guilt crashed over him.
They'd been so fucking stupid—no—he'd been stupid. What had possessed him to go scavenging in the dark? They should have stayed put and waited till morning to search for fuel. Why? Why?
As Andrew cursed his foolishness, Charlie wandered over with his rifle.
"Up for some huntin'?" the man asked. He looked to where Andrew was staring in misery and sighed. "Just leave her be, man. Give her some space—she'll come 'round."
Andrew shook his head. "This is different. For the first time in a long time, I can't read her. I've got no idea what she's thinking. What if she hates me—?"
"She doesn't hate ya, Andrew," Charlie answered solemnly. Nodding toward the woods, he said, "Let's go."
With one last fleeting look at Lindsey, Andrew followed Charlie into the shade of the pines.
Chapter 15
Andrew moved between the trees, flanking Charlie's right side. The rancher stepped softly, his suppressed rifle raised and loaded. They'd been tracking a deer for a half mile, but had yet to see it. Andrew put down a turner within the first few minutes, hoping they would find the deer in one living piece very soon. The two men said nothing as they wanted to remain silent during the hunt. That ended only a few minutes later when they came across the deer—torn open by feasting turners.
Openly cursing their bad luck, Charlie shot the closest turner, while Andrew circled around and sunk his knife into the skull of another unsuspecting corpse. Charlie took down the third and final turner as Andrew cleaned off his blade.
Andrew sighed at the lack of food and turned down the trail to return to their group. "We should get back."
Charlie caught up and noticed the distracted look on his friend's face. "I know you're worried about 'em—I don't blame you. Thing is, they're gonna heal in their own time. You gotta let 'em deal with their shit and, in the meantime, you should do the same."
Andrew was well aware of his own demons and had already acknowledged them as a necessary part of him. The thing that really bothered him was the fact that his teenage daughter had been put in the position of rescuer. He was supposed to protect her—keep her safe. Lindsey was usually capable of taking care of herself, but he felt like he'd let her down as well.
"Are you mad at her?" Charlie asked, jarring him out of his thoughts.
"Who, Zoey?"
Charlie nodded.
"No. Not at all. She did exactly what I would've done, had I been able. I'm mad at myself…" he replied, his voice heavy.
"What happened to y'all was bad, but you and I both know it could have been a lot worse."
Andrew hung his head. "Yeah, I do…"
"Seriously, man, don't beat yourself up over this."
"How can I not?" Andrew snapped. "I just laid there…I did nothing to help them!"
"You're not Superman, okay? Those guys outnumbered you—"
"And got taken out by a thirteen-year-old girl! How should that make me feel?"
Charlie quickly licked his lips and turned to stop the other man. "There's this thing called fate. Things happen for a reason. Sometimes those things don't make alotta sense. I'm still trying to figure out why Eric was taken from me, but that's life. Goin' over the past a thousand times in your head won't change it. In that moment, Zoey was supposed to step up to the plate—not you—and, hell, did she. You've got a survivor on your hands. Don't punish her, or yourself, for that. It just means there's a better chance y'all will make it to New Canaan."
It was the first time Andrew had heard Charlie mention his son since that tragic day and started to feel a different kind of guilt. He was throwing a pity party because his daughter had saved them from a heinous attack. They were all still alive. Charlie couldn't say that about his kids. If someone deserved to sulk, it was him. But he didn't. He kept going—just like life—and Andrew needed to do the same.
Clapping Charlie on the back, Andrew gave the man a faint smile and they continued on in companionable silence.
_____
The group hit the road mid-morning, stopping for the occasional obstruction. Luckily, no detours were necessary. Andrew fingered the map in his hands as they passed a sign for Branford. With a population under one thousand, it was considered a small town.
After finding their location on the map, he looked straight ahead to view Lindsey and Caren in the car behind him. As expected, Lindsey was distant, staring blankly at the passing scenery. Caren said something to her and her lips barely moved as she gave, what he assumed was, a one-word answer.
Earlier she'd gone to occupy the driver's seat, but Caren had said, "I'll drive today," to which Lindsey had uttered, "I'm fully capable of driving. It's not like I'm crippled or something!"
Or something.
Caren had lowered her eyes at the awkward comment and answered quietly, "You drove yesterday. I just figured I'd take a turn and give you a break."
Visibly disturbed by her own outburst, Lindsey had dropped her face in embarrassment, allowing a lock of hair to fall over her injured eye. She'd brushed past Caren and wordlessly entered the car on the passenger side.
Watching her now, Andrew could hear Darius's own outburst like a broken record: 'Do you really think Lindsey will be lucky enough to escape getting raped the second time around?' He'd been so angry at the man for saying that—and yet the words had lingered in his brain. He hadn't wanted to believe that it could happen, but, somehow, a small part of him had known. If only he could have done more to stop it from happening in the first place…
Unfortunately, that wasn't what got to him the most. Those monsters had attacked his daughter. His daughter. Of all the fucked up shit he'd seen in this world that made everything else look like just another walk through the park. He couldn't quite see Zoey in the backseat of the sedan, but knew she was probably being just as antisocial as Lindsey. It hurt him to see them hurting—and the worst part was that there was nothing he could do about it.
_____
Lindsey hardly noticed Caren take the turn up a long, wooded driveway until she saw the sign with gold letters: Dyer Memorial Library. She lifted her head and watched the building come into view. Nestled deep in the forest, it resembled a house made for royalty—not books. With an English Tudor-style design, though, it did exude a certain coziness required for a library setting.
Caren parked between the truck and Charlie's motorcycle, and shut off the car. Lindsey slowly exited the vehicle, her whole body sore from the long ride, but mostly from fighting back the night before. She had the mother of
all headaches and her hands wouldn't stop shaking. It was like she was on high alert and couldn't come down from it, but, at the same time, was more exhausted than she'd ever been in her entire life.
When she went to get her bag out of the trunk, Zoey came up beside her to get her own. Lindsey glanced at Zoey and the girl turned her head slightly but wouldn't meet her eyes. She imagined that her face didn't look too great—it felt like she'd run head on into a Mack truck. And while it saddened Lindsey that Zoey couldn't bear to look at her, she understood that the previous night had been mortifying for the both of them. As much as she wanted to close herself off from everyone, she was desperate to get through to Zoey. They'd experienced the same trauma, though she'd felt immense relief to find out that the man hadn't hit her. But still, they were suffering in silence and she knew it wasn't healthy.
A masculine hand rested on Lindsey's shoulder and she jumped, putting some distance between herself and the other person.
"I- I'm sorry," Andrew murmured. "It's just me."
Lindsey relaxed, but only a little. She huffed out a breath and reached for another bag.
"Can I take anything for you?" Andrew offered gently.
"No. Thanks," Lindsey said in a clipped tone. She couldn't stand to see the pity in his gaze. It made her feel like even more of a victim than she considered herself to be.
Joining Charlie at the entrance to the library, she readied her knife and flashlight. Using a crowbar, Robert pried off the lock on one of the double doors and opened it. They weren't met with any imposing smells, putting aside the musty odor of aging books, which was to be expected. The first room held a long circulation desk and a great deal of cobwebs. Lindsey waved them away as she progressed through the building. They cleared each room like they'd done this together a hundred times and, to some degree, they had.
When the group was sure that they were alone, everyone piled in with their stuff and chose a place to sleep. Thankfully, there were plenty of couches. Lindsey dropped her pack onto a jade-colored love seat in the Children's Room and took in her surroundings. Quickly fading daylight cast shadows and spots of orange across the colorful walls. Posters of various celebrities telling you to READ were scattered about the room, along with stacks and stacks of picture books.
Andrew placed his bag next to Lindsey's and unzipped the front compartment, removing a small first-aid kit. "We should clean your cuts," he said, his voice hushed to an appropriate library level.
Lindsey shook her head and took the kit. "I can do it."
Walking down the hallway, she found a handicapped-accessible bathroom and went inside. She locked the door, turned on her lantern and laid everything out on the counter. Looking up at her reflection, she stopped. Dark hues of violet and sickly yellow saturated the skin around her eye and a deep cut puffed out her lip. It looked way worse than she imagined it. Remembering the ugly stitches at her hairline from the car accident only days before was enough to break her.
_____
Andrew was surprised to see Lindsey return so soon. Her defeated expression told him why without him having to ask. He placed Jacob on the carpet to play and sat down across from Lindsey as she handed him the kit. He removed a few alcohol wipes and a clean square of gauze. She kept her eyes down as he tenderly swept the hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.
"I can't do this anymore."
She mumbled it so quietly that Andrew wasn't sure he heard her right. "What- what are you talking about, Lindsey?"
"I can't live like this, Andrew. I mean, who am I kidding? We're not living. We're so far from it that I don't even know what the hell we're doing anymore."
It was the most he'd heard her say since the day before, but not what he was hoping for.
"What do you want me to do, Linds? I'll do anything…just don't give up on me now," Andrew pleaded upon seeing her stormy gaze.
"I don't know what to do… All I know is we can't keep doing this. I-I can't take anymore." Her voice was raspy, strained.
Andrew reached over and grasped her hands in his own. "You're stronger than this. I know you are. I've seen it."
"Says the man who didn't get nearly raped!" The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Andrew's blue eyes flashed with guilt and turned icy as he spat, "I could do nothing as my daughter and the woman I love got assaulted by a bunch of cowards! My thirteen year old had to save you because I couldn't! How do you think that makes me feel? What can I do to make this right? Please, tell me!"
Lindsey hung her head, allowing tears to fall into her lap as she whispered, "I'm sorry…"
"No, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Lindsey…"
Andrew swallowed her in his arms, feeling his eyes dampen as she wept into the crook of his neck. He held her as tight as he could without hurting her, and simply let her cry.
"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he said with a ferocity that he felt right down to his very soul. Lindsey lifted her head, and his heart ached at the despair in her beautiful brown eyes. It was like a punch in the gut every time he saw what those bastards did to her face. "I wish I could help you, baby. I don't know how to fix this—I can't fix this."
Lindsey rested her fingers over his lips to stop his next words. Leaning in slowly, she replaced her fingers with her own lips. The kiss was feather-soft and quick, but Andrew assumed it probably had more to do with the swollen cut than fear of intimacy.
"You are helping. More than you know," she whispered in the short distance between them.
Andrew internally sighed with relief and cradled her face in his hands as he pressed a delicate kiss to her injured brow. Going back to their original task, he began to lightly dab her cuts with an alcohol wipe. When he finished redressing the gash above her eye, he said, "I should go check on Zoey."
"Let me...please?"
Andrew stared at her in surprise and asked, "Are you sure?"
Lindsey gave him the faintest smile and nodded.
Chapter 16
Unsure where to find the girl, Lindsey began by poking her head into the first room they'd entered. Ana was setting up her bed on a bench by the front door, presumably to take first watch. Curiously enough, Charlie was sprawled out on a couch in the same room, which sat across from the circulation desk.
The two bereaved in the same room—coincidence or…?
Dismissing the thought, Lindsey continued through the library. It really was a lovely building with its dark parquet floors and various stone fireplaces. This had to have been a private estate before it became a library, she reasoned, why else would someone put a fireplace in a room full of paper?
The room at the end of the hall had an entrance made up of two wooden doors with glass panels, one of which was open. Lindsey heard voices coming from inside and looked in. She wasn't the least bit surprised to find Tyler sitting in one of the armchairs, reading a hardcover by the window. Kat and Nicholas had their gear spread out in the middle of the Berber carpet as they carried out a casual discussion. The other woman caught sight of Lindsey in the doorway and smiled softly.
"Have you seen Zoey?" Lindsey asked, trying her best to ignore the pity in Kat's smile. I get it, I look awful…
"I think I saw her head upstairs. Might want to try there."
Lindsey thanked the younger woman and navigated her way to the staircase. As she ascended the carpeted steps, she saw a room at the top with a plaque that stated: Barbara Jones, Library Director. Caren walked out of an adjacent room, most likely a bathroom, and entered the director's office. With an awkward smile, she closed the door behind her. Lindsey smirked a little at the hanky-panky that was clearly about to go down, but Caren and Robert worked hard to keep the group safe—they deserved some alone time.
Turning around, she came upon another short set of stairs, which led up to what she could only describe as a tower. With windows on three sides, it had a grand view of the winding driveway and surrounding woods. The high ceiling came to point, accented with a g
old chandelier.
She discovered Zoey lounging on a stylish ruby-red couch in one corner. The girl glanced away from her reading material as Lindsey said, "Now this is the place to be."
Zoey shrugged indifferently. "It had all the magazines."
Sighing at the gloomy tone of her voice, Lindsey came to stand at the opposite end of the couch. "May I?"
Zoey sat upright, swinging her feet to rest on the floor. She closed the flimsy periodical featuring a well-known pop star—who was dead now, for all they knew—and set it on the chalkboard-painted coffee table in front of her. Lindsey took a seat next to the girl and folded her hands in her lap. She noticed a few fragments of chalk in a wooden bowl at the center of the table and spontaneously decided to draw something on the green surface, hoping to ease her nerves. She reached for one of the pieces and leaned over the table. She spoke quietly as she began to sketch out her best illustration of a daisy.
"Quite a week, huh?"
Zoey didn't respond. She simply kept her head down. Lindsey thought she saw her nod but it could have been her imagination.
"Your dad is...uh…" She paused, recalling a certain memory. "Do you remember that conversation we had at the school when your dad and the others went to get Ana back from Marcus? You asked me if I'd killed anyone and if it got easier. My answer is still the same, but I've had moments…" She swallowed uncomfortably. "I shot Isaac."
"That asshole from The Factory?" Zoey asked, surprising Lindsey.
"Yeah. He, well, you know what happened at the gas station. Well, I…I put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger…and felt nothing. I don't want to say that it was easier than the others…but it was. It was too easy—"