by Mara Black
"Tate," she said, softly.
I made a quiet sound of acknowledgement.
"Do you have another name?" Her voice was so soft and innocent. Somehow, I hadn't managed to rob her of that. And neither had Stoker.
"You mean a first name?" My lips were still pressed against her forehead, so that every word was almost a kiss. "Or did I used to be called something, before?"
"Both," she said. "Either."
"No," I said. "Nothing I want to remember."
She nodded, satisfied with this answer. My chest ached to tell her what I was thinking, to say the words and let her try to talk me out of it. Begging tearfully, breaking down all of my defenses.
But I couldn't. I wouldn't. I had to let her go. I had to shut that door forever, freeing her from my influence.
Do it for her.
Be a fucking hero, for once in your miserable life.
Everything was in order. My bag was packed, my note was left. I'd left Autumn breathing slow and shallow, hours away from waking.
I heard a soft noise, and looked up. Hoping against hope that it wasn't her.
"Thank fuck," I muttered, seeing Joshua leaning against the door frame.
He watched me pull on my boots, waiting until I tugged on the laces to speak.
"I'm assuming you want me to keep my mouth shut."
I nodded.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he took a few steps towards me. "Just tell me this - you still love her?"
Looking down at the ground, I slung my bag over my shoulder. "Goodbye, Joshua."
I stopped on the front stoop, turning around to look at him.
"Just promise me you won't hurt her. She's had enough of that in her life."
He blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Fuck's sake. Just say it."
"I promise." He tilted his head. "She's stronger than you know."
I wanted to snarl, but this was hardly the time. At least he understood something about her. His opinion of me didn't matter - as long as he respected her, I could live with the solitude. I could spend the rest of my days remembering, and knowing that she'd be happy.
I started walking.
"Tate."
Pausing, I glanced back at him.
"It's not too late to fix this," he said. "Don't be an idiot."
But he was wrong. It was too late.
It was too late for a lot of things.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A New World
The moment I woke up, my arm snaked across the bed in search of him.
It was cold and empty.
My heart began to race. I told myself he'd just woken up early, gone to another part of the house. But I knew that wasn't it.
I could feel it, in my chest. Something was different.
Something was wrong.
He was gone, and he wasn't coming back.
Jumping out of bed, I raced through the house looking for clues.
His closets were still filed with clothes, and all but one pair of boots remained by the door. But that meant nothing. He could have easily left with just the clothes on his back, but there was one thing he wouldn't leave behind.
I ran to the "exam room" and shoved the door open. At first, nothing seemed out of place. Then I started noticing the missing bottles, bandages, syringes. A sickness rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down with an effort.
Resting on the exam chair was a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper.
I picked it up, untying the string with trembling hands.
It was his little revolver, the one he always kept close to his chest. But this time, it was fully loaded.
There was something scribbled on the inside of the wrapping, in a hasty scrawl that I had to read two or three times to understand.
Once I finally let it sink in, I stood there for a long time, tears spilling out of my eyes.
I hope you won't hesitate to use this, if the situation calls for it.
Autumn, I know you won't. But I felt the need to say it, all the same.
I won't need it anymore. Suicide no longer seems like a valid option, now that I know there is someone who would miss me.
You've given me the most precious gift possible.
The only thing anyone ever really wants, in this life, is reassurance that they won't be forgotten.
I promise I won't forget you. I know that means very little, since I don't see any possible way I'll outlive you. I know you'll survive this, I know you'll endure. Better than that, you'll thrive. There's no place in a new world for broken things like me. But there will be a place for you. You'll make sure of it.
You deserve to be remembered forever. And I promise I will, no matter what happens. I promise I won't let death steal away the memory of you. I've never wished for an afterlife before. I know it would not be kind to me. But I do now, if only for some chance to remember. To keep existing, so that I won't forget. But I promise, even if all that's left of me is my bones crumbled to dust, they will remember you.
You won't be forgotten, Autumn Laramie.
Don't forget me.
The time passed, as it always does.
At first, every day bled into the next without distinction. My world was blurred with tears. Of course I went with Joshua - I really had no choice, now. Nowhere else to go. He had no words of comfort for me, but he clasped my hand and sat beside me in the car while I cried. Chimaera travelled with us, in the convoy, in the back of the one of the trucks that had plenty of space for her.
I had a very nice little cabin, all to myself. A place of honor, I supposed, for helping with the liberation. It was a hollow comfort.
One of the Syndicate had been a therapist - Mary, the one Joshua had brought with him a few times. She brought me steaming bowls of soup, and never pressured me to talk. But when I finally exploded in wracking sobs, she was there to listen.
I surprised myself by talking about Nikki first, about the depth of betrayal I felt when she left me alone. Then my parents. Birdy.
Then Tate.
He was difficult to talk about. The edges of the memories were still so sharp, hurting me when I dug too deep.
It took several weeks before I said the words that I feared the most.
"I know I don't really love him."
Mary just looked at me. No nod of understanding, no well of course not, dear. How could you love a man like that?
"I know I can't," I whispered, staring down at my hands clenched in my lap. "But it feels real."
I was living with the general populace, for all the difference it made. I barely spoke to anyone. But all the girls who'd been rescued from Stoker were kept far away, in their own camp. No men. They weren't going to mingle with the rest of us until they were ready.
I hadn't visited. I felt guilty, like I'd betrayed them somehow, by falling for my owner. A bad cliché, a parody of everything they'd suffered.
More weeks passed. Chimaera was restless and lonely. Finally, I took her out, riding onto the fields where they kept the cattle. Joshua was already there, on his own horse, a beautiful chestnut creature shining in the sunlight. His face registered surprise when he saw me, and then he half-smiled.
"Do you want to help me rope them in?"
"Yes. Please." I was grateful for the work. For the opportunity to do anything at all, except think of Tate.
I was clumsy with the lasso at first, but I learned.
Before many more weeks had passed, I could do the task without Joshua's help at all. My skin burned red, and then bronzed, endless constellations of freckles painted across my body. I wondered if Tate would want me like this. In his house I'd been pale as a ghost, hardly ever stepping out into the cold gray of the outdoors.
I had dreams of searching for him. Finding him, sometimes, in a burst of sunlight. We'd cling to each other and never let go. But in the waking hours I looked at everything that surrounded me, all the people of the Syndicate, and I knew I couldn't l
eave them.
We were building a new world.
One brick at a time, we would make everything better. We would make sure that no one else had to suffer the way I did, or Tate, or Joshua. Nikki. All the girls at Stoker. All the boys who became men who became monsters.
Tate wanted no part of this, and trying to understand why made my heart and my head ache.
Our numbers were growing. We still didn't have another doctor, but we had more teachers and more families with children, including a little boy with dark floppy hair and darker eyes. Looking at him, my heart squeezed in my chest. I was so grateful that he found us, that his family would be safe with us and he would always have enough to eat. He would never, ever find himself sitting at the feet of a man like Holland.
Everyone had a job to do. Even the youngest could help plant corn and potatoes, once the land was tilled. There was a girl with blue eyes, of about seven or eight, who came with a battered little violin and played for hours. Her fingers were more nimble than mine would ever be, coaxing plaintive melodies from the aging strings.
The Syndicate had created our own slice of heaven in the midst of hell.
I was sitting out with the cattle, my back up against a tree and the sun warming my skin, when Joshua found me one day. His arms were laden with bread, cheese - a dusty bottle of wine. I squinted at it, sitting up to get a better look.
"A housewarming gift, of sorts," he said, grinning. "From the Narvaez family. It was for all of us, but...I don't think anyone will miss it."
That was a blatant lie. Alcohol was still a precious commodity, but I hadn't tasted wine in so long. Not since Tate. I wasn't going to argue with him, even if I wasn't sure I would be able to withstand the torrent of memories.
I smiled, accepting the food and watching him uncork the bottle with a jagged piece of metal. The first sip warmed my throat, and though it didn't taste anything like what Tate had - it was too musty, too dry - the memories came anyway.
"Are you happy, Autumn?"
Joshua's voice cut through the fog. I looked at him, really looked at him, maybe for the first time ever. He was boyishly handsome, disarming, when he wasn't affecting that stern, cold look he used for Stoker. He had a lightness to him. In spite of everything, there was optimism. Happiness. Another time, another place, I could have fallen for a man like that.
"Yes," I said, hoping my face wouldn't betray me. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
Sighing, Joshua shook his head slightly. He was smiling, but it was a tired smile. A disappointed smile. I took another sip of the wine, made a face, and then handed it back to him.
"Sorry," I said. "Was...was that the wrong answer?"
"No." His eyes stayed on the grass, watching a parade of ants marching towards us. "There was no right answer. But you did lie, and that tells me all I need to know."
"Stop being so god damned mysterious," I demanded. "You think I didn't get enough of that with..."
I drifted off, unable to finish the sentence. I hadn't spoken his name out loud in so long.
"I hoped you would tell me the truth," he said. "That you still miss him. That you think about him sometimes. He haunts you. If you could admit that, then maybe - maybe that would mean you're ready to move on."
Move on. From Tate?
That's a funny fucking joke.
Jerked back to the present, I suddenly realized what I'd missed.
"Oh, God. Joshua, I'm..." I swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I didn't..."
"It's fine," he said, with a slight laugh. "I was stupid. I knew I could never hold a candle to him. But I thought maybe, you know, it couldn't hurt to ask." He took a long swig of the wine, pulling a face as it went down. "Jesus. This is awful."
"It really is." I smiled at him. "Listen, Joshua, I didn't mean...I didn't mean to shoot you down."
"I know you didn't," he said. "And that's very sweet. But I'll never be what you need."
I wanted to tell him it wasn't true. I wanted to let the memory of Tate fade into almost-nothingness, until it was nothing more than the faintest whisper of a dream.
"He loves you," Joshua said, quietly, turning the wine bottle around and around in the dirt. "He still loves you. He always will."
"Fucking lot of good that does me." I picked up a rock and hurled it harmlessly into the woods across from us. A sharp realization grew in my chest. "Wait. Did he tell you that?"
Joshua nodded, once. "In so many words."
My heart throbbed traitorously.
"Did he use that word?" I couldn't bring myself to say it aloud.
"He didn't have to." Joshua looked at me, seriously. "Autumn, you should have seen his face."
I swallowed hard, staring at the dirt.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," I said. "I'm not leaving here."
Joshua nodded, staring thoughtfully into the woods.
Before long, I met one of the girls we'd saved.
She was so pale and pretty, and so painfully young. I was afraid to ask. She walked up to me without hesitation as I hung my laundry up to dry, and her shirt was loose enough for me to see the sigil.
"Hello," she said, shyly. "My name's Hannah. I'm from the..." She made a vague gesture in the direction of the other camp. "I mean, not anymore. I'm moving in today."
"That's wonderful news," I said, my heart squeezing guiltily in my chest. "Please, let me know if there's anything you need."
Her eyelids fluttered. "I couldn't possibly ask you for anything more," she said. "But, thank you."
Did they know? The guilt was like a vise now. I couldn't accept her gratitude for what I'd done. Not when all I could imagine was the horror in her eyes, if she knew how much I still wanted my Master.
"I haven't done anything," I said, finally.
"You have," she insisted. "You took them out. The..." She shuddered. "Seven Devils. You helped Tate." For a moment, doubt crossed her face. "At least, that's what everyone is saying."
I sucked in a breath. She said Tate's name like a prayer. How could I possibly explain any of this to her?
He's not who you think he is. He's a monster.
He's my monster.
And I'm a monster too, for falling in love with him.
He wasn't. It wasn't true, any of it, but these women would never understand. I'd forever be blemished in their eyes if they knew how weak I was.
"What are you doing?"
I looked up at Hannah, with the severed blossom of a squash flower in my hand. She was watching me curiously, with my clippers and my masking tape.
Smiling, I gestured for her to join me. "I'm pollinating the squash, so they'll grow. Otherwise they just wither on the vine."
She frowned slightly. "I never knew that."
"Yeah," I said, chuckling a little as I taped one of the female flowers shut. "Neither did I."
Watching me carefully, she picked at a few scattered weeds in the bed. "Where'd you learn?"
She already had her suspicions. Everyone in the camp knew about my time with Tate - or at least, they thought they did. I rarely spoke about it, to anyone but Mary. I didn't know how I possibly could. The moment I opened my mouth, the guilt would come crashing down. How could I possibly tell this girl, who'd survive much worse than I had, that I'd fallen in love with the exact same kind of man who tormented her?
"Tate," I admitted, finally. "He's very particular with the way he raises his plants."
Hannah giggled. "From what I've heard of him, he's very particular about a lot of things."
I nodded. I knew this conversation was dangerous, but I still ached to talk about him. It was hard to have any kind of conversation without him popping into my head. He was my entire life, for those few months - and he'd eclipsed nearly every other aspect of my existence. When I ate, I thought of his cooking. When I tended the garden, I thought about his plants. When I rode Chimaera, of course, all I could think about was her master.
Her master, and mine.
Hannah would never understand. None of the w
omen from Stoker would ever understand. It was for the best, then, that he'd ultimately refused to come. We never could have lived together among these people. These broken remnants of Stoker, serving as a constant reminder of all his sins.
In my quiet moments, I still wished for the impossible. I wished we could have been normal, or as close to normal as any two people could be. If only we'd met when we were still young, and untouched by all the suffering and death.
But I wondered - would we have the same connection, if we hadn't lived through what we lived through? How much of that thread depended on mutual pain?
I still felt it tugging in my chest, from time to time. And it only grew stronger, whenever I did something that reminded me of him.
"You miss him," Hannah said, softly.
I just nodded.
"Sorry." She twisted a piece of grass in her fingers. "Do you not want to talk about it?"
"It's all right," I reassured her. "It's just...sometimes he's hard to put into words."
"I can believe that." She nodded. "I'd love to know more about him, though, if you ever feel like talking."
She was smiling shyly. I felt terrible. Could I possibly ruin her hero worship? But she deserved to know the truth, didn't she?
"He's not quite who you think he is," I said, gently. Carefully. "I don't know if you really want to know him, as well as you think you do."
"What do you mean?" she frowned.
Sighing, I wrapped up the last of the flowers. "I don't want to say anything that would upset you," I said. "I'd better not."
"I'm okay," she insisted. "I really want to know. If it gets to be too much, I'll tell you."
I took a deep breath. "He used to be one of the headhunters. One of the men who...trained you. Tortured you."
"And you," she said.
"No," I reminded her. "I got out, before the worst happened. I never experienced what most of you did."
"That doesn't matter." She laid her hand on my arm, speaking fervently. "It doesn't matter if you were with Stoker for an hour, or a year. We're all sisters. We all knew what it felt like to be treated like a piece of meat for sale. Some of us got it worse than others, we all know that. But I'm sure you were just as terrified as the rest of us. I'm sure you got hurt."