by W Winters
It’s this place. How many times have I said that recently? Crescent Hills is a living – waking – nightmare for everyone in it. Only the devil himself could live here and feel at peace.
“I have to tell Marcus he’s here, but I won’t tell anyone else, all right?” The truck rumbles as I start it up. Carter looks like he’s going to lose his shit again; he’s still shaking.
“It’s just the adrenaline,” I tell him, to try to calm him down.
He peeks up at me, the early morning light making his worn expression look that much more ragged. “I killed him,” he tells me again. I can’t count how many times he’s told me that tonight.
Nodding at him, I look in the rearview at the river where I ditched Dave’s body before putting the truck into drive.
“He was going to die anyway,” I tell Carter although I stare straight ahead at the dirt road rather than looking at him again. “His name was on the list.”
Chloe
If Dave is dead, Andrea is next.
And then me.
There are no coincidences like this, and I can’t just wait around to be a sitting duck. I can’t ignore it any longer. I can’t pretend to be okay and walk through this life as if I’m only a ghost. It’s what I’ve done for as long as I can remember, and maybe weeks ago, I would have prayed for the end to come quickly and peacefully.
But I’m not ready to go. I don’t want to die.
I want to run away from all of this.
I want to be free of it all.
I want more than this shit life.
More than anything, I want Sebastian to come with me.
The front door to his house opens, and I don’t wait for him to speak. “There’s something wrong with me,” I tell him, feeling every inch of my throat go dry and the pit in my stomach growing heavier and heavier. I heave the words up my throat. “Someone is killing them and if you don’t believe me, that’s fine.” The last word cracks as I feel myself unraveling.
Sebastian stays by the door, completely still and watching me, watching as I transform into a lunatic in front of him. I don’t know what he thinks of all this, of how often I’m nothing but an emotional mess. The nightmares, the list. I can’t imagine what he thinks, he always brushes it aside, but I can’t do it any longer.
“I can’t pretend it’s a coincidence.”
He finally speaks, low and with a note of apprehension, “What brought this on? The text?”
My body is ice cold as I sit on the sofa, pulling my knees into my chest and refusing to look him in the eyes. “I don’t think it’s someone messing with me.” I dare to peek up at him, willing him to feel the very real fear that keeps me on the edge of sanity.
“I wish I could kill him. Whoever it is that’s fucking with you.”
It shreds me inside to hear the pain in his voice. “I’m not crazy,” I beg him to understand.
“I wrote that list, Bastian. I wrote it.” The confession is so close, it’s begging to come out and be brought to life. With each word scarring its way through my chest, I give in to the weight of it. “And my name was on that list. I wanted them dead and I wanted to die,” I tell him as the tears prick at the back of my eyes and I hold myself closer.
Tears leak down my cheek as I rest my heated face against my knee. “I don’t want to die,” I repeat the one thing I know to be true right now, even if that hasn’t always been the case.
“Shh,” Bastian shushes me, coming closer and sitting next to me on his sofa. I’ll never know how he so easily comforts me, how he doesn’t hesitate to wipe my tears away and pull me into his arms. When I’m like this, on the brink of insanity.
“I’m not crazy,” I whisper and wonder if it’s true.
He rocks me as I gasp for air and try to force the crying to stop. “It’s my fault they died,” I whisper the harsh truth and his rocking stops, but then continues. My heart races, needing him to tell me something. Anything. To tell me I’m not crazy and that he’d run away with me. That’s what I want more than anything.
“Please,” I beg him, but I don’t have the strength to voice the only thing I’ve ever wanted.
“There’s nothing on the news about Dave,” he tells me after a long moment. My head shakes, wanting him to listen to me and believe me. I don’t care what’s on the news; I know what I feel in my gut.
“I need you to believe me.” I try to convince him as I say, “I can feel it. I know it. Whoever it is, they aren’t lying.”
I’m holding him so tightly; my knuckles turn white. “I can’t go to the cops, and I can’t run from whoever it is. I feel helpless, Bastian.” I’ve felt helpless for so long and there’s only so much a person can take before it turns to hopelessness. “I don’t know what to do.” The last words are barely spoken. All that lives inside of me now is true fear.
“You need to relax,” he tells me softly, but his steely eyes aren’t cold. They hold so much sympathy that it nearly makes me break. As if there was any piece of me still whole.
“I can’t explain this without sounding crazy,” I tell him, although I can’t look him in the eyes when I say it. I wipe at my face, hating how weak I am. I would give anything to be strong. “I could wait for the night to come. I have my gun--”
“Chlo, stop it,” he warns me, his tone threatening.
“I could try to--”
“Stop it!” he yells at me, so loudly, it shakes me. My body’s trembling as I try to get a grip. I have no one and no idea when it’s coming. There’s one more person before me if Dave is really dead. That’s all I know.
“I don’t want to live here anymore.”
“Then what do you want to do?” he asks me with a hard look that would force me to be silent if it were on anyone else’s face.
“I want to run away… for good.” My body is numb as I hold my breath, waiting for him to say anything at all, but my chest squeezes with a new kind of pain when he says nothing.
“Please say something,” I beg him.
“You have no idea what lengths I would go for you. But you need to stop this, please. Don’t do this. Please, Chlo, for me.” His words are a plea that rubs salt in the sharpest and deepest wounds I have.
“You don’t understand.” I take in a quick breath and then another, feeling lightheaded as I confess, “I heard my mom screaming for help and did nothing. I did nothing.” I search his eyes for understanding, but also for the hate I felt for myself so long ago. “Whoever is killing them… if it has to do with her… they’re going to come for me.”
“Chloe, please,” he tries to silence me, to brush it off again and I push his arm away instead of accepting the comfort that comes with his touch.
“I don’t feel safe here,” I tell him while backing away. “I won’t stay here any longer.” The words themselves are both freeing and suffocating.
I’ve never belonged here; I’ve always wanted a way out.
But I’ve always belonged to Sebastian. In every way. And the idea of running, to never see him again, is the most painful thing I could ever feel.
“Please,” I beg him, not just to understand but to come with me.
“If you can’t come with me,” I try to be strong, to force the words out, but instead I turn into a blubbering fool. Covering my heated face with both of my hands, I feel the tears burn into my flesh.
“I’ll never let you leave me,” he tells me, and it only makes me cry harder. Because I don’t want him to let me go, I want him to come with me. I need him to come with me. “I don’t want to leave you.” I gasp for air and give him a singular truth in a despite whisper, “I can’t leave you.”
He pulls me in close to him, even though I’m no help at all, covering my face and ashamed of what I’ve become.
“I just need time,” he answers me and my head shakes of its own accord.
“I can’t… I can’t stay here anymore.” The last words come out strangled as tears prick my eyes. I can’t stay, but I can’t leave without him either.
/> I swear I could be a better person. I could be happy and sane. But not here. All I am here is a name on a list. Waiting for my death.
“I love you, Chloe. I love you.” Sebastian’s voice is soothing as he wraps both of his arms around me. I crave his touch so much that I bury my head into his chest. He whispers, “I can take you away. We can leave tomorrow.”
My body stills, my heart beating far too loud to be sure of what I heard. Please, let me have heard right. I can barely manage to swallow as I look into his steely blue eyes, praying he’s telling me the truth and not just saying what he knows I want to hear.
He kisses my hair and then brushes it away from my face as he repeats himself, “I can run away with you.”
“I love you, Bastian. I love you.” The words tumble from my lips. “Please tell me you’re telling the truth.” I interlock my fingers with his, needing to feel him and know that he means it. “I want to run away with you.”
“I love you,” he tells me, his gaze never straying from mine, “we can’t stay here. I can’t stay here anymore.”
Sebastian
I did this to her.
But I wouldn’t take it back.
I wouldn’t take it back because I have her now. I’ll run away with her, as far as she wants. I’ll hold her every night and watch her fall asleep in my arms.
Always.
She’ll never be without me again.
“Is there anyone you still want to talk to?” I ask her as I figure out every detail. Every single thing that has to be done before we leave. She’s nestled in the crook of my arm in my bed, her small frame curved around my side. Her hair brushes my arm while she shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. Clearing her throat, she adds, “I just want to leave.”
I know she does. She’s always wanted to leave. Ever since the first day I met her, I knew I’d run away with her if I could.
“I want you to leave your phone,” I tell her, and she asks quickly, “Because of the person who texted about Dave?”
“Partly,” I tell her honestly, feeling the anxiety spike inside of me. I don’t want her to know the truth. I’ll never tell her all of the truth. Never. “I don’t know who it is. And I don’t like that.” I play the possessive card, although I’m sure she can see right through it. “If there’s no one you want to call, I’d rather you just leave it behind.”
She’s quiet for a moment, but instead of asking questions, she concedes. “I can leave it behind. I can leave everything behind.” I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and stroke her hair.
“There are a few things I have to do tomorrow. I’ll run into work, come back, pack and then we leave.” Adrenaline is coursing through me, knowing this is a decision I can’t go back on. Once I leave, that’s it. There’s no coming back and I have no idea where we’ll run to.
“Just like that?” she asks with slight disbelief, peeking up at me through her lashes.
“Just like that,” I tell her and bend down to kiss her, listening to the bed groan in time with a faint siren from outside. No more streetlights drifting through the window, no more yelling down the street. No more of this city and the people in it. Wherever we go, I want it to be quiet and far, far away from here. I need somewhere we can escape to where no one will find us and where it’ll feel like home.
“It’s all going to be okay,” I whisper against her hair before planting a small kiss on her forehead. She holds me tightly, like she’ll never let me go. “It’s all going to be all right.”
“Promise me you’ll run with me?” she asks me again like I’ll back out of it.
“Tomorrow we pack up everything in one car,” I tell her firmly, “and we leave.” I’ll do it. I’ll leave it all behind to be with her and keep her safe.
“And we leave forever, promise me?” her voice begs me, and I swear I’d give her anything I could. Anything and everything I ever have will be hers.
She’s tense at my side, waiting for my answer. I know there’s no going back, but I choose her. It’s always been her.
“As long as you love me forever,” I give her my one condition, feeling the tension in my heart, needing her to agree and say she’s mine forever.
“I can make that promise,” she breathes, “I’ll love you forever.”
“I’ve always loved you,” I whisper against her cheek. And it’s true. There have never been truer words spoken.
I turn nine tomorrow. I think, anyway. I want to ask the guy behind the counter, so I’ll know for sure. I don’t know why I care; I just want to know, I guess.
Peeking over my shoulder, I make sure Jim and my mom are occupied so I can go ask what day it is.
We just moved here. Mom took me with her, although part of me wishes she’d left me at Grandmom’s, even if there’s no one there anymore. At least I have the memories there. This city is different, everyone’s always watching me. Looking at me like I’m going to do something so they can pick a fight.
They say I’m a bad kid. They say I’m angry.
I used to think they were wrong, but I don’t anymore.
Boys like me are trouble. Too tall for my age, too smart for my own good. I’m not worth the air I breathe. That’s Jim’s new saying. He likes to remind me every chance he gets, even though he’s the one giving my mom that shit that makes her go numb. He’s the one who isn’t worth the air he breathes but saying that only gets me punched in the face until I go numb too and black out.
I pull out the candy from my pocket. I only have two pieces left and as I pull out my hand, both of them drop to the floor and one rolls faster than I can catch it.
The candy stops rolling when it hits the edge of the counter and bounces off, only to stop in front of a small pair of shoes. They’re white but scuffed up and I slowly lift my gaze to the owner of the shoes. To the short girl who’s bending down to pick up my candy.
She can’t have it!
My jaw’s hard, and I clench my teeth even though the bruise there makes it hurt. My hands turn to fists. All I have left of my grandmom are these two pieces.
She can’t have it!
She picks it up so delicately and carefully, then smooths out her dress. It’s then that I notice how dirty it is like she’s been sitting on the ground all day. It’s wrinkled too. When she stands up her big doe eyes are filled with worry and she turns to look at a woman by the fridge doors. The woman’s skinny, skinny like my mom. That’s what I think as the bottles she’s picking up clink together.
The girl looks like she wants to say something, but she’s scared, so she says nothing. Her gaze drops to the ground, then she lifts her head back up to look around.
She’s looking for me; I know she is.
The instant she sees me, the worry goes away and she smiles. A genuine smile that’s just for me.
“Is this yours?” she offers in a soft voice that makes the anger go away. Only for a second though, because the moment she asks me, she peeks over at the woman and looks nervous to even be talking to me.
Because I’m a bad kid. That’s why. Everyone knows it. Even her.
Her knees nearly buckle as she stands there, holding the candy out to me even though I’m feet away from her.
She’s afraid to move. “My mom told me to stay here,” she explains.
I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. She looks sad like me until she smiles at me, then it changes everything.
She’s strange. Like she doesn’t want to be here.
I may not belong here, but she doesn’t either.
“Thanks,” I tell her as I walk to her and she nervously looks between me and the woman again, her mom.
She’s shy as she talks to me. “I haven’t met you before.” And then she smiles again, even sweeter this time. She smiles at me like her happiness was meant to belong to me. Like I could take that happiness from her. Like I could be happy too. “I’m Chloe Rose.”
Chloe
Maybe if I leave, the nightmares will go away.
Plac
es hold memories. They can’t help it. The image of a dented brass doorknob comes to mind. I’ll never forget the memory of what put that dent into the hard metal. The sound of a click against a window, the window he crept through late at night. It can’t help but exist, yet it carries so much heaviness with it. So much more than just an object, so much more than just a place.
I’m done crying; I’m done remembering.
I think I’ve been ready to leave for a long time. Longer than the time that first light went out on the street and I had the urge to run in such a primitive way. I think I was ready to run the first time Bastian’s lips pressed against mine. My heart knew it, but it would only beat if he came with me.
There’s a method to the way I place each item in the old duffle bag. I was given the bag in gym class one year in high school. It was a promotion for some sports drink and I think it could carry at least two weeks’ worth of clothes. That’s all I need.
Each piece fits in easily. My books I can put in a cardboard box and place in the back. I’ll always need my books.
Other than my clothes, I don’t know what I’ll take. Toiletries, obviously. But these photographs aren’t mine and the ones I have, I don’t want.
The light catches the glass of a photo on the far right of the wall. A photo of my mother when she was young, and I was in her arms. I don’t remember that far back, but my uncle said she loved me deeply. That she bundled me up in that picture because it was so cold out and she was worried about taking me outside for the photos.
She loved me once.
But she loved the alcohol more.
I’m okay with it. I’m okay with it all. Because I survived, and I still know how to love. A piece of me will always love her. I’ll love the woman in this photo because she’s not the woman in my nightmares.
My fingertips brush along the edges of the frame as my throat tightens and I wish I could go back to that time to tell her. I wish I could go back to so much.