by Nora Flite
“You think this is all about you.” Tucking his hands into his khaki-colored pants, he stared out over the ocean. “Where do I fit into your worldview, hmm? Dad didn't just get in touch with you, Conway, he reached out to me as well.”
“Fuck,” I spit. “Lonnie, this situation is messed up for everyone involved. No one wants to be here.”
Ever so slowly, he shut his eyes and sighed. He sucked in the breeze, arching his neck, his spine, reveling in either the October weather or my observation. “You,” he said, opening one eye; the one that was pointed at me. “You still believe you know what's best for everyone you come in contact with.”
Stunned, I looked at him with new wariness. “Do you actually want to help our father?”
I'd seen him smile a number of times. This one lacked the insincerity I'd come to expect—it crinkled the edges of his eyes. “Did you know this was the first time he asked me to help?”
My heart struggled to beat, like a hand was grasping it. “What are you talking about?”
“All these years, he always asked you. Dad thought you could do no wrong.” A quick, rusty laugh escaped him. “Even after you let Georgia free! Even with me telling him over and over and over that she got away because of you, he still never asked me to be the one to help him with anything!” I became aware of how close we were to the edge—he followed my thoughts. “Relax, I'm not going to throw either of us onto the rocks.”
I took a full breath and let it out. “Lonnie, trust me, you were lucky that he never involved you. You were just a kid.”
“And after he made us run so he wouldn't get caught for kidnapping those girls?” The muscles in his forearms writhed. “When we got into Mexico... it was still you that he asked to do everything. Working with the smuggler boats on the docks, guarding doors from snitches. He even let you beat people if they were short on cash they owed! I was more than capable of those things.”
These were memories I wished I could forget. “Lonnie, none of that was stuff I wanted. Working for dad wasn't glorious.” I'd ached to run every single day.
But I couldn't. Not when there was a chance that he could get me something I needed. I'd told myself night after night that I stayed because he might hurt other girls. But I knew it was more selfish than that.
In the end, I hadn't had to serve as his rabid dog forever. The cartel did not like someone muscling in on their territory, small potatoes or otherwise. One drug set-up later and the dirty cops had happily thrown my father in jail on a good-as-life sentence. I was sure he couldn't hurt anyone anymore.
Then I'd gotten his message, and I'd known better.
“Glorious or not,” Lonnie whispered, “It was better than being treated like a burden. It's funny, you're a lot more like him than you seem to realize.”
This line of talk had thrown me. I shook my head side-to-side, sweat cooling on my throat. I hadn't seen my brother in over three years and I'd thought the only things that changed about him were his build.
But I was wrong. Very wrong.
My lips curled back over my teeth. “I'm nothing like that monster.”
“Dad protected us when he could have thrown us aside. He never abandoned us in Mexico when caring for himself solo would have been easier. He was always a family man... wanted us to stick together. All of us.”
“You talk like you worship him,” I said in disbelief.
“Don't get the wrong idea. I hate him as much as you do.” He started to walk towards the house. He stopped before he got far—his heels coming down with a sharp click on the rocks. “Hating him doesn't mean I think he shouldn't be admired. There's a lot I learned from that man.”
I watched Lonnie go inside. He'd always been unhinged, but maybe I knew less about his motivations than I thought I did. What did he mean, things to learn from Dad?
It was getting late; the icy wind numbing my ears and nose. Still I stayed by the cliff, trying to make sense of what had just gone down. Water slapped hard on the rocks. The beach below was invisible, the high tide drowning the place I'd kissed Georgia Mary King. It didn't matter that I'd looked on as she shivered with orgasm, jerking myself off on top of her perfect breasts.
It was that singular kiss that haunted me.
Scrubbing my fingertips over my mouth, I remembered the sweetness of her. Indulging in the memory was selfish... but I'd long ago accepted that was the kindest word I could stamp my soul with.
Georgia didn't deserve what was happening to her. Even so, the truth would do nothing for the girl. She'd begged me numerous times to tell her what was going on... and I couldn't.
I didn't deserve the grace of her understanding.
Turning, I walked back towards the house like I was heading to face the electric chair. I'd gained one positive thing, though, after all of my brooding. I finally knew what I'd do if I could go back in time. It was simple.
I'd make sure I was never born.
- Chapter Fourteen -
Georgia Mary King
There was a knock at my door.
Sitting up, I worked to gather myself and make sense of this oddly polite noise. It was late. Conway hadn't come back after he'd stormed off. Why would he knock? “Come in,” I said, smoothing my hair unconsciously. It didn't cross my mind to try and look pretty. I didn't care about looking good for anyone; it was almost a relief that he kept bringing me boring clothes that barely fit.
Lonnie opened the door, scanned the room, than fixated on me. “Evening,” he said with a grin. “Got a minute?”
Do I have a minute? What the fuck? I slid further down the bed, away from him. “What do you want?”
Shutting the door, he did something Conway never did anymore—not since he'd stopped tying me to the bed. He locked it. It reminded me that I'd been acting too much like a good little hostage and staying put. Why did I only think about escaping when I no longer could?
“Easy,” he said, holding up his hands. “I'm not here to cause trouble.”
Looped over his wrist was a small black bag. It wasn't the one Conway used, but the sight of it made my eyes widen. Lonnie saw my reaction; he shook his head. “Ah, shit. I don't want to freak you out. I just brought—well, here,” he said, emptying the contents onto the foot of my bed.
Out of the bag rolled a small bottle of lemonade, some Reese cups, and a paperback book, The Valley of the Horses. My eyes didn't unwiden, they were permanently stuck at their limit. “What is all this?” I asked.
“I don't know.” Awkwardly, he scratched at his neck. I'd never seen Lonnie behave like a normal person; it unsettled me. “I thought you could use a boost. I imagine whatever my brother is putting you through is painful.”
“You talk like you don't know.”
“Well, I don't.” He shrugged. “I have an idea, because I know Dad asked him to do this, so I'm not oblivious.”
He hasn't seen the videotapes of me. It was a huge relief. Inhaling, I stopped fighting my urge and grabbed up the candy. I'd bitten one of the cups in two before thinking to savor them—I couldn't help myself. Chocolate was familiar and sweet and god damn delicious, and plates of crackers were not.
Lonnie sat on the edge of the bed, not asking if he could. Would I have told him not to? It was hard to be sure. I didn't trust him, but he'd brought me snacks. Something Conway used to do forever ago. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked gently.
I shoved the other cup into my mouth, chewing as I spoke. “I'm not sure how to answer that.”
He leaned closer. “Is it that bad?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it's got to be awful for you.”
Uncapping the lemonade, I took a big gulp. “I don't remember you being sympathetic before.”
Lonnie's smile was thin as new ice. Had he edged closer to me? “I'm sorry. I was a kid, I didn't know what I was doing.”
The bottle twisted in my palms. “Now you know, though. And if you know this is awful, you could help me.”
“I did help.” He
pointed at the food.
“I mean... you're saying what Conway is doing to me is bad. You know the biggest thing you could do is get me off this island.” I didn't trust Lonnie at all, but here he was, bringing me treats and a favorite book and—and how did he know? Startled by my own realization, I gaped at him.
His eyebrows knotted at my stare. “Huh. Something interesting just crossed your mind. Tell me.” He was definitely closer now, his leg brushing mine on the bed. I glanced at the door. “Oh,” he chuckled. “Don't get ideas.”
The sugar turned into glass in my guts. “Who told you about this book?” I asked, reaching for it.
Lonnie's grip came down, trapping my wrist on the mattress. I could smell the mint on his breath. “Conway told me. He told me everything about you.”
“No, he wouldn't.”
Squeezing so tight that I gasped, Lonnie said, “Of course he would. He wants to transform you, Georgia. He's not on your side.”
I yanked, trying to break away, but he grabbed my other wrist instead. We were sitting on the bed facing each other. “And what, you're my only friend here, is that it?”
“I can be.” His muscles flexed; he pushed my palms down between us, his nose coming close to mine. “Oh, sweet peach, I can be so nice to you. Wouldn't you like that? I'd treat you like a queen, all you have to do is get on your knees for me.”
“Queens don't kneel, slaves do. I'm not your fucking slave.”
His polite act slipped. “Not yet. Let's fix that.” Shoving me backwards, he braced his knees on either side of me on the bed. My head came down hard enough that my brain sloshed in my skull.
Lonnie squinted at me, his grip shifting; he held my left hand on the bed, and with his other, he wrapped my hair up. He leveraged his hold until I was face down in the mattress, my upper body struggling as he twisted me like a pretzel.
Inhaling, I tried to scream. The mattress muffled most of it.
“Shh,” he said. His chest crushed into mine, his heart picking up speed. “Stop fighting me. There's no point.”
This was what he'd longed to do to me years ago. Back then, he'd been young, but his mind was sick. He hadn't known the core of his black desires but here, he could finally exercise them.
I was hyperventilating—straining. But not to fight him off, I needed my strength for something more reliable. “Dumb bitch,” he breathed on the side of my throat. He couldn't strip me; his hands were busy holding me still. “Why do you always resist when complying would make your life so much easier?”
Flashes of color moved through my vision. I'd wondered what his plan was—and it hit me. He was going to knock me out by keeping me from breathing. It's amazing how your body can keep acting when you're so detached from it. I was floating above, seeing myself bending, contorting, pushing my right shoulder to the point of dislocation.
“I knew he wasn't strong enough to break you,” he whispered in my ear.
My fingers brushed something by the bedpost—pain bloomed. I'd cut myself.
“But I am, little peach. I am.”
“No,” I gasped. “You aren't.” Spinning around with the force of a slingshot, I slashed blindly. He released me and I faced the man who was pinning me to the bed. I got to witness the uncertainty in his face as it morphed into shocked pain. Did he see the shard of mirror before it sliced through his cheek, or did he just feel it?
“What the fuck?!” Flying off of me, Lonnie grasped at the blood leaking from the gash in his face. I would have loved to cut out his tongue to shut him up forever, but being free was more important than a lust for revenge.
Scrambling to stand opposite him, I brandished the makeshift blade. “Give me your keys.”
“You cut me! You cut my face you stupid fucking whore!”
The room was small, I cornered him with a few quick air slashes; he bumped into the far wall, his hands going up. “I'll cut off more if you don't give me the keys!”
Red droplets hung from his chin, then fell, staining his shirt. It bothered me that he didn't look afraid. His robin's egg eyes were shining with humor. “Which keys do you want?”
I faltered, my hand dropping an inch. He's scared - he has to be. I just cut his damn face! “All of them. I need the one for this door, and the one for the fence blocking the boats.”
He tilted his head slightly. “How do you know I even have a key for that fence?”
“As if you'd let yourself be stranded here while Conway was gone. You both have keys, there's two damn boats.”
“Alright. Fair.” Watching me carefully, he reached a hand into his back pocket. “You ever wish you had a gun for moments like these?”
My heart exploded with adrenaline. Taking a stance, I prepared to dodge the inevitable bullets.
Grinning, Lonnie offered me a small ring dangling with keys. I couldn't count them all—more than two, less than ten. “Lucky girl. No gun on me, this time.”
Snatching the keys and trying not to touch his skin, I backed up. “Stay there.”
“Aren't you worried about what you're doing?”
I was quick to find the right key and undo the latch. I shot look after wary look at Lonnie as I did so. “If you mean letting you live...”
His smile cracked, then recovered. “I'm talking about what happens to Conway if you escape.”
My spine went straight. Conway... No. I couldn't wonder. He'd made it clear that staying here was my path to a grim future with Facile. There was no reason to care about Conway after learning that.
He wasn't someone who had ever loved me.
His purpose was to peel my skin back and erase my heart.
Locking the door behind me, I ran down the hallway.
****
It was dark outside. My ears echoed with my frantic panting; I bumped into walls, boxes, and things I couldn't name. But the pain just drove me on.
Bluish light illuminated the main room through the front door. It peeked through the cracks of the boarded up windows, my eyes finally adjusting. Sweat stained my entire back as I gripped the door handle. It wasn't locked; it opened after a single twist.
On bare feet I jumped the steps, skidding on gravel, sprawling hard. I cried out sharply when my elbow slammed down. The bloodstained mirror fell from my grip. I wasted a few precious minutes until I found it glinting on the pale sand. I refused to lose the one weapon I had.
The moon behind its shawl of clouds guided me down the path. Run, run, go! Be faster go faster just move! My strides were long as a deer's—I bounced into the chain fence, unable to pull up in time. Slick fingers scraped over the metal, seeking the gate's opening. I was shaking all over, my skull feeling like it was spreading. I expected it to burst.
Behind me, on the path, someone called my name.
Sucking in air like I was one breath short of dying, I gripped the padlock. Lonnie's keys jingled as they hit the ground. “Fuck!” I sobbed, crouching in the shadows, hands clawing in the sand. I couldn't see anything!
“Georgia! Georgia!” Conway shouted.
There was a dream I used to have, one of the only semi-pleasant ones about being kidnapped. In it, I was racing for the trees while Facile roared like a rabid bear in the distance. Safety kept getting farther and farther away. I couldn't escape.
Not without him.
So unlike what had really happened, I'd looked back. There was Conway with his mysterious, youthful smile. He grabbed my hand and ran away with me. It was what I'd always wished for. The ending I really wanted.
And here I was now, running from him.
My nails touched metal—I grabbed the keys. Sweat and tears mixed on my cheeks. The telltale crunch of feet pounding on the ground rose up behind me. I had too many keys to test. What did these all go to? One by one I tried them; a thin copper key, a jagged one shaped like a house key, one meant for a vehicle of some kind.
Closing my eyes, I tested the fourth key of the set. It fit, opening the padlock, the gate creaking as I forced it wide. I looked over my shoulde
r. The figure rushing towards me was all shadow and breakneck speed. Conway's eyes glowed, challenging the moon to shine brighter.
Then I saw Lonnie was with him.
How did he get free?
Turning, I raced across the bent wooden planks of the dock. The water sloshed, calmer than I'd last seen it. This side of the island resisted the waves. I didn't know enough about the ocean to understand if it was due to direction, shape, or time of day. It comforted me enough to consider jumping in and forgetting the boat entirely.
Fumbling with the rope on the nearest boat, I remembered how easily Conway had worked with it. His hands had the same ease when he touched me. Gritting my teeth, I gave up being gentle; I hacked at the rope with my piece of mirror.
The fibers frayed. Conway's shoes hammered on the dock. Panicked, I cut my own hands with the shard, blood spreading on the wood, the water, until the rope snapped and my lovely man-made weapon splashed into the ocean. It had been more useful than I'd imagined.
I spotted Conway from the corner of my eye just as I ducked into the boat, fighting with the oars to make it move. “Georgia!” he growled, bending down, reaching for my arms. He caught me by my sweater.
“Let go of me!” I screamed, trying to shrug him off. He was too strong. I couldn't pull.
So I pushed.
Wide-eyed, he tumbled backwards, letting go of me and vanishing on the other side of the dock. Black water fanned upwards; I was free.
Lonnie was standing nearby. Just watching.
Not caring about the reason for this burst of luck, I began to row. My hands burned from their fresh cuts—but that wasn't why I struggled. I'd never rowed a boat before. I didn't know what I was doing.
Conway parted the gentle waves with powerful strokes. He came at me like a shark, too fast and ready to strike for me to avoid. He hoisted himself into my boat, and I expected his face to be painted with anger.
Shaking water from his hair, he sat opposite of me, his eyes heavy with sorrow. “Is this really what I've driven you to? Will you keep risking your own safety, just to get away from me?”
My mouth fell open. Over his head, I saw Lonnie staring at us with a quiet thoughtfulness. “I'm not running from you,” I said, the truth erupting. “I'm running from your father. From your brother, who came into my room to hurt me! Again!” It was a sickening nostalgia.