Creed

by Trisha Leaver

  I hit the switch and light flooded the room. Yesterday, storage boxes had lined the cement walls of the basement. Now the one being stored down there was Luke.

  “There,” Joseph said, extending a hand to his left.

  I went for the bookcase. It was too high, and I had to stand up on the bottom ledge in order to reach the top shelf. Even then I couldn’t see the key. I blindly swiped the Bible away, searching for the key. My fingers barely grazed a cold piece of metal and I circled back, grabbing onto the tiny thing like it was my lifeline. In a way, it was.

  The door was right where Joseph said it would be. “You remember seeing that door last night?” I asked Mike, hoping to God I wasn’t losing my mind.

  “Yup. Luke tried it, but it was locked. We figured it was a cedar closet or something filled with valuables.”

  I had the key in the lock, my hand shaking and frozen in place. Luke was the strongest person I knew, the one person who I could always count on to make things better. If he was hurt, if the survival of all of us landed solely on my shoulders, then I was dead. We all were.

  “I got it,” Mike said, his hand covering mine.

  I looked up, and he nodded but didn’t try for words. He couldn’t. He was probably wrestling with the same fears as me.

  Backing up, I gave Mike full access to the door, to the lock, to his brother on the other side. He turned the key and the lock clicked open, the sound echoing off the walls.

  I expected Mike to slam the door open and run headlong into that room. He didn’t. He froze like me.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” Mike said. “I don’t care who that James kid is, or whether or not Elijah actually plans to kill him. I’m not going back into that town, and neither is Dee. Whatever it takes, whoever it takes to get us out of here is what I’m going to do. You get in my way, Joseph, and I’ll kill you myself.”

  Thirty-Two

  Mike eased the door open as if he was scared of what he’d find on the other side. I was with him on that. With my luck, Elijah would be sitting there waiting for us, bone-saw in hand. I shook off that thought and pushed past Mike. By this point, I didn’t care what or who lurked behind that door. I wanted Luke.

  The smell hit me first, stale and rancid. It was dead silent—the sound of my own footsteps on the cement floor was the only noise—and pitch dark. I stumbled around blindly, searching for the light switch.

  “Luke?”

  I waited for a response, for anything that would indicate we’d come to the right place. No sound, not even a whimper to tell me which direction to turn.

  I purposefully shut my mind down and refused to process the smells, the silence, everything my brain was trying to force onto me. Luke was fine. He’d been stuck down here with no windows. No ventilation. No bathroom. Of course it was going to stink, but he—was—fine.

  “I need a light,” I yelled.

  “There isn’t one,” Joseph said as he stepped inside and adjusted the tiny flame of a lantern. “This place was intended to be quiet and completely dark so you’d have nothing but your conscience to distract you.”

  The lantern flared to life, coating the walls in an orange glow. I followed the light as he swung it from one wall to the next, hoping that it would land on Luke.

  The light flashed over something solid in the middle of the room. I grabbed the lantern from Joseph and ran toward it. My feet slid out from underneath me, and I fell to my knees on the wet ground. Both my palms hit the floor and I lost control of the lantern. The light flickered twice before it steadied. Warmth seeped through my skirt, and a dark stain seeped through the stark white fabric as a rusty metallic smell filled my nose.

  My body stiffened in recognition. I knew what it was—that dense, dark liquid that was now coating most of my lower body. I put my hands down anyway, flattening them against the floor and into the moisture. They came up red. Bright red and dripping. It was wet, not sticky or dried. I grabbed onto that knowledge and forced myself to lift my head. Then I screamed.

  “Mike!”

  He was there in an instant, pushing me out of the way as he tore at the restraints that bound Luke’s feet to the chair.

  “I need more light,” he yelled, and I held out the lantern, my arm brushing Luke’s leg. It was cold and stiff. I squeezed his calf and waited for his muscle to twitch. Nothing. I dug my nails into his thigh, thinking a bit of pain would bring him around, awaken him from whatever sleep he was in.

  “He’s not moving,” I choked out. “Mike, do something. He’s not moving.”

  “I know. Help me get him untied.”

  Mike had Luke’s feet free and was frantically working on his arms. They were stretched back and bound so tight that I wondered if his shoulders were dislocated or his muscles torn.

  I squatted down next to Mike to help, but my hands were shaking so badly that I couldn’t maneuver the rope. Tears streamed down my cheeks and my entire body convulsed with terror, anger, and remorse.

  “Dee, let me,” Joseph said as he took my hand in his. He wrapped my fingers around the handle of a second lantern and gently pushed me aside before taking my spot and manipulating the knots himself.

  “Luke?” I whispered. Through the shadows, I could see that his eyes were open. His head was slung forward, his jaw slack.

  “Luke?” I said again.

  The panic slowly welled in my soul, and I reached out to touch his face. My hand molded to his cheek, a day’s worth of stubble rubbing against my palm. Even that couldn’t drive away the coldness of his skin.

  They say that the dead look peaceful and relaxed, as if they’ve passed onto a better place. But that’s not what I saw when I looked at Luke. What I saw was agony. Pure, unadulterated agony.

  The ropes finally gave way and Luke slumped forward, his entire body falling into my lap. I struggled under his weight and ended up in the stale pool of blood, Luke cradled in my arms.

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and for a brief second I let myself believe that’s why he was so cold. The cellar was damp and unheated. If I warmed him up, if I could get his body to accept my heat, then he’d be fine.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I cried as I held him to me, rocking him and willing my strength, my very essence, into him. “I’m going to take you home. It’s all going to be fine.”

  I wrapped my arm around his waist, anchoring him to me, while my free hand searched for a pulse. I silently pleaded, would’ve gladly bartered away my own life for one small movement of his chest, one tiny tick of a pulse. Even a gasp of pain would’ve been welcomed.

  There was blood, so much blood. I could barely find the spot beneath his jaw I was looking for. I settled my finger there and held my breath as I waited for the faint beat of life.

  “Oh God.” I tried again, my fingers slipping to the other side of his neck as I hoped beyond reason for something I knew wasn’t there.

  I gave up trying to find a pulse on his neck and reached for his wrist. I’d watched Luke take his own pulse a thousand times. Always on the wrist, always the same spot.

  A hand on my shoulder stopped me, and I twitched, jerking off whoever it was. I could do this. I could prove Luke wasn’t gone. The hand came back and latched on so hard that I had no choice but to turn and look.

  “Dee,” Mike said. “Let me see him.”

  “No,” I cried out. I wasn’t letting anybody have him. Anybody.

  “Dee, let go. Please, God, let me see him.”

  Mike’s voice cracked, and I looked up, saw the sheen of tears threatening to overwhelm him. I shook my head and held on tighter. Luke wasn’t dead. There was no reason for Mike to lose it. No reason for the tears slipping down his face. Luke wasn’t gone. He wasn’t. I wouldn’t let him be.

  “Let go!” Mike screamed, prying Luke from my arms. I went at him, intent on getting Luke back. I needed Luke! I needed to feel him against me
. Luke was mine. He belonged to me.

  Joseph caught me around the waist and pulled me into his chest. I turned my anger on him, hurling every foul word I could think of at him, but he simply held me tighter, whispering for me to calm down.

  Mike sat down and leaned Luke against his own chest, then put his ear to Luke’s mouth in search of a breath. He hovered over him for what seemed like an eternity. Slowly, his hand slid to Luke’s chest, vainly seeking the muted thump of his heart, the expansion of his lungs … something, anything, that would indicate that we had time.

  Mike finally shook his head, his face pale as the tears poured from his eyes. Like I’d done, he gathered Luke up in his arms and rocked him, quietly swearing against all that was sacred and holy to kill the person who did this.

  “No. NO! ” I thrashed in Joseph’s arms, kicked at his legs as the gut-wrenching realization hit me. Luke was gone. My boyfriend. My life. My everything. Gone.

  One good kick to the shin and Joseph let me go. I fell to the ground and crawled to Luke. I went to take him, to pull him into my arms, but Mike wouldn’t let him go. He pushed me away with the heel of his foot and dragged Luke farther into his arms, buried his head in his brother’s neck and sobbed.

  I slammed my fists into the ground and screamed. The pain searing through my hands and knuckles was barely enough to keep me conscious, to keep what little sanity I had left from slipping away completely. I pulled myself up and covered my ears to drown out Mike’s cries. It didn’t work. His guttural pleas bounced off the cold walls, piercing my soul. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It. Wasn’t. Supposed. To. Be. This. Way.

  I went for the only thing I could reach—the lantern—and threw it at the wall. Small pieces of glass rained down to the floor, but that didn’t help. The rage inside me was building, drowning me, and I went for the chair.

  It was bolted to the ground, but I yanked anyway, throwing all my energy into ripping it from its anchors. I screamed and tugged again, the force jerking me forward and straight into Joseph’s arms. I pushed at him, would’ve thrown him through the wall if I could’ve.

  “Stop, Dee. Please, stop,” Joseph said as he pulled me into his chest again and folded his arms securely around me. “I promise it’s going to be okay.”

  He kept chanting those words as if his assurances were what I needed. They weren’t; the only thing I’d ever needed was lying there dead.

  “It’s not okay,” I sobbed as I turned my head to the side and looked down at Luke. “It’s never going to be okay again.”

  Luke’s body lay limp in Mike’s arms, his struggle clearly visible in the wounds defiling his skin. I knew exactly what the three-inch slits lining his body were. Elijah had bled Luke with no restraint or regard. I had seven wounds on my arms. Three on the right and four on the left. But Luke was covered in them. His arms were a mess of crisscross patterns, his chest marred and soaked in blood. His hair had been cut so short that parts of his scalp were visible. His shoes were gone, his skin red and broken where he’d struggled against his restraints.

  I focused on the thin red lines around his wrist, memorized them rather than look at his hands and confirm what I knew to me true. With one deep breath, I looked down and gasped. His middle finger was gone, a clean white bandage covering the wound. His whole hand was clean, not a mark or scrap of dirt on it.

  I reached out and unwound that bandage, several inches of gauze falling to the floor. I ran my finger across the palm of his hand. It was exactly like I remembered—soft and calloused at the same time. I let my hand play down each one of his intact fingers before stopping and looking at what was missing.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. That son of a bitch had taken off Luke’s finger, then had the insane decency to stitch the wound closed. Why bother? Why the hell would you bother to patch him up if you only intended to let him die?

  He was insane. Elijah Hawkins wasn’t a religious zealot; he was completely crazy. And crazy wasn’t something you could reason with.

  Thirty-Three

  The silence was agonizing. Each breath I managed to take ached, burning my lungs as I struggled to process the truth. Nothing, not years of enduring my father’s abuse, not even the vague knowledge that I might be bound to Elijah Hawkins forever, compared to the soul-crushing pain I was feeling.

  I tried to stand but dizziness took over, the floor pitching and rocking beneath me. I didn’t reach out to Joseph or Mike to steady myself. With my world crashing down around me, I honestly didn’t care if I fell. I didn’t care if I died. In fact, death would’ve been welcomed.

  “This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening,” I said over and over, my own voice sounding hollow and foreign.

  Joseph dropped to the floor next to me. His hand shook as it ran over my back, and I shrugged him off. I didn’t want to be touched or moved. I needed to stay right where I was, my hands locked around my knees as I stared into Luke’s dead eyes. If I let go, if I moved even an inch, then I’d lose every part of me.

  No, I needed to stay like this, physically—literally—holding myself together.

  Mike started crying again, his broken sobs filling the room with a horrible, empty sound. I shuddered and huddled farther into myself as I watched him through the sheen of my own tears, totally unable to say or do anything to make it better.

  “We need to go,” Joseph said.

  Mike lifted Luke from his lap and eased him against the wall. Even in the dark, I could see the pain in Mike’s eyes, his despair taking hold. He ran the back of his sleeve across his face before bending down and whispering to his brother, “He’ll pay for this. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll make sure he pays.”

  “You ready to go?” Joseph asked.

  “Go? Go where? Luke is dead!”

  “I know, Dee, and I’m sorry. I truly am. I never expected my father to … ” Joseph trailed off as he quickly looked at his watch. “It’s been nearly an hour since my father left us in that room. We have to go. Now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not without Luke,” I said.

  Joseph let out a frustrated sigh and turned to Mike. They could team up on me for all I cared. Dead or not, I wasn’t leaving Luke here alone.

  “Listen, Dee,” Mike said, pausing to clear the tears from his throat. “Joseph is right. We gotta go.”

  “No.” It was one word, but it held more conviction than anything I’d ever said.

  Mike closed the short distance between us and put his hands on either side of my face. Streams of tears ran down his face, and his hands trembled against my cheeks as he took in another ragged breath. Somehow I’d forgotten that Luke wasn’t only my rock; he was Mike’s too.

  “We can’t do anything for Luke,” Mike said. “But I can save you. He made me swear to get you out of here. I promised him that if I got the chance, I’d forget about saving him and go find you.”

  I didn’t care about Mike’s stupid promise; I wasn’t leaving Luke. “No. I won’t go.”

  I looked around the dank room, pausing on the details I hadn’t noticed when we came in. The piles of vomit. The heap of blood-soaked rags lying in the corner. One of Luke’s sneakers, stained red in the shadows. This was how Luke had died—alone and in the basement of a narcissist with nothing but darkness and squalor to keep him company. He didn’t deserve this. Nobody deserved this.

  I’d thought I was helping him. I’d believed that submitting to Elijah’s insanity would protect Luke. What an absolute idiot I’d been.

  “You have no idea what that man will do to him,” I said. Elijah would probably find some twisted way to offer Luke’s body up as a sacrifice to God … to himself. “We can’t leave him here, Mike. We can’t.”

  The second Mike looked down at Luke, I knew he’d sided with me. “Fine. We’ll take him with us. We’ll bring him home.”

  “We won’t get half a mile
outside of town carrying him,” Joseph argued.

  “Half a mile? You won’t get five feet up those steps without him,” Mike replied, his hand sweeping out in my direction. “Trust me. I know Dee better than you ever will, and she’s not leaving without him. And I’m not leaving without her.” He sidestepped around Joseph and held his hand out for me to take. “I’ll carry him home, Dee.”

  I took Mike’s hand. The heat of tears warmed my face again and Mike buried me in his chest, hugging me so tight I could feel his heart beating against my cheek. His shoulders shook as the strength he’d tried so hard to gather cracked and fell away.

  A shuffling sound from behind me caught my attention, and I glanced up and realized Luke was gone. Joseph had him slung over his shoulder and was making his way toward the stairs.

  Mike followed my gaze, his whole body vibrating with anger. “Take your hands off him,” Mike said as he tore Luke from Joseph’s arms. “I don’t need your help carrying him.”

  “I never would’ve brought Dee here, any of you here, if I’d known this would happen,” Joseph said.

  Tears still rimmed Mike’s eyes and I looked away, desperate to allow him that tiny shred of dignity as he gently settled his only brother over his shoulder. He was taking Luke home; we both needed to take Luke home.

  Thirty-Four

  I flung open the front door and a momentary sense of peace filled me as I breathed in the night air. Finally, I was able to rid my senses of the horrible stench of the basement.

  The streetlights cast a strange, iridescent light over the yard, doing little to keep the darkness at bay. If you’d asked me before, I would’ve told you I was afraid of the dark and embarrassingly pointed to the nightlight Mrs. Hooper kept in the upstairs hall. Not anymore. Now the darkness kept us hidden, gave us a shot at escaping unnoticed.