The Ending Series: The Complete Series

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  Coming around the corner of the small post office, I heard a clanking noise. I froze, unsure if I should continue my exploration. After hearing it again—the distinct sound of metal hitting metal—I decided to investigate. I poked my head around the corner of the building and saw a few old cars parked alongside a repair garage and scattered throughout a small parking lot. In the right stall of the garage, a wheel-less Humvee was suspended on a lift, and a black panel van occupied the stall on the left.

  Another bang suggested someone was working inside. Curiously, I wandered closer to the garage, expecting to see Biggs piddling around. Instead, I found Jake bent over the open hood of the van. His long-sleeve thermal shirt pulled tightly over his arms and back while he wrenched. His sleeves were pushed up so they bunched around his elbows, and I couldn’t help but notice the muscles in his forearms flexing with each twist of his wrist.

  “Hey,” I said stupidly, knowing that if he found me watching him and I’d said nothing, it would be even more awkward.

  His body jerked and he bumped his head on the van’s hood. “Shit!” he barked.

  I hid my sudden grin with my sketchbook. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He stared at me for a moment—taking me in, ensuring I wasn’t a Crazy. Small streaks of grease stained his forehead and left cheek, indicating he’d used a dirty arm to wipe his face.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked harshly, but his flushed cheeks and ragged breathing indicated he was just flustered.

  “I was taking a walk and heard some noises,” I explained as I made my way into the garage.

  Surveying the unfamiliar surroundings, I noticed the shop was littered with dirty objects that I knew nothing about. I was sure they were all parts of cars—or tools for fixing broken parts of cars—but the whole mess looked like a bunch of junk to me. Tools with red and black handles were strewn about on work benches, covered in a layer of dust that told me they hadn’t been used in a while. The cement floor was stained with grime; I could feel it under my shoes, sticky and gritty. Dirty red rags decorated the large, tiered toolboxes and stools. The shop was a complete mess—exactly the way I expected a repair garage to be…except for the area around Jake.

  He had a row of sockets and wrenches lined-up on the floor in front of the van. Descending in size, almost a perfect half inch away from one another, the tools lay waiting to be used. Jake was cranking a wrench, making it click rapidly as his wrist moved in a back and forth motion. A semi-clean red rag hung out of his back pocket, and a folded beanie lay on a stool nearby.

  He’s a neat freak, I realized. Probably a perfectionist too. I nodded to myself. That explains a lot. His cool exterior was only a glimpse into his need to remain in control.

  As he continued working, I perused the shop. The more I walked around, the more I realized I liked the unique way the place smelled.

  “Why are you smiling?” Jake asked quietly, looking up at me.

  “Am I smiling?” My smile widened to a grin. “I guess I’ve just never been in a garage like this before. I like it.” The look on his face changed, a sort of surprise replacing his curiosity. “What’s wrong with this one?” I asked, pointing to the van he was working on.

  “I thought the battery was dead, but it’s…” Registering my confusion, he paused and stood straighter. “I’m replacing the alternator,” he said.

  “Oh, cool. Nothing you can’t handle then?”

  “No, not unless I break something else,” he joked dryly.

  Sidling up to the van, I leaned in. “You like to work on cars?”

  “It keeps my mind busy.” He turned back to the maze of metal and hoses under the hood.

  I nodded and straightened. “I understand. That’s why I like drawing.”

  Jake said nothing and returned to cranking the wrench. No matter how much he played it off, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. There was no hesitation or fumbling in his movements.

  He can fight; he fixes cars; he knows how to put on a fireworks show… “Can I ask you something else?”

  Reaching down into the engine, he nodded.

  “It’s about the fireworks,” I said before I could lose my nerve.

  Jake withdrew from the engine and straightened, the look on his face reflecting my own feelings of discomfort. Although I was a twenty-six-year-old woman looking at a thirty-something-year-old man, my heart raced like I was a teenager and he was the first boy I’d ever liked. Liked? I don’t know if I’d go that far…he intrigues me…that’s all.

  “Why did you do it?” Changing my mind, I amended, “I mean, how?”

  He glanced at me, and after a brief pause, shrugged indifferently. “I lit the fuses.”

  My eyes narrowed in frustration until I noticed something. Although his face was expressionless, there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He was teasing me.

  I might’ve fallen for his antics a week earlier, when I thought my presence repulsed him, but I’d come to know better. His actions told me more about him than his words ever would. Two can play this game, Mr. Vaughn. As I schemed, my pulse quickened.

  “Obviously you lit the fuses,” I said coolly, inching closer to the van. I wondered what it would take to provoke an honest reaction from him.

  I leaned against the van, resting my elbows on the cold metal framing the engine bay. Without fully knowing what came over me, I arched my back, feeling my breasts bulge out the top of my tight v-neck. My pants hugged my ass as I stuck it out noticeably. The motion pulled my shirt up slightly to reveal a hint of my lower back.

  Jake’s eyes moved over my curves, quickly assessing every inch of me. My mind betrayed me, and I wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on me. He must’ve wondered something similar because his eyes briefly glazed over with desire. For the first time, I felt strong around him, in control. I grinned in victory, and he narrowed his eyes, looking down to clean the wrench he’d been using.

  Letting the moment go, I straightened from my ridiculous pose, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. “Why do you have to be so vague?” I asked. “I mean, where did you even get the fireworks? Or do you know how to make them?”

  This time he smiled. “No,” he said with a chuckle. “I can’t make fireworks. Harper and I found a stockpile when we were searching for fuel awhile back.”

  “Oh.” The disappointment in my voice surprised me.

  Jake must have heard it too, because he gave me a sidelong glance. “You thought I made them?”

  I blushed. “No. Yes. I don’t know what I thought.” It shouldn’t matter. I shook the distracting thoughts from my head.

  Jake set the now spotless wrench aside, and as he wiped the grease from his hands, his questioning eyes met mine.

  Feeling awkward, I backed away. The playfulness had suddenly evaporated, and I felt like I was in the way of his work. But I wasn’t quite ready to leave. I spotted an old, ratty, leather recliner in the next stall. It had a folded blue tarp draped over its lower half, covered in dust. Reluctant to wander back out into the dying light, I walked over to the chair and peeked under the tarp. It was clean. Knowing I’d found as good of a place as any, I pulled off the tarp and draped it over a nearby lift.

  “Do you mind?” I asked, pointing to the chair.

  Jake glanced over at me and shook his head. I was glad he didn’t ask me why I was hesitant to leave—I didn’t know the answer.

  I curled up on the chair and opened my sketch pad, trying to ignore the unease in my stomach as Jake repeatedly glanced my way. I quickly began sketching. Although I’d never attempted them before, the shapes came easily. Before long, I had captured the slightly beat-up van on my page. Jake was there too…I hadn’t been able to resist capturing his rugged beauty.

  ~~~~~

  I was looking down at the living room of the home I’d grown up in. Muffled sounds came from upstairs. I strained to hear the desperate words being uttered, but my consciousness was jumbled and I couldn’t decipher th
em. I couldn’t think. I cringed as the shouting and cursing continued.

  My dad and Jason suddenly materialized in the living room, completely unaware of my presence. Like a reclusive spider hidden in the recesses of a wall, I watched what unfolded with trepidation.

  My brother was bigger than my dad. Jason’s clenched fists and jaw were intimidating, but my dad seemed just as imposing. He was more solemn and threatening than I’d ever noticed before, and he looked older than I remembered. His features were blanketed with an all-too-familiar sorrow; his eyes were filled with loneliness, and their outer corners were wrinkled from a lifetime of worry.

  Jason’s gestures were forceful as he exchanged harsh words with my dad. His eyes were ablaze with so much anger that I almost missed the sadness crinkling his brow. Like a pair of ear plugs had been removed, I could suddenly hear Jason’s venomous words.

  “I can’t stay here anymore!” he yelled. Both men’s chests heaved under their shirts. “She’s dead, Dad! I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t want this life.” I immediately knew who he was talking about…Mom.

  My dad pushed his index finger roughly against my brother’s chest, and Jason’s rage consumed him. Without saying another word, Jason turned and stormed off.

  Running his fingers through short hair silvered with age, my dad turned in my direction. Somehow, in my disembodied state, his eyes were able to focus on me, and they widened with shock.

  The room from my childhood home abruptly melted away, only to be replaced by another familiar setting: our family car.

  No longer incorporeal, I was a little girl sitting in the backseat of our brown and beige Wagoneer. I watched sunlit scenery pass by the window and played with the hem of my dress. Looking down at my lap, I giggled at the sight of my favorite yellow sundress and kicked my small, sandal-clad feet happily. As darkness overwhelmed the sunlight, a sense of dread filled me—something horrible was about to happen.

  I smelled a citrusy scent and immediately knew it was my mother in the driver’s seat. My eyes prickled with tears. I longed to see her face.

  “Mommy?” I asked timidly, wishing she would look at me—wishing I could finally see her face.

  She remained silent and ignored me, driving like it was any other day.

  I couldn’t remember what she looked like. My eyes darted to the rearview mirror where I hoped to catch a glimpse of her feminine features, but the image was blurred, like it was forbidden for me to see.

  The foreboding presence of something malevolent hovered around us. The air was thick with a suffocating fear, and I saw my mom’s body stiffen as she felt it too. I heard the sound of her hands tightening around the leather covering the steering wheel. Even though I was too small to see around the seat back, I knew my mom’s knuckles were white and that her hands were shaking, just as mine were as they gripped the skirt of my yellow dress.

  “Mommy,” I said again.

  “Shhhh,” she cooed softly as she looked over her shoulder at me. Where her face should have been, there was nothing but smooth, featureless flesh. “Shhh, it’s okay, Zoe,” she said again, despite having no lips or mouth to speak from.

  Petrified by the empty face in front of me, I tried to close my eyes, but my lids wouldn’t shut. I tried to call out for Daddy or Jason, but only faint sobs escaped my lips. The faceless woman reached for me. I tried to pull away from her slow, mechanical movement, but my seat belt was suddenly too tight to move or even breathe. Gasping for air between muffled shrieks of terror, I attempted to yank my wrist away from her cold, bone-white fingers.

  “No!” I cried out immediately before my body lurched forward. My neck snapped back, almost broken in half. I could see the front of the station wagon, crunched like an accordion against a dingy brick wall. Adrenaline made my heart race. I was trapped, covered in blood…I was dying. I couldn’t breathe.

  The faceless woman sat motionless, pinned against the steering wheel. Her arm was draped over the dashboard, and the fingers that had been on my skin moments before twitched.

  My body lurched as I gasped for air. My hands fell to my lap, suddenly paralyzed, and I took my final, searing breath.

  Jolting awake in bed, I looked around the room. Moonlight shining through the mini blinds cast striped shadows on the wardrobe and the far wall. I was in Fork Knox, in my room in the barracks. I was safe…and I was alone.

  The cotton sheets clung to my sweaty skin. Peeling them from my body, I felt like I was shedding the gloom of my nightmare. My face was clammy, my hair was matted against my cheeks and neck, and my body was shaking. The dream that had haunted me throughout my childhood had returned. Fearing what might come when I closed my eyes again and not knowing what else to do, I climbed out of bed.

  I grabbed my sketchpad from the nightstand and made my way toward the door. I opened it, only to trip over Cooper, who was stretched out in the doorway. I stumbled and caught myself against the wall. “Dammit, Coop!” I quietly admonished, but it wasn’t his fault that it was dark; we were conserving the fuel we needed to power the generators.

  Seeing a faint light flicker down the hallway, I realized someone was in the common room. I headed that way, Cooper moseying languidly behind me. When I saw Jake sitting on the couch, reading by firelight, I paused, but Cooper trotted across the room to him. Hearing the dog’s nails clicking on the floor, Jake looked up, and his eyes met mine.

  “Hey,” I said weakly.

  He stood abruptly, looking pensive. “Is everything okay?” His voice was hoarse from a lack of use, and I held back a smile as he cleared his throat.

  I nodded. Once again, he had a look on his face that I’d seen numerous times—one of thoughtful concern—but this time I understood it better. “Why do you always think something’s wrong when you see me? Am I really that bad?”

  His eyes narrowed, and I acknowledged the silliness of my question with a modest smile and a shrug. “Okay, well this time you can’t save me; don’t worry.”

  One of Jake’s eyebrows arched inquiringly.

  “I had a bad dream and couldn’t get back to sleep. But it’s nothing some drawing won’t fix.” I held up my sketchpad. “What about you, can’t sleep?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You can keep reading. I won’t bother you.”

  He nodded, walking over to the fire. He threw on another log as I situated myself on the couch, wrapped myself in a blanket, and opened my sketchbook to draw. I tried to ignore the awkward silence between us for the second time in a day.

  Jake remained by the fire, leaning against the wall. “Was your dream about Clara?”

  I shook my head. “No. It was a nightmare I’ve been having for a while.”

  “You want to talk about it?” His concern was genuine, but I couldn’t imagine explaining it to him. I didn’t want to sound even more pathetic and broken than I already did.

  Again, I shook my head. “You can sit down,” I offered, not wanting him to feel like he had to leave.

  Jake looked back at me with a rare grin on his face. “I can?”

  Wow, that’s two grins in one day. “You know what I mean. I didn’t come in here to ruin your chill time.”

  “My ‘chill time’?” he repeated playfully.

  Laughing, I rolled my eyes. “Shut up. I’m glad I can entertain you.” I thumbed through some of my drawings in search of a blank page.

  “Those are really good,” he said as he sat down a few inches from me, making the couch feel cozier. “Can I see?”

  “Umm…” I hesitated.

  “Never mind.” He turned away from me.

  “No, it’s fine,” I said hastily. I was so amazed that he was partaking in a conversation with me; I didn’t want to mess it up. “Here.” I handed him my sketchpad with both reluctance and anticipation. I wondered what he would think…and I tried to remember all that I’d drawn.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I just have a lot of bad ones in there. It’s more of a doodle book than an
ything.” I’d never shared any of my sketchbooks with anyone other than Dani, but for some reason I wanted Jake to see it.

  He didn’t say a word as he flipped through pages of realistic depictions of some of what I’d seen over the past few weeks. I became lost in thought as I remembered the time and place I’d started each drawing. There were even some sketches I’d completely forgotten about.

  Jake lingered on a sketch of a Labrador Retriever. “That’s Sammy, Dave’s dog who died…and that’s the cabin we were staying in when Harper and the crew met up with us.” Jake turned a few more pages. “Those are a couple drawings I did on the drive here—they’re not very good.”

  Before I knew it, there were forgotten sketches of Jake—angry ones. His likeness stared up from the page, composed of dark lines and harsh shading that reflected my opinion of him at the time. His drawn eyes were flat, cruel, and judgmental, so different than the pair currently watching me.

  “Oh, uh, you can skip those.” Blushing, I reached over and started flipping the pages as quickly as I could. “I was clearly having a bad day.”

  Jake watched me too intently as I searched for something else—anything else—to show him. Finding my drawings of Cooper, I stopped. “You might like these,” I said, trying to refocus his attention.

  His eyes absorbed the contents of the pages as he flipped through them, but he remained silent, leaving me to wonder what he thought of them. He analyzed the images like there were hidden messages within the lines and shading. Sitting so close to him, I was becoming distracted by our proximity. I leaned away.

  The last drawing was of Cooper’s face, and just as I was about to speak, Jake’s hand moved toward it. He gently ran his fingers over the page like the drawing might come to life. “It’s perfect.”

  “Really?” I whispered, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. “Thanks.”

  As he reached my most recent drawings, depictions of Harper filled the pages…over and over. The images of him smiling in his white lab coat looked true to life.