by Cassia Leo
Nicolas’ heart was thumping even faster now. He worried about the lights being off, but it was the middle of the night…
The cliffs were treacherous. Snow obscured any hint of where the road might be, so the men took the only route available: an arduous climb down to the shore. They passed the first house, where the ocean had cleared a graveled path. This course forced them back up the craggy demarcation in several places due to the way rocks created natural jetties out into the frigid north Atlantic water. Oz kept looking back to make sure Nicolas was keeping up. Nicolas felt no shame for being out of shape, but he would have felt like an idiot if he fell to his death because he couldn’t handle a basic, albeit slippery, climb.
Oz urged them toward the house. “If nothing else, it’s warmth until we can figure things out,” Oz said. Nicolas realized Oz did not expect to find her at the house. Neither do I, he grudgingly admitted to himself.
The door was unlocked, so they let themselves in. The house was nearly as cold inside as the outside had been. Nicolas’ breath appeared in front of him. There was a sour smell, like something old and forgotten. “She’s not here,” he finally allowed himself to admit, before they had even looked around. If they searched the house, they wouldn’t find her.
“Hasn’t been for a long time,” Oz concurred. He held out a glass of curdled milk. “Found the smell.”
Where did you go Ana? Her light blue cardigan was draped over a chair at the kitchen table and he held it, smelling her. If something had happened to her, he would know it. He’d feel it. But I do feel it, that’s why I’m here.
“I think we should try the neighbors,” Oz suggested finally. He eyed Nicolas clutching the sweater and Nicolas put it down.
“Which ones?”
“The ones whose property we already passed through,” Oz said. “There were lights on all over the house. We could try the other neighbors, but they only had the porch light on, and it’s the middle of the night. I say we start with the ones who are awake.”
“Three in the morning,” Nicolas said. “What do you think is going on next door at this hour? Key party?”
“That would be the lamest key party ever. No one can drive.”
Thank god he’s joking back. I didn’t realize until now that I can’t do this without him. “The house is big enough. Maybe they can pretend,” he quipped. Eyeing Ana’s kitchen wistfully, Nicolas conceded, “I could really use some coffee right about now, but I guess we should head over and introduce ourselves.”
“Wait. Before we go over there, there’s something I need to tell you,” Oz said.
Nicolas already had his hand on the door. “Seriously? There’s nothing about you that would surprise me anymore, Ozzy, so can we get on with finding Ana?”
But Oz’s face was not playful. His eyes had the same wild, faraway look they had when he’d come over for that weird visit, and the color built up from their snowy exercise had completely drained from his face. “No… I should have told you this before we came to Maine, but I didn’t know how and, well, I don’t know what’s going to happen next door, and what this night has in store for us. I can’t hang on to this anymore. It’s eating me up, and I have to get it off my chest.”
Nicolas did not like the sound of Oz’s words, or the look on his face. The last time Oz had looked so pained was when Adrienne went missing all those years ago. “Say it, then.”
Oz motioned for him to sit, but Nicolas shook his head. “Spit it out so we can get going.”
Then Oz took a breath and started talking. He had always rambled when he was nervous, and he did so now, fumbling through the first part of his story and losing Nicolas entirely. It wasn’t until Ana’s name came up that Nicolas perked up.
“What does Ana have to do with anything?”
“I know why she came to Maine,” Oz said with a weary sigh.
“We all do, Ozzy. She’s fucked-up, has daddy issues, and needed a break. Can we go now?”
Oz was chewing on his lower lip and looking toward the spoiled milk glass on the counter. “She came to Maine because… we had a thing.”
Nicolas didn’t catch what Oz said at first because he was waiting for another long, rambling story. But when Oz stopped there, Nicolas processed his words. We had a thing.
“What the fuck does that mean? You had a thing?” Nicolas demanded.
“We slept together. Had sex,” Oz attempted to clarify. “It was only one time—”
“You had sex with Ana? Recently?” Nicolas repeated. There was no way he heard that correctly. Ana would never do that. Not to Adrienne… not to him.
“Yes,” Oz confirmed, in a low voice barely above a whisper. “Not long before she left.”
“Shut the fuck up and tell me you are not serious!” Nicolas kicked the chair he was leaning on across the room. “Tell me you are fucking kidding, Ozzy, tell me this is a joke…”
But Oz did not have to say a word. The truth was written all over his face. I need to get away, Ana had said, quickly. Too quickly.
Nicolas’ body was pulsing with rage. He paced behind Oz, processing, thinking. Oz and Ana… no, it could not be. It cannot be. She would never do that. She would never sleep with my best friend; my married best friend. Her cousin’s husband. My heart.
Nicolas knew this was different than those men in the Quarter. She told me about those. She was ashamed of them, but not so ashamed that she’d keep it from me. All this time, she had said nothing. She betrayed not even a glimpse of her real reason for going away, leaving him wondering if he was the problem. I am such a fool.
Oz stood up and tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but Nicolas shoved him into the counter. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
“You have no idea how hard this has been—” Oz was saying, and those words put Nicolas over the edge. His hand was already in a fist, and, without any thought or planning, he pulled his arm back and swung as hard as he could. His fist connected with Oz’s face so hard he thought he might have broken his hand. Oz flew back into the counter again, then crumpled to the kitchen floor.
Oz was clutching his bloody face in the corner, and Nicolas felt a small, cold satisfaction in seeing his pain. Oz was always the good guy; the martyr. He was the self-sacrificing masochist who everyone felt so bad for. This put Oz in a new light. Oz could use any excuse in the world for his behavior, but it was unforgivable to Nicolas, and he no longer felt that old, aching sympathy for his best friend. Anyone but Ana, Oz.
“I don’t know what I was thinking, Nic,” Oz pleaded for understanding. “The whole night was a blur, and I felt horrible afterward.”
“Oh, my heart fucking cries out for you, Oz! Life has been so unfair to you, gifting you with a beautiful wife and two awesome fucking kids!”
Oz shook his head, still clutching his nose. He had pulled a towel off the counter and was trying to stop the bleeding. “You’re my best friend Nic. I didn’t do it to hurt you, or her, or Adrienne, or anyone—”
“That is such bullshit, Oz! You knew how this would make me feel!”
“You mean Adrienne, right Nic? You mean, how it would make Adrienne feel?” Oz’s words, though timid and searching, felt like an accusation. He has no right to judge me, the stupid, selfish prick.
“Stop fucking talking!”
“It was a mistake, and I wish I could take it back. But I can’t.”
“You made this choice, Colin. YOU. You are not the victim,” Nicolas said, as calmly as he could manage. He reached his hand out to Oz, who looked up in surprise. “I’m not going to throw you across the room, though you deserve it.”
Oz warily took his hand, and Nicolas pulled him to his feet. Oz looked pathetic, the blood dripping down his broken nose only made Nicolas want to hit him again. Fuck you.
“I’m sorry—” Oz started to say, but Nicolas lifted his fist, warning him to stop. Not now. I can’t do this now, or I am going to completely fucking lose my ever-fucking mind.
“You’re a worthless excuse for a hum
an being Oz, and when this is all over, you can go fuck yourself,” Nicolas said. “But, right now, we need to help Ana. We owe it to her. You really owe it to her. So, we’re both going to suck it up and finish this.”
***
50- ANA
Ana was the first one to see the headlights wash over the front window and alight the living room.
Jonathan was reading a medical journal. He’d shown Ana Finn's book piles and invited her to pick out whatever she wanted. She chose Anna Karenina, but she had read the book a dozen times, so her mind wandered before she made it through a paragraph. She was anxious for Finn’s return, worried he might have run into trouble, and then further worried about what would happen when he did come home.
She would not be able to come out and show what she was feeling inside. When had she ever? She only knew she wanted to see him. Her betrayal with Jon still burned inside her, but Jon wanted to forget it even more than she did. The secret would die with both of them most likely. And even so, it was hardly a betrayal when she and Finn did not have a relationship yet. Yes, but I know that’s not how he’d see it. Or how I see it, or I wouldn’t be spending this much time worrying.
Ana had so many regrets that were piling up. She no longer knew which of them was the worst. Her mind was heavy with images of random moments. Finn’s surprised smile after she healed him. Jon’s wide-eyed panic when she awoke in his house. Oz’s face when he realized what a horrible mistake they had made. And then there is Nicolas. What face will he make when he learns about all the things I’ve hidden from him?
Her thoughts were interrupted by something entirely unexpected. “Jon,” she whispered. She didn’t have to point; the headlamps were so bright that by the time the vehicle turned to face the house head-on, the entire room was glowing like full daylight.
Ana set her book aside and jumped out of her seat, but Jon’s hand clamped down firm on her arm before she could go any further.
“Something’s wrong,” Jon said. His voice was deep, and hollow.
She wrenched her arm free, but stayed by his side. “Why? He’s home.”
Jon shook his head, and slowly stood. “Look inside the cabin. There are two heads, not one.”
Ana squinted and finally saw what he was looking at. “What…” She swallowed. “Maybe he found someone from town, stranded.” His silence told her that he didn’t believe whoever was in Finn’s passenger seat was some poor stranded local. She could not wrap her mind around what kind of danger he could possibly bring back, though. This island was full of people Finn had known his whole life, and it was closed to everyone else.
They stood together, unmoving, watching in slow motion as the vehicle inched closer to the house. The approach felt like an eternity.
“What do we do?” she asked.
“I want you to go upstairs,” Jon said, slowly. “And stay up there.” He moved from her side and went to a cupboard in the kitchen, with Ana on his heels. He pulled out a small box, and inside was a handgun. She could not tell what kind, as she knew nothing about guns.
“No,” she said. Her eyes were fixated on the gun. She had only ever fired one once, when she was much younger. Her father, seeing how much it bothered her, never took her to the range again. “I don’t understand what has you so worked up Jon, but I’m not leaving.”
“Please,” Jon pleaded.
“I don’t understand what is going on in your head!” Her mind held thousands of words swimming around that she wanted to say, needed to say, but all that emerged was nonsense.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Jon chanted and Ana saw he was trembling. The gun was bobbing up and down in his hand. She wanted to reach over and steady it, but she was afraid, and so she watched it continue to bounce around. Hell, she wondered if Jon even knew if it was loaded, or cocked, or whatever the terminology was that made the damn thing ready to fire.
If it does go off? It’s not like I can save anyone except myself, maybe.
They stood like that in a deadlock until the sound of the rumbling engine faded, followed by the small cab doors opening and shutting. Feet crunching in the snow. Two pairs. She saw sweat beading at Jon’s brow.
Ana scanned the kitchen, looking for anything to defend herself with. She pulled the largest knife out of the block. Could she actually stab someone with it? She highly doubted it, but she felt more secure holding something. Who is going to come through that door? For the love of god, this is terrifying and I don’t even know what to be afraid of.
Their hearts jumped in unison at the sound of the back door opening. Two voices argued, loudly. Jon opened his mouth, then stopped, and put his finger to his lips as he met Ana’s gaze. No shit.
“We’ll bring the food in later. Go,” she heard a very familiar voice say as a man stumbled forward onto the linoleum in the next room. His wet boots squeaked and the sound was piercing in her heightened state.
She knew that voice. “Alex,” she whispered, quietly enough that only Jon could hear. He didn’t show surprise. That concerned her almost as much as whatever danger they were in. What the hell is going on?
Seconds ticked by painfully. Their shadows fell over the kitchen before she saw them emerge, and she heard a small click beside her as Jon raised the gun. I guess that means it’s ready. Is this how things happen in real life?
Finn stepped into the room first, Alex quickly behind him. Ana’s eyes fell on his gun, which was significantly larger than the gun Jon was holding out in front of him. Jon’s trembling had intensified, his arms now shaking so violently she thought he might fire by accident. He has no idea what he’s doing any more than I do, except he somehow isn’t surprised to see my friendly overseer with a gun to his brother’s head.
“Jon,” Alex greeted. He was almost as nervous and fidgety as Jon. “Ana,” he then said as he finally noticed her. There was relief in his voice. “Thank God.”
“Alex, what is going on?” She surveyed the situation again, taking it all in. She still had the knife clutched firmly in her hand, but it was at her side. Jon was to her left, the gun out in front of him, still shaking. Alex was standing behind Finn with his gun trained on Finn, the snow melting and pooling beneath them. Alex was nervous, but he looked far more resolved about what he was doing than Jon did.
And Finn… his cheeks were flushed, and the snow ran down his bruised, bloody face. My god, what happened to you? His eyes were heavy, with exhaustion, but it was still evident he was happy to see her.
“I’ve come to get you out of here,” Alex announced. There were no sounds in the house except the dripping of melting snow and the occasional gasping breath from one of them. “To rescue you.”
“Rescue me?” She laughed, and the hand holding the knife relaxed. She almost cried with relief. This was all a misunderstanding! Alex and Jon could put down their guns, and they could bring in the food and all would be well. “Alex, you can put the gun down. These two saved my life!”
But Alex didn’t put the gun down. Nor did Jon. Finn’s face remained unchanged. What is it these two know about this situation that I don’t?
“Stockholm Syndrome,” Alex sighed, shaking his head. “I saw a special about it on Dateline.” He shoved Finn forward into the kitchen, forcing her to step out of the way as they both came further into the light.
“Alex, I don’t have Stockholm Syndrome. When I say they saved me, I mean they literally saved my life. They found me in the snow outside after I fell and hit my head. I would have died if not for them.” She lifted her hair back to show the wound, but then remembered with a start it was mostly healed. There was only a light scar where there should have been a nasty, healing wound.
“You poor girl,” he said. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Ana wanted to scream in frustration. How could he think these two would hurt her? Jon was grumpy, but his job was to heal others, and Finn was the kindest person she had met on the island. I would have described Alex that way too, but apparently I would have been very wro
ng.
Neither Finn nor Jon said a word. Was Alex insane? Did he normally do these kinds of things? He had always been so kind, and helpful to her, but clearly neither brother was surprised he had snapped. Finn was frozen in place, and Jon’s hand continued to shake, his face impassive.
Ana took a very wary step forward. Jon hissed at her to step back, but she ignored him. “Alex, please. I appreciate that you were worried for me, but there’s nothing going on here that need concern you.” She put up her hand with the butcher knife. “Would they let me have this if they were hurting me?”
Alex flinched and the gun shifted. Finn’s face tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut. Sorry. “False sense of security, child. Notice they didn’t give you the gun?” he remarked, nodding toward Jon.
“I wouldn’t even know how to use one if they did,” she argued. “This is ridiculous, Alex! I’m telling you, I’m fine!”
“No, my sweet child, you are not fine. You are not fine at all.” His eyes were boring holes in her, and she realized there was something else different about him. He’s speaking so succinctly now. His voice is confident and his words are clear.
Finn spoke up. “Alex, I told you earlier that you should figure out what it is you mean to do with us. You don’t want to hear what we have to say, so I think maybe you need to do what you came to do.” His voice sounded far steadier than his face looked. She realized he had to weather an entire ride back with this man. And more, she thought, eyeing his battered face.
Jon tensed beside her. Her head was spinning. This is it. Finn invited him to kill us. What if he does? What if he is a remorseless killer? What if he’s not here to save me, but kill us all? What if he kills one of the brothers? Will I have to stand there and watch them bleed to death on the floor, unable to do anything?
Nicolas, I want Nicolas.
***
51- ALEX
You had the balls to start this Wexie Wooooo. You better find the balls to finish it.