by Eden Bradley
That’s over now.
She swallowed back her tears and nodded her head. “I’m ready.”
Oran nodded and pulled a color photograph from a folder he’d had sitting before him, slid it across the table toward her. She held her breath for a moment before she was able to look.
She laid her fingertips on the photograph, smoothing the edges beneath her hands, then slowly let her eyes focus on the image there.
It was a child, a small girl of four or five years. She had long, pale blond hair. It was lighter than hers was now—almost platinum—falling in waves around her shoulders. She had a round, cherubic face, a brilliant smile. And she had Angel’s own blue eyes.
My eyes.
She was quiet, studying the picture, recognition hitting her like a blow to the chest.
This is me.
Yet she felt distanced somehow. It was as if this child was someone she’d known once, a long time ago. It hurt to see the innocence in her face. To know what she would endure.
“Angel?” Ruth asked, her voice softly prompting.
She let out a long breath, looked up at the expectant faces around her.
“It’s…this is me.”
“You’re sure?” Declan asked.
She nodded. “Oh, yes. I’m absolutely certain.”
She felt light-headed, as though the picture, the table, Declan and Ruth and Oran, were suddenly very far away.
“This is me,” she said again, maybe simply to get used to the idea. Her own voice sounded odd, tinny in her ears. But she had to tell them what she knew.
“I remember,” she said, her throat so tight it hurt to get the words out. “I know what happened to me.”
There was a hush around the table. She saw Declan’s hand squeeze her shoulder from the corner of her eye. Saw Ruth still holding on to her hand. Saw Oran lean across the table toward her. She couldn’t quite feel any of it, but she knew they were there. It helped.
She swallowed past the hard lump in her throat. “We are in the forest. On a trip away from home. There is a big green tent made of canvas. We each have our own sleeping bags, and mine is pink. The surface is…plasticky. Shiny. And I love it. My parents are there. My father and mother. Pappa and Mor. And my brother, Niklas. He’s small, smaller than me. He is three years old. He just had his birthday at home, before…before coming to this forest.
“We are walking in the forest and we come to a big field. Pappa has lunch in a knapsack on his back. The grass is so high I can barely see over it. Niklas is running through it. Laughing. I chase him.”
She stopped, her chest pulling tight. She wasn’t even certain what was going to come out of her mouth next.
“Then, Niklas is…gone. We can’t find him. Mor-mor asks me where he is but I don’t know. We all look. Pappa calls for him. His voice is loud. I try to find him. I run and I run. And Pappa is calling for me, too, but I have to find Niklas.
“At the edge of the field there is a woman. She is holding Niklas’s hand. He smiles when he sees me. I go to him. But when I try to take his hand the woman lets him go and grabs my hand. Hard. She’s pulling me away and I don’t want to go. But when I try to tell her she puts her hand over my mouth. I can’t breathe. I don’t know where Niklas is. Then, it is dark.”
She stopped, pulled in a deep breath. Her chest ached so badly she didn’t know how she was still breathing. Yet a part of her was still distant from everything, as though this memory belonged to another person.
“It’s okay, Angel,” Ruth soothed her.
And she knew it was. Because she was safe now. With Ruth. With Declan.
“Angel, do you know who the woman is?” Oran asked, keeping his voice low.
She nodded. “It is The Grandmother. She was old, even then.”
“Do you need to stop now?” Declan asked, his palm smoothing across her back, over and over, helping her to come back into her body, into the moment.
“I’m okay. I want to tell you.”
“What else do you remember?” Ruth asked gently.
“Everything is sort of…blurry after that. I think they probably kept me drugged for a long time. They taught me English.”
“Ah, I thought so,” Oran muttered.
“Thought what?” Angel asked.
“If the girl in this picture is you, Angel, then your native language would have been Norwegian. Your English is a little strange. Maybe because it wasn’t your first language. Maybe partly because of the way you were taught by the old woman.”
“Yes, that makes sense. Yes.”
“Were you always alone with this woman, The Grandmother?”
She turned to Declan. His face was calm but she could see his eyes were dark with emotion, glittering in the warm light of the kitchen.
“I saw the others only during the rituals, but they were hooded then. People would sometimes come to The Grandmother’s house and I would be sent to the garden or to my room. I would hear them talk. And I could hear activity every day on the other side of the garden walls, but they were too tall for me to see over.”
Declan watched her talking, felt the tension in her shoulders beneath his hand. It was always hard for him to hear her talk about her life with the old woman. But now, with this photograph to remind him how young she’d been when she’d been taken, it was even rougher. That, and the blank expression on her face. It spooked him, to see her like this. And a terrible thought occurred to him.
“Angel, this is important.” He leaned closer, his heart hammering in his chest. “Were there other girls there? Girls like you?”
“There were others. I was never allowed to see them, speak to them. But I sometimes heard their voices over the wall. And there was at least one other before me who was meant to be The Gift. The Grandmother would sometimes rant about how badly she’d failed. She told me I must do better.”
“Jesus.” His gut went tight.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Dec?” Oran asked him.
“Yeah. That without Angel, they’ll need another girl. If they haven’t taken one already.”
“We have to try to find these people.”
“Angel,” Ruth asked, “do you have any idea where you were? Where they kept you all these years?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea how far they traveled to bring me to those cliffs. I was too full of drugs. It could have been minutes or days. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Ruth soothed.
“I’ll never get over what they did to you,” Declan said, the words slipping out. He touched her hair, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was safe now. “Christ, I’m sorry. That must sound selfish as hell. You were the one who went through it.”
“It’s okay to feel something when those we love have been through pain,” Ruth said.
“Yeah, son, don’t be so hard on yourself. Look, I’m going to make some calls, send a few emails. Now that we have a little more information I want to see where it’ll lead. And we have enough to make it clear that these people are a very real and current threat. That this needs to be looked into right away.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
The two men exchanged a look, and he could feel the love between them, even if they were both still a bit guarded. It was there, buried beneath the rubble of their history together. The rubble of his own bitterness. But he was trying to change that.
Meanwhile, there was work to do. Work they could do together. Finding out who had done this to Angel, who had taken her fucking life from her. Hopefully before those people did it to anyone else.
He looked at Angel. The blank expression had eased, but there was a line of worry between her brows, her mouth tight. Ruth had her hand, was murmuring to her. He knew she was in good hands with Ruth. But all he wanted was to get her out of there. To get her home. Into his bed, tucked safely away next to him.
“Angel, you look a little worn-out,” Ruth said. “Why don’t you two get going?”
Declan nodded his thanks, stood up
and helped Angel from her chair. She still had a small limp, but it wasn’t that. He just couldn’t bear for her to be anyplace where he couldn’t touch her right now.
“Dad, call me if you find anything.”
“Of course. Angel, get some rest, honey.” Oran leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I know you’ll take good care of her, Dec.” His dad smiled at him.
“Always.”
He realized he did want to take care of her always. Forever. And he felt scared and relieved and a little foolish. He turned to help Angel on with her coat so his father wouldn’t see his face.
Just get her home. Get her alone.
Angel was quiet on the way home, forgoing her seat belt to snuggle up next to him, but he didn’t have the heart to say anything about it. He liked having her there. Liked that she came to him for that basic physical comfort.
A sleepy Liam greeted them when they got to the house. He got up from his favorite spot on the floor next to the desk, his stump of a tail wagging, then went right back as soon as he’d been petted.
“How are you doing?” he asked Angel as he helped her slip her coat from her shoulders.
“I’m all right. Tired. A little dazed.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead, then dropped it to her side. “I can’t even think right now about what this all might mean. It’s too much to take in.”
“Don’t then.” He rubbed her arms with his hands. Her skin was cool to the touch even through the sleeves of her dress. “Let me put you to bed. Just curl up and get warm.”
“Only if you’ll come with me, Declan. I don’t want to be alone now. Is that okay?”
“Of course.”
He took her to the bedroom, helped her undress, handling her carefully. He saw the scars that laced her skin, some so pale he knew they must have been there since childhood. He’d always accepted that they were simply a part of her, had to force himself not to think too much about how they’d gotten there. Reminding himself how strong she was helped. But tonight he saw her fragility, how the evening had overwhelmed her, made her raw. And it made him more fiercely protective of her than ever.
He helped her into her cotton nightgown and put her to bed, changed into his pajama bottoms and slid in next to her. She moved into his arms, her soft, fragrant body against his. They lay quietly together for some time, and he thought she might have dozed off. But when he shifted to look at her he found her eyes open, staring back at him in the dim moon glow coming through the window.
“Declan?”
“What is it, baby?”
“I don’t want to think anymore tonight.”
“Don’t then. Just sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep. I want to forget. Will you help me forget?”
She wrapped her arm around his body, pulling his hips toward hers, and slung one leg over him. The warm, damp press of her mound on his leg made him hard instantly. That and the smell of her hair. Flowers. Pure female. Purely a creature of the earth.
His.
He slipped her nightgown over her head, tore his pajama bottoms down over his legs. Holding himself up on his elbow for a few moments, he stared at her. She was bathed in moonlight, washed in gleaming silver. Her hair was spread out around her, long silken strands. So long they draped off the edge of the bed. And her face was so damn sweet, her mouth so lush, he could hardly stand not to kiss her.
He rolled over and did just that, opening her lips with his, his tongue slipping inside. She tasted faintly of the mint tea and honey she’d had earlier, which made his chest go tight for some reason he didn’t understand.
Love her. Have to have her.
He shifted until he was on top of her, her plush breasts soft against the wall of his chest. He could feel her nipples hardening as he kissed her. And when he slid one thigh between hers, he felt her wet heat. Incredible, how wet she got.
His cock pulsed with need. He kissed her harder, heard her quiet moans, felt her breath tangling in his own. He inhaled, inhaled her. And she opened for him and let him slip between her thighs.
Soft and hot and wet. Her pussy was a tight sheath around him as he pushed inside. She was warm in his arms, her mouth eager on his, her hands all over his skin. Her legs wrapped around him, her hips meeting his thrusts.
“Declan…more. I need you. I need you.”
“Baby…”
Together they moved, one breath, one body. Need and a sharp, simmering pleasure that rose, higher and higher. Until finally, they came, both of them crying out. And he felt a strange warmth that went beyond the pure physical pleasure of being inside her beautiful body.
Forever.
He would have to do something about that. But first, he had to catch his breath. Had to breathe her in once more. Had to sleep with her in his arms. And wake up to her beside him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE WEEKS PASSED IN A lovely blur. Angel was remembering more each day about her past: her time with The Grandmother, as well as her early years with her family. Yet she still felt disconnected from them, as if that life had happened to another person, someone she’d just met or had seen in a movie.
Meanwhile, she had Declan. And Ruth and Oran. They had spent some time with them, once going to Oran’s house for dinner, twice going to eat at a restaurant, all of them together. And she had spent a little time with Georgia, one of the waitresses at Bitsy’s. They’d had pie and coffee at Bitsy’s while Declan had gone to the hardware store. They’d talked about gardening and baking, and Georgia had promised to take her to a movie, something Angel hadn’t tried yet, but was eager to experience. Georgia was so nice to her. It was strange having a friend. She wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, but Georgia was patient with her.
Declan had taken her into town, and two of the local art galleries wanted her drawings to sell. She still couldn’t quite believe it. But she liked the idea of having some place in the world. A job. Declan told her she was an artist, a professional, which made her a little giddy.
She was still getting used to going places. She enjoyed it, but found she was easily overwhelmed. Ruth assured her that would ease with time. Meanwhile, she was happy in Declan’s house in the woods. Happy with Declan.
She knelt on the front porch now, Liam at her side, planting basil in a terra-cotta pot. She had a whole herb garden on the porch in planter boxes: thyme and rosemary and lemon balm. Oregano, sage and an enormous pot of lavender. It reminded her of her old garden. Except that this time, it was truly hers. Hers and Declan’s.
They’d grown closer. As her strength grew and she was able to do more she realized Declan’s view of her had shifted. He was still protective of her, but she felt they were on increasingly more equal footing. He had more confidence in her, and she had more confidence in herself. It felt good. Their relationship felt balanced, as though each of them had a place in it, their individual responsibilities to each other. That in itself was some sort of epiphany to her, something she had never imagined. But now that it was happening, it felt exactly right.
The sun was just beginning to lower in the sky, casting dusty light and shadow over the trees. She loved this time of year, midsummer. Loved that it was still light out at the end of the day, when she knew Declan would be coming home from work soon. Loved the warmth of the summer days. Sometimes she walked with Liam while Declan was at work, just the two of them. She appreciated Liam’s quiet companionship. He was her protector every bit as much as Declan.
She was happy.
She’d never known she could be happy. So much of her life had been about surviving the strange and terrible events she was put through over and over again. In between those times she had worked to find whatever tiny moments of joy she could: her garden growing, discovering a nest of baby birds, those rare nights when The Grandmother would really talk to her, mostly about the books she read. But now she had true happiness.
She couldn’t wait for Declan to come home from work each day. Loved even more those days he had off from work, when they would walk on
the beach together, or in the woods with Liam, or drive into town to eat at Bitsy’s or the small Italian restaurant down the highway, where Angel had tasted pizza for the first time. Some days they stayed at home, sitting on the porch together. She would draw while Declan worked with his wood, shaping it into animals and trees. Some days they spent hours in bed, getting up only long enough to eat. Those days were her favorite.
“Almost time for him to come home,” she told Liam, wiping her hair from her eyes with her arm, her heart beating a little faster.
And as she worked her hands into the soil, patting it down around the newly transplanted basil plants, Declan’s truck pulled into the drive.
Liam got up and ran to greet him as she dusted the potting soil from her palms. Declan got out, rubbed Liam’s head, then moved to the porch, smiling. He wrapped her up in his arms, kissed her, his lips soft on hers.
He pulled back, brushed his lips across her cheek, picked up her hand to kiss it, as he often did, and paused. “You’re dirty.”
“I am.”
“I like it when you’re dirty.”
She grinned at him, and he kissed her again.
“How was your day, baby?”
“Good. Trina from the Zimmer Gallery in town called. She wants more of my botanical prints.”
“That’s great.”
“I still can’t believe people buy them.”
“Why wouldn’t they? They’re beautiful.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve always done. The idea that anyone would pay money for something I love to do anyway. Actually, the whole concept of money is still a little strange to me.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get it. You’ve come so far already.”
“I feel that I have. That I’ve made good progress in adjusting to the world. But, Declan…do you ever imagine moving away from here? Living in a big city somewhere?”
“What? No. Never. I’d hate it. Why do you ask? Are you thinking of moving away, Angel?”
“I never want to live anywhere else, either. I want to stay here, where it’s quiet and safe. I know it’s that I’m still a bit afraid of the world. I think to some extent I always will be.”