“Registered?” She bounces so hard on the table I nearly fall off. “So I really can go to school?”
Cam nods and his eyes land on me for a second before he smiles at Sanda. “You really can.”
Her eyes tear up and she jumps off the table, but then hesitates and turns back to me. Reaching up, she pulls me down so she can whisper in my ear. “Is he safe?”
From the surprise I see in Cam’s eyes, I know he heard her. I don’t look away when I whisper back. “Yes, he’s a good guy.”
Before I realize what she’s doing, she turns and throws both arms around Cam’s neck. I can hear her quiet whisper against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
He barely had a chance to move his arm out of the way before she attacked him. Now he sits with his mouth wide open and his eyes on me. When he gently wraps both hands across her back, his expression shows me that he understands more than I believed he could. He pats her back with one hand, and I see a familiar pain in his eyes. I know very little about him, but maybe his life hasn’t been as easy as I thought.
I move my lips to echo her words, but no sound comes out. “Thank you.”
Cam gives Sanda a small squeeze but keeps his eyes on me as he answers us both. “You’re very welcome.”
13
By our second week of Krav Maga, I can see Sanda’s confidence growing after every session. My wound is better. It’s beginning to scar over. I suppose we’re both scarring over. And I’m starting to worry about how normal it seems when Cam touches me.
He’s made a habit of walking us home afterward. I don’t mind. Something has me feeling a little shaky lately. Probably simple paranoia, but it makes me more comfortable to have him nearby, just the same.
Sanda skips along in front of us. She learned it from Rachel. It’s her new favorite thing to do. She calls it “happy walking,” and Rachel giggles when she says that but doesn’t correct her. If not for the scars curling down Sanda’s arms, I’d probably think she looks like any other kid. Playing with Rachel has been so good for her. It makes me happy. Lately, I’m only a little sad when I think of Sam and wish he could’ve had a friend like that.
“What’s on your mind?” Cam doesn’t take his eyes off Sanda, but his focus shifts to me.
“Nothing. The past.” A shiver runs through me. Even now, the strange prickling of someone watching, someone following us, nags at the edges of my awareness. I glance around, but there are many people on the street and no one seems to pay particular attention to us. Shrugging it off, I kick a pebble along the sidewalk and try to answer as truthfully as possible while still not telling him anything. “Things I shouldn’t think about.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re over. Why should I?”
Cam doesn’t answer for half a block, and I focus my attention on Sanda, thinking the conversation is over. When he finally speaks it seems like his mind is on something so far away he can’t touch it—or he doesn’t want to. “My aunt Jessie always tells me if I can’t deal with things enough to move forward, they’ll never truly be in the past.”
I try to laugh it off but stop when I hear how cold and biting it sounds. “Your aunt sounds like she should write for one of the self-help shows I’ve seen on late-night TV.”
He turns his eyes to me and his focus is right back on the here and now. “I’ve been in enough fights to pay attention to scars.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “What happened to Sanda?”
I know he’s really asking about both of us. I’ve seen the look in his eyes when he notices the burn marks above my right elbow, or the way my left arm won’t straighten all the way anymore thanks to a particularly bad break. Drawing in a slow breath and counting to ten, I choose my words carefully.
“Drop it. Whatever it is, I’m sure she doesn’t want to explain it to someone who is practically a stranger.” My words are as hard and icy as an avalanche as they spill out of my mouth. I’d meant a stranger to Sanda, but I can’t find the words to clarify. Cam’s spine stiffens.
“Consider it dropped, but you still owe me—”
“I know.” I want to apologize, but I don’t know how.
We’re half a block from our apartment, but he stops walking. “I better get back. Wouldn’t want to get in trouble by walking a stranger home. See you guys on Thursday.”
Neither Sanda nor I get a chance to respond before he turns and jogs toward the studio. A jagged stab of regret strikes me straight in the heart, and I wonder how I should’ve responded. We stand staring at his retreating back until he’s out of sight, and then Sanda grabs my hand and begins walking again.
“He’s not bad.” Sanda’s voice is soft and thoughtful.
“What do you mean?” I struggle to shift from under the sudden weight of anxiety that threatens to bury me. I feel safer with him, but when he’s gone I feel more vulnerable and I hate that. Lately, my fears shout at me whenever I’m alone and I don’t understand why.
Hurry. Something isn’t right.
Sam’s words make every hair on my body stand on end. The sensation of being watched only grows stronger now that Cam is out of sight. I squint at people across the street. Their movements seem anxious, frantic. The buildings of Philly tower over us like the gods of tragedy I’ve read about in a dusty old book Nana had snuck into the attic. Never intervening, only observing as we crumble beneath the weight of our own mistakes. Shaking off the ominous air, I pick up the pace.
“Cam is one of the good guys and he’s nice to you.” Sanda widens her eyes at me as she hurries to keep up. They seem to see through me in a way most people can’t. “Why aren’t you nice back?”
I sigh and it burns a little in my throat. “Because I’m not a nice person.”
She shakes her head and stares at the bottom step. “No, that’s not it.”
Smiling, I guide her up the stairs to our apartment building. “Well, let me know if you figure it out.”
* * *
Sanda makes cute snoring noises when she’s asleep, but not when she’s having one of her nightmares. Bad dreams make her whimper, cry, and even scream.
I stand in the doorway to our bedroom and listen. Her snoring reassures me. She’s alive, breathing and happy. No one will come to steal her away while I sleep. I won’t wake up and have to bury her cold body under a tree.
I walk into the bathroom and glance again at the only mirror left up in my apartment. I’ve never dyed my hair before, but I may have to learn how. My blond roots will show at some point and asking Lily for help doesn’t seem like a good plan. I feel bad about mentioning her sister, and even more terrible about breaking the picture, but I don’t know how to fix it. I’m not sure it can be fixed.
After taking a shower, I wrap up in my robe and towel off my hair as I walk into the living room. Pacing helps me think, and I love that I can move anywhere in my apartment and never have to duck. There were only a few places in the attic where I could stand upright. Nana made me stand in them as often as I could so my back wouldn’t start to curve from hunching too much. Sam never got tall enough to need to duck.
I move to the window and watch the street below. It’s late now and there are very few people outside. A couple walks near the corner, holding hands and smiling. I wonder what it’s like to be them, to trust someone with your heart that way. Are they foolish?
A tiny red glow in the park across the street catches my attention. It’s dim and then moves a little and glows brighter. A cigarette, I think. It’s a man standing under the tree and smoking a cigarette. My heart pounds loud in my ears as I back away from the window. It’s probably a coincidence. It’s just a man having a smoke in the park, nothing to be afraid of.
Ducking down, I sneak along the wall to the light switches. I turn off every light in the apartment and then creep back to the window. Careful to stay far enough away so that he can’t see me, I peer into the darkness where he smokes and waits. He never turns away from my building. It’s hard to tell from here, but the angle of his fa
ce seems to be aimed up toward the top floor, my floor, my window.
He throws the butt of his cigarette at the ground, turns and walks away. Once he leaves the shade of the tree, I see the same low hat and high collar I saw in the booth at the restaurant. An icy hand clamps down on my chest and makes it hard to breathe.
I don’t know who he is, but he’s real. He’s here … and he’s watching me.
14
I blink a few more times, trying to make my tear ducts start working to soothe my sandpaper eyes. I’m perched in the same position I’ve been in for hours. I’m not sure how many, but the sky outside has turned from black to navy and is rapidly progressing to violet. I don’t know why I’m still here. I watched him walk away, but I know I can’t sleep now. The idea of going to bed while the man could still come back haunts me.
The ghosts of my past and present keep me stuck in one place. In some ways, they always have.
Instinct and logic are too busy creating a battlefield in my head to allow sleep anyway. Logic tells me I’m taking this too far. The man might not have been here for me. Maybe he was just a man out for a smoke in the park. Maybe he was just staring at my window because he saw me before the lights went out and was watching to see if I … if I what? If I’d left? If I’d gone to sleep?
I let out a shaky breath. Even the good and logical scenarios still make the man sound like a thief—or something worse.
My gut tells me something else. He was standing there for me, but why? Who is he? For the millionth time in the last hour, I run through my short list of possibilities: the Father, Brothers, the police. The figure was too broad-shouldered to be the Mother, plus she didn’t smoke like my other two main suspects. The Father should be dead, the Parents should both be dead—and Brothers, too. I’ve left a trail of dead bodies in my wake, which makes the police the most logical answer, but there was something about the figure that seemed far too menacing for that.
They are dead. They are dead. They are dead.
Sam’s mantra isn’t helping things. It sets my nerves on edge even more than they already are. I almost wish he’d go back to the humming he’d been doing for the last few hours.
I shiver and grab a throw from the back of the couch. Pulling the scratchy material across my shoulders, I lean my head against the window frame and wait for the sun. Wait for the light to bring sense back into my life, to drive the fear away once again.
* * *
He’s here. The Father squeezes my arm too tight. He wakes me from a dreamless sleep to a world of pain. He stands over me, stares at me, but doesn’t see me. His hair is perfect, every strand in place. His clothes are spotless as always. He wears a raincoat when he cuts us. Wouldn’t want to let any of our blood stain his shirt. Everything about him and his life is orderly and well kept. Everything except for Sam and me. We are the dirty things. His secrets.
I reach out for Sam’s small fingers beside me, but he isn’t there. My heart pounds in my head and I bolt upright, my gaze searching his hiding places. The corner where he hides with his Piper-Puppet. The scrap of blanket he puts over his head when we play together. Everything is in its place—everything except for Sam.
They took him while I slept and he isn’t back yet. If the Father has come for me … why didn’t he bring back Sam?
“Get up.” The Father’s voice spills contempt and disgust. “You have to bury the Boy.”
Getting to my feet, I blink and try to process his words. He walks out and comes back carrying Sam. He hands over my brother’s small, lifeless frame. His skin is so pale, so cold, and I can see what killed him. One cut on his arm is too much, too deep, and he is too frail. His body gave up fighting to repair itself time after time.
“You should’ve made him stronger. When the fight ends, so does the fun.” The Father yawns, stretches, and walks down the attic stairs. “But you know that. You understand me. You always have.”
I barely hear his words because in my head my voice is screaming. Again and again, never halting, never even breathing.
IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME.
* * *
My heart explodes with pain and I reach out for the figure in front of me. Everything I feel and see drowns in wave upon wave of maddening rage. I will kill the Father again if he’s back. I’ll kill him over and over for what he did.
“Charlotte?” The small whimpering voice freezes me, and I blink my eyes against the bright light streaming in through the window. “Please don’t.”
Stop, Piper! No more hurting.
Sam’s voice chills me and my heart skips a beat. He’s dead. The Father said … but wait …
Sanda swims through my vision for a moment before settling into place before me. She clutches the sides of her pajamas with her hands and her whole body is trembling. My hands are raised toward her, the ends of my fingers curved into claws. I can see it in her eyes, the fear I’ve seen in Sam’s so many times. Someone is coming after her, someone is going to hurt her—and this time it’s me.
I drop my arms to my sides as horror rolls through my body like a tsunami, leaving me bruised and devastated.
“I’m so sorry, Sanda.” Every part of me aches to hug her. I need to show her, and myself, that I’m not one of them. Not one of the people that cause pain.
But I do cause pain. I just hope it’s only to the people that deserve it and that hurting them doesn’t turn me into them. I clench my hands by my thighs. I can’t touch her, not now, not yet. She needs time.
“I was having a nightmare.”
Her shaking subsides some, but her lower lip trembles when she speaks again. It pains me to know I’ve caused it. “Why did you sleep out here?”
“Good question,” I say, stretching. My body aches all over as I ease myself up onto the couch. I steal one last peek out the window. Even in the bright sunlight I need to see that he isn’t back before I can let myself relax. “I was looking out the window, making sure we were safe, and I fell asleep.”
Sanda sits on the couch, too, but on the opposite end.
“I’m very sorry,” I say again, and wait for her dark eyes to meet mine.
She doesn’t turn away like I expect. “Why did Cam call you Piper?”
I should’ve seen this question coming, but somehow it still surprises me. I want to protect Sanda from my past, but right now she needs to remember we’re both the same. The truth will help her see that.
“Because Piper is my old name.” I scoot closer to her on the couch. She doesn’t back away. “Like you have Sanda and your new name, Sandra. I have Piper and Charlotte.”
She nods like this is what she was expecting to hear. Her lip has stopped trembling and I feel a bit better. After a moment of silence, she crawls across the couch and sits beside me. Her head rests against my chest and her breathing slows. “I’m glad you escaped. I’m glad you’re Charlotte now.”
“Me, too.” I rest my chin against her head and wrap an arm around her, trying hard to ignore the chill in my stomach that makes me wonder if I escaped at all.
* * *
I stand surrounded by charred wooden beams. They rise from the ash at my feet like a fossilized dragon claw straight out of fiction, waiting for the perfect moment to crush me. Every time the wind blows I can’t keep from coughing. Somehow what happened in Brothers’s apartment is poisoning my new world. It’s a dead wasteland in the beating heart of the city. It is venom snaking through the veins of my new life and killing it cell by cell.
The rooms are barely recognizable and I only have a few minutes. I’m dreading what comes next. Meeting with Cam is the last thing I want to do right now, especially because it’s time to make good on my promise. I finally have to answer his questions.
Sam didn’t want to come back here. He seems to think if we pretend the man we saw outside last night was a dream, then it will all go away.
I’ve tried that before. It never works. Nightmares never just stay in my head.
I shove aside a beam with the toe of my shoe, a
nd a shudder runs through me at what is exposed beneath it. Blinking at the sunlight glinting off the blade of a knife, I wrap my arms tighter around myself. I’m standing where his closet used to be, the torture closet. Using the side of my foot, I push a pile of ash over the blade, burying it along with everything else from this apartment that should remain hidden.
No one put this fire out before it was too late. No fireman rushed in to save him as others worked to dash out the flames. If there was any justice in this world, I’d be certain he died an excruciating death.
But there’s never been any justice for me. Only what I’ve created for myself.
I pick my steps carefully in the shifting debris as I make my way back to the street. My chest loosens. It’s easier to breathe now that I’m standing on the other side of the road. Could Brothers have somehow survived this? I walk down the street backward until the cancerous building is out of sight. Something won’t let me turn my back on where the monster lived.
15
Cam asked me to meet him at Angelo’s, and I shift uncomfortably in the lobby as I wait. I avoid coming in on my days off because the restaurant is always busy and I feel guilty I’m not helping. That and I spend most of my time with Sanda. I’m not sure I want everyone there to know about Sanda yet. The fewer people that know that I suddenly have a young girl living with me, the safer she’ll be.
Cam walks out of the storage room and hangs the inventory count sheet up on its usual hook outside the door. I groan, but as much as I try to resist, he brings out a smile in me. Grinning back, he loosens the collar on his black shirt as he walks over. Nothing ever looks bad on him. He could wear overalls and somehow still be hot.
“Hi.” His dimples seem to pop out at me like miniature black holes when he grins, irresistibly drawing me in.
“Are we staying here?” I glance toward the host station, where Lily is watching us and whispering something to Gino. A movement in the corner catches my eye and I see Oscar wave at me with a smirk.
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