I think I’ve come to figure that out. A sane person wouldn’t lock a fifteen-year-old up in a shed. “I can see that,” I say softly, backing up, needing some space. Needing space from myself at this point. I drop down against a tree, pulling a bottle of water out of my backpack, grateful for Sin raiding Snatcher’s fridge before we left. “Keep going.”
“My father inflicts pain onto others as they have done to him. You were the retribution—the revenge on your mother for taking me from him,” he says. “He took you from her.”
“I was taken as a punishment to my mother—the woman who wanted nothing but to devote her life to helping others?” I confirm, mostly for myself. This senseless purpose for my condemning is because someone wanted revenge against Mom. Not me.
“I don’t understand this. If you didn’t kill your mother, then—” His chest heaves in and out as if he’s contemplating the answer to the question he’s hoped I wouldn’t ask. “Who did?”
“No one killed her,” he tells me. “She’s not dead; although, she might as well be. I’ll likely never see her again. And if I did, I’m not sure how I’d feel, facing the fact that she is alive and I’ve been held here as a prisoner for five years.”
The wind has been stolen from my lungs. The words melted on my tongue, and my thoughts are spinning like a top. She’s alive. No one killed her. And no one knows this?
“You said she was buried behind the shed,” I remind him.
“She is. I buried some of her belongings—things that made her still feel like she existed—into the dirt, so I could forget about her. She isn’t buried in a literal sense, but the thought of her as a mother is buried behind the shed.” What mother does this to her child?
“Sin, if she isn’t dead, where is she?”
“I don’t know. She abandoned me here with nothing but a fucking note—a note telling me to bury some of her belongings and then inform my father that I had found her dead. She said he would blame me for her death and I would be removed from Chipley and tried as a minor. She told me to plead innocent. Instead, I was diagnosed with psychosis and held in solitary confinement at Applebrook. She thought her plan would work. She thought an apology for bringing me to Chipley would make me feel better. She thought that if she admitted her mistakes, I would forgive her. She admitted that everything she had done was wrong, but that her plan was the only way both of us could survive.”
I’m trying my hardest to comprehend all of this, but I can’t. Why couldn’t his mother just leave on her own and take Sin with her? If she was a caretaker, she should have been able to come and go as she pleased. “If she wasn’t a prisoner, then why?”
“She knew too much. When she asked to leave, Jackson Crownwell made a deal with her. Her plan that she left me on that note was part of that deal. The plan revolved around no one finding out about Chipley.” Sin takes a seat beside me and wraps his arm around my neck, placing a kiss on my temple.
“That’s why your father assumed you murdered her?” I ask, leaning my head against his chest.
“Once I was brought back to Chipley after another three-year sentence at Applebrook, I found my father. I unleashed on him. I blamed him for everything. I told him he was the reason she was dead. I tried to convince him that he murdered her. It was my form of revenge on him, I guess. My mother brought us to Chipley in the first place so we could get away from him. Then he found us, and I still don’t know how.” He closes his eyes and nods his head, like he’s trying to get his thoughts straight. “You know, when you lose your mind, you become weak enough to be convinced of something you didn’t do? That’s what I did to him. Because he deserved it.”
“Everyone still thinks your mother is dead?” I ask.
“Yes, and no one will ever know anything differently.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. I’m sorry because he’s just like me. He didn’t ask for this. He was more or less taken against his will, too.
“You shouldn’t be sorry. I should be sorry and you should hate me.”
Hate? This wasn’t his fault. He didn’t ask for his. I didn’t ask for this. Life was stripped away from both of us and I can’t hate him for that. “Then why do I think I love you?” I ask.
“Love? What the hell is love? Abandonment? Is that love? No, you don’t. You don’t love someone after a week. I know that much. You love that you’re not alone. You love that you’re no longer in the dark. You love that there is some kind of screwed up light of hope out there. But, let me assure you, Reese, you don’t love me. No one can love me.”
“Stop,” I yell. “Love is when someone will put their life on the line for someone else. Love is offering food to someone when you’re starving. Love is giving someone hope, even when we both know there is none. Maybe this kind of love isn’t the type where I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t breathe, but this love is one I don’t think I could survive without. It doesn’t matter what you say to me, you won’t change the way I feel.”
Sin grabs his bag and throws it over his shoulders, angered and unsettled. He doesn’t look at me and if he wants to get offended by the truth, he can. “Don’t let your feelings get you killed,” he spouts off, spitting a mouthful into the dirt. “Love gets people killed.”
“Like who?” I run up to his side and step in front of him, continuing my strides backwards. “Who did love get killed?”
“Look around, Reese!”
“Yeah, we’re surrounded by nothing except hundreds of criminally insane assholes fifteen miles away. So again, who was killed in the name of love?”
“Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, and Orpheus and Eurydice. That’s who.”
I can’t help but to laugh, partially because in what world could he compare us to Romeo and Juliet? This is no romance. This is love growing from boredom of hatred. “Who are Orpheus and Eurydice?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He takes me by the shoulders and pushes me off to the side so he can continue walking.
“You know one second you’re pounding me into the dirt, moaning in my ear and the next you’re—you’re…you know what, screw this. Screw you. Screw this goddamn town and everything and everyone in it. If you want to be an asshole, go be an asshole, but I’m not going to be following you around like a lost puppy while you do.” He continues walking as if I didn’t say anything. As if I don’t matter. We’re probably going to die out here and I can’t even die next to someone who knows how to be a decent human being.
I stop. I’m done. I don’t even know what we’re walking toward. Is it the simple idea that there might be living animals out here? Because I haven’t even heard a single bird or cricket chirp. I haven’t seen an insect or any sign that they exist. The trees are thinning out and I only see open space ahead—something I’ve grown to hate. After being confined for so long, all I dreamt about was open space, but now it’s like there’s too much of it and I feel like I’m free falling into oblivion. Being contained felt safe, secure, and presumable. Maybe I’m just losing my mind.
“I don’t do the chasing game, Reese. If you want to stick with me, keep walking,” he shouts back at me. I wasn’t stopping so he’d stop, too. I wasn’t stopping to get a reaction out of him. I stopped because I’m not sure I can be around him anymore. And as much as I thought he had all of these magical answers—ways out of this purgatory, I’m seeing now that he’s no more knowledgeable on a form of escape than I am.
I’ve made up my mind. I’m stopping. I don’t want to follow him anymore. “Sin,” I yell over to him, unsure if he can hear me with how far away he is now.
But he does. He turns around, continuing to walk backwards. “What?”
“I’m not going with you.”
“So you’re just going to sit here until you rot and die? Good plan, smarty.”
“I don’t want to keep fighting against this pre-determined ending. I give up.” Is that what I’m doing? Am I giving up? An hour ago, I refused to give up…but I was wrong. Is it the starvation that’s fina
lly making its way into my brain? Or the thirst my entire body is now quenching? There really is no way out, and I’m not sure how much more I can fight to pound this conclusion into my head. I’m tired. I’m weak. And this man hates me more than I hate myself. Maybe I am giving up. I got out of the shed. That’s what I wanted to do. That’s what I survived to accomplish. I just never assumed how much worse life could be on the outside of those wooden walls. I’m ready to call this what it is. What it has been for the last three years—a slow, painful, and miserable death.
I drop my bag to the ground, feeling the weight of my body anchor to the dirt. There are no trees to lean on now, there’s just my bag, the ground and the sun. This red dirt will eventually swallow me up and take me into the earth where I must belong because I sure as hell don’t belong here anymore. I rest my back against the backpack and lift my face up to the sky, feeling the scorching sun have its way with my already burnt skin.
Closing my eyes, I try to imagine Mom’s face. I try to remember the happiness Mom and Dad had for each other before he died—the love that I hoped I would feel some day. Most of the girls I was friends with in school had divorced parents and stepparents and horror stories involving their largely blended family. I knew I was lucky to have two parents who didn’t have to put me through that. Although luck only runs so deep since Dad was taken from us at such a young age. It was like the world was punishing us for having lives that were too perfect. Well, the world won again…our lives were destroyed. Mom’s life has been destroyed twice, and mine twice. Now, the official destruction will occur as I lie here staring up into the ball of fire that most people consider to be spectacular. It’ll be the death of me. It’ll burn me alive, and I could only be so lucky to starve to death first.
Heaviness coats my chest, like someone were sitting on me or stealing the air out of my lungs. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? I try to move my lips and my tongue, but neither budges. I even try to focus on the burning sensation covering my exposed skin, but I don’t feel that either. My back doesn’t ache and my feet aren’t sore like they were. I feel like I’m lying on a pillow in the clouds, floating into oblivion. If this is what dying is supposed to feel like, I wish I had stopped fighting years ago.
8
Chapter Eight
SIN
I’m not turning back for her. That’s what chicks like to do. They crave attention and they want you to go running after them so they can play up the dramatic bullshit. Love. Fuck love.
I don’t know how long I’ve been walking since Reese stopped following me, but I’m guessing now that she was pretty serious about giving up on this idea of finding food and water. I thought it was just for attention; although, if that were the case, I would have assumed she’d pick up her pace when she realized I wasn’t playing into her game and turning back for her. Twisting around to see if I can catch a glimpse, I see now that there is no sight of her for as far as I can look, which right now, is probably at least a couple of miles. I can’t turn back for her. Not now. I need to get water and food. That’s why we were coming out here. I’m surprised as hell that I’ve made it this far without croaking, but dammit to hell, I’m not giving up now. I can smell the water. Or I hope it’s water. Drinkable water. She didn’t realize how close we were.
I come up on a small creek…a creek thin enough to step over, but there’s water. God, could I be lucky enough to find some fish or frogs in this murk? I dip my hand in slowly, testing it for the flesh eating crap that’s in the water closer to the camp. Nothing so far. I grab a bottle out of my backpack and dunk it in. Pulling it out, I admire the floating particles of dirt and whatever other sediment is in this crap. I place the bottle down and search through my bag for the iodine I grabbed from Dad’s dresser. That stuff is like gold in this town.
As I pour the iodine into the bottle and close it up to let it sit, I find myself looking back down the path I had been walking, wondering what the hell Reese is really up to. I heard her say she was giving up and I hadn’t thought much about it until now. What did she mean by that? She was preaching to me just an hour ago about how we can’t give up. How we’ve come this far and have to keep fighting. It seems odd she would just flip a switch. Although, adding in the combination of starvation, dehydration, and exhaustion, God knows what’s going on with the signals in her brain. God knows what’s going on in mine, or what has been going on in mine for years. What has this place done to me?
Never mind. I know what she meant by that and I ignored her. I ignored her because deep down, I know damn well, I am my father and I refuse to let anyone know how much alike we are.
I screw the cap back on my water and drop it into my bag. Dammit, I swore to myself I wouldn’t do this with her. I swore. Now I’m chasing after her like a moron.
She hasn’t once struck me as the type to be brave enough to tough this place out alone. I know she has been trying to put on this whole tough girl act, but I see right through it, or I thought I saw right through it. I’m second-guessing myself now, though. Maybe the girl is batshit crazy.
I continue walking for what feels like way longer than the time it took to leave her, but there’s no sight of her anywhere. No footprints, nothing.
As I see the tree line approach in the distance, I know for sure she was still following me past the point of where the trees ended.
Shit.
I pick up the speed, feeling the heaviness in my head weigh me down more than it already has been. Please don’t tell me I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. The closer I get, the more confirmation I have. My legs are carrying me at a speed I didn’t think I was capable of at this point. I’m fearful of the damage that has already been done, and I’m fearful for the damage that might be irreversible.
Shouting as loud as I can, I startle every one of them to divert their attention from her to me. She’s screaming. She’s alive. Thank God. I whip my pistol out and start popping it at every moving target. There’s a newbie, she looks like she was just caught robbing a bank, except this is nothing like robbing a bank. Her hands are up in the air, dried blood encircles her mouth and her eyes are large with fear, for good reason since my pistol is aimed directly at her head.
This is the fear I was trying to help Reese avoid. The desperation which follows starvation—cannibalism. All of them have fled, except for those who I shot dead. I let the woman, still staring at me with unblinking eyes, go. “Get the hell out of here!” I shout to her.
Reese is writhing in pain, lying ten feet in front of me. It takes me a second to analyze the landscape of damage covering her body. Bite marks, deep flesh wounds over fatty areas, blood dripping from her nose, likely from the fight she probably put up. There were at least eight of them, and only one of her. Slowly, I walk over, guilt saturating every fiber in my body. I am an asshole. I can’t control my moods, my behavior, or my attitude and this is what it’s caused. I don’t have enough medical supplies to treat her. I barely had enough to treat my head and I’m afraid we’ve used most of what we had for that.
I drop to my knees, scooping my hand under her head. I want to tell her I’m sorry, but it’s too late for an apology. I want to tell her I was wrong. I want to tell her I love her, too, and that it’s making me lose every piece of sense I thought I had left. People don’t love each other after a week, but I think I loved her since the moment she tried to protect me in the hospital five years ago. She didn’t know me then, yet she still believed I was good. Since that day, she’s the only one who has believed I am good. But the truth is clear, I’m not good. I’m as evil as everyone else here.
“Hey,” I say softly, nervous to hear her words. Nervous to see the look in her eyes when she opens them. She thinks she’s seen it all now. She probably thought being kidnapped and locked up in a shed for three years was the most horror one could experience in a lifetime, and she should have been right about that. Survivors are supposed to get their time to share their story, grieve, and work on a form of survival after the storm has pa
ssed. I wanted that for her. The second I found her in the shed, I wanted her to have a survival story, but in truth, I’m not sure either one of us will have anything like that. If I manage to escape, I’ll be nothing more than a runaway convict, regardless of doing nothing to earn that title.
Reese’s eyes remain closed as her head twists from side to side. Her face is crunched in pain and her arms and legs are trembling. Her bare stomach is contracting and expanding quickly and each time she exhales, trickles of blood drip from her open wounds. I open my bag and pull out the last of the medical supplies, debating which of her wounds are worse. “Reese,” I whisper softly.
She struggles to open her eyes and tears follow. “I wanted to die,” she says. “That’s all I wanted.”
“You don’t want that. You don’t.” Of course she does. That’s all I’ve wanted, too.
“Yes, I do. Sin, please.”
“Please, what?” No. No. Don’t you fucking say it.
“Do it,” she growls through a groan. “End me.”
“No! Are you out of your mind?” I shout.
“Yeah, I am. So are you. Now do it.”
I take my pistol back out, my hand shaking as I tighten my fingers around the pistol’s grip. “This is what you want?” I press the barrel up to her temple, watching as her eyes clench tightly. “Open your eyes so I can see them one last time.”
She does and I lean down and press my lips against hers, feeling her mouth tighten and tremble. Her tears fall between our noses and now tears are about to fall from my eyes, as well. I can’t do this. I don’t care how much she wants this. “Do it,” she cries. “Don’t drag it out.”
“This isn’t some sick love story, Reese. I’m not going to end you and then finish myself off so we can both rot here under the sun until some of those fucks come back here and dispose of our bodies to feed their starvation.”
Her eyes unclench and she looks up at me, scared—but I think it’s fear that what I’m saying is true—that I won’t end her life. “Then give me the gun.” She grits her teeth and reaches up to take it from my hand. “Give it to me, Sin.”
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