by Jesse Grey
“Don’t you even stumble in front of me and suggest that the in-accurate idea of loving me kept you constantly berating us over the past couple of months.” Bridge let his crying take control, talking with heavy sob-ready malevolence. “You didn’t love me.”
“I did, I still do!”
“No, you don’t!” He countered. “You don’t obliterate the life of the one you love!”
On the ground, Ben was on his knees clutching his swollen and aching jaw. During the violent but well deserved excursion, neither of them heard another car pulling up in between their own separate means of travel. Ben boosted to his feet at the same time that Salem ran up to them in full athletic stride.
“Salem, get out of here.”
He was surprised by Bridge’s immediate discharge of his appear-ance, especially when the other guy with Bridge seemed incredibly seething as his hand left his cheek.
“Is this the reason you refused to give us another shot? You’ve al-ready got some dumb tatted jock to bang?”
“Dumb jock?” Salem scoffed. “I graduated as salutatorian, ass-hole.”
“Did you do it?” Bridge neglected the show of testosterone be-tween the two romantic interests. “Did you kill Blanche?”
“What? I’m not a murderer, Bridge.” Ben said, out of breath at the allegation. “You really think I’m capable of killing someone?”
“You’ve been stalking my friends for months, set me up for murder.” Bridge issued without doubt. “I believe you’re capable of anything at this point.”
“This guy is your stalker?”
“Salem, please.” The breath Bridge liberated was reaching a new level of devastation. “I can deal with this. Just get the police.”
“Wait.” A plea sizzled Ben’s tone as he took a cautious step to-ward Bridge. Salem stayed a few feet from them, something the eld-est of the trio held on a pedestal of caution, extra speech ready on Ben’s tongue. “There’s something you don’t know. I know you hate me, but I can help you find some closure. I figured out the associa-tion that both Emmy Walker and Frankie Ellery have to Sumner.” A slight shiver of a scoff touched Ben’s lips. “I solved the mystery of Sumner Shadows.”
Regardless of the hostility he held for Ben, Bridge yearned for an answer to what they’d been running around searching for. Unfortu-nately for both parties, an easy solution to the motives of the infa-mous maniac would never be delivered by the stalker known as Ben Magnus. The reason being that a gunshot gnawed its way through the night.
None of them possessed a gun in any aspect. Instead, the weapon sounded from a reasonable distance. But the bullet protruded Ben’s flesh, striking him in the back and worming a path out of his chest just as it nicked a corner of his heart. Bridge screamed, over Ben be-ing shot right in front of him and over the bullet hitting his own shoulder harshly, falling to the ground, the bullet finding a new home in his skin.
“Bridge!”
Salem caught Bridge by grabbing him underneath the armpits, doing his darnedest to get them out of there before whoever had shot Ben, and inadvertently Bridge, came to see the rewards of their devi-ance.
“Wait,” Bridge babbled breathlessly, limp as Salem literally dragged him toward his Eclipse. “Ben was shot…”
“I’m worried about you.” Salem grunted from his straining labor. “Now try and stay with me.” He did his best to keep Bridge from slipping from his stronghold.
“I deserve this,” he heard Bridge spew as they made it to Salem’s car, having no real choice but to, as gently as possible, throw Bridge into his car. He coughed as blood burrowed out of his shoulder blade. “This is my punishment for killing that woman.”
Alarm presented itself, Salem momentarily lapsing in action at the daring direct in dialogue Bridge was uttering, but it was probably due to his GSW. It must have been. Salem closed the passenger door, clearing his mind of absolutely everything except for rushing Bridge to the hospital, the latter’s blood threatening to exit the throbbing wound until his entire supply of AB negative tarnished Salem’s leather interior.
Thanks to Abram’s instructions, they used the back entrance to Sumner’s basement bedroom to weasel their way into Shadows Manor. It also helped that both Celia and Hendrick weren’t home to see them breaking and entering. Mercer and Kirby got through Sumner’s bedroom easily, astounded that Sumner’s family hadn’t done more than locking the door that lead to the passage that mar-ried Shadows Manor and Arclan Asylum. After busting the lock, their trek down the passage consisted of sprinting until they were met with a much more baroque chaining of the door leading into the kitchen of the asylum.
“Dammit.” Mercer exhaled. “We’re so close.”
“Mercer, this is life and death.” Kirby took the miniscule steps to the newly chained door. She got down on the floor at the door, lying on her back until she could kick the door down. Swirls of grunts predated Kirby literally kicking the door in, all of her might summoned to perform the action. A perfectly proportioned hole was left when Kirby’s kicks ceased to take place in the wood. Mercer ran up to the steps to help her up, pulling her into him once she was standing.
“Is it wrong that I’m excessively attracted to you right now?”
Laughing ebbed from them without restriction, but Kirby pressed away from Mercer by using his chest as leverage. “Later, Meadows. Come on, we need to move faster.”
They crawled through the jagged opening, traveling from the concealed closet to the kitchen. Luckily, there was a Halloween event occurring for the patients, so security was reserved for the grand hall to protect the patients. Slipping into the solitary block proved to be more effortless than previously foreseen, with only one guard tend-ing to the double doors labeled in bold stoic letters as solitary.
“Help!” Kirby cried from around the corner, surprising her boy-friend.
“Kirby, what are you doing?” He whispered harshly.
“Providing a distraction.” She nodded. “Get to Frankie, I’ll lose him and meet you back here.”
She went running full speed in front of the guard, shrieking for help over a faux matter as she disappeared down another corridor.
“Hey, wait!” The security guard heeded, running after to her with lazy gumption.
Making great haste, Mercer tossed back the doors of solitary, sleuthing through the elongated hall. He rapidly checked the paper cards naming which patient dwelled in that respective room. Frankie’s room was the second to last on the left.
Peering in, Mercer was suddenly glad that he and Kirby had wiped their makeup off so they wouldn’t scare her any more than their unannounced visit already would. He looked through the tiny window and saw a fragile and feeble redhead sitting on her dilapi-dated twin mattress. He slid the window to the right, opening up to a tiny screen allowing them to converse.
“Frankie Ellery?”
“Who are you?” She leapt of the bed in slow motion, not grant-ing herself to trust a man with paint remnants on his face. “How do you know who I am?”
The double doors swung open violently, Mercer’s heart plunging until the intruder was exposed to be Kirby. His relief followed a gulp, thankful that it wasn’t the guard.
“We have about five minutes before he circles back here.”
Bowing his head, Mercer regarded Frankie again as Kirby made her way over to join them.
“Frankie, I want to help.” He admitted. “We’re people who are trying to understand your relationship with Blanche Baxxen.”
“Blanche? Is she okay?”
They failed at swapping a knowing glance, a glare Frankie could still observe through the window.
“She needs your help.” Kirby said, temporarily covering their ali-bi. “We need to know what information you have on Sumner Shad-ows.”
“Sumner,” Frankie spoke his name like it held a hex and carried the aroma of formaldehyde. “Blanche was terrified of him.” She stat-ed. “She always swore that he had been the one to put her mother in the coma.”
“What about what happened to you?”
She shook her head at Mercer. “I can’t explain it. I have no memory of it, even now. All I remember is waking up covered in blood and my family…” She broke down, her memories aching her comprehensively. “I swear I didn’t do it.”
“And we believe you.” Mercer nodded ardently.
“Is there anything else you can tell us about Sumner? Anything that could explain why he would frame Blanche and maybe you?”
“Sumner framing me?” Frankie toyed with the idea. “But why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Kirby added.
“Do you remember any details about why Blanche was afraid of Sumner, anything about Sumner at all?” Mercer pressed on. “Some-thing that could lead to why Sumner did this?”
“I did hear something,” she prodded. “Blanche and I were never really friendly, until…”
Mercer nodded. “Until?”
“The night she escaped, she discovered something.” Frankie withdrew a breath, an anxious surge flowing through her nostrils. “It scared her. Really scared her.”
“Did she say what it was, the something she uncovered?” Kirby questioned.
A gyration of head turning proceeded Frankie’s answer. “She said it was the truth.” She focused on Mercer, squaring her gaze on him powerfully. “Are you Abram?”
“Abram?” Kirby looked between Mercer and Frankie frantically. “Why would you ask if he’s Abram?”
“The last thing Blanche said that night,” Frankie continued. “She said that Sumner had to finish what he started with someone named Abram.”
“Oh, God.” Kirby clamored, the depth of the cognizance striking her thoughts like a metal probe aiming for a lobotomy. “Mercer, he got those texts.”
Mercer quivered in place, the horror hitting him objectively in the heart. “Sumner is going to try and kill Abe tonight.”
Alex let Faith lead him back to where the rest of their friends were waiting for them. Willa and Hugo were huddled close together, fright frozen on their faces. Straton was standing next to Sterling, who had apparently decided to join in on the delirium.
“Okay, what’s going on?”
At Alex’s prompt, Straton took lead in the rendition. “Hugo and I were on our way here, and we ran into Paige.”
“Literally.” Hugo interjected with a scoff.
“She got released already?”
“Apparently.” Straton nodded at him. “But she was on her way here to tell you guys what really happened when she wrecked her car.”
“Which is?” Alex felt funny about this. What did Paige want to do, apologize for terrorizing them?
Hugo took over then. “She told us that she had been attempting suicide not because she’s your stalker, but because she discovered that it’s been Ben Magnus all along.”
“Ben?” He had to find Bridge. There was no way his friend would be capable of dealing with this seismic shift in validity, not alone. “Anyone seen Bridge?”
Alex’s cell thrashed awake, stalling any reply from his friends. Fear filled every space of his active conscious when Mercer’s name lit up on the phone’s screen. He did his best to persevere, to look un-fazed as he answered the call.
“Mercer, something’s happened.”
“That’s why I’m calling.” He retorted. “Kirby just got a text from Salem. He’s followed Bridge to Armor Falls Cemetery.”
“The cemetery?” Alex’s mind was racing at mach speed. Why on Earth would Bridge go back to that specific place of personal trauma? “Oh, God. He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“Ben’s our stalker. I can’t explain right now, or even validate it appropriately, but maybe Bridge found out and led him there where it all started.”
“Shit.” Mercer said over the low grumble of his Jeep. “I’m headed there now. But that’s not even the worst part.”
Alex sighed, so deep it put a spasm in his chest. “There’s a worst part?”
“We talked to Frankie Ellery,” he huffed. “And she heard that Sumner...he’s planning on attacking Abe.”
He saw a blur in front of him, his friends fogging up with heavy precipitation. Alex felt his heart seizing, his blood pressure blasting off like an Apollo mission. He couldn’t lose Abram. Not by the hands of Sumner Shadows.
“Find Bridge.” Alex rushed out of his mouth. “I’ll get Abe.”
Hands tremoring, he ended the call and tried to ring Abram’s cell.
“Alex?” Faith’s tone asked the question she kept to herself.
“It’s Abe.” he said with razor-sharp honesty, his hands shaking too much to dial out his boyfriend’s number.
“Alex.” she repeated his name, seeing the ashen appearance on her brother’s face.
“Faith, there’s two unmarked police cars on either end of the street,” He closed his eyes and smoothed the storm welling and weathering his ringing ears over everything clashing around him. “Go get them and direct them to Armor Falls Cemetery, and we can have one of them follow me to rescue Abe.” Alex then directed his attention over to Straton. “Can I take your car?”
“Rescue Abe?” Straton questioned, pulling his keys from their home in his pocket and plopping them in Alex’s hand. “From what?”
Alex remained undaunted as a tear slid down his cheek, his friends already mournful at his mood.
“From Sumner.”
Excitement exuded from every nerve ending Abram had, savoring the live wire feel humming throughout his body. Meeting with Reyna again was huge. Anything they could learn about Emmy Walker was exceedingly valuable, and he was ecstatic that she was ready to tell them any details to try and resolve the mystery of Sumner’s impromptu outbreak.
The address she had designated for their sequel of a meeting wasn’t even an establishment, but rather a small clearing just before a bout of forest, and coincidently it was the same spot Mercer had parked his Jeep when they were fetching the stolen pages from Shad-ows Manor. He was hoping that Mercer and Kirby were around, maybe just having finished exploring the asylum and passing by, but they’d long since left 1661 Karder Cove.
Abram was getting impatient as he waited outside of Alex’s car. Leaning on the vehicle, he let out an anxious breath. Shouldn't Reyna have been here first? Just when the thought evaporated from his head is when his phone buzzed from his jeans. Pulling it out, he saw the same assortment of numbers in the recipient’s bar, a text from Reyna.
I’m here, just within the trees.
It was then that a wicked feeling dusted itself across Abram’s shoulders. Something was off, Abram analyzing the vibes the atmos-phere was putting out when he re-read Reyna’s text and looked up to assess the trees.
But he had to go talk to Reyna, it wasn’t up for discussion. This was no time to be scared, even if the universe was telling him some-thing was very wrong. Abram inhaled a clear, slightly pine-scented breath, and stepped through the branchy veil of the trees. His heart thrashed like a caged animalistic fusion of being enthusiastic over finding the lowdown about Emmy Walker and being unable to ne-glect the sense that he was about to be in a whirl of paranoid induced danger.
“Reyna?” He knew better than to call out into the night, but he couldn’t help himself. “Reyna, it’s Abram.”
He pushed his way into another clearing within the woods, reaching his destination finally. Only, it wasn’t Reyna that was waiting on him. His abysmal perspective had been right. Abram only wished he would have fully listened to his guttural instincts.
“Sumner.”
A seething simper angled his dark brown eyes, Sumner looming over him, waving an expendable phone at him, the silent taunt doing wonders on shattering Abram’s confidence that he would or even could survive this treacherous encounter.
Abram was immobile, fear governing his willingness to operate kinetically. With whip cracking certainty, Sumner threw the phone down on the pine needle ridden grass, his foot coming down like a smoldering meteor
and decimated the device way beyond future function.
“Oh, Abram.” Sumner said once the phone was destroyed. “Did you honestly believe Reyna would want to spill her secrets?”
“What are you doing, Sumner?” Abram was petrified, but he wasn’t going to let Sumner bully and display condescendence at him. “Why lure me here?”
“Are you that dense?” He scoffed, scratching deep red marks into his own neck absentmindedly.
“Enough. What do you want? You’ve already ruined everything. You’ve unleashed your havoc and shaped our lives into ones of ma-nia and suspicion. And we still don’t know how Blanche, Emmy, or Frankie fit into all of your devastation. So, before the cops get here, just tell me what it is you plan to achieve by bringing me here.”
Sumner seemed surprised by Abram’s entire schpeel, and Abram was as well when Sumner cackled like a bloodthirsty banshee.
“You really don’t know anything, do you?” A knowing facade at-tuned his face, Sumner stepping forward. “Emmy Walker is your birth mother.” He reveled in the plummeting change to Abram’s dis-position, a dramatic alteration that fed Sumner’s sadistic and soulless appetite. “Why haven’t you figured that out by now?”
“Oh...my God.”
Abram didn’t possess any other words. Emmy Walker was his birth mother? He couldn’t instantly give Sumner’s assertion credit, with him being a compulsive liar and all, but even the words, the possibility of the idea, raised the hair on Abram’s neck.
“If that’s true,” He gave Sumner his most unshakable gaze. “Then why did you uncover it? Why do you care?”
Sumner stepped up again, another cackle springing forth from his lips. “I can’t give it all away.” He shook his head. “That’d be too easy.”
Sumner took a swipe at Abram with the blade he had been hid-ing in the sleeve of his grey and black striped shirt. Abram lunged himself backwards to avoid the cool slash of the knife.
“Sumner, stop this. Please!”
“No, this has to happen.” Sumner’s eyes did that maniacal thing they had the night Sumner had first attacked him, all bouncy and swirling with incredible lunacy. It gave Abram the same sense as all those months ago; he felt like tonight was the night he was going to die. “There can only be one of us.”