Somewhere Bound (Foundlings Book 3)

by Fiona Keane

  I realized he accepted the command his presence held over my panic when he adhered my hand to his thigh for the duration of our drive, stroking my palm and tickling my fingers to keep my mind in a heightened state, avoiding the panic. The car seemed to mimic my heart, resisting the slow climb toward my old driveway.

  “It’s beautiful here, Soph,” Jameson muttered, bending his head to stare at the large pines visible through the windshield. Their height was intimidating, but their beauty was deceptive. There was nothing beautiful about it. Not anymore.

  “It’s just up there.” My free hand pointed with trembling fingers toward the entrance of my driveway.

  “They still have tape up?” Jameson quickly glanced at me, both of us noticing the yellow police tape that flapped from tree trunks against the misty breeze.

  The strips had been torn from their post, lost and forgotten as time had passed. Neglected. I felt his grasp tighten against my hand, pressing it harder into his leg while the BMW resisted the gravel drive. Or maybe it was Jameson. Maybe he realized exactly the depth of my wounds, the negligent way he forced apart my scars. I couldn’t blame him. I had done the same to him with those photographs. This strange torture we poured over one another…it was necessary to break free. He was right. We needed to say goodbye. We needed to run away from everything.

  My breath was painfully held within my throbbing lungs as my old house came into view. The remnants of it were haunting.

  “This is where you grew up.” His voice was soft as he placed the car in park and turned off the ignition. “Wow, Sophia.”

  I looked at him, my eyes filled with resentment and hostility while his were tentatively curious.

  “Yes.” My head shook with a scoffing laugh. “It was perfect…before it burned. It all was.”

  Jameson opened the car door, climbing out and walking up to the house. I watched, hesitantly, jealous of his courage. He approached the crumbling structure, climbing over the wide bands of yellow tape that warned trespassers to vacate. Without a glance back at me, Jameson stepped through the collapsed front door, directly into my past. My future was now haunting each moment of my life—past, present, and Jameson.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jameson

  Soph’s house was a lot like her aunt’s place in Florida. It made sense, considering her mom and Jules were sisters. Through the charred structure, I could easily make out their similar eclectic styles. However, this house, despite its destruction, screamed Sophia.

  It was petite, an imposing level of comfort brought on by its size, suggesting she would never have been too far from her mother while they were in the space. Burned pieces of her life crunched beneath each cautious step I took.

  The foyer led to a narrow hallway, which grew in brightness from the crumbled ceiling at the back of the house. The kitchen.

  I knew the risk, stepping closer to where Soph’s life had changed forever, but I couldn’t control myself. Her trauma called to me, demanded I know, demanded that I feel what had destroyed my precious girl’s heart.

  The back of her house was completely gone, lost to the fire, but the metal pipes and porcelain sink leaned into the antique stove, suggesting I was standing exactly where her mom’s life ended. I felt like a criminal, a trespasser standing where I shouldn’t.

  I squatted above the melted floor, my weight pressing against my ankles while I reached for the iron skillet resting beneath shattered glass. Crepes. She had told me the story, shared with me the pain of the very moment she almost died. The very moment in which her mom died. I slowly looked to my left, staring out at their backyard while my heart shattered with the vision of Soph pulling her mom out of their burning house. The things Soph had been through…and now I was forcing them back into her. The sound of something falling at the front of the house pulled me from the painful reflection.

  “Soph?”

  I stood, embarrassed to have her find me in the kitchen, hoping she wouldn’t be overwhelmed by my intrusion into that memory. I could discern the sound of her footsteps beneath the distant thunder, which was now rumbling in from the east. Her eyes were wide, exposed and raw.

  “I…” I reached for her, dropping the skillet before my arms wrapped around her. “I am so sorry, Soph. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

  I felt her body drop as she fell into me. She wasn’t crying. I didn’t know what that meant. I couldn’t read her. That scared me more than anything.

  “Go wait in the car, Jameson.” Her voice was muted, almost viciously low. I held her shoulders, bending my head to look into her eyes. Shit.

  “Soph, babe…look at me.”

  “Pass,” she replied, her dilated eyes frozen on the kitchen. “Please go.”

  “No.”

  “Go,” she snarled, looking up at me, her darkened eyes wide with emotion. They began filling with tears, pleading me to comply, but I could not leave her to suffer in her memory alone.

  “Please.” Her head shook, returning to my face with a softened gaze. “I just need a minute. Just one minute. I’ll meet you at the car. Okay?”

  “No,” I told her, filling with rejection as she wiggled from my hold and stepped further into the kitchen.

  I tried not to take it personally, hoping her inability to find comfort in me was not me but part of the process. Part of her grieving. A piece of her goodbye.

  “Get the hell out of here, Jameson.”

  Her sweet tone was frighteningly kind, slow, and precious. She wasn’t looking at me, but I watched her intently. Her fingers slid along the ash-covered handle of the stove doors, climbing toward the burners.

  I lingered, anticipating a signal that she needed me to stay or go, but when she remained in silence I knew the demand for my exit was imminent. I felt queasy when I turned around to leave, knowing she was behind me in the blur of her past. It didn’t feel right to leave her in her past.

  I paced the mossy front yard, back and forth until a path of moist mud had been born beneath my tracks. The ominous thunder rumbled its incoming proximity, its threat to this moment. But I paced, waiting for Soph to come out of the house.

  My hands pulled against my hair, piercing my scalp so I could feel anything but the pain with which my heart pounded for Soph. Rain began tickling my face as I looked up to the sky. How long has she been in there? I imagined her feet molding into the melted floor, adhering herself with panic into the house that changed her life forever, keeping her heart paralyzed in the memory of what was. I had to go in there. I didn’t care how pissed she would be at me later, she couldn’t handle being in there. This was a huge mistake. I should have known better. She was courageous, incredibly strong and indestructible. Soph is a damn indestructible barricade during a storm, but that might undo her.

  The rain began pounding my body, my shaking nerves started carrying me back toward the house. The creaking front steps, chipped with worn white paint, announced my entrance, screaming for life to fill the abandoned house.

  “Soph?”

  “Jameson, don’t!” I heard her scream from the kitchen, still not prepared for me to join in her misery.

  She wouldn’t let me support her. I was useless and it was a feeling I couldn’t manage. I wasn’t able to cope with the rejection, her overwhelming fear that prevented me from holding her.

  It didn’t feel right. Even at her most angry, her most enraged with me or with something in Florida, Soph hadn’t screamed. Her alarm chilled my spine, forcing me to run even faster toward her. I bolted toward the back of the house, my path hazier than before with the gray light and pouring rain that began flooding the exposed area. It wasn’t until my feet touched the melted kitchen floor that my heart officially stopped. It caught in my throat, my nerves on fire with adrenaline and fear.

  “You shouldn’t have…” the voice rumbled from behind Soph, their back to both of us, “…made yourself such a target.”

  I could have killed him. In the split second I had between watching Soph against the floor,
her wrists bound and tied to the handle of the iron stove, and looking back up at the bastard, my heart exploded within me. She was trying to slow her sobbing, but I saw her body painfully convulse. Soph was beginning to hyperventilate, unable to control herself. Dammit! What did I do? What do I do?

  My body was burning; the hair on my arms had burned away from the heat radiating through my pores. I’m going to kill him.

  Thomas’s words repeated in my mind; I will be a criminal. If that’s what it took to protect Sophia, I would have done anything. He turned around, a smug grin on his tanned face.

  “Jameson.”

  I couldn’t look at him, my heart stuck watching Sophia writhe in pain, her body quivering with agony as her soul failed her.

  “Let her go,” I growled, my eyes still on Soph.

  I refused to look away, terrified each glance would be my last. I didn’t want her to see me look away either. I wanted Soph to see me, to focus on me, and hopefully she would pull through. Hopefully.

  “Here’s the thing.” Simon stepped toward Soph’s back, having turned from whatever he had been focused on at the stovetop. “I’ve just won the damn lottery.”

  “Let. Her. Go.”

  “Ha!” He laughed at me, his head shaking like a lunatic. “No. Imagine my profound delight, Jameson, when I found out the sweet, delicate little introvert living in my girlfriend’s home is getting cozy with the one piece of shit responsible for my brother’s death. The moment those pieces fell into place, when God gave me the steps toward my revenge…I won the damn lottery.”

  Simon knelt down at Soph’s side, pursing his lips while stroking her delicate cheek with his filthy knuckles.

  “Your aunt’s really worried about you,” he whispered to her, beads of rain and fear dripping down her pale face. “Well…she was, until she read about your death in Memphis.”

  Sophia had become a ghost, an echo of herself no longer there. I almost broke my teeth, grinding my jaw so fiercely, trying to figure out what to do. Simon looked up at me, his slimy, murderous hand still on my girlfriend’s face.

  “Memphis.” He laughed. “You were pretty stupid there, Jamie. Taking your car from Florida. You made yourself incredibly easy to follow. So, I guess all I have left to do here is…kill you. Both.”

  “You’re already dead, so what does it matter what happens here?” Simon continued to gloat, his knees cracking as he stood from Soph’s side.

  Her body was still, but for the faint rise and fall of her chest. She was soaking wet, drenched by the downpour while thunder clamored above us. I didn’t protect her. I broke my promise. My eyes refused to leave her, still holding on to the dwindling chance that Soph would look at me. Screw you, Jameson. Do something! Simon watched me, probably waiting for his chance to hurt Soph and weaken my resolve until he could hurt me. No.

  “It matters,” I mumbled, reluctantly taking my eyes from Soph to observe the surroundings.

  Simon stood at her side, his arms crossed arrogantly along his chest. The stove. There was a gun on it, next to some rope. The pouring rain made it difficult to see anything else. I took a step closer to Soph, my feet almost touching hers while they rested limply against the melted kitchen floor.

  “Not really,” Simon continued, sighing. “You remember what it was like when your little sister was killed, Jamie? You have to. That’s one of the reasons you’ve been in therapy for years. You can’t get over Samantha being murdered and you helpless to do anything about it. Your poor little sister. Well, I felt the same way knowing my brother was murdered in jail.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Thanks…” he laughed, “but no.”

  “Let Sophia go, Simon. She’s innocent. We both are, but you’re so damn deranged that doesn’t matter. Take me, let her go. This isn’t her fault. This is my mistake. I brought her here. Kill me, let her go. Now.”

  “Oh.” Simon shook his head. “Is that a threat, Jameson?”

  That slimy, murderous piece of trash was gloating while we stood in the pouring rain, Soph fading by the millisecond at our feet. I had to hear her voice again. I couldn’t lose her to this panic. She needed me. I looked again to the stove, quickly memorizing what I could of the space around us. Gun. Rope. Knife. Skillet.

  “No,” I replied, inching closer with my hands in the air, “I’m not going to play your game, Simon. Take me. Let Sophia go and you can have your revenge.”

  His eyes roamed back to Soph, limp and leaving us. Shit. Soph’s body shook with a cough that pulled Simon’s gaze even longer. That was my chance. Soph gave me an opportunity to lunge over her frail figure, my palms wrapping around Simon’s throat. It was too slippery to hold, my grasp faltering as we stumbled against the half-burned wall.

  Adrenaline had taken over my veins, pumping wildly through my body as I mounted Simon and began punching his tanned face. His hands struggled beneath me, but they eventually found my chest, tearing the collar of my wet shirt while attempting to strangle me.

  “Sophia!” I screamed while Simon’s hands roamed my chest, reaching toward my throat.

  “Sophia! Wake up! Wake up! Sophia! Sophia!” It was all I could do; my frantic attempt at air was dedicated to Soph, hoping to save at least one of us. If she could just make it through this. If he killed me, but Soph could wake up to defend herself, it would be justified.

  “SOPH!”

  We continued our fight, my youth an advantage against Simon, but the piece of shit was deceptively strong. I had to keep fighting him. I was determined. I could not lose Sophia, whether I was with her or dead. She couldn’t be lost again. Despite Simon’s tightening grasp on my throat, I continued to scream for her.

  “SOPHIA! The knife! It’s on the…stove! Sophia!”

  His fingers found my jaw, pulling my head down while his filthy flavor poisoned my mouth. I bit down, gnawing at his knuckles until he screamed for mercy and my jaw could no longer handle his sour taste.

  “Give it up,” he growled before I punched him in the nose, blood erupting like a violent volcano in the middle of his face.

  Simon screamed at me, groaning in agony while I continued to punch him until I could feel his bones crumble. I would do anything for Sophia. The thought of her tied to the stove, tortured in this time capsule of trauma, fueled me to continue fighting, but a sound behind us was my weakness and Simon knocked the side of my head and overpowered me.

  He was on top of me throwing blind punches, but I turned my head and blocked him. Simon’s hands again tried to strangle me, his insane grasp locking around my throat. I tried to scream for her again, but the sound came out choked. I was running out of steam, my voice drying up with my existence.

  “Sooo…” Her name barely escaped my mouth as I lost air, going black in the rain with a crazed lunatic on top of me.

  My eyes wavered, refusing to outlast the lack of oxygen, and then everything went dark. No. Fight for her. Dammit, get the hell up, Jameson. But I couldn’t anymore. It was black. It was over.

  My body felt heavy, worn—suffocating beneath a weight on my chest. Not my throat, but my chest. My eyes frantically tore awake through the blinding rain, staring at the frightened blue orbs hovering over me.

  “Get up,” she demanded, pulling at my hair.

  Soph’s eyes were wild, hauntingly void of expression but completely driven by fear. Sophia. My chest felt heavy. I couldn’t breathe beneath the weight against me.

  Realizing Simon was knocked out on top of me, I attempted to roll over. His body landed with a loud thud at my side, and Soph began pulling my right arm out from beneath my frozen weight.

  “Sophia,” I shouted, gasping for breath. Something switched in me almost immediately, and I was off the floor, pulling Soph into my arms.

  “Don’t,” she choked. “Please. Please don’t.”

  I looked down at her, releasing my hold. “Don’t touch you?”

  “No.”

  “Sophia.” My brows met so harshly, my head was aching. “Look at me.”


  “I can’t.”

  “Soph. Shit. Sophia.”

  That wasn’t her. She was gone. She was a young woman entirely driven by fear, motivated by survival, and void of emotion. She couldn’t have all been lost. She heard me, she snapped from her panic-induced coma and freed herself. She somehow subdued Simon as he sucked the last breath from my body and saved me.

  “Sophia,” I demanded, my voice echoing above the pouring rain while her body caved into itself. I caught her, refusing to release the fragile girl in my arms. If that piece of shit ruined her, I swear to God I will not sleep until he is dead.

  “Jamie,” she sobbed into my chest, falling to pieces as her soul shattered against me. I held her, consuming her pain and kissing her hair while we stood with Simon’s unconscious body at our feet. The damaged floor met the iron skillet with a thud as it fell from Soph’s timorous hands.

  “I love you,” I whispered in her ear while my hands held her face. “I love you, Sophia. I love you. I love you. Don’t leave me. Stay with me. Please.”

  “Bitch,” Simon’s voice groaned from beneath us. His body stirred, struggling to lift from the floor before Soph tore herself from me.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sophia

  I watched in fear, entirely consumed by impulse while Simon staggered toward Jameson and me. I couldn’t lose him. I ran back to the kitchen floor, grabbed the iron skillet, and again hurled it toward Simon. This time, he avoided contact and knocked the pan to the floor, growling at me as his focus changed from Jameson to me.

  “The gun,” Jameson called to me, his voice quiet against the rain.

  My hands were numb, shaking violently as I turned toward the kitchen. I looked at the stove, enraged at the memory of Simon imprisoning me against it. I could hear Jameson’s panting behind me in his war against Simon while I searched for a gun. I had never held one. My life almost ended by one just months before, in that exact spot, but I had never handled one. It was covered in water. Would it even work? I ran back toward Jameson and Simon, unsure of how to operate it. Jameson was screaming at me to shoot, demanding I pull the trigger.