by Frankie Love
"Hay, you’re bleeding so much," Luke says as my feet hit the ground. He pulls me close. I’m trembling in his arms and I want him to carry me away and I want our life to start. He takes my hands in his, begins unknotting my wrists, and I feel helpless. Chris jumps down from the tree and kneels down to try and get my feet free.
Branches snap in the distance. Someone is huffing as they race toward us.
"Oh my god!" I scream a bloodcurdling cry of terror as Mr. Barton rushes at us, directly behind Luke and Chris. The knife he used on me is raised above him, and he slams Chris to the ground, slashing his back.
"No!" I pull on Luke’s arm, tugging him away, knowing what their dad is capable of.
Cold-blooded murder.
But Luke won’t run from this monster. I may have called Luke—the man with sorrow as deep and wide as this creek—a big bad wolf, but he is not someone to fear. His claws may be out and his teeth may be bared, but he is not looking to destroy what is good and holy and right.
He is looking to protect the ones he loves.
The one he loves.
Me.
"I’m going to kill you," Luke shouts, grabbing his father by the back, slamming him to the ground, as Chris cries in agony behind us, unable to stand. I pray Chris’s wound isn’t a death blow.
Knowing I need to help Chris, I lean down and attempt to finish untying myself at the ankles.
Luke and Mr. Barton are on the ground, rolling as they smash each other's skulls. Luke has his father by the collar of his Sheriff's uniform, slamming his fist across his jaw. There are cracking bones and blood and tears. Lives are on the line.
My hands are free, and I scramble toward Chris who is managing to stand, a crazed look in his eye. A look of hatred and determination. A look that will not rest until he forces his father to pay for his crimes. I have never loved Chris in a sexual way, but right now gratitude surges through me, forever holding space in my heart. Chris may be flawed, but he is no fool. He is like Luke, willing to fight to protect the ones he loves.
The memory of the ones he loved.
Chris falls back on his knees, unable to step toward his father and brother without collapsing. Mr. Barton has forced Luke to the ground, and he holds the knife above his son’s face.
No way in hell is the man I love dying tonight.
I can fight, too.
I run, attacking him from behind, and manage to pry away the knife he wields. He didn’t anticipate me rushing him, after forcing Chris to fall with his slashed back. But I won’t just stand by and watch him kill Luke Barton. Not when I have waited so long for him.
I hold the knife, looking in his dark, haunted eyes, and I have no pause, no fear. No regret. I will kill this man and I will pay the price but I will not look back.
Lifting the knife, I step closer, bringing it toward him, but his hands are on my wrists, and he forces the knife up, prying my fingers back from their white-knuckled grip on the handle of the blade. I refuse to let go, but he whips my hand hard and the knife falls.
"You won’t kill me, you little bitch," he spits in my face, pushing me away like I had no chance in hell of defeating him. Luke is behind his father now, helping Chris stand, and I scream, telling them to move.
But Mr. Barton is faster, and he reaches for Luke from behind and his hands grab his son’s neck, putting him in a chokehold, cutting him off at the jugular.
Using the maneuver he has apparently perfected on Stacy and Nick, I watch him tighten his hands around Luke, cutting off his air. His life force.
"No," I scream, clawing at him, watching Luke’s face turn white under the light of the god-forsaken moon. I rip at his clothing like a wild animal. And maybe I am. Maybe I have turned from a girl to a werewolf. Maybe I am rabid with rage. Maybe I am more than a girl who bakes pies, a girl who came back to an empty house looking for her home.
I am fierce, willing to fight. I am strong, unwilling to cave.
I tear at their dad and watch a small gold charm fall from his pocket. The charm Chris gave Stacy. The charm she wore on Halloween night. The night she was murdered.
Luke’s body goes limp in his father’s vise-like grip; I scream, begging for him to stop. Beside me, Chris, bloodied and broken, manages to pick up the knife.
Mr. Barton’s eyes go wide, knowing Chris isn’t going to play nice. He drops Luke, who collapses to the muddy earth.
I fall beside Luke, his eyes fluttering open, and I know he is alive.
I watch as Chris pierces his father through the chest. Again. And again.
I watch as Chris stabs his father in the heart. This is no metaphor, no play on words. This is no game.
This is bloody. Broken. Destroyed. This is the fragments of a family that no longer exists.
This is all that is left.
21
Murderer
Lying on my back, I look up at the swaying branches of the willow tree. In the distance I hear the rushing creek, cold and icy. Exactly what has become of my heart.
I'm not looking for pity.
Not now, not ever.
For a long time all I was looking for was vengeance.
Maybe I always had the heart a killer. But I like to think the killer inside of me woke the night Julie was killed.
With Julie dead, I felt that the world had turned darker than I'd seen it before.
Her mother was gone a long while, she always had been, in one way or another.
The night Julie was murdered her mother called me, crying into the phone. I tried to explain that horrible things happen, that time heals all wounds.
But I knew the words were empty. And the next day, when she flew in from Phoenix, she looked at me with tear-streaked cheeks and asked, "How could you let this happen to our little girl?"
She asked it as if I allowed this to happen, as if I wanted this to happen.
I may have been a cheating bastard for most of our marriage, but I still had a soul.
Cold heart or not, I had a soul.
Until I didn't.
Blood seeps from my chest, the mortal wounds caused by my own flesh and blood. Chris sits beside me unhinged… but I know before him, it was me.
I like to think I don't deserve this death, but what does that word mean anyway?
Deserve.
And beyond meaning, what does is it matter?
What's done is done.
The light of the moon hangs high in the dark sky, and Chris sobs in the dirt beside me, the knife in his bloodied hand lying on the ground. I wouldn't reach for it even if I had the strength.
My time is up.
Luke and Hayley crouch beside me, Hayley's hands pawing at my mangled flesh. Maybe she wants to stop the bleeding, because a sweet girl like her always wants to fix things.
But some things are meant to be broken.
Some things can't be saved.
"Why did you do this?" Luke asks.
But I know he's not going to like my answer. Still, as these are my dying words, I figure he needs something more than silence.
"I didn't want you to be the one with blood on your hands," I say, grasping for words, my body metallic. I feel the blade of the knife carving to my heart. I try to breathe, but it is a struggle.
"So this was better?" he asks. "Killing a murderer is one thing, but then those other innocent people…"
"They weren't all innocent, Luke."
"You’re not the judge. You don’t have the right to make that call," he says.
I look at him with heavy eyes, my body asking to be let go. I look at Luke, his chin raised to the sky, silhouetted by the moon.
He’s a howling wolf, crying for something that doesn’t exist.
"I wanted to honor Julie," I tell him.
"No," Chris seethes. "You wanted to kill. Plain and fucking simple."
His anger restores some of my life force. How I wish I’d tried to explain before. But how could I without ruining whatever fragment of a family we had left?
It was imposs
ible to stop the train put in motion the night Julie was killed.
"I was never the same after she died," I say. "So yes, I started killing other people who committed equally heinous acts. But not for the love of the hunt. It was for the love of the people left behind."
At this, Hayley grabs my face in her hands, shaking her head wildly, her long hair whipping in the wind.
"No, Mr. Barton," she cries. "This was not an act of love. You murdered Stacy, my best friend. You would have murdered me. That was not for love. Certainly not love for anyone but yourself."
Hayley drops my head, without pause, and I know I'm almost gone.
And maybe it’s better this way.
Like I said, I'm not looking for their fucking pity. I want to explain, but maybe for some things there is no explanation beyond the thick blood running through your veins, desperate to make wrongs right. At some point, my desire for vengeance was replaced with something wicked.
Something deadly.
"I'm sorry for not protecting Julie," I tell them. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for it all."
I hear sirens in the distance. It's all over.
Two years ago, I sent Chris to a mental hospital to help save him from his grief. And I sent Luke to prison to save him from himself—he had turned into something dangerous in his hunt for the killer.
So I helped my children.
Father knows best.
They may think I'm a monster, wanting to hide the truth. But in my heart, I know it never started because I wanted to hurt my boys.
I wanted to protect them.
But then they were both free. Chris home from hospital, and then later, Luke released from prison.
And I kept on killing, because one taste of death wasn’t enough.
I know now I am the one who should have been locked up, who needed to be saved from my own demons.
But it was too late, everything began to unravel and what was once contained was let loose.
So I tried to silence the truth.
Murdering Stacy.
Murdering Nick.
Attempting to murder Hayley.
They merely see me as a sick and twisted man lying on the cold wet earth.
I can't explain that I never intended for this to be the way the story ends.
It started because I sought justice; it ended because I wanted to protect the ones I loved.
Chris and Luke will never understand, and maybe that's okay.
I'm a father, but I'm also a man. Broken and flawed, ruined and wrecked.
I close my eyes.
This twisted fairytale ends in the woods, beneath the willow tree.
It ends, and I’m set free.
22
Luke
My father is gone.
My father is dead.
My family is broken.
We almost lost Chris.
With each heartbeat, more of these thoughts run through my body, and I shiver as I think of the events of the previous week. I don't know how we all made it out in one piece—well, for the most part. But we're all alive, and it seems like that is the only thing that matters.
Chris was stabbed, but it isn’t something a week or so in the hospital can’t cure—thank fucking god. Hayley’s cut was deep, and her wrists and ankles were terribly gashed, but she was in one piece. It could have been so fucking worse. Me, I made it out with only a few scrapes. Doesn’t seem fair—for me to walk away in the best shape.
But none of this was fair.
My brother is being discharged from the hospital in the next few days, and Hayley is already at her gram’s place. I’m still not used to calling it hers. I've been there every day. I don't know how she can even look at me. I put her in the face of danger, and my father is responsible for the deaths of her ex and her best friend.
But Hayley is forgiving. She is pure sweetness, and she ends up as the one consoling me even though all of this is my fucking fault.
I haven't touched her, not in that way, since all of this happened. I'm too worried she'll push me away, and even though I'm growing needy for her, I don't mention it once. Especially not tonight, as I sit in my lonesome house.
Hayley sent me on my way, claiming I needed to get some rest, because when I sleep with her, I don't sleep a wink. I wasn't cool with it. I don't like leaving her alone after all the shit that's gone down. But I did what she asked of me, albeit reluctantly.
I do manage to get an hour of sleep, but I'm woken by my cellphone ringing shrilly in the middle of the night. I sit up straight, right away ready for another horror story when I see Hayley's number flashing across my screen.
"Yes?" I bark into my phone. "Are you all right? Tell me you're all right, Hay, please."
"Luke," she breathes down the line. Her voice heavy with sleep and I can tell she's been crying. Panic takes over my body and before she gets a single word out, I'm out of bed and pulling my pants on.
"I'll be right there," I tell her as she sobs into the phone. "What's wrong, Hay? What happened? Are you safe?"
I want to punch something. I tried to keep her safe, and I failed again.
"I'm ok," she breathes. "I... I just had a nightmare. C-Could you come over?"
"Be right there, pretty girl," I promise her. "Do you want to stay on the line?"
"No, I'll make us some tea," she mumbles, and we say a quick goodbye as I practically run outside and into my pickup.
I know it's just a nightmare, but the fierce need to protect Hay from everything and everyone that might hurt her won't leave my conscience. I need to make sure she's all right, need to know she is safe at all times.
As I drive towards her house, I make a promise to myself to never leave her like that again. She belongs with me. She's fucking mine. And after I make sure she's all right, I'm gonna make her accept that fact.
I pull up in front of her gram’s house and park the car hastily. Hayley is waiting for me on the doorstep, the hallway light illuminating her gorgeous curvy figure. She's wearing a fluffy robe and cute bunny slippers, a tank top that reads NAP QUEEN, her hair in a messy bun with not a stitch of makeup on. She's never looked more beautiful.
"Are you all right?" I ask, pulling her into a tight hug. Her body adjusts to mine and I hold her close, needing to hear her heart beating loudly. "I was scared shitless, Hay."
"I'm okay," she whispers, but I can feel her tears wetting my shirt. "I just, it w-was a really bad dream."
I don't let her go on. I simply pick her up as if she weighs nothing.
"Hey!" She giggles through her tears. "What on earth are you doing? I'm heavy, put me down."
"You weigh nothing, pretty girl," I tell her, kissing her tear-streaked cheeks. I carry her up the stairs and into the bedroom, kicking the doors closed behind us. I don't stop until I've gently laid her down on the bed and planted a kiss on her pretty, full lips.
"Can you stay?" she whispers. "Sending you away was a mistake. Please stay the night, Luke. I need you with me."
"Of course," I say with a nod. "I'll be right here. Do you want me to sleep with you?"
"Yes," she says in a quiet voice. "But Luke... no, never mind."
"What is it?" I ask her. I'm above her, a position of power. I stroke her face gently and she leans into my palm. It's the sweetest thing in the world. "Tell me. You know you can tell me anything."
"Okay," she breathes heavily. "I just... I want you to touch me."
"I am touching you," I breathe against her neck.
"More," she begs. "I want more. Please, Luke, I need you to touch me everywhere."
I groan, needing to do what she's asking me. I don't know whether this is a good idea after everything that's happened, but fuck, I don't know whether I can hold back at this point.
My fingers roam down her neck, stopping to rest at the hollow on the base of her throat. I feel her pulse there and she leans her head back, wanting more of me. My fingers slide lower, over her pretty collarbone and to her tits. I fumble with the belt of her robe and she
moans, raising her hips off the bed.
"Hurry," she says. "I need to feel you inside me. My wolf."
I undo her robe and she shrugs it off. Her PJs come next and I manage to get her out of the top and bottoms without spilling my load all over her pink sheets. I stare at her beautiful body underneath me, glorious in the night shadows and so deliciously curvy.
"God, Hayley," I tell her. "You've never looked more fucking beautiful."
She blushes, her cheeks burning up as she tangles her fingers in my hair and pulls me down against her body. Our torsos press together and I groan. She feels fucking amazing, and I need more.
"Fuck me," she mewls against my lips as I start to kiss her. "Please, Luke, make things all right again... I need to be with you to know everything's going to be all right."
"I promise," I mutter. "I promise I will, just take it slow, pretty girl, please... I need to cherish this beautiful body of yours, this exquisite soul you carry inside, too."
She moans as I bite on her bottom lip gently, pressing her hips closer to mine. With a groan, I pull off my T-shirt and reveal my naked chest. She gasps when she sees it and her fingers line the black ink of my new tattoo.
"When did you get this?" she asks softly.
"A few days ago," I admit.
"Does it still hurt?"
"Only a little bit."
She looks at the tattoo for a while longer, gently caressing it with her fingertips. "You're not the big bad wolf, though," she says softly. "Your father was."
"I feel like I am," I mutter. "Like I'm the villain who brought all this bad shit into your life. I feel like I fucking cursed you, Hay."
"You didn't," she says gently. "You didn't, baby. And you'll always be my wolf. But the good kind, the one that saves me in the end." She giggles softly against my lips and I groan again, pressing myself against her tight, warm little body.
She feels incredible, like all the good things in the world rolled into one and presented to me on a silver platter. Plus, she smells like gingerbread and cinnamon, and something tells me winter will be better than fall was in Willow Creek.