BORDEN 2

by Lewis, R. J.

“Fuck you!” I spat.

  “I’d definitely fuck you, but we’re pressed for time, and it’s a fucking shame too, because I’d have liked to have been the last person to put my seed in Borden’s little slut as a giant fuck you to that prick.”

  He turned me around and bent over, his arms grasping my shoulders. I glared at him, leaned forward, and spit at his face with the last of the saliva in my mouth. He responded swiftly with a punch against my right eye. My head snapped back, and more stars clouded my vision. My already aching head intensified with bolts of pain running through my skull like a lightning storm inside my head.

  “That’s for being a bitch,” he grunted to me.

  He picked me up and I tried thrashing in his grip, but every move made me nauseous. I dry heaved over his shoulder, throwing up bile from my stomach.

  “Get the fucking casket ready,” I heard him say, completely unfazed by my vomit.

  Casket?

  Uncaring of the nausea, I jerked again, screaming as loud as possible into the night. Nothing could silence me. I would scream until my vocal cords gave out, until I took my last breath. My hair fell over my face, more vomit spilled between my lips, and still I struggled no matter how hopeless I felt.

  Roughly, he threw me off his shoulder and into a hard box. I hurled my legs up and one of the men grabbed at them, forcing them down. Screaming with hysteria, I stared around the wooden casket they put me in. It was shaped in a long rectangle, longer than my own body, and it smelled of pine wood and dust. I screamed over and over again, gibberish flooding out of my mouth. I may have begged them to stop, or I may have cursed them to hell. I didn’t know. My mental state was slipping. I was losing my sanity the closer to death I was getting.

  “Keep her shoulders still,” the man ordered.

  I felt another pair of hands on my shoulders, and I stared wide eyed into a stranger’s face. Vapid eyes looked back me. A soulless gaze for a soulless murder. I saw something flash, and I blinked back at the bald man, who held a phone in his hand. He aimed it in my direction and another flash went off.

  “Picture is done,” he declared. “Nail the top on.”

  Two other men moved toward us, carrying the top of the lid to the casket. I screamed again at the top of my lungs as they lowered it over me. The hands around my shoulders and legs disappeared, and by reflex, I raised my legs and kicked with the front of my feet at the top that was suddenly shrouding me in a film of black darkness. The pressure of the lid was too hard to kick away. The sounds of the night dulled. Their voices were muffled, and moments later, I heard something pounding along the box.

  They were nailing me in.

  Panic swarmed my insides. I shrieked, but nothing happened. I tried to kick my legs up, but it hit the top of the box and again nothing happened. I never even had the opportunity to fight. I crumbled and sobbed. I couldn’t help it. I let the tears run freely because it truly was over. I was going to suffocate and die. There was no doubt about it.

  The box jerked suddenly, and I tumbled around. They were placing me somewhere. Probably the hole. God, this really was my funeral. And then I heard it… The soft sounds of soil hitting the lid. They’re burying me alive. All my worst nightmares had come true. I panted, but I could hardly draw any air in. Was I suffocating already? Had I sucked too much air into my lungs in such a short amount of time? No, I tried to reason, that wasn’t possible. I was having a panic attack. I went lightheaded, and for a second, I welcomed the dizziness, hoping I’d just fall unconscious and be put out of my misery.

  I shook my head at the feeling, determined to stay awake. I screamed again and tried pounding on the wood around me with my shoulders and even my head. I was exhausting myself for no reason. I didn’t understand why I was fighting when it was futile. It was like my will refused to die.

  The sounds of soil hitting the box ended minutes later, and I couldn’t hear anything else. My ears swallowed nothing but my loud frantic breaths.

  “No, please no,” I whimpered. “No, I’m not ready. I’m not ready.”

  My mind was already firing images of my grandmother, of my own mother, of Borden… I shook my head, frantically pushing the images away, unwilling to accept the truth. But they came at me anyway.

  Grandmother’s voice. Random memories flashing through my mind.

  8 years old: I found these rollerblades and I bought them with the last of my money. Try them on. They’re pink!

  10 years old: You’re my princess, Emma, no matter how old you are. You will always be my Princess Emma.

  13 years old: Don’t blame yourself. Your mother’s death wasn’t your fault. I love you. I will always love you, and I will never leave you.

  14 years old: If you’re going to be leaving the house often, take this knife here and put it somewhere nobody will find. Always arm yourself. It’s a dark world, and you’re too beautiful for it.

  16 years old: Let’s talk birth control.

  18 years old: He’s a fool to cheat on you. Only a fool would let you go.

  20 years old: I didn’t ask you to come over for a specific reason, but now that you’re here, I’ve set you up on a blind date. He’s a very handsome man.

  22 years old: I’m so proud of you, Emma. Just for being you. No other reason.

  I shook my head again at the images. No! But even as I said no, my body stopped moving. I was exhausted both emotionally and physically. I closed my eyes, relishing in the small circulating air around me. How long did it take for somebody to die in a coffin anyway? It was cruel really. Facing death like this with no way of stopping it. I was going to have to confront my life and all my failures and all I’d leave behind in the time it took to consume every litre of air around me.

  I cried so hard, my eyes hurt and the tears stung along my raw cheeks. My nose blocked and at some point more bile rose up my throat. I dry heaved and coughed and cried some more.

  And then I was completely and utterly spent.

  The weight of the soil created stress, and the wood above me strained and groaned, splintering it. It made the experience all the more real. I felt like the walls were closing in on me, and I sucked in more air, seized with sadness so heavy it hurt.

  Maybe I could just fall asleep instead. Maybe I wouldn’t feel my soul slipping away. I kept my eyes closed and imagined Marcus holding me, running his hand through my hair, kissing me with those luscious lips. For some reason that eased the pain in my chest. It gave me something to cling to.

  It’s all your fault, Marcus.

  I still don’t care, either. I’m your doll. I’ll always be your doll.

  Seventeen

  Emma

  Scratch.

  Scratch, scratch.

  My eyes whipped open to the sounds. It was coming from the coffin lid. You’re hallucinating. You’ve probably had the last of the air. You’re starting to suffocate. I shook my head trying to clear it. Was I really hallucinating? My heart sped up as the sounds continued.

  “Help,” I weakly said, my voice drained of energy. “Please, help.”

  My throat was raw and it hurt to talk. The pain in my back where my wrists were digging into had worsened to the point I couldn’t move without wincing in excruciating pain. I was half-convinced I was dreaming, that the noise of something dragging along the surface of the coffin was in my head. But it was too vivid. My hearing was all I currently had in the blackness, and it couldn’t be wrong.

  “Please,” I begged, crying. “Please, help me.”

  Crack!

  Crack!

  The box jerked and my heart spiked. It was the only part of my body that was still working strong. But the rest of me was a pile of limp bone and flesh. I continued to stare at the blackness, blinking away the dizziness in my head. I felt so tired. So goddamn tired.

  You’re suffocating slowly.

  Suddenly I heard a loud grunt followed by a deep angry growl. The sound was absolutely monstrous.

  Crack! CRACK!

  The wood stressed above me,
and then it broke through violently. Fresh air and grains of soil fell against my face as the lid forcefully opened. The darkness broke and the first thing I saw was a large hand pulling at the remainder of the broken lid. A huge figure loomed over me. I could see the long hair blowing in the harsh wind and as the figure leaned further down to me, I caught the thick beard and dark eyes. The familiar face frightened me more than it relieved me. I choked on a sob and cried out. “Hawke?”

  “I got you,” Hawke said, his arms wrapping around me. “I got you.”

  He pulled my limp body out and carried me out of the hole. I could hardly feel his touch as he set me gingerly on the ground, rolled me to my side and quickly tore away at the rope around my arms and legs with a large blade in his grip. Mentally, I was gone. This wasn’t real. I was probably dying and it was a mean hallucination right before the end. But then he rolled me on my back and I felt the sudden jarring pain in my shoulders as he brought my arms over my front.

  “You’re okay,” he told me, his voice soft. “You’re okay now. I got you.”

  It was too much. It was too real. I broke down, crying uncontrollably at the horror he’d just saved me from. His woodsy scent hit me. His touch broke through my numb flesh. He remarked that I was freezing and then he tore off his leather jacket and slipped it around me. The sudden warmth gave me pins and needles everywhere.

  “Don’t leave me,” I choked out, my mind playing catch up. I was so traumatized, I still couldn’t move. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” I repeated this like a madman, and he picked me up swiftly, tucking me against his chest and responded with, “I won’t” every single time.

  I was in a daze. There was no proper word to describe my mental state. Shut down? Broken? I felt like my soul had been ripped from my body and I was just lingering above, watching the scene unfold powerlessly. I was saved. I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t stuck in a hole. Yet my body reacted like I still was.

  Hawke grunted and pushed through the bush, seemingly going in a particular direction. It felt like he walked forever with no end in sight. By the time the forest met the road, I was in a bubble of warmth and weak beyond words.

  “We’re here,” he told me, his voice still gentle in an unfamiliar way. “You’re safe.”

  He let go of me with one hand, and the slight imbalance caused me to fist his shirt, shaking my head as the fear of being let go shot through me. I didn’t realize I’d been repeating the “don’t let go” line again until he said, “Emma, I won’t drop you. Don’t worry.”

  He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a key. I turned my head and saw a black SUV parked on the side of the road. He went to it and unlocked the passenger side. He opened it and delicately placed me inside against the black leather seat. When he closed the door, he hurried to the other side and slipped in. Turning on the car, he blasted the heaters. He had a deep look of concentration on his face – a face that was coloured with dirt. I looked at him like he was some ethereal god sprung out of nowhere to rescue me. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I couldn’t move forward. I was in too much shock.

  “H-how did you find me?” My voice was small and scratchy.

  “I followed you,” he replied, turning his large body to me. “Graeme messaged me after you left and gave me the address of the bar. I came across the cars, the men, and…Graeme.” He swallowed thickly. “How are you feeling? I couldn’t get to you sooner. I had those fucks to take care of. I’m sorry.”

  I blinked at him. Was he seriously apologizing? “You saved me, Hawke.”

  “I would have liked to have done it sooner. The big guy was harder to take down.”

  I looked him over. “You…you killed them?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Of course I killed them. I plucked them off one by one.”

  “All five?”

  He nodded solemnly. “If I wasn’t so pressed with time, I’d have done a little more to those fucks.” His gaze dropped to my shaking hands and he frowned. “Now answer me. Are you alright?”

  Tears fell as I looked away from him. “Graeme is dead.” Saying that out loud gutted me. The ache was so fresh. I covered my hand over my face and sobbed.

  “I know,” he replied shakily.

  “They killed the others in minutes. I didn’t want to run away. I hid and watched them shoot him. He kept screaming for me to run…and I didn’t want to leave him, but I had no choice. If he’d just run off with me, if…if we’d done something else…It’s my fault. I never should have left –”

  “Hey,” Hawke interrupted, moving closer to me. He didn’t touch me, but he leaned forward, until his face was close to mine. “None of this is your fault,” he whispered. “You understand? None of it. If it wasn’t today, it would have been some other day.”

  “But Graeme…”

  “Graeme knew the risks. Hell, we all know the risks.”

  “He died for me, Hawke.” I looked at him between the strands of hair cloaking my broken face. “He’s dead.”

  He didn’t say anything for a while. He didn’t need to. I saw the pain in him. He let out a slow breath before pulling away. “Yeah,” he finally muttered faintly. “He is, but you’re not, and I’ve got to take care of you.”

  He took hold of the steering wheel and turned the car around. He booked it down the road, driving fast. There was a sudden distance between us, like minutes ago he hadn’t been cradling me to his chest tenderly and telling me I was alright. With my current feelings, I needed that closeness. No, I desperately needed Borden. I needed his arms instead. I needed his warmth, his words, his love. He was the one that needed to take care of me.

  “Where are we going?” I asked Hawke, feeling every part of me go slack in the comfortable seat.

  “To safety,” he answered.

  “To Borden, you mean.”

  For some reason, he didn’t respond to that.

  With his jacket still wrapped around me, I had pressed my head against the window and somewhere along the way fallen asleep. With every bump we drove over, I’d awake, startled and afraid. “It’s alright, Emma,” Hawke would tell me, reaching his arm out in my direction but never touching me.

  “Where are we going?” I asked him sleepily. None of the areas we were beginning to pass were familiar. I was so discombobulated, I hadn’t paid attention to the roads.

  “Like I said, I’m taking you somewhere safe,” he told me.

  “To Borden,” I whispered, already slipping back to the blackness.

  “Rest, Emma. You need it.”

  I didn’t argue. I couldn’t hold on to consciousness if I tried. All that screaming, all that horror, and all that raw pain had fatigued every inch of my body.

  I was slightly relieved for the blackness.

  Eighteen

  Emma

  The car door slamming shut jolted me awake. It was dark everywhere. I looked around and caught Hawke’s figure moving across a parking lot and to a large red brick shop with the name Warlords INK. A tattoo parlour.

  Instantly feeling uneasy, I stared at our surroundings. It was completely desolate except for a line-up of three black motorcycles out front. What the hell was I doing here? How long had I been sleeping? I looked back at Hawke and watched him as he pounded on the black front door. The place looked eerily dark. The windows were blacked out and had bars over them. There wasn’t a sign of any life. He pounded on it again, harder this time, and the door suddenly opened. Two men in black appeared. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but I saw Hawke leaning forward, pointing a finger in their faces and then pointing over their heads at something, or someone. Immediately they nodded and left, leaving the door open. Hawke turned back and walked to the car, moving to my passenger door and opening it.

  “Come on, little one,” he demanded. “Time to get out. We’ll put you in a bed in no time.”

  I didn’t move. I gripped my belt tightly, staring uncertainly at him. “Where am I, Hawke?”

  “You’re in Warlord territory.”

&nb
sp; “Why?”

  “Because you need to be looked after.”

  Panic shot through me. I shook my head. “No, no, no, Hawke. I want to see Borden. I don’t want to go to the club –”

  “I can’t take you to Borden, Emma.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  He tapped the roof of the car, looking away from me.

  “Hawke,” I pressed, sitting up in my seat. I winced at the pounding in my head and placed a hand on it.

  “Are you hurt?” he suddenly asked. “Did they do something to your head?”

  I took a few breaths. “I got knocked around a bit.”