Shallow River

by H. D. Carlton

“No!” I shout back, dropping the box of cookies and storming towards him. I put my face as close to his as I can that’s within a safe distance. “I’m done listening to you. I don’t have to do a fucking thing for you anymore. You have no power. Not anymore. I have the power and it’s about time you realize that, you son of a bitch,” I spit.

  His chest pumps in tandem with mine. Frustrated tears fill his eyes. I cock my head, fascination once more taking over.

  “You’re crying,” I observe. Reaching a hand up, I let one of his tears drop onto my fingertip. He whips his head anyway when he realizes what I’m doing. “I’ve never seen something so beautiful in my life,” I murmur with wonder, holding the tear up to the light.

  Beautiful. I’m starting to like that word.

  He ignores me, and instead tries to manipulate me. “I loved you, River,” he pleads, his voice wobbly and tight. “I took care of you.”

  “You did love me,” I concede. “But you don’t know how to separate love from hate. Because you hated me, too, Ryan. You hate all woman. You beat me, stripped me of any self-love and worth, and then spit in my face.” His bottom lip wobbles.

  I get as close to his hateful eyes as possible, a burning feeling rising in me. Something like anger, or even sadness. “Do you know what the worst part is?” I ask softly, my eyes stinging with tears.

  He clenches his jaw, refusing to answer.

  “I defended you. I told them they were wrong for seeing the truth in you when all I tried to do was see the best in you.”

  I inch closer, a hot tear trailing down my cheek.

  “It was me that was wrong.”

  “Fuck you,” he spits.

  I cock my head, genuinely curious. “Tell me, Ryan. Why are you the way you are? You have loving parents, a beautiful home, a great job, money, a girlfriend who would’ve done anything for you. Why? Why, why, why, why?”

  He shakes his head frantically, “Stop it! Just… just fucking stop! I don’t have anything. You want to know why, River? You’re not the only one who was raped when they were young, okay?” My heart freezes. My breath stills.

  “By who?” I choke out.

  His face is nearly purple, rage potent in his face and words. In his very being. Ryan is rage. He’s made of it.

  “Daddy dearest.”

  I close my eyes as my heart splinters. Despite how much I loathe Ryan, tears spring to my eyes anyway. Tears of heartbreak for the little boy. I know all too well how it feels to be betrayed by your own flesh and blood. All too well.

  “Matt?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I don’t know why I asked. He doesn’t have another father. But Matt? Sweet, boisterous Matt? The same man who always has a smile on his face. Who’s always laughing and so, so kind? It doesn’t compute in my brain.

  I had once said that Matt had somehow held onto his morals, despite being such a notorious lawyer.

  It seems I was wrong.

  “Yes, Matt,” he fumes, spitting out his name like a curse. “That vile piece of shit was sucking my dick at eight years old. And some fucked up part of me thought it was normal. And then Mako came along. He started beating me then. I wasn’t like Mako, so I was punished for it. He was the golden child. The one Dad refused to touch because he knew Mako would tell. Mako didn’t take shit from anybody and I was the weak, little boy who got fucked every night.”

  Tears track down my cheeks.

  I get it. I get Ryan’s hatred that has consumed his heart and soul. I get his hatred for Mako. Why he feels the need to assert power over women. He felt powerless his entire life, and his revenge was to make other people feel like he did. He wants everyone else to suffer for the shitty hand he was dealt.

  It’s wrong. Disgusting. But I get it.

  “Are you sorry for how you treated me?” I inquire softly. “For making me feel like how your father made you feel?”

  Right as I ask the question, I also ask myself if I will let him go if he says yes. Now that I understand Ryan for the first time, I’m scared of what I’ll do.

  He mulls over my question, burning rage still lit in his eyes. After a moment, Ryan speaks. “I enjoyed every single second of it, River. I will never be sorry. Women are weak and powerless. If I had to suffer for being those things, then so do all of you. I refuse to be sorry for that.”

  No wonder why his blue eyes were always so dull. He doesn’t have any soul left in him. Matt took that from him.

  He took everything from Ryan, and now he wants to take everything from me.

  “You think I’m weak?” I whisper, confused by his observation—and a little hurt, too. I’ve been anything but weak.

  His eyes turn mocking, but they no longer affect me. Neither does his empty words. “I’ve hit and raped you and you keep running on back to me, tail tucked between your legs like a good little bitch. You’re so, so weak.” His body shakes from the building rage. “You’re stained, River. No one will love a dirty slut that came from Shallow Hill. Especially not one that’s had more cocks inside her than a whore in a brothel.”

  I smile slowly, his words oh so similar to the ones Billy told me not so long ago.

  I’m stained.

  I’m also other things too.

  Broken.

  Scarred.

  Traumatized.

  Strong.

  Fierce.

  Vengeful…

  Rising the knife to his chest, I press the blade down and drag, eliciting sweet, sweet moans of pain. He stays still—having already learned that thrashing about only makes the cuts worse. I don’t feel weak right now. I imagine I feel a lot like how he felt when wringing moans of pain from my mouth.

  Leaning forward, I brush my lips across his ear and croon, “Your brother will love me.” I pause, the knife still lodged in his flesh when I back up enough to ensnare his eyes in mine. They’re wide with shock and my smile grows in response.

  “Alison, Mako… they know what it’s like to love a monster. It’s much easier to love each other, don’t you think?”

  Hot breaths puff from his nose as his rage boils over.

  “The only thing I’ll be stained with is your blood, Ryan. Somehow, I don’t think they’ll mind that too much.”

  Nineteen

  Mako

  THE SUNDAY NEWS IS on. Same old stories. Murders, kidnappings, and more depressing shit with a little dabble of inspo to keep from completely depressing the viewer.

  I’m not paying a lick of attention to it. I’ve been agonizing over my case, and all I’ve accomplished is giving myself a massive fucking headache. Tomorrow, I’ll be meeting with Benedict Davis, revisiting the murder he witnessed. This is the fourth time I’ve spoken with him, and each time his story changes. He’s inconsistent and if it wasn’t for the fact that he knows certain details civilians don’t have access to, I’d chalk him up to be a liar and drop him.

  Even without Benedict Davis and his shoddy story, we’re getting closer. Finding the Ghost Killer is just outside of my grasp, so close I can feel it.

  My phone buzzes on the armrest next to me and startling me from gazing sightlessly into the T.V. screen. Not only am I going to be bald, but now I’m going to need bifocals by forty. I glance at it and see a number I haven’t seen pop up on my phone in months.

  SERENA: I miss you, baby. It’s been awhile since you’ve visited me. Come over? I’m wearing your favorite outfit. ;)

  I sigh. My favorite outfit on her was nothing. Preferably with her face stuffed in the mattress and ass high in the air. Serena always tried to wow me with frilly, lacy lingerie. I never cared for any of it when all I wanted was a quick fuck and to leave.

  For some reason, she thought the lingerie would get me to stay, rather than developing some sort of personality.

  It never did.

  I delete the text, and then her number, and stuff the phone in my back pocket. Serena barely held onto my attention in the first place, she has zero chance of getting even a sliver of it now.

  Not when a particular woman is occup
ying my brain space. I knew from the moment I met River that she was going to ruin me. I just hadn’t realized it would also feel like damnation.

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket again, indicating an incoming call. With a frustrated growl, I fish the phone out of my pocket and answer before looking to see who it is.

  “Yeah?” I grunt.

  “Hey…” a familiar, hesitant voice filters through.

  “Hey, Ali,” I greet with a sigh. I don’t mind hearing from her, but I already know what this conversation is going to center around.

  “Have you heard from River?” she asks.

  “No. Should I have?”

  Silence.

  “Ali?” I push. When she still doesn’t answer right away, fear circulates through my system and a pit forms in my stomach. Automatically, I fear the worst. It’s a feeling I’ve become quite acquainted with, though we’re definitely not on friendly fucking terms.

  “I think you should talk to her,” she says finally. I don’t need to see her to know she’s biting her nails. It’s a habit Ryan beat her constantly for, before sending her to a nail salon to get acrylics.

  “Is she okay, Ali? What happened?” I ask impatiently, my tone darkening. I sit up straight and shut off the news.

  “N-nothing. Well… she’s okay. She’s not hurt or anything,” she rushes, stumbling over her words. My brow plummets. My anxiety switches gears. Something is going on—I just have no idea what.

  “Did something happen?” I ask slowly, growing aggravated by her lack of explanation. My hand is gripping my hair, on the verge of yanking out the strands.

  She sighs with frustration. “Yes, but I think you should talk to her, Mako. Okay? That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Okay,” I answer right as my finger taps the red button. My impatience has crested. Being nice is the last thing on my mind when it’s too busy imagining all my nightmares coming to life. My mind whirls, considering the ramifications if I just show up at Ryan’s house. It’s late. He’ll probably freak, but I can use the excuse for needing to work on the case. I’m meeting with his witness tomorrow, and I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to Ryan about it in a few days.

  Mind already made up, I grab my keys and start for the door, barely giving myself enough time to tie the laces on my boots.

  I pause halfway through the door, my hand still on the handle. Maybe I should call first? I dial Ryan’s number as I shut the door behind me and get in the car. The line rings, and rings, before eventually going to voicemail. I give it one more try, despite the fact that I’m already pulling out of the driveway.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling in their expansive, obnoxiously long driveway with the stupid fucking fountain in the middle. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ryan builds a monument of himself in the middle one day.

  There are a few lights on in the monstrous house. Seeing this house makes my lip curl every fucking time. It’s over the top, with white sleek walls, glass and wood making up the entirety of the house. It’s modern and very fucking pretentious.

  Fuck. I’m nervous. My hand is sliding through my hair, frustrated with this shit. With Ryan and the constant pain in my ass he’s been since I was adopted.

  Throwing myself out of the car before I end up tearing out of the driveway, I rush up the steps and knock on the door loudly a few times. Glancing at the time on my watch, I note that it’s only eight thirty. Ryan should still be awake.

  When no one answers, I knock a few more times. Sometimes I wish that he’d act like every other rich asshole and hire a butler. I give it all of five seconds before I try the door handle. Locked. There are cameras recording me right now with a feed I’m positive links to Ryan’s phone. I linger for another minute, hoping he’ll see that it’s me and open the door.

  Yeah fucking right, Mako. Like that’s going to happen.

  Fuck it. I’ve been to Ryan’s house only three times in my life, but it only took one time to catalog every exit point. I jog around to the back of the house. The backyard consists of an inground pool on the edge of a cliff, widening into the kitchen in an open concept. The backside of the house is all glass, the entirety of the wall capable of sliding open until the backyard and kitchen become one. Fucking stupidest thing, if you ask me. Who the fuck is okay with just anyone being able to peer inside their house? The thought sends shivers down my spine.

  Quietly creeping up to the door, I peer through the glass and listen for any sounds. Any yelling, screaming. Flesh hitting flesh. There’s only silence. No movement, either.

  The glass glides open smoothly without a sound, and though it’s good for me, I still shake my head in disappointment. So stupid to leave any door unlocked. I see too many goddamn murders for this to be acceptable, and the fact that I’m breaking and entering so easily is going to earn this fucker an earful. I could be a burglar, and apparently, that’s okay with Ryan.

  The white and gray kitchen is dim, casting shadows across the pristine kitchen. It’s starting to get darker earlier in the day now that fall is approaching. It’s only eight thirty, but the sun is setting. A drawer hangs at an odd angle, catching my attention. I peak in the drawer to see a bunch of knives and silverware haphazardly thrown into it.

  I click on the flashlight on my phone and inspect them. None look bloody. It does little to calm my racing thoughts.

  I angle the light over the shadows until I’m sure there’s not a person hiding in them. Based off the soft gleam from down the hall, there’s a lamp on in the living room. I strain my ears, listening for footsteps or voices.

  “Ryan?” I call loudly, clicking off the light and stuffing the phone in my back pocket. The last thing I need is to be accused of breaking and entering by an asshole of a lawyer. Ryan would take that opportunity and eat it up like candy.

  A muted voice filters through, but I can’t place where. As I’m concentrating on the muffled noise, a loud bang from upstairs draws my attention away.

  I swear to fucking god, if he just hit her… My body is moving before I can think to, rushing through the kitchen and into the hallway. I nearly crash into the wall as I swing myself around the white marble staircase. Nearly tripping up the stairs, I come to a stumbling halt when River’s face comes into view. She had just done exactly what I did—almost falling in her rush to come down the stairs.

  “What are you doing here?” she yells, just as I yell, “Did he fucking hurt you again?”

  “What?” she asks, bewildered. We’re both immobilized on each end of the staircase, staring at each other with wild expressions.

  “Is he up there? Did he hurt you?” I ask again harshly.

  “No—I—he’s not here,” she stutters. The pounding in my chest slowly calms as my suspicions rise. She looks like she’s been caught with a knife over a dead body. Guilty as fuck. Home intruders don’t announce themselves. Ryan could’ve easily invited me over and not tell her. So why the fuck does she look green in the face? And why are her eyes shifting with paranoia and nerves?

  “What are you doing here?” she snaps again, crossing her arms and widening her stance into a defensive position. Her chin lifts as she stares down her nose at me. Just barely do I curb the urge to question her. I am, after all, breaking into her house. She has every right to be suspicious of me.

  “Ryan invited me over,” I lie, steeling my spine.

  She rolls her eyes. “No, he didn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he’s not even here,” she repeats. In that moment, another muffled voice sounds from somewhere. I cock my head, trying to place it.

  Noticing my attention is averted, she barrels down the stairs and throws herself on me, cinnamon enveloping all my senses. Stumbling backwards, I grapple with her body and the railing to keep from falling backwards. What the fuck?

  “You scared me,” she says breathily. “But I’m glad you’re here now. Can I come over?”

  The look on my face could only be described as utterly baffled.

 
; “What the hell are you hiding, River?” I accuse harshly. She tenses in my arms, and immediately pushes me away and then walks past me as if she didn’t just dramatically throw herself at me.

  This woman is a fucking… I don’t even know what the hell.

  “Get out,” she orders stoically, all emotion from her voice gone.

  Crossing my arms, I widen my stance and cock a brow, letting her know I’m not going anywhere. There’s a muffled voice somewhere in the house that sounds like they’re yelling, Ryan’s mysteriously gone, and River is acting like she’s hiding something. She’s fidgety and if I didn’t know any better, River is lying. Terribly, at that.

  Subtly, I catalog every single detail. Shifty eyes, trembling hands, restless feet and a small splatter of blood on her neck. The smell of some type of cleaning solution filters through my nose, overpowering her sweet cinnamon scent.

  “You know you can tell me,” I assure gently, attempting to soften my trembling voice. She did something. She did something very bad.

  She snorts. “I can tell a cop anything? Get real, Mako,” she replies, her tone dripping with poison and condescension.

  “I’ve already crossed a few lines for you, River.”

  “You’re saying you’re dirty?” she challenges.

  “Are you saying you’re going to give me a reason to be?” I shoot back. Her lips tighten into a thin line. That would be a huge fucking resounding yes. I drop my head back and heave out a harsh breath. “Tell me, River. I swear I will not arrest you or get you in any kind of trouble. You can trust me.”

  When I lift my head back to her, she’s chewing on her bottom lip and looking at me as if she can’t decide if I’m Robin Hood or the big bad wolf. I’m not really sure which I am, either. Depends who’s asking.

  “Alison and I had sex,” she blurts. The spit I was swallowing at a very untimely moment lodges in my throat. I choke, coughing harshly as I try not to die before her feet. The evil little sprite would probably enjoy it, too.

  The gears in my brain are turning too quickly. The little dude manning my brain is desperately trying to reign them in as I try to process what the hell she just said. She smiles at my reaction, while I feel my face go red. “Are you blushing?” she teases.