I don’t know why I’m not having a complete breakdown right now. It’s possible that my response is just delayed, or the ordeals I’ve suffered over the past few weeks have jammed my emotional processes temporarily. Who knows?
I consider my feelings as I push myself up from the bed and begin to hobble across the room toward Patrick. Maybe neither of those reasons explain my lack of emotion. I wonder if I didn’t care about Raul as much as I thought I did. Or, if the flare effects have altered my psychological state, as well as my physical one.
I’m definitely not the same person I was; it’s conceivable that I’m not even human any more. Perhaps I’m nothing more than a hot, electric shell, surrounding a combustible inner core, with a cold, dead heart.
◌◌◌
Getting the three of us into the car turns out to be a far greater production than I anticipated. Determined to escape this house of horrors, we each hobble and crawl down the steps and across the yard.
By the time we reach the vehicle, everyone is grunting and breathing heavily.
Although we’re all hurt, my injuries rank lowest on the degree scale, so I’m appointed chauffeur. The back seat remains cluttered, so we pile into the front, and I prepare for another driving lesson.
“What about Raul?” asks Kat.
“What about him?” I respond with a shrug.
She looks over to the cabin and asks, “Shouldn’t we do something?”
Beside her, with his head resting against the passenger side window, Patrick clears his throat and emits a brief snort. “No,” he says. “He beat me over the head with an iron pot and threw me across a room—just so he could strangle you, and then somehow kill Mya. Screw him.”
Surprise shows on Kat’s face, and her eyes are wide when she looks at me. My initial response mirrors Patrick’s, so I shift the car into drive and step on the gas.
Every bump and divot in the road sends waves of pain through all three of us. No one is inclined to speak, and the first ten minutes of travel pass in silence, except for an occasional moan when the car lurches from a pothole.
Finally, my curiosity overrides my common sense, and I start talking. “I don’t understand how any of this is happening,” I gripe. “I keep thinking that this nightmare will end, and everything will be back to normal; but I never wake up, and my life keeps getting worse and worse.”
Trying to watch for the bigger holes on the path, I angle my head slightly toward Kat. “What happened last night? Why did Raul flip out and try to kill everyone?”
She sniffs before responding. “I don’t know.”
“He said your dad figured out that he killed those men. How is that possible?”
Kat’s head is bowed, and her eyes are unfocused. “I don’t know,” she repeats, “I wasn’t there.”
Looking directly at her, I challenge, “He must’ve said something to you. Something made him become unhinged. Don’t you remember anything?”
Because I’m not paying attention, I drive through another pothole, and Patrick curses as his head bangs into the side window.
“Leave her alone,” he grumbles. “Watch where you’re going and just get us back before I die.”
“I’m doing the best I can,” I mutter.
“No, you’re not,” he says. “Shut up and just drive.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I pull the car next to Raul’s fence and stop the engine. Too tired to move, I lean forward and place my head on the wheel. Kat and I aren’t going to be able to get Patrick into the house, so I signal for help by briefly honking the horn.
What seems like a good idea at the time, turns out to be a major faux pas. Patrick is suffering from a concussion, and the sound from the horn leaves him gripping his head in pain.
Quickly, I remove my hands from the steering wheel and tug open the car door. As soon as my left foot hits the ground, Emily, Eric and Matthew come running out of the house. “Did you find them? Are they with you?”
Ignoring their questions, I point to the opposite side of the car. “Patrick needs help,” I say, “he’s hurt pretty badly.”
Emily immediately alters course to help her friend. She opens the door and looks in, just as Eric joins me. Glancing into the front and back seats, he asks, “Where’s Raul?”
“Later,” I say. “Let’s get Patrick and Kat inside, and then we all need to talk.”
I can see that he’s brimming with questions, but I have only half the answers. Rather than guess, I’d like to hear what Mr. Miller and Kat have to say.
I bend over and look into the car. Emily has pulled Patrick into a loose hug and is whispering to him.
Concern colors my voice. “Is he going to be ok?”
“Yes,” she says, “But I’m going to need some help getting him inside. He needs more healing and some rest.”
Eric joins his sister. Reaching into the car and grabbing Patrick’s arms, he lifts the older boy out of the Cadillac. With Matthew on one side and Eric on the other, the trio begins a slow trek toward the house.
Reaching toward my best friend, I try easing Kat out of the car, but she sits in a daze with her eyes cast toward the floorboard. Speaking in soft, soothing tones, Emily coaxes Kat from her seat and encourages her to stand.
Hobbling behind all of them, I close the car door and proceed up the front steps.
Inside the house, my mother and Mr. Miller still rest in the living room. Mom is alert and rushes to the door as I cross the entrance. Pulling me close, she wraps her arms around me and envelops me in a crushing embrace, while Charlie dances around our feet. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she says. “I was so worried.”
I return the hug and stumble a bit when I put weight on my right leg. Sensing my distress, she leads me to her chair and motions for me to sit. I notice a half-filled bottle of water on the side table and reach for it as I collapse into the seat. Sensing my distress, Charlie hops next to me and rests his head in my lap.
Eric notices my movement and asks Matthew to fetch water bottles and peanut butter crackers for everyone. Happy to have a task, the boy runs from the room, while Eric helps Kat get settled next to her father.
Returning from a supply run, Emily enters the room carrying towels and medical necessities. She places the items on the floor next to Patrick and begins a detailed examination of his head.
Mom gives me one final hug and leaves to help with Patrick. My new friend lies on his chest, with his left cheek resting on a folded towel. With nimble fingers, Emily separates his blood-clotted hair; and while she pours water on the congealed mess, Mom assists by mopping up the excess liquid.
Patrick has passed out from the pain and trauma, and the two women work quickly to clean and seal the wound. Although our basic disinfectant supply is limited, Mr. DeLaPortilla’s liquor cabinet is brimming. Emily selects an Everclear grain alcohol to use as an antiseptic, and she douses the injury.
Matthew returns with the food, and I scoot forward to get his attention. “Thank you, Matthew,” I say. “You’re the best.” He passes me a package, and I inhale all six of the crackers instantly. Finishing my water, I lean back in the chair, and within minutes, I’m sound asleep.
◌◌◌
The smell of hot food rouses me. Mom has used the grill to create a stew for dinner, and the combination of dried beef jerky, vegetables, and rice in a pot of seasoned broth, makes my mouth salivate with need.
I open my eyes and discover that everyone is awake and already eating. I shift to wipe the sleep from my lids, and Mom notices. “Mya,” she says, “I’m sure you’re hungry. I’ll be right back with your bowl.”
Eric comes over and sits on the arm of my chair. “It’s ’bout time you woke up,” he says. “We’re all dying to know what happened this morning, and where Raul is.”
I look across the room at Patrick and Kat. “Didn’t they tell you?” I ask.
“They declined,” he says, quickly peeking at the two. “They said Raul’s dead, but they wanted to wait for y
ou before saying anything else. Apparently, you’re the only one who knows the entire story.”
Mom returns and the aroma from the food makes my stomach growl. Making sure I don’t burn my tongue, I take a small sip. The warm liquid coats my throat, and I sigh with culinary pleasure. Mom smiles and shoos Eric away. “Let her eat. She’ll talk when she’s finished.”
The warm food is delicious, and I eat it so quickly that I’m ready to discuss the past twenty-four hours far sooner than anyone expects. Clearing my throat to get everyone’s attention, I begin. “If everyone’s finished eating, perhaps we can all fill in the gaps for each other. If it’s ok, I’d like to begin with what happened here, before we discuss finding Kat and Raul.”
My eyes dart around the room in apprehension. “Mr. Miller,” I begin, “Raul said you figured out that he’d killed those two men from the garden. Is that why he shot you?”
Although Kat’s dad is sitting up, his face is pale and haggard, and his speech is slow. “I was out by the garden yesterday, and I found a knife that had dried blood on it. I started thinking about those two dead men, and I needed some answers.” He stops his narrative for a brief yawn and continues.
“Raul was on the deck when I got back. I asked him some questions, and he was very evasive. I asked again about his attack, and his story changed. Things just didn’t add up. I couldn’t understand how those men were killed, but he was left alive. Why would anyone do that? Why leave a possible witness? Especially when he’s out cold. Why wouldn’t Raul have been stabbed too?”
Up till now, Matthew has been sitting on the floor between Eric and Kat. When his father pauses to look at everyone, Matthew crosses to the couch and sits down.
“But that’s not when he shot you, Dad.”
Mr. Miller wraps his arm around his son’s shoulders and pulls him in gently for a hug. “No, Matthew. That’s not when he shot me. This was earlier in the day. But I think that’s when he decided he would shoot me.”
Returning his attention to me, Kat’s dad resumes his account. “After the three of you left to find Emily, Raul seemed to become agitated. He grumbled about being left behind and kept talking to himself. Eventually, he went upstairs and shut his door.”
Mr. Miller says he’s unsure when Mom was attacked, but it must have been shortly before the confrontation in the kitchen. “Raul was angry. He said I was ruining everything, and he couldn’t allow it. He said he’d have to give Kat some attention, but the way he said it worried me, so I told him to stay away from Kat. He snarled at me, lifted a gun that I didn’t know he had, and he shot me.”
Lifting his hand to point at his daughter, Mr. Miller adds, “That’s when Kat ran in. Raul grabbed her, ran out the door, and they disappeared.” Pausing to catch his breath, Mr. Miller puts his hand on Matthew’s hair and musses it. “Shortly after that, Matthew came down.”
Smiling at his son, he adds, “You saved my life son. You did everything I told you to do and then some.”
Leaning in to hug his dad, Matthew says, “Emily and Mya saved you, Dad. You were losing so much blood, and you’d passed out. Ms. Bernal was knocked out, and I couldn’t wake her. It was terrible. I never want to go through anything like that again.”
“We must’ve arrived shortly after,” says Eric. It took several hours for Emily and Mya to get you and Ms. B fixed up.” Directing his attention to Kat, Eric asks, “Did you know why Raul shot your dad? What did he say to you?”
Hunching her shoulders and pulling her legs in close to her body, Kat avoids eye contact when she softly replies. “He didn’t say much of anything. Just mumbled a lot. Something about girls always wanting attention or seeking attention.”
She crosses her arms, and the volume of her voice drops further. “He was angry. At Mya, I think. At least, that’s what I think he was going on about. I was upset and begging to see Dad.” She reaches down with both hands and grabs her toes. “He hit me,” she whispers. “Called me ugly names. I must’ve passed out. I don’t remember a lot.”
Sensing her distress, Eric picks up a throw blanket from the couch and wraps it around Kat’s shoulders. “That’s fine,” he says. “I’m sorry. We don’t need to go into all that right now.”
With a slight movement of his chin, he motions to his sister and continues the narrative. “Emily took charge after we arrived here; she was fantastic.”
He sits and proudly says, “You know, she’s been staying out at the Urgent Care Clinic. She’s always been interested in medicine and has volunteered at the hospital for years. So, when she was finally feeling better, Dr. Emmerson let her be his medical assistant.”
Looking at his sister, he smiles, “Emily’s like Mya and me. She changed during the flare too.” He turns toward Mr. Miller, “She’s a healer. That’s how you’re ok. She’s been training for only a week, but she’s smart and has always been a fast learner.”
Blushing, Emily smiles and begins fidgeting with the seam of her pants. “Everyone helped, Eric. I couldn’t have done it by myself.”
“Anyway,” he says, “Emily and Mya took care of your medical needs. Once we knew you’d live, Mya and I searched the house for Raul and Kat. They weren’t here, but Mya sensed them running across the fields, so she and Patrick went to find them.”
He finishes up quickly and motions to me. “I think that sums up our part Mya. What happened next?”
Feeling uneasy with everyone looking at me, I call the dog over and urge him into my lap. While I run my fingers through his silky hair, I try to organize my thoughts. After a few seconds, I take a deep breath and release it slowly. “Before I begin, I need to apologize to Patrick.”
Making sure to look him directly in the eyes, I say sincerely, “I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you, Patrick. You’ve been really great—over and over. If you hadn’t insisted on going with me, I think Kat and I would be dead right now.”
Grinning back at me, he shrugs his right shoulder and tips his head slightly. “I’m sure I deserved it. I know how I’ve treated you. Maybe the flare affected me in some positive way too.”
Being absolved of some of my sins, I quickly summarize our trip to the shack and the events inside. I tell how Kat was unconscious on the bed when we first arrived, and how Raul attacked everyone. I describe Patrick breaking in the window and risking his life to help us, and I explain using my electrical charge to stun Raul until he was out cold.
I ease Charlie off my lap and scoot forward in my seat. “He was going to kill all three of us,” I say. “There’s no doubt in any of our minds.”
The room is silent as they wait for me to continue. “I asked him to let us leave. I begged him to stop.” I exhale a shaky breath, “I told him I didn’t want to hurt him.”
Tears gather in my eyes, and I squeeze my lips together. I swallow a couple of times, then look around the room. “He’s dead,” I say. “He’s in the cabin. We left him there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
It’s been three days since Raul died. Emily returned to the clinic yesterday, and Patrick is back at the compound. Mr. Miller continues to improve, and my mother seems healthy and normal. Eric and Matthew spend a great deal of their days outside, working in the garden, and setting traps for food, but Kat and I seem to be floundering.
No one speaks of Raul, although his very essence surrounds us. We’re sitting in his chairs and sleeping in his rooms. We’re drinking from his well and farming his land.
Every morning, I scan the area out by the shed and try to find evidence of life. I don’t know why I look. Fear? Dread? Hope? I can’t explain it.
I’m doing my best to adjust to my new life. I eat, and eventually, I sleep. I know that in time, I’ll be able to cope, but I worry about Kat. She’s always so kind and sensitive. She barely speaks these days, and she reeks of sadness.
Maybe today will be a better day. The sun has just crested the horizon, and I’m in need of some fresh air. Grabbing a bottle of water and a breakfast bar, I write a brief note to Mom an
d slip out of the house. The old oak tree by the barn calls to me. Its distance from the house offers me solitude for my thoughts, and its leafy branches offer a break from the climbing temperatures.
I’ve been sitting here for half an hour when the sound of shoes on gravel interrupts my silent reflections. With her hair pulled into a hasty bun, and her shoes untied, Kat slowly walks over and stops several feet away. “May I join you?”
Pleased to see her up and about, I gesture to the ground at my left. “Of course. Did you want to sit? Or would you rather walk?”
She answers by lowering herself beside me and crossing her legs. When no conversation is forthcoming, I assume she just wants to get out of the house, so I close my eyes and lean my head against the tree trunk.
A light breeze stirs my hair and without warning, her soft voice strokes my inner ear. “I’m scared,” she says.
I sit forward and raise my eyelids. “The world’s a scary place right now,” I say. “We just have to take things one day at a time. Can you do that?”
She ignores my question and looks across the empty yard. “It’s all so terrible now. I don’t know what to think anymore. I wish my mom were here; she always knew what to say.”
“I’m here,” I say and reach out to pat her knee. “You can always talk to me.”
Although she’s looking away, I know she’s crying again. I can hear the tears in her voice. “Do you miss him?”
“I miss the person I thought he was.”
She sniffs and clears her throat. “Do you hate me?”
“Never,” I say. “Raul was messed up. It was either him or us. There was no arguing or compromising with him. He’d made up his mind, and he was dangerous. It wasn’t your fault.”
Now, I have her complete attention. Instantly shifting positions, she climbs to her knees and faces me. “But it is my fault,” she asserts. “I killed him. Not you, not Patrick…me.”
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