“If you think there’s ever a day that will come that I will forgive you, or come to terms with you killing our daughter, then you’re even more fucked up than I thought you were.”
I turn away from her and pull the sunglasses back down in place right as the first tear falls from my eyes. I refuse to let her see the pain. She can see the anger, I have no issues with that. But I won’t let her see how fucked up she made me. How deep she cut me. How broken she made me.
How dare she act as if she cares now! Or like she ever did. We wouldn’t be in this position if that were the case.
I walk to the tow truck, not letting my blurry vision from my tears I’ve held back affect me. With the stab of a few buttons, I release her bike as she asked, more of a mercy for me than for her. The thought of doing anything that could be construed as a favor to her makes me physically sick to my stomach. I just want to get away from her. I don’t need a reason to see her ever again. Fixing her bike would be working in direct contrast with that.
As soon as the bike hits the ground with a thunderous clash, somehow causing even more damage than I thought was possible, I jump back in the truck and peel out of the parking lot as fast as I can manage. I don’t hold back the sobs as they wrench their way out of my throat. They’re a mixture of pain, sorrow, and downright despair. Something I haven’t allowed myself to feel in longer than I care to admit.
“Oaklynn.” I whisper into the empty cab of the truck.
It’s the first time I’ve spoken her name out loud since her precious little life was taken before she even had the chance to live it. I never even got the chance to meet her. To hold her.
But it doesn’t mean I didn’t love her with everything I am.
I still fucking do.
The speakers blare to life, the next Machine Gun Kelly on my playlist punching me in the gut with unnecessary force.
‘Since you left, I've been holding onto a memory. Since you walked out that door, yeah.’
I stab the button on the dash, refusing to hear another word.
Not today Satan. Not fucking today.
Bad moon white again.
Chapter Six
Remi
I lock the deadbolt in place behind the last customer of the night, leaning against the door to catch my breath. I forgot how much small-town guys can drink without pissing themselves or falling over. There are pros and cons to that of course though.
Pros: They’re very generous with their tips.
Cons: They’re very generous with their hands.
I’m pretty sure I broke one guy’s wrist tonight and let me assure you when I say I have absolutely zero regrets about that. I do not put up with that shit.
Before I sent him home, I told Henry that I’m going to start wearing my thigh holster to work if he doesn’t get his customers under control quickly. I’ve noticed that most men seem to be more cooperative when they’re faced with fifteen rounds pointed in their direction.
At first, Henry objected to the idea of me carrying on my shifts. But after tonight, when the third guy within an hour grabbed my ass and tried to haul me on his lap, he agreed. Granted, he agreed after I slammed the guy’s head into the bar, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve cleaned up some disgusting stuff in my life so wiping up a little spilled blood of a handsy man is more of a reward than anything else at this point.
Liz comes into the main bar area from my little bedroom set up in the back, shuffling through an open folder. She takes a seat at the bar as I reach into the sink to start washing the remaining pint glasses.
Liz is only a few years older than me but has looked after me with the fierceness of a mother since she was thrown into my life. She’s several inches taller, which makes her hugs feel warm and nurturing even on days when I don’t feel like I deserve that kind of love.
She has shoulder-length beautiful honey blonde hair that’s starting to thin slightly, no doubt from the complimentary ‘Remi Jameson stress package’ that she takes on with grace and zero complaints. Her pretty pale blue eyes hold more wisdom and secrets than most people will ever have in a lifetime.
Bottom line, she’s my guardian angel that doesn’t get paid well enough or get nearly enough booze. A saint by definition, although she’ll roll her eyes any time you try and tell her that. Liz is modest to a fault and believes that argyle sweaters are a daily necessity and will never go out of style. She’s the exact opposite of me, something that has kept me alive a lot longer than I probably deserve.
“What’s the word?” I ask.
She takes her reading glasses off her face and lays them on the bar before rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands.
“They ransacked your last hotel room. They destroyed everything, Rem. It looks like a fucking bomb went off in there.”
“Are you sure they didn’t actually set one off? I wouldn’t be surprised at this point.” I say, shaking my head.
I try to play it off, to sound unfazed by it all, but it doesn’t come out quite as cavalier as I hoped. You’d think I would be used to the chaos and destruction at this point. But one thing I’ve told myself throughout the years is that the minute you accept it, you can no longer outrun it.
That’s a fate I won’t accept. No matter how easy it would be to succumb.
“They’re coming for you, Rem. Harder than they ever have before. Something big is coming. How much longer do you really think you can keep doing this?”
Her voice sounds tired. Not the ‘It’s been a long day, I need to hit the hay’ kind of tired. No, she sounds tired down to her bones. The kind of tired that no matter how much sleep you get, you never really recover from. I know the feeling.
Liz has been by my side through this shit show for years now, I know firsthand the toll it takes on you after a while. Sadly, she’s gotten off easy if you consider it all. She’s sustained a total of zero physical injuries in this endeavor. A calculation I wish I could include myself in.
“I was hoping you could answer that for me.” I tell her, pulling the plug in the sink, draining the dirty water. “I’m tired of running, Liz.”
“I know, babe.” She says on a strained exhale. “Have you thought about coming clean to Brody? He and his friends have amassed some serious connections since they came back to town. You never know, the extra help could be the final push you need to…”
I shake my head before she even finishes her sentence. It’s bad enough that he thinks I’m some heartless gypsy whore, I don’t need him knowing what’s really been going on since before we even met.
How would I even start that conversation anyways?
‘Hey, remember eleven years ago when we met and I let you believe and even encouraged the thought, that I was just some free spirit gypsy girl who didn’t like to stay put for very long? Yeah, well that’s not exactly the case. You see, I’ve been on the run since I was fifteen and have to constantly keep moving so that no one finds me. Oh and at least once a month I’m literally escaping death. Want to count my stitches with me?’
I have a feeling that wouldn’t go over very well at all. The only person I’ve ever spoken the truth to was one of my older brothers, Ruger, who in turn recruited Liz to help me out. That’s two people too many if you ask me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the possibility of telling Brody.
“I’ll tell you what” I start out, offering a bargain I don’t know if I can honor in the end. “The day I can stop running, I’ll tell him the truth. Until then, keep him out of this, do you hear me?” I ask, pointing at her with the towel I’ve been using to wipe the bar down with.
“You’re determined to die a martyr aren’t you?”
“The opposite actually. I’m willing to be a martyr to keep everyone I love alive. Hopefully, I get to be one of the ones left standing in the end. But I’m willing to risk it.”
“He’s going to find out the whole truth eventually, Rem.”
Liz places her hand on top of mine, bri
nging my full attention to her and the sadness reflected in her eyes. I know how much she wishes she could change everything with the snap of her fingers. I know she wishes that Brody and I could put the past behind us and find a way to be together, to be as happy as we were together back in LA.
Damn, that seems like a lifetime ago.
There have been very few moments in my life where I have been truly happy. All of them are because of Brody. And since the day I left, there’s been a piece of me that was missing. I haven’t been truly whole since that day. Not that he’d ever want me to say that to him, but it’s the truth.
But, there’s only so much she can do. I don’t fault her for that. At the end of the day, it’s been nice to have one ally I can always call upon. No matter how ugly my world got.
“Do they know I’m here yet?” I ask, dodging her last statement, hoping she’ll drop it altogether.
My voice cracks at the end, and I know that she can tell why I’m asking. I always need to stay one step ahead, I always need to leave before they find me, but now that I’ve seen Brody… Now that I’ve felt his hands on my skin again, now that I’ve had to face the pain that I’ve caused him… I feel like I need to stay as long as I can.
“Not yet. I’ve got a few things in mind to try and help buy you some more time, but…”
“But you can’t make any promises. I know.”
Liz comes around the bar and envelops me in one of her magical hugs, just like her father, holding on a little longer than usual.
“One day, Rem. One day, this will all be behind you.” She lets go and grabs the folder, pushing it to my chest, then turns around leaves me alone in the bar, without another word.
There’s something about this time around.
It feels different.
At first, I thought it was just me, but now I’m starting to wonder if Liz feels it too. The fear that this is the end of the road snakes its way up my spine, holding me in place with its intensity. To come as far as I have and fight as hard as I’ve had to fight for it all to mean nothing in the end… That would be exactly the kind of sick fucking joke I would die on.
In a lot of ways, people could say that I’m lucky to have lasted as long as I have. I’ve run from city to city, across the whole country, and remained relatively in one piece. I’ve had a lot of close calls though. They’ve caught up with me a few too many times, but I’ve managed just enough to get away each time. They say cats have nine lives, but how many do wolves have?
Because I think I’m on my last one.
My hand flies to my scalp where the wounds have been doing their best to heal in the last few days that I’ve been in Deacon Hill. I can remember the warm blood running down my face, burning me with the fear that I wouldn’t be able to escape their clutches that time around. I’ll never forget the way the knife felt digging into my scalp as if they were trying to carve the memories from my mind.
I wish I could forget them too…
I was convinced I was going to die that night. After being run off the road and dragged into a wooded area by the hair on my head, I was scared they’d kill me and no one would find my body.
It’s not easy being as small as I am and trying to fend off multiple men at the same time. When they’re hell-bent on hurting you, determined to cut the lungs from your chest, and steal the last of blood they crave to spill, you don’t have much hope to hold on to.
But that’s why I fight so goddamn hard each and every day. If I die, my secrets die too. And as much as I wish I could click some magic erase button to make it where none of the shit that I’m running from ever happened… Those kinds of miracles don’t exist and I’d be a damn fool to act as if they did.
My broken ribs, my scars, my bruises, my stitches… They’re all reminders that even though I’ve clawed my way through hell, the demons will continue to come after me until I find a way to put them six feet under.
I hug the folder closer to my chest, choking back the tears that are fighting to be let out. I know I’m the only one who cries for me, but I refuse to let myself give in to those instincts tonight. The tears won’t help me. They won’t protect or save me. They won’t erase my past or cleanse me of all my wrongs. They just make me feel a little better. And after seeing the pain Brody’s in, I don’t deserve to get to feel better right now. I have no right to that kind of reprieve.
Now that Liz has left, I’m all alone in the bar, sending Henry home hours prior. I keep my secrets, hidden in the folder, held as tightly to my chest as I can bear. I make quick work of shutting off all the lights before racing toward my room, hating to be alone in the dark any longer than I have to be. I flip the lights on and lock the door to my room as soon as I cross the threshold, letting myself breathe for the first moment since the rest of the lights went out.
Never underestimate what lurks in the dark.
I grab the iPod that Liz brought over for me off the tiny little bedside table, and ease my way onto my tiny little twin-sized bed that Henry was kind enough to get for me. I push shuffle on the iPod, not caring what comes on, just wanting something to drown out the screams of my thoughts. I just… I need a minute.
I was honest when I told Liz that I wasn’t trying to die a martyr. But I’d be lying if I denied the truth.
I don’t have a choice.
That’s the path that was laid out for me a long damn time ago. I don’t want to die. But do I really have a say so in that matter?
A band I haven’t heard in years trickles in through the speakers and I wince a little when I realize which of their songs came on. It’s one of their new ones. It’s appropriate in a painful way, for so many reasons. It does nothing to ease the fear still wrapped around my spine, snaking its way up my body, infecting me with more paranoia than I already live with on a daily basis.
I gather in a lungful of air as I let the lyrics assault me. Instead of hearing Mark’s voice, my guilt manifests Brody’s voice, the accusations clear as day with each word. I know I have no one to blame but myself, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
‘They say forgive and forget. As long as I live I’ll let these feelings pound in my chest. Maybe I am better off dead.’
It’s almost poetic that this the song that came on, confirming my earlier suspicions that I’m nearing the end of my rope.
I open the folder up, spreading out the contents. Liz’s people were thorough and included a handful of photos to show her what was left of the room I was staying in less than twenty-four hours before these were taken. I’m surprised it took her so long to share it with me, but I’m glad I had time to make a plan before she brought forth this sobering reality.
The bed in the photos is literally shredded. The outer casing of the mattress laying in strips along the entire length of the photo. The stuffing from the inside is scattered across the floor and the tops of broken furniture as if a rabid tog destroyed a giant stuffed animal.
The dresser, nightstand, and small circular table in the corner have been splintered into chunks and tiny pieces as if they’ve been blown apart. There’s not a single piece of the room that’s been left intact besides the four walls that hold the room itself in place. Even the door was kicked in, splintered in half. Part of it is barely hanging loosely onto the hinges, dangling in the air whereas the other pieces lay scattered in the entryway.
There does appear to be one thing in the room that wasn’t there when I left. On the wall, above where my head would have laid to sleep, is a photo of me. The same knife that shredded into my scalp days prior, is buried in the center of the picture, pinning it to the wall.
It’s a wordless message that screams with blatant clarity.
They’re coming for me. And they don’t plan on letting me go this time. In every way that matters, they’ve made it official.
I’m a dead girl walking.
I damn near jump off the mattress when my burner phone dings with an incoming message.
Liz: You kn
ow, you really should blow off some steam while you’re in town.
R: And YOU know that I have to stay hidden. I’m risking enough as it is working with your dad.
L: What if you could have both?
R: I’m listening.
L: I’ve got a very attractive friend. A male friend.
R: And this matters to me because?
L: Because I showed him a photo and told him some stuff about you
R: You’ve got to be shitting me.
L: He wants to meet you.
R: It’s official. You want to end up buried right next to me.
L: When was the last time you had that kind of fun?
R: Brody…
L: Is that an argument as to why you’re going to turn this down or is that the answer to my question?
R: Both…
I bite my fingernails, staring at the screen, waiting for her reply. Did she honestly think that at any point in the last few years that I would have had time to meet a guy and have the ability to go out on a date or something?
This fucking delusional bitch…
L: Look. You know I love you. But how many more chances do you think you’ll get to do something like this?
R: So you feel it too?
L: I’ve never been this scared for you before, R. I’m just trying to help you experience a few moments of peace in your life. And you can trust him. I vouch for him.
I scrub my hands down my face, half in frustration, half in pity. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived every single day in real fear that it would be my last. If I’m gonna die, if I don’t get to be surrounded by the people I love when I do, then I might as well go out with a bang and enjoy the last little bit of time that I have left.
R: I think it’s time to dust off my bucket list.
L: Look at the last page in the folder I gave you.
Sure enough, when I flip to the last page of the folder, I see my bucket list. It’s scrawled out in a leaking black pen on the back of a napkin from a truck stop in Iowa where I met Liz for the first time. I think I was seventeen or maybe eighteen when I made it.
Absolution Page 6