by Dea Poirier
Down the trail ahead of me, I hear footsteps. I take a slow step forward, as I listen for her. No part of me wants to chase her any further into the woods. And I shouldn’t have to.
Why is she out here? Why is she running from me? This can’t be real.
“Eden, please?” I beg.
She steps out from behind a tree, and takes a step toward me, her face slick with tears. I start to close the distance between us, but she holds out a hand to stop me. Her eyes scan the trees.
“You have to go,” she says, her voice is thick, strained.
“I’m not leaving you out here,” I argue.
“You have to. You have to go. It’s a trap, Asher.”
My mind is a blur of confusion. What the hell is she talking about?
“A trap?”
She crosses her arms, her eyes still on the trees. Her teeth dig into her lip, and she nearly trips as she tries to step backward. Even from here, I can see she’s shaking.
“He’s out there, waiting. He brought me here to try and lure you out. You can’t let him. Please, Asher. Please, go.” Her voice cracks, and fresh tears spill across her cheeks.
“I’m not leaving you,” I say as I step toward her.
Her wide eyes scan the trees, her arms tighten around her chest. “Pay attention to the dreams, the memories. You need to learn from them.”
“How did you...”
“Run!” She screams at me, her voice so loud it makes my ears ring. I shake my head as my ears throb, and Eden disappears into the trees again.
“Eden, stop, please! Together we can get away from him. We can run,” I say as I chase after her.
“I can’t, he has Blake,” she calls back to me. “If I run, he’ll kill Blake.”
I try to follow her, to keep pace, but my limbs grow heavy. Her footsteps grow farther, and farther away. A hand pops out of the trees and grabs me. My heart is stuck in my throat when I see Olivia. She balls my shirt in her hands as she holds me steady.
“You’re such an idiot,” Olivia says as she pushes me into a tree.
Bark bites at my shoulder blades as I stumble backward. I slap her hands away. I need to go after Eden, I can’t let her get away. Olivia grabs me, and stands in my way.
“Move,” I say as I try to step around her. But every time I move, so does she. My temple throbs as I glare at her.
She holds her palm out and presses it to my chest. “Let her go.”
Anger rises inside me. Why is she getting in my way?
“Move, you’re not real. Just get out of my way,” I growl at her.
She pushes her palm hard into my chest. I take a step back, and wince.
“If I’m not real, how did I do that?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe this is a dream.” It has to be a dream. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.
She tilts her head and flashes me a grin she reserves for idiots. “I told you to be careful. To stay away from him. If you follow her, he’ll kill you both. That’s exactly what he wants. Don’t you remember?”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about?” My eyes dart between her face and the woods. “I have to go after Eden.”
“No, you’re safer here. There’s too many people,” she says as she crosses her arms.
The woods grow quiet, the sounds of Eden have all but died in the night. I missed her. I’ll never be able to catch up to her now.
“Go back to the school and stay there,” Olivia says, turning me around and shoving me forward.
I take a few steps and turn. Only the trees stare back at me. Surrounded by the darkened forest, the night thickening around me, I’ve never felt so alone.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been.
After
Though I woke up in my bed this morning, I’m as tired as if I ran all night. The nightmares have me on edge. It felt so real. But it must have been a dream.
My mind won’t let it go, so I decide after breakfast to look behind the stables to see if there’s any sign Eden had actually been there. The more I think about it, the crazier I feel. Though my food steams in front of me, calling to my grumbling belly, I can barely touch it. There’s so much on my mind, I’m not sure there’s room in my stomach.
My lip is numb, I’ve nearly chewed a hole through it. So lost in thought, I don’t even notice Becks sit down, nor do I hear any of the “tip” he’s come by to offer. His tips, all of the words, are worthless anyway. And likely, all lies.
“Pony up boys,” he says as he slams his fist on the table.
A parade of hands with offerings spring out in front of me. Instead of handing over anything, I grab my orange, and shove it into my pocket. I stand from the table, nod to Sayid and walk out the cafeteria door. The heat hits me as soon as I step out of the shade. I look back a few times, to be sure he didn’t follow me. I’m blissfully alone as I walk across the campus, and with each step I take, my stomach starts to untangle.
Behind the stables I barely make out the footprints of Eden’s bare feet. It’s easiest to make out the small impressions of her toes. A few feet away, toward the tree line, there’s another set of footprints leading into the forest. Where the sandy soil meets the trees, it’s damp, and the imprints are clearer.
Was she really here? That’s not possible.
I follow the footprints. A few feet into the trees, the humidity grows thick. The air is so dense, it’s hard to breathe. In the woods, completely alone, my chest tightens. Every creak of the ancient trees, and each bird call make me turn so quickly, I nearly get whiplash.
Her footsteps weave through the trees. At the end of the narrow path, they end. A few feet away I see something shimmering in the dirt. I reach down to find a thin gold chain. On it are tiny gold trinkets in the shapes of a shooting star, a moon, and Saturn—Eden’s necklace.
She was here. How is that possible? A lump forms in my throat, and a bad feeling creeps up my spine. I shove the necklace into my pocket. I’ll have to try to sneak into the office and use the phone. I need to make sure my sister is okay.
Until then, there’s work to do, I can’t focus on the necklace, or my sister. There’s no way for me to help her. I swallow down the questions, the anxiety, and walk back to the stables. As I sweep, I notice droplets of brown atop the concrete. I follow them, cleaning the straw away. Beneath the straw, streaks and smears cover the concrete. A trail of dried blood leads to the ladder to the hayloft. The droplets lead up the ladder. My guts twist, like they’re being clenched. My mouth and throat go dry. I force myself to climb. But I find only hay bales up top. It isn’t until I reach my nook that I find more blood. And the bloated corpse of a guard. My stomach twists as I look down at Melvin.
Bile claws up my throat. His pale skin is pulled taut over black veins, like worms caught beneath cheesecloth. His mouth hangs slack, a trickle of blood dried to his mouth. Purple rings circle his neck. His uniform is pocked with stab wounds.
I stumble backward. I couldn’t have done this. I didn’t kill a guard, I couldn’t have. My breath catches in my throat, tears burn my eyes. This can’t be happening again.
The memories of Sayid showing up with bruises, his words about Melvin forcing him. Raping him. Anger blooms inside me. I could have… for Sayid, I could have done it.
A deeper voice, one I don’t recognize intrudes in my mind. Who else could it have been? You killed Olivia, you killed this guard. Accept it, you’re a killer.
The bell rings for lunch. I stumble down the ladder, and put away the shovel in the tool closet. My body moves automatically, but my mind is locked away in thought. The cold fingers of guilt spread inside me. Ginger nudges me as I walk past her stall. I rub her head and tell her I’ll see her later. Her ears fold back, and she stares daggers behind me.
When I turn, I see Becks and his cronies standing a few feet away from me. I sigh. Not today. Not now. My body tenses, I’m tempted to run. He’s bulky, I doubt he’d be able to catch me. His cronies are long and
lean, they could.
“You know why we’re here,” Becks says as he cracks his knuckles.
“Fuck off, Becks.” I stare him down and try to push my way past him.
For a long moment, he glowers at me. His face grows redder by the second, teeth grinding so hard, I can hear it. He steps forward, the cronies flank him, and rub their hands together in anticipation.
I throw a bucket at them and try to make a break for it. If I hadn’t put the shovel away, I might be able to defend myself. The bucket clatters to the ground behind me, and I hear Becks curse. They’re so surprised, I make it out of the stables without hearing so much as a shuffle. Adrenaline burns when it hits my blood stream. The burst of energy hits my heart, and it’s thunder in my ears.
Above me, thunderheads dot the sky, purple masses clot together. There’s a storm brewing, and by the looks of it, it might be a nasty one. Ahead of me, the tree line beckons. If I can reach the trees, I may have a chance. My legs are heavy, out of practice, but fear propels me forward. My heart beats so hard, it may rip through my chest.
Their pounding feet grow closer. I want to look back, see how much of a head start I have. But I don’t. I’m feet from the trees, so close I can make out the rough cracks in the bark, the tangled roots, the swaying moss. The air seems to cool as I reach the shadows. Engulfed by the forest, I feel the slightest relief. They’re still loud behind me. I can’t stop yet.
Years of practice allows me to run around the trees with speed. That’s one thing I can thank Olivia for, after they kill me. Sharp ragged breaths shudder through my lungs, my knuckle cracks against a sharp piece of bark. I grit my teeth. A bleeding hand is a small price to pay to escape them. When all I can hear is my heart thundering in my chest, I slow. But I don’t stop. Not yet. Fifty more yards pass beneath my feet, and I slow to a jog. Then a walk. Still, all I hear is the rush of my blood, quick breaths, my own steps.
I fall against a tree, breathless. The fear unwinds, and relief trickles over me. Less than three heartbeats pass before I hear them. I stand, alert, ready to run. Hands wrap around my waist, as a hot, sweaty hand claps over my mouth. The taste of salt slips through my lips. I struggle, and fight against the grip.
His cronies grab me. Becks tries to come closer, but I’m ready. I’m not going down without a fight. I use the arms binding me as leverage to bring my left leg up and kick Becks hard in the chest. He growls and stumbles. It takes a moment for him to steady himself. His size makes him unsteady on his feet. Every drop of fear drains from my body, fury bursts through me.
You can do this, you can fight them.
Though I struggle against the cronies, their nails dig into my arms, and they grip me tighter. I can’t even make myself see them as people, they’re just appendages of Becks. As he lumbers back toward me, a rush of noise in the trees draws my attention, and everyone else’s. Footsteps, someone is running just outside the clearing where we’re gathered.
“Don’t let him go,” Becks warns the cronies as he flashes them a deadly glare.
The moment Becks disappears into the trees, hope creeps in. All at once, it’s as if all the sound rushes out of the woods. The cricket songs die, the soft twitter of birds, even his footsteps are silenced. I watch the trees for any sign of movement, but there’s nothing.
As the cronies are distracted, their eyes on the trees, I try to pull away. Their grips tighten, but not with the same intensity as before.
“Who’s there?” Becks’ voice cuts through the silence.
My heart thunders. Did a guard find us? Maybe this will finally be the stunt that puts Becks in the white house. I can’t imagine how much it’d cost to buy his way out of this. His voice echoes through the trees again, but it’s silenced so quickly, I can’t make out a single word.
“Fuck this,” one of the cronies says to the other. He drops my arm, and runs into the trees. A few seconds, and a confused expression later, the other crony disappears.
I take off into the trees in the opposite direction. Ahead of me, I swear I see the hem of a white dress. I stop, and stare up the path ahead of me.
“Olivia?”
She steps out of the trees fifty feet ahead of me. Her dress is bloody, a line of limp curls is stuck to her neck. For a moment she smiles, and then something hits me hard in the back of the head.
Before
Date Unknown
Metal bites at my throat. Though deep down I hope he takes the bait, I know he won’t. He hasn’t in years. Even with the knife, there’s no real way for him to kill me, not out here in the middle of the city anyway. The warmth of his breath hits my ear. A face, rough and hot touches my neck. The book is heavy in my jacket. I know he’ll find it. That’s what I’m counting on. I force the smile creeping across lips away.
“This is the last time,” his voice warns, spit hits my ear.
I know it’s a lie. He doesn’t know our plan. After all, he hasn’t managed to kill us before. I know he won’t manage it now. Likely, not ever.
“You promise?” I ask, trying to provoke him.
The knife presses harder, but my windpipe doesn’t give beneath it. He holds me, but his grip is weak, he’s focused too much on the knife. He always has. Holding me this close, I know his thoughts stray. The way he presses into me, it’s a dead giveaway.
“Come on, give it to me proper, for old times’ sake,” I beg, and push back against him, toying with him.
The moment he lifts the knife, I know his intention: he’s going to stab me. I feel it in the way his breath shudders, in the way he hesitates. When he inhales sharply, and gathers his strength, I make my move. I pull my head forward, and then force it back as hard as I can. The cartilage of his nose bends, I can feel it against my skull. There’s a wet pop, and he growls as he falls backward, stunned. I turn and face him.
His red hair is gathered, slicked back. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this. Somehow he manages to look put together and scattered at the same time. I look down at him, he’s crouched next to a small monument to the dead. The tiny statue of an angel can’t be any bigger than the body buried beneath it.
“I’m going to kill you,” he promises. His jaw is clenched, the usual pale color of his face is gone, cheeks flush. He narrows his eyes.
“Not today,” I smile.
After
“Asher, wake up,” Sayid says as he shakes my shoulder.
“Where is she?” I almost ask. But I smother the question before it creeps out.
My face and my throat ache. The straw rustles, and a horse snorts. My thoughts are so scattered it takes ages to gather them.
How did I get back to the stables?
I look toward Sayid, and he sits next to me, concern painted on his face. His hand rests on my shoulder. The stables stretch above us, Ginger hovers, her head hanging out of her stall. Though pain nags at me, all of me, the stench of horse shit is so comforting, I almost cry. Sayid brushes the hair from my face, and stares down at me. Emotion swims in his eyes. I sit up, my body lurches forward automatically, and I hug him. The warmth of his body, the smell of him, it eats away the sorrow welled up inside me. My hand wraps around the back of his neck as I cling to him. His breath is hot against my neck.
I pull back, my eyes on the ground. My cheeks hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.” I choke the words out.
He reaches out, his hand rubs my shoulder gently. “It’s okay, it’s fine.” A soft smile curls his lips.
“What happened?” I ask him.
“I was ...” he looks behind me, “going to ask you the same thing.”
I turn to see what he’s looking at. The body of one of the cronies lies behind me. His hair is disheveled, his face bruised, his throat has a strange black pattern across it. I kick, and propel myself backward, away from the body. Huddled next to Sayid, I stare at the lifeless body, unsure how he got here.
“Becks and the cronies came after me.” I look down. The physical pain may be numbing, but my mind is still raw
with confusion.
What the hell happened? How did I get back to the stables?
“I figured that much. I saw Becks rushing away from the stables. I was worried he came after you again. Did you kill this one?” He motions toward the crony, not looking nearly as concerned about the body as he should.
I shake my head. “At least, I don’t think so.”
Shock starts to fade, and panic sets in. What’s going to happen when the school finds a body smack dab in the middle of my work detail? There’s no denying this. It looks bad. If I try to explain, no one will believe me. Why would they? If they think there’s another murder on my hands, they’ll send me to prison. Even my father won’t be able to save me from this.
“I have to get out of here. Where’s the nearest town, where can I go?” I ask him.
His brows furrow. He considers for a moment. “You can’t run away.” His words are strained.
“How am I supposed to explain this?” I gesture toward the body. Then I remember the body in the hayloft. Two bodies, two more people dead, because of me.
There will be more. You have to get away from him before he’s next.
“There are options,” he says, the words are slow, his eyes lost in thought, but it looks like he’s as stumped as I am.
“There’s a dead guard in the hayloft,” I blurt out. The guilt building inside me must have pushed the words out. My throat feels tight, my head swims.
His jaw drops, and he blinks a few times. “Fuck, Asher,” he says as he clenches his jaw and looks away. “If you killed a guard that’s a whole world of trouble that I can’t help with.”
“I don’t think I killed him, he’s got stab wounds. I don’t have a knife.” The way the words tumble out of me, I’m afraid it might be clear that I’m trying to convince myself that I didn’t kill the guard.
You did have a knife. You might have another one.
Sayid climbs the ladder, I follow behind. “Where?” he asks, once he’s in the loft.
“Back in the nook,” I tell him as I point toward the nook at the back.