by W Winters
Of course she wouldn’t know it’s me. Feeling foolish, I answer her, Yes, I’m sorry to message, I just wanted to make sure I’d thanked you.
You should know, when I saw her with that book and she was underlining it…. She said you would understand better then. She said you’d be happy.
I’d be happy?
Miranda is no one to me. I’d have been just fine never seeing her again… until my sister died. That changed so many things. She’s a person I would never confide in, yet here I am, not hesitating to bleed out my every thought and emotion without recourse into a stream of texts. I’m anything but happy. Maybe if she was truly invincible, I’d be better.
Feeling the need to explain, I follow up my messages. Sorry, it’s a line in the book. She keeps saying she’s invincible.
I stare at her next message, reading it over and over. So that’s where she got it… she was saying that for a while before she packed.
Packed? I think to myself. Why would she have packed? Jenny didn’t tell me that before.
I text her back, Where did she go?
Her answer is immediate. I thought she went home to you. She didn’t tell me where. I just assumed she was going back to you because she said she needed help.
Jenny always said she wanted help, but she didn’t really mean it. She only said it to get me off her back. It was always lies she told me.
But maybe that day, she was coming home. Maybe she finally wanted to get better. It’s the sliding doors of life. If only one thing had changed, everything would be different. Maybe she was coming back home. Maybe that’s when they got her. Maybe I was only minutes away from being back with her and they tore her from me.
I drop the phone onto the nightstand, not bothering to reply anymore.
Hating all the maybes, all the possibilities that could have, should have happened.
Everything stills for a moment, going out of focus. As if forcing me to embrace only one thing: She’s gone. My sister is gone. My sister is gone, and I have nothing left. No one left but a man who I know is bad for me and one who will never love me.
The first tear that comes, I thought I could control. I can feel the telltale prickle, and how the back of my throat suddenly goes dry in that way that I know it’s coming. I think I can keep it from slipping with a single long, deep breath. I think I can stop it and be just fine. I don’t need a moment.
I thought so wrong. The first sob comes and in its wake and my failure to control it, heaving ugly sobs come bearing down on me. They’re reckless, and unwarranted. Turning to my side, I bury my head in the pillow, wishing I could suffocate the sniveling wails that come from me without any consent at all.
I hate crying. I’ve always hated it.
The tears are hotter and larger as they slip down my heated face. Falling to my chin just below where my bottom lip quivers.
Jenny is gone. Such a simple thing, something I deal with constantly in work and have dealt with all my life. She’s gone and there’s nothing I can do about it.
The nightmares aren’t real. She isn’t hiding somewhere waiting for me to save her.
The book is only words; there’s no deeper message within. It’s only words, meaningless like Jase said they were.
It all means nothing.
I have nothing and I feel like nothing just the same. But why does nothing hurt so much? Why does it hurt this bad when you give up hope?
Something must find its way into hope’s place in your heart. And that something feels like burning knives that keep stabbing me. I just want it all to stop. I want this chapter to end. Fuck, I need it to end. I can’t live like this. I can’t live in constant, all-consuming pain with nowhere to run.
Jenny, I hate you for leaving me. I hate you, but even hating you doesn’t make the pain stop. I still love you and I don’t think love can exist without hope.
It’s funny how I cling to something that’s not there. That I have faith that I’ll see her again in another life. Or that if I somehow bring her justice, she’ll know. That it will mean something to her, even if she’s not here.
Settling back into the pillow, I lie there tired and feeling like I’m drowning. I start to think that it’s okay to drown, that I shouldn’t fight it anymore. I’m scared of what will happen when I stop fighting though. What happens when I sink lower and lower into the cold darkness?
That’s the imagery that meets me in my sleep.
Jenny
It’s almost been a month. Every day drags, achingly slowly. Every second wanting me to suffer more and more. It’s worse than what I thought it would be. The nausea and shaking. I can’t get over how cold I am all the time here.
There’s nothing but cinder block walls and a mattress on the floor. If I could think for a moment, I’d remember where I am, but I don’t remember. I can barely stand up without vomiting.
My bare knees scrape on the floor as I brace myself. The floor feels damp at first, like it’s wet, but the palms of my hands are dry. Rocking my body back and forth, I try to just breathe through the aching pain, the sweating, the constant moving thoughts that only stay still when I see her. That’s the only time everything settles, but it falls into the darkness where I hate myself for what I’ve done and what I’ve become.
The rumbling happens again, the gentle shaking of the light above my head. I’m not crazy. It’s real. The room shakes every so often.
He told me I could sleep through it. Weeks of sleeping while my body goes through withdrawal. He said he’d take care of me, that I had a purpose in this world.
He said he’d help me. Marcus can’t help me through this though. No one can help me. No one can save me from where my mind goes when I lie down.
I can’t sleep anymore. Bethany’s there every time I close my eyes and I feel sicker and full of guilt. I can’t sleep through this, knowing what I did to her. What I sacrificed to be here.
“It’ll all be worth it.”
My eyes whip up to his when I hear his voice. “It hurts,” is all I can say and I feel pathetic. Hurts isn’t adequate. “I feel like I’m dying.” The sentence is pulled from me, slowly, as it drags too. Everything drags so slowly.
“A part of you is dying.” His voice holds no emotion, no remorse, no sympathy. It’s only matter of fact. “And that’s a good thing.”
My head nods although I don’t know that I agree. Some moments I do. Some moments I just want it to end. I know what would make it all stop; I know a needle would make it go away. I nearly beg for it, but the last time I did, he left me alone in here. “I thought it would only be weeks,” I tell him, gripping on to that thread of a thought.
“It has only been weeks.”
Shaking my head violently and then hating the spinning that comes after, I grip the sides of my head and rock again, trying to settle.
His voice carries softly to me, as if it’s rocking me as well, “It’s been close to a month. It’s almost over. Just sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep!” I scream at him, the words clawing up my throat and scarring the tender flesh on their way out.
“Then don’t.” His answer is simple. In the dark corner of the room, he sits and watches. That’s what he does. He observes. That’s not what Beth would do. Licking the cracked skin on my bottom lip, I remember how she always had to be there, always involved, always telling me what I was doing wrong.
I wish I’d listened to her.
My rocking turns gentle just thinking about her.
“You said you’d tell her I was okay.”
“I said I’ll make sure she finds out.” He corrects me sharply.
“Did she see it? The note Jeremy left for her?” His gaze meets mine when I say the name, we’re not supposed to say each other’s names. I know it’s Jeremy though. He came in here to check on me the first few days. It had to be him because of the bandage on his chin.
Jeremy told me what Marcus did to his chin though. He said it was necessary and that’s how I know it was him in the v
ideo Marcus showed me.
Jeremy’s scar is not nearly as bad of a fate as what Luke would endure. Marcus said he deserved it. That it was meant to happen and to only tell him certain things. I listened; I was a good girl, but I regret it all right now. I want it all to stop. “Please,” I whimper, “make it stop.”
“It will stop in time and your sister will know in time.” My sister. Bethany. I need her to know. “Things are going according to plan.”
I comment, feeling hollow inside, “I just need her to know.”
“Go to sleep, Jennifer.” He knows the only person to call me Jennifer was my mother. I told him to stop, but all he says is that it’s my name.
“I feel guilty,” I confess to him as shivers run down my arms. I don’t know why. Maybe because there is no judgment from him, only truth and facts no matter how cold and callous they are.
“You should,” is his only answer.
“When will she know that I’m okay?” My eyes burn searching for him in the dark corner.
“That depends on something I can no longer predict.”
“On what?” I ask him, feeling a new pain run down the seam of my chest.
“Jase Cross.”
Jase
Some days, bad shit happens.
Some days you take a loss.
Other days, like today, the puzzle pieces to the overall bigger picture form and you can feel the bad shit and losses preparing to come. It’s like watching it all tumble around you.
It’s all I can think on the drive back home. That’s it falling, everything is going to fall and I’m not sure how to stop it.
As I turn right onto the long gravel road, I feel the vibrations in the car and remember the footage played for Seth and me in the back room after we took care of Luke Stevens.
Declan finally got hold of video from a coffee shop’s security feed of their parking lot that showed a section of the graveyard.
A young prick with a bandage covering half of his face snuck up on us and we had no fucking clue. He was right there, hiding behind the car and then at the windshield when the cop car came into view and I was focusing on that, rather than on him tucking a note in the wipers. He hid, crouched down by the wheel, but I should’ve seen his hand, I should have seen him walking up in the rearview by the tree line. I should have seen, but I didn’t.
Marcus may truly be building an army; an army of faceless men like this prick. An army I don’t have names for.
Seth’s taking care of the surveillance at the bridge Luke mentioned. We have eyes everywhere, watching and waiting. But in order to see what’s going on, something has to happen. Something has to fall. And I need names and faces to recognize.
The only one I have right now is Jenny Parks.
“Shit.” The curse falls from my mouth as I pull up to my driveway to the estate, seeing the cop car in plain view. Officer Walsh is standing off to the right of the yard, looking out into the woods.
Just what I fucking need.
It’s one thing after another. With the rise of adrenaline, my gaze instinctively goes to the second story window on the right, the curtains wide open, but Bethany nowhere to be found.
As I park the car and the faint music I wasn’t listening to shuts off, a thought passes through me: She wouldn’t have called him. There’s no way he’s here because of her.
With the car door opening, the bitter air hits me and it only makes the sweat on my skin feel hotter.
“Officer Walsh,” I call out, and my voice carries through the cold air. That’s all I say to greet him, walking steadily past the cars to the yard where he stays put. He rocks on his heels as I slip my keys into my pocket. “Anything I can help you with?” I ask when I’m close enough to him.
“Beautiful view,” he comments, taking his gaze back to the forest.
With the thin layer of snow and the white fog along the tree line, it’s eerily beautiful.
I don’t bother to comment, or to play with his niceties. If she called him, if she wanted to break me like that, get it over with. So I can deal with her and fix this shit.
She wouldn’t do that, I think as I swallow, shoving both my hands in my pockets. The moment I glance at the trees, Officer Walsh finally looks back at me.
“I thought maybe if I told you something, you could tell me something,” he says, and then clears his throat. A look crosses his face like he doesn’t know if he’s making the right move. Curiosity sneaks up on me and I give him a small nod as I say, “You first.”
“My last case in New York… I failed to save a girl. She’s all right now… but I didn’t protect her like I should’ve. It’s why I asked for reassignment. I failed her.”
He doesn’t look at me when he talks, so I take in every bit of his expression. Noting the sincerity in his voice. But wondering how good of a liar this prick is.
“She moved back here. Close to here, anyway.”
“That why you’re here?” I ask him. “Are you looking for her?”
“No, not looking,” he answers me but still doesn’t look at me. “I know where she is.”
A breeze rushes by, causing his coat to slip open for a moment. His badge shows, just as the gun in his holster is on display for the moment. He shifts and buttons up his coat as he talks.
“I’m looking for someone else. A man named Marcus. He’s the one who saved her.” He rolls his shoulder back as he says “saved” and a grimace mars his face. “He’s the one who got her out of that mess.” His gaze finally meets mine when he adds, “He got her into it though. He used her, and then claims to have saved her.”
His jaw clenches and an anger I haven’t seen from him is left unchecked. It’s evident in the way his shoulders tense, plus the way he breathes out heavily. And in his voice when he says, “Marcus put her through a hell that I can’t even imagine surviving.”
Emotion drenches his confession and I can feel the vendetta that wages war in his eyes.
“What is it you want from me?”
“I want Marcus.” His answer is immediate. “Anything you have on him.”
I swallow, hesitating and Officer Walsh shakes his head with disgust. “You know him. I know you do. I’ve read the files and all the paperwork. For a decade or more, you and your brothers’ names have been right there along with his.”
“Sure,” I tell him, “Names on paperwork. But Marcus doesn’t have a face, he doesn’t have a number to call, he doesn’t have a location. There’s not a damn thing I can give you on Marcus.” I’m surprised by the resentment that laces itself around every sentence that’s spoken.
“If I could hand over Marcus to you, I would. Because I don’t know what he’s thinking or why he does the shit he does,” I say with finality, and then question my own statement.
Officer Walsh considers me for a long moment, maybe waiting for more.
“I don’t have anything for you, Officer.”
“If you’re not with me, you’re against me,” he responds lowly. “You know that?”
“Words to live by,” I comment with a nod and this time I’m the one staring off into the woods.
“If you do find something, would you even consider telling me?” he asks and I can feel his eyes burning into me.
“I wish you all the luck in the world,” I tell him and then breathe in deep, debating on answering his question truthfully, lying or simply not answering at all. I settle for the last option and ask him, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“What’s that?” That’s the first thing Bethany says to me as I set the large cardboard box down in the middle of the bedroom. She didn’t respond when I walked in; she remained under the covers, in the same position she was in when I left.
Her brunette hair tumbles down her body as she raises herself off the bed. Off my bed. That knowledge does something to me, as does the white light from the open curtains kissing her skin.
“Did I wake you?” I ask her rather than answering her question. The look of sleep plays o
n her face, making me eager to get in bed with her. As she sits up, crossing her legs in bed and pulling the covers into her lap, her baggy sleepshirt falls off her shoulder and she has to readjust it.
“Only for a minute I think. It’s been hard getting to sleep,” she answers as I climb into bed, and it groans with her words.
“Just a single minute?” I tease her, wanting to put a smile on her face. She gives me a small one, accompanied with the roll of her eyes. It’s my cue to lean forward, taking a single kiss from her. She’s still guarded, still giving me questioning gazes and still stiff when I reach out and place my hand on her thigh.
Tucking her hands into her lap she doesn’t answer me, she only shrugs and then those hazel eyes look up at me, peeking through her thick lashes.
“I went to your place,” I say to change the subject, getting off the bed to go to the box and needing to get away from the look in her eyes.
I grab the pills out of the box. They’re years old; we don’t even make sweets in the pill form anymore. But I would never throw this bottle away. “I thought you may want some more of your things. Grabbed some mugs, your throw blanket, stuff like that.”
She says thank you softly and then clears her throat to say it again louder.
“You brought my mugs?” she questions me with her brow furrowed and it only makes her look cuter. Her legs are bare as she makes her way to the box, the t-shirt stopping just past her ass.
“You have a lot of them on the counter with that box of tea.” I shrug as I sit on the bed, watching her go through the box and staring at her ass as she does. “Thought you’d like them.”
She takes a few things out of the box, setting them on my dresser behind her and lining up her computer, charger and a few other things in a row.
“Why are you like this?”
Her question catches me off guard. “Like what?”
“Why are you trying to make me happy… I don’t understand what you want from me.”
I would be frustrated if she wasn’t genuinely curious. “Did you expect me to keep you here with nothing of your own?”