by Lindsey Iler
“Deal.” I stand and both girls follow my lead. My arms are spread wide, and they walk into them. I sigh, suddenly realizing that although I’ve chosen a family, there is one I have left behind. “You two be good for Aunt Emily, okay? Don’t give her too much trouble, and I’ll visit soon.”
Charlie lets go first. She falls onto the couch, and I wonder how happy she is. Does she wake up in the morning, with a mind full of possibilities? Does she know she’s loved beyond measure? Is she lonely in a house full of people?
Tatum searches my face. “She won’t ask you to visit, but she needs you.” Whispered pleas should never be ignored. They are words too afraid of being spoken too loudly, but strong enough they need to be told to the universe.
I lower my head to hers. “Take care of her.”
Tatum winks, trying to prove she’s strong enough for the job. It’s not hers to do, though. It’s mine. It’s Aunt Emily’s.
“I love you!” Charlie hollers before I’m out of earshot.
“Back at you, kid.” I wave and head down the hallway.
This house is immaculate. Somehow my aunt has managed to restore it to its original glory. White marble floors and beautifully decorated tables. Everything is in its perfect place, seemingly untouched, even though two twelve-year-old girls live here.
“You’ve been busting your ass, I see.” I knock on the office doorframe.
She sits behind the large mahogany desk. Papers are piled high.
“Being a lawyer looks tough,” I joke, walking across her domain and plopping down onto the caramel leather couch. “How do you manage to keep everything running like a well-oiled machine?”
“A daily dose of wine.” She shrugs, looking every part of the boss of her world. She shuffles some papers around and hands them across the table to me. “I need you to look these over. This is for the foundation.”
“My mom’s?”
“Yours,” she corrects me.
“I don’t want it.”
“Well, if you don’t take it, it will go to your father.”
“Fuck him,” I bite out. “Why can’t it be left to the girls?”
“It can, and it will, as long as you stay on in the meantime. I will take care of it until you graduate, but after that, it’s yours to handle. You can hire whoever you want to take over for you, hopefully someone you trust, and leave it to the girls when they become an appropriate age.”
“So, what you’re telling me is, if I don’t continue to hold ownership, it will go to that piece of shit?” I ask for clarification.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Aunt Emily, how is that even possible?”
“There was no proof of foul play. No record of the abuse. Nothing.”
“Except the word of an eight-year-old, and lord fucking knows, the court system doesn’t work the way it should for children.” I lunge to my feet, gripping my hair and tugging on the ends in frustration.
“That’s not the only thing,” Aunt Emily says. The dread in her voice could be heard from miles away. She circles the desk, resting against it while she watches and gauges me for the reaction, she is certain is to come. “Your father—”
“Not my father,” I cut her off.
“Biologically, he is your father and those two girls. He’s asking to see them, Barrett.”
“Not a chance in hell will he ever go near them.” I point towards the doors, knowing somewhere in this house two innocent girls have no idea the kind of wreckage that man can leave in his wake.
“He never hurt them.”
“He may not have put his hands on them, but he’s the reason they’re motherless. Why I’m motherless.”
“I understand your frustration, sweetheart. I really do.”
“No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be bringing this to me. You wouldn’t even allow this to be a possibility.”
“I’ve done everything I can. Legally, he’s within his rights.”
“How do we make it so he has no rights?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Barrett, and you know it.”
“When is he seeing them?” I ask.
A train is barreling towards my sisters, and there is literally nothing I can do to stop it.
“I know you don’t like this, but I will be there the entire time. They will never be left alone.”
“He’s going to try to convince them he didn’t do what he did, but we know what he’s guilty of. We all know it, Aunt Emily.” I bend down, overwhelmed with fear and tired of feeling this hopelessness.
Her loving hand lands on my shoulder, rubbing circles to try to calm me. My phone buzzes, and I ignore it.
“I will never allow him to harm them in any way,” she whispers with a faith I understand all too well. It’s the same voice that comforted me the night I found her.
The possibilities make my skin crawl. “I have to go, but I have some conditions. He does not place one foot in this house. You are somewhere public. If I can be there, I will be, so give me a heads-up, and I’ll make sure I am.”
My phone buzzes again. I check the clock and it says ten o’clock. “I have to go but call me when you meet with him.”
“You’re a good big brother. I know you beat yourself up, but you were dealt a shit hand, kiddo. You’re doing your best with what you have to work with.”
“I’m not worried about me. If they’re happy, then so am I.”
I run through the house, refusing to look like a pussy for not showing up right at eleven for this gauntlet.
Once in my car, I call Palmer. It rings one time before I’m assaulted with her anger.
“Where the hell have you been all day?” she yells into the receiver. “I’ve been worried.”
“Chill out. I’m on my way now.”
“There’s no time. Dixon sent the address to your GPS. We’ll meet you there,” she explains.
“Where the hell does this asshole have us going?” I ask the obvious question.
“I have no idea. Some park. We’ll be there in thirty. Figured it would work best if we showed up early instead of waltzing you into an ambush, so if you beat us there, wait for us.” The phone goes silent. “Breaker, I mean it. You wait for us.”
“I got it. I’ll see you soon.” I click the button on the steering wheel to end the call.
Searching the GPS, I find the words “DOOMSDAY.” It’s Dixon’s way of making a joke of this gauntlet bullshit. He’s never been on board with this whole thing.
I tap the screen, and the GPS tells me to make a U-turn to go in the direction I came from. The address is plain, no land marker or anything else to go by.
It isn’t until I come to a familiar road that I’m certain Tripp DuPont is truly the bastard I’ve always known he is. Lines of trees blend together, appearing to be a constant sea of green on both sides of the roadway.
Memories of sitting in the back seat of my mom’s car flood my mind. She flips on the radio as loud as she can and sings at the top of her lungs. Therapy, she called it. There’s no greater joy than singing as if no one can hear you, Barrett.
I crank up the radio, knowing that at the end of this road, my worst nightmare will come true. It’s been almost ten years since I’ve been here. This place holds nothing but anger and fear. I shove it in the past, numbing myself like I always do, surviving amidst the chaos.
The trees start to open up, and there she is.
“Do you remember Christmas last year?” my mom asks, sneaking a peek at me in the back seat.
“When it snowed so hard, we couldn’t see out the window?” I guess.
She smiles at me through the rearview mirror. “Yes.”
“I wanted to go outside so bad.”
“And I was too afraid I’d lose you in the snowstorm.”
“But I did go out.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Why’d you let me go?”
“Because your happiness was far more important than my fear.” I may be eight, but I know sadnes
s in someone’s voice.
“That’s nice of you.” I giggle.
“I’m not always going to be that nice, sweetheart.” She eases over to the side of the road, unbuckles, and twists in her seat to look at me. “Sometimes I’m going to put myself before you. When I do, I need you to understand that it doesn’t take away from how much I love you and want the best for you.”
She kisses two of her fingers and reaches forward to press them into my cheek. She spins around and drives forward, until we hit an opening in the monstrous trees.
“The man of the hour!” Tripp yells from the bridge.
Cars are parked on both sides, blocking the non-existent traffic. No one travels over the Hart Bridge, choosing to take the longer route. Too many ghosts haunt this place, sitting above us, watching every person who dares to cross.
I lean against my door, unmoved, completely taken over by some non-existent force keeping me in place. Tripp glares at me, waiting for me to come forward. Car doors close, engines run around me, and here I stand. The crowd starts to grow restless. They aren’t here to see me scared.
This gauntlet has been called to prove a point.
Tripp DuPont is capable of getting inside my head. He’s managed to wrap himself around the worst parts of me.
“We got you.” A warm, soft hand wraps around mine. With no explanation, they all know.
My eyes shift down, running up the arm the hand belongs to and finally land on Palmer’s face.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I admit. “This will ruin me.”
“You heard her. We’ve got you.” Marek takes up the other side of me. Dixon and Reagan join us. “We’re a family. Your shit is our shit.”
“My mom . . .” I start to say.
“You don’t have to explain anything to us, if you aren’t ready,” Palmer says.
“Let’s go, assholes!” Tripp hollers, earning him the shouts of praise he is constantly seeking. He waves us over impatiently.
“I’m going to cut him from ass to throat if he doesn’t shut the fuck up,” Dixon threatens.
We reach the end of the bridge. No matter what I do, whatever game Tripp is playing, this will hurt. Physical pain is easy to deal with. It fades with time. Now, the psychological pain, that shit will last a lifetime, burning into my flesh until I can’t handle it anymore.
“You have me here, now what?” I ask, moving toe-to-toe with Tripp.
He chuckles this manic, disconnected laugh, so I rear back, then smash my fist into his jaw. His cronies inch towards me, while Dixon and Marek move the girls behind us, building a wall in the middle of the bridge.
“I’m okay!” Tripp exclaims, calling off his dogs. “You’re here, Breaker, to prove that mental health isn’t exactly your strength.”
“Get to the fucking point.” I roll my finger in his face, wishing an impossible task for time to run faster.
“But I suspect you know it’s not your thing, considering your mother’s own battle with the demons in her head.” Tripp’s face settles into his enjoyment, silently boasting about what he’s doing. “Tick, tick, boom, right, Breaker?”
“Fuck you!” I shout.
“It wasn’t that hard to find out what happened on this very bridge. You’d think your rich-ass father would be smart enough to bury it, but he doesn’t seem to care, but you already know that. He abandoned you and those two precious bundles of joy.” Tripp runs his finger under my chin, testing me. “It seems to be a trend in your life, huh? Being left. It’s hard being unlovable.”
“That’s it, I’m fucking killing him.” Dixon presses forward. I hold my arm out, blocking him. “No chance on this fucking earth I’m going to let a prick like Tripp DuPont talk to any of us like that.”
“Calm down.” Tripp looks at Dixon like he believes he’s trash.
“I’m going to fuck your sister,” Dixon threatens. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. Not like I’d be the first one from this crew to lay her.”
“What did you just say?” Tripp slithers forward, ready to knock Dixon on his ass.
“You heard me.” A small hand that belongs to Reagan holds Dixon in place.
“Enough. Did we come here for this, or are you going to tell us why you dragged us out into the middle of nowhere?” I intervene.
“Oh, that’s right. The gauntlet.” He wheels around to address the crowd that is primarily made up of Hollow Hill students. “The whole reason why we’re here. Everyone, follow me.”
I glance at Marek and Dixon. Dread and mistrust seep from them. The air is thick with it, nearly choking me. When we reach the edge of the suspension bridge, on instinct, everyone looks over the barrier at the water. I remain far away from the crowd, listening to my heart beating like a drum inside my ear.
The onlookers go silent when Tripp raises his arm. They need to listen to their king, and their king needs them to shut the fuck up right now.
“What kind of game are you playing?” Marek shoves Tripp in the chest.
Without having to ask what this bridge means to me, Marek knows that whatever the outcome is, it won’t be good. Our demons tend to find each other, and right now, his are trying to protect mine.
“Oh, isn’t it clear?” Tripp cackles. “He’s going to jump.”
“Mom, where are we going?” I beg the question.
This place is familiar. Tall trees with darkness beyond them, line a long bumpy, dirt road. I’ve been here before, been driven down this road more than once, but not enough to know where it goes.
“I just . . . We have to . . . Shut up and let me think!” my mother screams. She’s yanking at her hair and wiping tears from her face.
Something’s wrong with her. She’s never like this. She never yells at me. What did I do? Beside me, Charlie cries, setting off a chain of sobs from Tatum. I unbuckle and search for their pacifiers, hoping to keep them calm and not make Mom angrier.
“It’s okay,” I shush them both. “You’re okay.”
“Make them stop!” Mom yells, causing Charlie and Tatum to cry harder.
“Stop yelling,” I beg.
Once the trees disappear, the car halts. Visible through the foggy window is a metal bridge.
“Stay in the car,” my mom demands. She opens the driver’s side door and climbs out into the cold. “Give this to Aunt Emily, okay, Barrett? It’s important.” She tucks the white envelope into my jacket pocket. “I love you. All three of you.”
Before I can say I love you, she is shutting the door. The car is running, heat beating through the vents, keeping us warm.
I watch through the broken spots of frost on the window as my mom walks towards the bridge. She stops in the middle of it, looking out at nothing.
I unbuckle and climb to the front, tilting the vents towards the rear seat to keep my sisters warm. When I focus on the window, my mom isn’t in the middle of the bridge. She’s moved to the edge, holding tight to the railing.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I joke, tucking the blankets snugger around Charlie and Tatum.
With my coat tight around my body, I walk across the bridge to my mom.
“What are you doing?” I ask, a shake to my voice. I want to be brave, but my head is telling me something is wrong. My heart is racing as fast as a train.
“Sweetie, get back in the car,” she says as she grips the frozen railing. Her knuckles turn into the color of my favorite vanilla soft serve ice cream. It’s too cold out here for her to be without gloves.
“Mom, I’m scared.” It’s too dark out here. I flinch when I hear sticks breaking.
“You don’t have to be scared. Get in the car and call Aunt Emily. Now, Barrett.”
At her instruction, I do what a good boy would do. I walk to the car but stop when I’m at the hood. Snow crunches, and I think I see something, but it can’t be. We’re alone. Something tells me to look for my mom.
When I do, her body is going over the railing. Did she fall? She knows better than to climb up on things. She knows she can f
all.
“NOOOOOO!” I scream.
I run, run as fast as I can. The snow beneath my boots makes it impossible to get to her. The bridge is twice as slippery. I slow my pace and walk towards the edge. In the headlights of an approaching car, a shadow catches my attention.
I’m a little boy, but I know what I’ll find on the other side of the railing. I close my eyes, but the tears don’t stop as I grab the metal. When I open them, the car slows on the bridge. The headlights are bright. A nice person would stop for a kid, alone in the middle of the night. They must be here to help.
As the man gets out of the car, I know I need to look. There are no cries, screams, or moans below me. She wouldn’t want me to leave her down there, alone. She wouldn’t want to be found by a stranger. She’d want it to be me, right?
I lunge forward and look down.
Her body is below, a small amount of red circling her head like a halo.
“Kid?” the stranger says behind me. “You okay?”
“She was right here, and then she wasn’t,” I explain, keeping my eyes on her lifeless body. That can’t be true, though. She wouldn’t leave us. I know she wouldn’t.
“What did you say?” He joins me at the edge.
“She was here, and then she wasn’t,” I repeat the words that will never disappear from my mind.
Chapter Twelve
Delaney
“Let me out, Tripp!” I yell, banging my hand on the window. He shakes his head, walking away from the SUV. “You can’t keep me locked in here. I’m not some hostage. Let me out right now.” I jerk my hand away, rubbing the ache from the impact on the glass. “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
I had been apprehensive to get in the car in the first place, because whatever Tripp had planned, it wasn’t going to be good. Even though everything inside my body told me don’t go, I knew staying home wasn’t an option. Tripp has been far too eager and confident lately. Whatever this is tonight, he knows it will give him an edge on Breaker.
The gauntlet has been a dick measuring contest from the beginning. Two boys are willing to cut so deep, metaphorically and physically speaking, to prove they are worthy of me. No game has the ability to do that, and they’re fully aware, yet shots are taken at the other, time and time again. When does it stop? When is enough, enough?