by Lily White
My morning chores would be done, and I’d be pulling it back together again to leave for my therapy appointment. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
In exactly thirty-six minutes, it would be the first time I missed a session with Peter in twenty-two years. He’d call the cops, and they would know I was missing. The thought made me feel a little better.
“We need to leave,” Noah said, pulling me from my thoughts. “We shouldn’t have stayed as long as we have, but I couldn’t deal with you last night.”
That made me feel a little better as well. Guess you shouldn’t have kidnapped me, fuckface. I’ve gotten more annoying in my old age. I kept the thought to myself, though. What choice did I have but to play along?
“Where are we going?”
“Away from here. There’s a woman you need to talk to in Indiana. She might help.”
I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Help what? Me escape? Or send you back to prison? How are you standing here anyway?”
He flashed me a slice of a smile, the curve of his lip like a knife’s edge, dangerous and sharp.
“I broke out. Which is why we need to keep moving.”
My fingertips brushed over the rope binding my wrists, my skin burning with the movement.
I wasn’t all that surprised Noah had managed to escape. He’d spent his childhood sneaking around with me, creeping out of windows and back into them, late night meetings where silence was key. What did surprise me was that it had taken him twenty-two years to accomplish it. Surely, he’d started chiseling at the concrete the second he was locked in a cell. It couldn’t take that long to dig the entire way.
“Who’s in Indiana?”
Maybe, just maybe, if I kept him here long enough, the cops would roll up, sirens blaring, an authoritative voice booming from a bullhorn, warning that we didn’t come out of the house, they were coming in to grab us.
It sucked that Noah knew all my thoughts. He grinned and shook his head. “Nice try. I’ll tell you on the way.”
“Sounds good. You gonna untie me now? I need to pee before we go.”
A bark of laughter shook his shoulders. “Also a nice try.”
Only that wasn’t me trying anything. If I didn’t get to a bathroom, I would piss myself.
“I need to go.”
Noah turned to me, and I couldn’t help staring at him doused in the sunlight that poured through a window behind me. The years had been kind to him, far kinder than they were to me. It’s unfair how age has that effect on men. Time defines them in a way, lines their skin with experience and maturity, sculpts their bodies into decadent muscle, and peppers their hair with touches of silver that draws the eye.
Women? No. Women don’t fair as well. They tend to sag beneath the weight of the years, bright skin turning sallow that heavy makeup can never hide, their bodies withering like spoiled flowers in the heat of a drought, once pretty parts left stretching and sagging in all the wrong places, the sultry light of youth lost in their eyes. Even the grey in their hair looks somehow less striking, more a dull imitation of that given to men.
Or maybe that’s just me. But then, I was never the type to take care of myself. I was fully broken before I turned eighteen.
“I’ll carry you.”
Before I could shake my head in refusal, Noah untied me enough to separate me from the chair, my wrists and ankles still bound as he cradled me to his chest. My bladder screamed for relief in such a way that I was about to pee all over him.
He balanced me on my feet after walking me into a bathroom, the frilly pink and blue beach motif at odds with our situation. When his hands went to undo my pants, I jumped back, but lost my footing. I would have crashed into the bathtub if it hadn’t been for his arm snaking out to wrap around my waist.
The scent of him hit me then, fresh earth like a forest after a thunderstorm blending perfectly with the crisp note of soap. I shattered on the inside when a barrage of memories flashed before my eyes. Our mouths so dangerously close.
He’d been my first kiss, this man. A peck on the lips that was met with a punch to the stomach.
“Were you planning on pissing through your pants?”
“Can I get some privacy?”
“Not happening. You’re slick as a fish when you need to be. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that. I spent too many years chasing you down.”
I had to set my pride aside to let him help me, my foot tapping as I tried to convince my bladder to stop being shy. We both paused when the question of how I would wipe myself came up, and when he went to do it himself I damn near chose to say fuck it and drip dry.
“Still as fucking aggravating,” he bit out under his breath as he untied my hands from my back to bring them in front to tie again.
My shoulders screamed in pain, the change in position too sudden, but at least I could wipe.
Everything after that was a blur. I was blindfolded again and carried out to a car. Noah tossed me in the back seat, covered me with a heavy blanket, my body rolling dangerously close to the edge as he pulled away from the house and took corner after corner to get us out of there.
An hour passed. I counted the minutes off in my head, each second popping like an endless string of firecrackers tossed in a raging fire.
A click and then music came on, stations changing, little spurts of rock, country, classical, a woman’s high pitch keening, some modern pop song that made my teeth bleed, before Noah stopped on the news.
...escaped a Florida State Prison on Friday, May twenty-ninth, which resulted in a correctional officer being taken to the hospital in critical condition. Carter is considered violent and dangerous, and he should not be approached. If you see Noah Carter or know his whereabouts, law enforcement should be notified immediately. It is suspected he headed south after escaping the prison, however reports are not clear...
Another click and the car went silent.
“South, huh? Guess you lucked out there. Clearly we’re going north.”
Not that I could see where we were or which direction we were headed under the blanket. Noah didn’t answer. I filled the silence for him.
“Critical condition too. I’m surprised you didn’t kill the guy. You have a habit of committing murder.”
A soft susurration of fabric. I pictured Noah fidgeting in his seat, nervous that I wouldn’t concede to his delusion and believe he wasn’t a killer.
“He would have deserved it if I had. The damn corrections officers are sociopaths. Most of them meaner than the inmates they guard. They make it a game to set the prisoners against each other. Spread rumors. Smuggle in drugs and weapons to pass out to their favorites. Assholes are always stirring things up just so they can get their kicks watching. You have no idea how many times I’ve watched a man beaten or die of an overdose in his cell while the guards stand by doing nothing.”
Sadly, I didn’t doubt what he was telling me. Noah had no reason to lie. Plus, I read snippets of several incidents occurring when I’d been curious about the conditions in Noah’s prison. The Department of Corrections and the media were both reliable sources of information. And to think I was happy Noah was suffering right along with the rest of them.
But that was the monster inside me peeking out. The one I would have to shove back down after taking a moment to enjoy it.
“Who’s the woman?”
“Melinda?”
“No. Not her. I figured she’s your girlfriend. Probably one of those lonely women who write all the dreamy killers in jail and propose marriage. I don’t care about her. I want to know about the one you’re taking me to see.”
Outside I could hear the usual melody of traffic: tires crunching over the road, wind whistling against the windows, a muted thump of music from a nearby car, and a group of girls laughing to our right. Every so often the car would hit a dip and my body would shift, hit another and I would tip one way before rolling back. The sound and motion did a decent job of filling the silent spaces in conve
rsation.
“Melinda isn’t my girlfriend.”
“Don’t care,” I answered just a little too fast. Except I did care. I cared way too much about a man I wanted to hate.
Noah breathed out, the sound so heavy, it carried into the back seat and beneath the blanket to settle against my ears. There was regret and resignation in that sound.
“There was a reason your dad wasn’t around that much, Ens. And it wasn’t always because he was on the road.”
He could have lunged at me with a sword and I wouldn’t have been more on the defensive.
“Don’t talk about my dad.”
“You need to know the truth.”
“Don’t talk about my dad,” I shouted, my feet kicking at the door like an exclamation point following the demand.
“Fine,” he said, the car still cruising right along, “I won’t talk about him. But then, I don’t have to. Not when the woman we’re going to see knew exactly where he was when he wasn’t at home protecting you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ensley
September 24, 1991
It only took three days for the fights to begin. Three and I knew he’d be gone the next morning. It was always the same. My daddy’s deep voice bellow. My mother’s train screech wail. Always. Always. Always.
Dammit, Tammy, can’t we go a week without you bringing this shit up?
Who is she? Don’t lie and tell me there aren’t whores out there you go to see. Why are you never home?
I’m working. You know that, you crazy bitch. Why the fuck is the house so dirty when you don’t have a job?
My brother, Quinn, slept soundly in another room. I knew their shouts wouldn’t wake him because he slept like the dead. He always snored and drooled a little, a blanket snuggled up under his chin. He was a good kid, the kind of thing a mother would say while patting his head. A good kid. A good boy. An angel, really, this child of mine. I think I knew that because I’d watched other mothers. It certainly wasn’t because my mother said it. But those other moms, they would say it a lot and I copied them because I felt more like the mother of these kids even though I was only ten.
Beside me, my two sisters also slept, a puzzle of arms and legs, complicated origami in the way they folded across me, soft lips parted, slow and even breath. Devin’s diaper wasn’t full quite yet because she’d only been asleep for an hour. They wouldn’t wake up if I stayed quiet. I wasn’t sure how they could sleep through the fighting, but it never bothered them like it did me.
Peeling myself away from them, carefully like an onion, I managed to crawl from the bed without little girl tears dragging me back. I was sure to fold them over each other, a leg here, a hand there, the warmth comforting, heartbeats shared, like puppies sleep to feel protected.
Even with the heat and humidity of the night, those girls always clung to each other as if they were afraid they’d wake and discover they’d been left behind.
Stop lying to me!
Have you lost your damn mind? How else do you think we’ll afford this house if I’m not working?
You son of a bitch, I hate you and your rotten fucking kids!
A slap sounded after that, like the crack of a baseball bat when hitting a home run. I could picture the ball flying high above the outfield, the grass a pretty green, blood like sun rays trailing from behind it, just like it would run from my mother’s nose. My daddy was a great man when it came to his children, but he wasn’t the best husband.
Silence fell, and I didn’t want to stick around for the rest of it. Their fights always got worse. I had to get out. At least for a little while. Long enough to calm down and come back to care for the kids.
I shoved the window open in my bedroom and climbed out. It wasn’t hard. We didn’t have any screens, not like the other houses on the block.
Many nights I wished that we did have them because then I could let some fresh air in to cool the room. Momma would never run the air conditioner.
But not tonight.
Tonight I was glad that the lack of screens gave me such an easy escape. All I had to do was curl one leg over the window frame, pull myself up, and plop, just like that, I was out.
My bare feet squished down into dew wet grass, the spongy earth beneath me a soft bed I ran across, my hair blowing back over my shoulder and my nightgown clinging to my legs.
Several feet from the house, I stopped for a second, tilted my face to the sky and lifted my arms because for the first time that night I felt like I could breathe.
My mouth opened, and I gulped in the air, deep, heaping lungfuls of it, greedy for more. I couldn’t stand in that spot for too long, but I wanted a minute, just one, to look up at the stars and imagine myself flying up to them.
I imagined myself with wings.
The moment was ruined as quickly as it began, my parents yelling so loud their words bled through the walls, jumping across my body like fleas. I had to go. Had to run.
I didn’t get very far when a voice called out to me, whispering softly in secret.
“What are you doing?”
My arms lowered, and I turned to peer through the chain link. Noah looked out from his bedroom, a lamp glowing softly behind him.
“Nothing. Go back to bed.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Worried that I’d get caught if I stood in place for too long, I took off at a run, right up that strip of grass between our two houses, making sure to jump over the cat we’d buried just in case it tried to swipe at me again.
I didn’t slow down until I broke the tree line that led into the forest, a hiding place filled with shadows, a blanket of leaves, a million miles where I could be lost from the life I was given...at least that’s what it felt like to me.
For a moment I thought I was alone, but a twig snapped behind me, and I knew that Noah had followed. I spun on him, angry.
This was my hiding place - my kingdom - and he didn’t belong here.
Not now.
Not ever.
Not when he wasn’t invited.
“Go home,” I hissed, barely able to see him for how thick the shadows were. Only his nose and eyes were visible, a tree branch above him cutting across the moonlight, half his face stolen.
“Where are you going? You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
He crept forward, shoving at smaller branches that had a way of swinging back at you like a whip.
Unbalanced over the thick roots that stuck up like bear traps, he stumbled a few steps, caught himself, then stopped only a few feet from me.
“I come out here all the time. Now go home.”
Noah couldn’t be out here, not when he’d ruin everything.
What if his momma woke up and found he was gone? She’d sound the alarm, probably run out into the street to call his name. The dominoes would start falling, one parent after the other running out, realizing her child was gone then going to look for their own. I didn’t need mine to find out I was missing as well.
“I mean it, Noah. You have to go. If your mom wakes up and sees you’re not in bed, she’ll panic.”
He blinked, took another step, swatted at a bug that must have buzzed past his head.
“My mom’s at work. Nobody’s at my house to catch me.”
That surprised me, my body stilling in place, my eyes catching his in the darkness.
“What? She leaves you all alone? All night?”
One nod, and he looked away like it hurt his feelings to admit what he did. It made me feel sorry for him, so I waved him along, told him if he couldn’t keep up, I wouldn’t slow down for him.
We crept forward together as quietly as possible, not stopping until we reached a larger clearing near the foot of a trickling stream.
I climbed up on a stack of rocks and he climbed after me, slipping a few times before reaching the top.
Bending his knees in front of him, he rested his chin, his arms wrapping around his shins, body slouching like an old, worn out pillow. Every
so often, he’d swat at a bug near his ear or slap at his skin.
The mosquitos were bad this time of year, but they didn’t bother me as much. I was used to them. Used to this.
Anything was better than being stuck in that house where you couldn’t sit for a few minutes without someone screaming.
Dangling my legs off the side of the rock, I picked at pebbles on its surface, would reach back as far as I could and toss them in the stream. They plunged into the water with very little noise, a brushstroke of sound against the canvas of nature that surrounded us.
I glanced back at Noah to find him watching me.
“Why does your mom leave you alone at night? Doesn’t she worry?”
He shrugged, his voice a whisper.
“She works a lot. Has three jobs.”
“What about your daddy?”
He looked away, embarrassed. “Don’t have one.”
“Don’t you get lonely?”
Shrugging again, he uncurled one arm from around his legs and swept up more pebbles to hand to me. I tossed them into the stream one by one, trying to understand what it must have been like for him. All this time and I thought he had it good, better than me, anyway.
“Do you come out here a lot?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
It was my turn to be embarrassed. I tossed another pebble, listened for the splunk. “Because my momma yells a lot-“
“I know,” he said, cutting me off. “I can hear her too.”
Twisting around to him, I crossed my legs in front of me and tugged the nightgown down over my lap. It was muddy at the bottom, a small tear in the hem growing bigger as I worried it with my thumb.
We were silent for a while, just two kids sitting together that had no one else who would understand. It wasn’t awkward, though. Even in our silence, we somehow knew each other better than we’d known another living soul.
“Hey, Ensley?” he whispered, his voice barely breaking through the chorus of singing frogs.
“Yeah?” I flicked a pebble and it bounced off his forehead. We both went silent for a second before busting out in laughter.