“Her name is Marigold and that’s Torri beside her,” Aimes cuts through my thoughts.
I had missed their grand entrance. The crowd parts for them as a hush smothers the room. Some kneel. Some reach their hands out to grasp or touch the two women as they pass through. Lips are pressed to the hems of their clothing. Hands are held out with a desperate need to be grasped. This isn’t the same adoration Travis and Selma had managed to stir. Travis was seen as just the voice of a god. These two are seen as Gods. This adoration is something much more dangerous.
Marigold wears a long white cotton robe. The robe’s wide arms and full length seem to swallow the older woman. She looks deceptively frail underneath the weight of such a garment with her bare small feet occasionally exposed as she walks. The way she carries herself speaks to the complete opposite. Her head swivels to meet each person she passes with a keen awareness. Her frame, where slight, is fully erect with no curvature of her age. Her silvering hair is thick and heavy with well-cultivated dreads. Her serene appearance isn’t from something invented in the recent events but from a lifelong goal of discipline. She seems to soothe the souls of those she touches, but she’s touching something completely different in mine.
Torri trails behind her wake with a different energy. Her smile is infectious in those who reach for her, returning the wide smiles she offers. Her blonde waves flow around her, moving in perfect harmony with her motions. Unlike most hair, it doesn’t cover her face as much as it frames her pale, pink-toned skin. She wears a simple gown of green. It, just like her hair, seems to float with her almost waltz-like procession to their seats.
Once the two are seated at their designated tables, the room becomes a funneled effect of sections finding their route. Groups who once clumped for amusement spread apart with merriment and waves of farewell. Paula seems to be alone in her discomfort of the predetermined social benefits. No one else seems to look at their parting friends with any harbored feelings of the shame, as she is still exhibiting.
“What if you don’t stay in your line?” I ask Aimes.
Her sullen mood brightens when hearing the vibration of annoyance in my question. She knows me so well.
“Are we going to find out?” Aimes asks and I’m certain she’s not asking just to ask but to encourage me.
Accepting the encouragement, I arch my eyebrows with my shrug. “Why not?”
Not needing an invitation, Aimes follows right beside me adding, “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
I don’t just switch into a different line. Slipping under the velvet ropes, I don’t merge into a different section with some small act of rebellion. I ignore all the imposed rules, the guidelines, and the many sounds of shock to bring me to Paula’s side. She doesn’t glance at me with shock, though. She smiles at me with the same smile she would wear at the high school when she was amused by my mischief. Her smile secretly repeats the same statement Aimes had said when I started my social uprising.
“I see you still have your talent for making ‘friends’.” Paula is still wearing her smirk as she stares at the head table watching us. I didn’t miss her sarcasm.
With her arm fully extending into the air, Aimes waves without shame to those who are not hiding their stares.
I don’t wave. Instead, I’m staring into a pair of very observant brown eyes. As the rest of Marigold’s table melts into hand-covered whispers, she is composed and calm. She collects the table with a swift movement of her hand, but her eyes never break from mine. We watch each other as predators, acknowledging the other as something above the scattered forest of prey around us.
With a face void of the serenity Marigold has been displaying for all to see, she briefly nods in my direction. Mimicking her, I return the gesture. Before our eyes part, returning Marigold’s attention to her table, I know Paula is correct. I just tested the links of chains used to keep social order and found them lacking. Unfortunately for Marigold, I’m not through, yet.
“Wave at Genny,” I tell Aimes.
Aimes’ smile is the widest I remember. “Really?”
I answer with the same eyebrow arch I used to answer her last time.
Paula sighs, but she doesn’t stop Aimes.
Marigold doesn’t miss Aimes’ arm launch into the air again. She follows the direction of Aimes’ gaze before returning hers to mine. I don’t have to look to know Genny accepted the invitation. The chatter filling the room informs me of it. What it didn’t tell me was it wasn’t just Genny who came when summoned.
Peyton is standing close enough behind me to whisper, “I hope you know what you are doing.”
“That would be a first,” Collin responds.
Between giggles, Genny whispers to me, “This is awesome. They are losing their minds.”
Torri isn’t sharing an infectious smile, anymore. She’s gesturing wildly to those sitting around her. Her fingers punctuate words I cannot hear, but those around her are listening with full agreement. She begins to stand, but the same swift hand motion from Marigold shrinks her back into her seat. Torri is almost pouting, as she watches us.
Marigold isn’t exactly watching us. Her eyes are only for me. I see through her peaceful veil. It’s flimsy, well-worn, and easily discarded in a swift change of winds.
Aimes hands Genny a tray and they both happily make their way down the newly selected path ahead of them. “Wonder what the important people eat?” Aimes asks, and all Genny can do is giggle.
Paula sighs once again. It’s mixed with exhaustion and amusement as she follows behind them with Collin on her trail.
Only Peyton holds back long enough to share a glance at Marigold. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he asks me.
“It would be a first,” I answer, repeating the words used earlier to describe me.
I hold no malice or sarcasm in my tone. It’s a simple fact. I don’t have a plan. I’ve never really had a plan in any of my random outbursts.
Upon hearing my answer, Peyton chuckles with bewilderment before following the rest of them.
Keeping my gaze with the table, I defiantly hold back a moment longer before taking my tray. A group that was completely animated now sits in silent judgment of what I have done. Scanning those who sit among Torri and Marigold, I smirk when I spot a familiar face wedged among them. Leigh, with her naturally bored pale face shares my amusement. It evaporates when Torri turns to look at her, but as Torri turns back towards me, Leigh’s smile returns, as if it never left.
Marigold watches me with a cautious stare. She hadn’t wanted me on her island when we first arrived. She thought of me as a threat to her little colony. After seeing what she has done to my family, she wasn’t wrong.
I turn to follow those ahead of me. Predators don’t turn their backs to those who they are unsure of or fear. I had acknowledged her as something on the same level as myself, something daring and dangerous, but I saw past those brown eyes. She’s a different type of dangerous. With so much to lose, she’s watchful and cautious of me. Like a gossamer glove, her hold is paper-thin and easily torn. I’ve displayed that to everyone around her.
I’ve displayed my colors, my war paint of trauma. They are bold in their shades of black and blue like the bruises of which life has covered me. Like a rare Picasso painting, the closer Marigold looks at my painted lines, the more dangerous I become to her. Perhaps she will show her teeth. Perhaps, her colors are just buried deeper and have yet to have surfaced. Time will tell, and maybe by then, I’ll finally have a plan.
Chapter 27
The chorus of laughter dances around our new makeshift group as we head back to our selected haven. The dark shadows which covered their faces, aging them in such a rapid time, slip their hold just a little. The heavy burdens they’ve encased themselves in shed a pound or two. Conversations which started strained are a little easier once again. Like a river, we flow over topics we know to avoid. Our minds always swirl around the questions we want to ask, but we don’t. In this moment, we let the river bu
bble with our shared jokes and smiles, knowing soon enough those unasked questions will reach from the depths to possibly drown us all.
Aimes explodes into our new gathering spot with her arms wide. “Hells is home!”
“What did you do?” Rhett asks, with less than thrilled feelings.
Aimes answers for me. “She pretty much told Marigold no one puts Baby in the corner.”
With more theatrics than were actually present, Aimes and Genny re-enact what the men have missed. I’m only focusing on Lawless. Sitting on his cot, he’s only half-listening to those around him. His head is down, making random nodding motions when the conversation is directed towards him. He’s shutting down, keeping an emotional distance from what is being said, until he can’t.
Lifting his head, Lawless looks directly at me. “We’ve worked hard to try to blend this time. We talked about it. It’s what we decided. Why is it just after a few hours of being released you risk it all without talking to us?”
“Why is it just a few hours after being released, I’ve seen nothing but broken-down people?” I counter. “Why is it just a few hours after being released, I’ve had to hunt down our group instead of us all being together,” I pause to let the verbal blade sharpen before continuing, “like J.D. taught us? Last I checked, you were supposed to be leading us. Since when do you let outsiders divide us?”
“You think you can do better?” Lawless stands, meeting me eye-to-eye.
He’s holding himself one inch from a fight. The energy around him is like a storm waiting to unleash its furry. It’s not me, or the emotions my words stir. It’s so many other things hiding under a blanket fort of anger.
Removing the heat from my voice, I say to him and his many fears, “I think you can do better.” I turn to face each of the people near me. “We can’t blend. We don’t blend. We don’t know them well enough yet to blend. We’ve always taken care of our own, no matter where we have gone. Why is this so different? Besides, Aimes said you’ve already broken most of their rules. When did this blending come into play?”
No one speaks up. No answers or explanations are given vocally. Their faces say plenty. Plenty of hidden accusations reside behind the masks before me. I’m sure most of the accusations are for me, but no one is willing to show their hands just yet.
“Why is Aimes left to fend for herself?” I ask.
Aimes shuffles uncomfortably. She’s not used to being the center of this type of attention.
“It wasn’t exactly like that.” Her voice is strained, almost unwelcomed.
I look towards her, waiting for her to clarify. “What was it exactly like?”
Aimes hugs her body only proving it was exactly like what I’ve suggested.
I continue, turning to face Marxx. “Since when do we pick on teenagers?”
Now that I’ve singled him out, Marxx isn’t hiding his emotions. His face appears to twitch as they flow from one extreme to another. I should brace for what is about to flow from his mouth, but I never bragged about being smart. Why start now?
“Since when do we give up and put a teenager at risk?” Marxx steps from the brick wall he was resting his shoulder on to begin what I recognize as a verbal assault. “Since when do we give up, putting everyone at risk?”
I’m mute in my confusion.
“We had to choose Helena,” I hear Dolph’s subdued voice float from somewhere down the bricked hall. His voice echoes with something thicker than the vibration of the cement around us. “When you dropped, we had to choose.”
“Stop it,” Genny pleads, knowing where this is headed. She seems to crumple, folding her body down instead of sliding to the floor.
Despite her plea, Marxx pushes on. “When you gave up, when you fell, you put a teenager at risk. We couldn’t make it to both of you.” He hits each word with added heat letting me know who he truly feels is to blame.
I’m confused. I had made sure Genny made it safely to the boats. There was no need for them to have to choose between her or I.
“When you dropped, and they didn’t see, Genny did. She didn’t even hesitate. She slipped right past Collin to run to you.” Peyton doesn’t hold any anger. Like a disappointed father, he’s just trying to explain my mistakes. “Ginjer was lost, but maybe if they didn’t have to run to save Genny, or you, Helena, they might have had time to fight for her. They had to make a choice.” Peyton pauses, letting his words sink in.
“I thought you were safe,” Dolph’s words stumble, fighting past the memory I have gifted him. “You were beside us when we started running but then everything just went to shit.” He pauses, fighting past the images. “Ginjer was too far out. She let her panic break her. I headed for her. I didn’t even really think about it. She was screaming and I just went to her. There were so many of them when they saw she was alone, and I just couldn’t get through to her. I had her hand once or twice, but she kept getting pulled back. It’s like they were toying with her instead of just…” He doesn’t finish his thought; our minds do, though. “I heard Petyon screaming for Genny over all of it. Then I saw you, what I could see of you.” His pain is painted in the hues of his eyes as he looks directly at me. “I couldn’t get to Ginjer, but maybe I could get to you. I chose you.”
His words have become such a soft whisper. Soft and fragile like crushed petals, his words litter the floors of my mind. They perfume the guilt-carved rooms as I realize, I killed Ginjer.
The hallway is a vacuum of silence. Everyone is watching me, waiting for me to see the taboo; the very thing I was warned about asking, I have not only asked, but demanded – and now my requests are being answered.
“We didn’t make it before they circled you,” Marxx shatters the silence first. “Genny did.”
Peyton nods, adding, “Terrence and I grabbed Collin to keep him from following her when we saw the circle close. Terrence told me to take him to the boat. So, I did.”
“We were halfway to you when Genny came running out,” Dolph’s bruise-filled voice pulls my attention to him. “We turned and headed to the boats, thinking you would be right behind her.”
“Terrence was the first to see it. When Aimes screamed, he was already headed to you.” Peyton shuffles as he explains, but he’s unsure of how to continue.
Genny saves him the effort. “I already told her. She knows.”
“So, you know you killed two more people?” Collin’s voice creeps from the shadows where he has been sitting. “And it wasn’t your men who saved you. It was one of ours. Yet, you have the nerve to ask us what caused us to be so broken and divided?”
The men shuffle around me. Some adjust to starting a fight. Others adjust to stop a fight. I don’t adjust at all. As my father continues, I’m just going to stand here and let it happen.
“Want to know what else they aren’t telling you?” Collin asks. “The reason for their blending, as he put it, is because if we didn’t all bow down and do what they wanted, they were going to refuse to let Paula keep treating you. Paula wouldn’t let them send you to some other place called ‘the lake’ without her. We either had to all step-in line or lose both of you to who knows where.”
“I guess I know which way you voted?” My arms cross in my self-conscious way of deflecting when I ask him.
“Thanks to you, Genny is the only family I have left now. I wouldn’t do anything to upset her. That’s how I voted.” Collin is standing now with an attempt of intimidation.
I hadn’t intended for my sharp tongue to melt the space around me into a civil war. It just did that on its own.
“Funny. I don’t remember being there when my real mom died.” I felt myself smile as I heard myself say it.
Paula has become a professional at saving me from myself. She grabs me from the erupting discord, placing a hand over my lethal mouth and a threatening glare on her face. I will willingly fight hordes of rotting people, but an angry nurse is where I draw my line of bravery. I say nothing to argue with her while she pulls me from the fighting m
ales behind me. Her glare even has the power to make Aimes cough to cover her giggles over what I had said. Genny is saying nothing. She follows in our wake with complete uncertainty over which side of the war she belongs – her fake uncle or her fake cousin.
“I should go back.” I slow my steps as the commotion behind me gathers decibels.
“Why?” Aimes asks, her voice matching the confusion on her face.
“I caused that. I should go settle it,” I explain.
“You didn’t cause it and you’re not going back there.” Paula latches her hand onto my arm again. “If they are fighting, they are at least working stuff out. It’s better than the invisible act they have been doing to each other. Let them punch each other for a while. Thanks to you, I’m really good at stitches now.”
Paula pauses, reflecting on how she phrased it.
Waving my hand, I smooth her internal debate on how to retract her words. “It’s fine. I’m not going to deny my many contributions to your continued education, but the lake thing, is that true?”
Paula looks almost guilty with my question. Her claw-like hand relaxes, adjusting invisible creases on the sleeve of my shirt. “Marigold found their weak spots quickly. Lawless embarrassed her, made her look weak by having her break her own rules. When they continued to taunt her leadership…”
I cut her off to say, “…as they do.”
“…as they do,” Paula copies my words, confirming them as correct, too, “she had to find a way to stop them.”
“She used me?” I ask.
“She used us both,” Paula corrects me. “I wouldn’t let them take you there without me and the guys wouldn’t let you out of their sight.”
“And because the sight of the guys caused too much gossip, the way Rhett always does, Marigold did one better and said if they did the heavier of the jobs, the guys could have their stuff brought to them verses eating, or such, with everyone else.” Aimes is staring down the darkened corridor as she explains. “Marigold found things for them to do. Basically, things they do alone, to separate them. They’ve become glorified housewife meat. She even pointed out how our guys do more useful things than Peyton and Collin, nailing the coffin shut by putting the rest of us in the useless line. It’s just caused even more tension.” Aimes turns towards us exposing the worried look upon her pixie face. “We thought Selma was good. Hells, she was amateur night. This bitch is pro leagues.”
The Risen Series | Book 5 | Defiance Page 18