The Risen Series | Book 5 | Defiance

by Crow, Marie F.

  Life is extending her other hand, the one covered in secrets and riddled with death. She let us find Peyton and Collin with little effort, but she’s about to teach us why we thank her for small blessings. Big blessings come with a higher body count, more screaming and deeper nightmares than most can crawl free from, and she’s just starting to tally the score.

  Chapter 35

  I take the stairs two at a time to keep up with the disgruntled Marxx. I am sure his mind has painted in the lines of everything we have risked, just as mine has done. I’m not brave enough to ask about the older man waiting for us to come back to be his salvation. Nor do I ask him to slow his steps so Peyton and Collin can keep up. I know, as well as he does, our choice may have cost us someone and that will be on our souls forever.

  Marxx doesn’t go out the front door. He turns to exit the door closest to our next target. The stomping of his boots silences any interjections from me. They keep pace with the blood pounding through my body, spurring me to move at his elongated gait. When I see what’s in the room we are about to pass, everything inside me halts, locking my body with dread.

  “Stop,” I choke on the word, my fear robbing even my tongue from the ability to move. “Marxx, stop.”

  Marxx turns to me, annoyance clearly upon his face. “What?” he barks.

  My eyes won’t leave the opened floor. The rug is rumpled, pushed astray in a discarded style. It’s creased, lumped shape whispers of being a result, and not a step of the door being opened. Someone opened the door from underneath it, not from the top, as Wren had done yesterday. Which means, something is here with us, watching us with the new tools hell has provided it.

  Marxx loses some of his bite when he asks, again, “What?”

  “Don’t move,” I whisper, more from stress than worry.

  Holding up his hand, Marxx signals for the other two men to wait on the bottom step. Peyton is already glancing around, knowing something is gravely wrong for us to be frozen to this spot.

  “Be ready to run,” Marxx tells those behind me, still unsure of why I am afraid.

  Like the boogey-man of childhood nightmares, Marco leans his tattered frame around the far doorway of the room which once held him. His eyes meet mine, discolored but still alive, knowing more than just run and catch, but also hide and seek. With a smile, he pulls himself back into hiding. A toss of red hair lets me know he’s not hunting alone.

  “It smiled?” Peyton’s question is a vibration of uncertainty. Just as when we first saw it, we didn’t believe it, either.

  “Yeah. They do that now.” I’m creeping away from the doorway, keeping sight of the room when I tell him this.

  “Anything else I need to know?” Marxx’s annoyance isn’t with just this, but with being left out of so much, which may bite more than just our asses.

  “It’s a long list,” I tell him.

  My back is glued to the hallway wall. From what I know of the house, there’s two paths the deadly duo can take. One path would lead them behind us to the hallway which connects the front of the house. The other, in front of us, waiting in the kitchen and blocking the exit. That’s the best-case scenario. If they separated, they could be stalking us from both rooms, blocking our options completely.

  Peyton has slipped from apprehension to the calmness of prepared. He’s crouching low, bracing his body for when the threat should show itself. “Which way?” he whispers to me.

  I’m locked between the many different scenarios. Self-doubt taunts me more than any school-yard bully, drowning my mind with the possible threats of picking the wrong option. Marxx is watching me, ready to make the choice for me when I use the one advantage I don’t want to know about.

  “Marco?” I shout into the house.

  “Polo,” that wet voice I remember calls back to me.

  Marco steps from behind Peyton and Collin. He’s edging his way towards the wide-open front door. His eyes are watching us with the same intensity of anticipation as ours holds him. He doesn’t want us. He wants out.

  “Ranya?” I ask, still refusing to admit mentally that this is possible.

  “Polo,” he says, his eyes casting to the direction to further down the hall beside him.

  I wasn’t aware I had pulled my knife. I don’t know at which point I reached for my safety blanket but now I lift it into the air, showing him, I don’t want him. I, too, just want out.

  I look to Marxx to copy my motion and he holsters his handgun into its hiding spot of his vest. There isn’t a doubt in how he looks at me, telling me he hates this decision. Peyton and Collin walk backward to where we stand, also with their hands open. I don’t have the heart right now to point out Marco never acknowledged them as threats.

  With the space we have created between our standoff, Marco reaches his hand out to the woman waiting for his sign. His knuckles are oozing, depositing a soft waterfall of fluid onto the wooden floor. The nails are gone, ripped from the soft flesh of his fingers, leaving jagged sores from the abuse. They weren’t let out. He found a way out and took Ranya with him.

  “The rest?” I ask him once he has the woman half-pushed through the door.

  He turns and smiles a smile which robs my knees of strength. “Marco,” he whispers, before following his new partner down the stairs and into the woods surrounding the house.

  “Let’s go!” I shout, unsure if Marco just told me his name or hinted a childhood game may be ready to turn deadly.

  The men don’t hesitate. We rush through the long hallway, exploding through the backdoor with images of what else maybe lurking in the rooms around us. My feet trip over themselves when I remember the old man above us, chained to his bed and the perfect sacrificial dinner for Marigold’s newly invented family. I remember how I had told him I would be back for him. I left him with that hope. Now I leave him to die. I know it won’t be the last time I see him. He’ll be there tonight when I close my eyes. He’ll be standing on a playground surrounded by children. He’ll join them in their songs and J.D. will smile over my mistake.

  The short space between the house and barn whispers of no hidden threats like the house displayed, but its doors are just as open. Marxx covers us as we run to them, spinning as he runs to keep the yard in site. He’s the last into the barn, pulling the doors shut with hopes to keep it that way.

  “They talk now?” Collin asks. His words are clipped with his panting and he’s staring at me as if I hold all the answers.

  I shrug, unwilling to keep rehashing the horrors of this place. Especially with what I know could be waiting below us. My father isn’t the one to stand his ground and fight, but at the very least, I may need an extra body to recuse those she has hostage.

  Marxx gives me a side-glace when he passes me. It’s heavy with unsaid words, which only confirm what my thoughts already held.

  “Less talk,” Marxx barks. “We have to find the others.”

  “Don’t have to look far,” Lawless’ voice calls from a far stall.

  There’s an edge of pain and darker emotions to his voice. Marxx and I don’t wait for the other to move first. As if pulled at the same time, we rush towards where we heard him call out, racing Time herself to reach him.

  He has propped himself up against the barn wall. His left shoulder is clutched tight in his hand, yet I can still see the red stained cloth he presses against it. His normally tanned skin holds a shade of pale and his eyes are dull with the pain he is fighting against to stay awake.

  “Guess we really do suck without Paula,” he jokes, trying to ease the dread on our faces.

  “How?” I ask, falling to the dirty straw around him. I’m afraid to touch him, and afraid if I don’t, I may never touch him again.

  “Doesn’t really matter,” he tells me, reaching over my head to shake hands with Marxx. “Get down there before Rhett does something stupid.”

  I can’t move. I know what my delay may be costing, but I can’t leave him. I’ve left so many behind, I can’t be asked to leave him.


  “Go,” he tells me. “I’m not going anywhere.” He settles his eyes deeper than a look should be able to stir, telling me, “I promise.”

  Marxx pulls me from Lawless, following his new leader’s command. The two brothers by choice lock eyes for a brief second before Marxx forces me to my feet.

  “You heard him,” Marxx sighs, his voice heavy with the decision left before us.

  I don’t look back. I’m looking at the handprints Marxx has left on my arms where he lifted me. I’m staring at the blood which belongs to Lawless; blood which now stains my arms from our goodbye. I remember a cold winter night when I counted headlights. I remember waltzing with Grief before dancing with Irony. The dark red marks hint there will be no celebrating when this is through, but I will be dancing, just the same.

  “Let’s go,” Marxx says, again.

  I look down the hole we are about to descend. Marxx has found it from following the clues Lawless’ head motions has given him. Every part of me knows, this barn will keep some of us.

  Some of us will add our bones to the secrets kept here. We are poised to fail and those of us who survive will be tormented, just as the children Marigold has kept as trophies to her insanity. We will hold ourselves in the cages of our failures. We will strap ourselves to swings which will never release us from the memories, as they sway from the winds of change. No matter the outcome, there is no doubt, Marigold will win today. Travis has taught me that. You don’t truly ever defeat evil. You survive evil. You outrun its demons. You bury the dead and hide the scars, but defeating it? No matter how well you lock your doors, or how tight you pull the curtains, no, you never truly defeat evil.

  I glance to the stall which cradles my past in her wooden arms and decayed straw. If I believed in Gods, or Goddesses, by any name at all, I would call to them now. I would offer what’s left of my rotting soul in trade for his survival. I would pray, that when I climb back out of this pit, not only my past would she be cradling, but also my future, because I don’t know if I have one without him.

  “Let’s go,” Marxx calls to me, again.

  Once again, it’s just he and I standing together, and as he already has reminded me, that doesn’t always play out well.

  Chapter 36

  The shouting hits my ears before I’m fully below ground. I can hear Rhett’s angry voice bellowing, but I can’t make out his words. All along the walls there is proof of a struggle. Handprinted smears of blacks and reds zigzag along the surfaces. Papers are tossed from the open rooms, littering the ground like dirty snow, tracked, and marred with footprints. Just as I had expected, Collin has taken to the back, letting his daughter and another man have the risks of going first.

  “Plan?” I ask Marxx.

  “Since when did you invest in those?” he returns, using me as the target of his anxiety.

  “Since we keep finding ourselves in smaller and smaller spaces.”

  Despite our surroundings, stalking the sound of Rhett’s voice, it brings me hope. If he’s yelling, then there is something to still fight for, something still left of our family to cause him distress.

  “How much ammo do you have?” My mind is blank for a plan. It’s a small room, and without seeing where and who, there’s no option left for us, but walking right into the storm.

  “Full.” Marxx is watching me, waiting for me to finish my line of thought.

  I don’t tell him I don’t have a line of thought or even a plan. He’s right. I don’t invest much in either. I do what I do best. I walk right into the last room and face the devil inside of it.

  Rhett has forced Marigold into the far corner. It’s a standoff with her holding April’s arm near a cage and Rhett holding his gun pointed at her head. The child inside the cage holds her gaze for Rhett, the louder of the two. I know this cage. I remember this little girl. She’s the one who waved those small fingers with a grin, boasting of the things we didn’t know, at the time; things we still yearn to be in the dark over.

  Paula kneels with her back towards us, as Dolph stands over her, shielding her so she can do whatever it is she is doing to the color-stricken Genny. Her hands are placed over a spot on Genny’s arm and my mind already races with the worst of what it may mean. Aimes has followed Rhett’s lead. She’s blocked the aisle made from the cages, leaving Marigold with no exit and even less options. I thought I had the room mapped, but I forgot one. The one who is always so easy to forget.

  Leigh stands in such a manner projecting she hasn’t taken a side, yet. She fidgets with the latch on the cage closest to her, tormenting the child inside of it by clunking its large lock against the metal bars. The key to the prison is in her hand at her waist. She flips it back and forth, its metal catching the light ominously with her hidden agenda. She isn’t watching the room. She’s watching us. She’s waiting to see how the scales tip and if she wants to release the army Marigold has made to unbalance the scales all over again. Leigh smiles at me, and it’s one of the few times I’ve seen an expression on her face. It’s almost as unsettling as the child behind her petting her long black hair.

  “Go to Genny,” I tell Collin, who struggles to find somewhere to be in the chaos.

  The sound of my voice pulls Marigold’s awareness to me. Her face droops for a moment, trying to figure out a way to retake control. Her delaying is the clue. She doesn’t really want to turn April. She wants control. She, just like Marco, is only thinking of an escape.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I tell her, walking to Aimes’ side and keeping clear of Rhett’s barrel. I keep Marigold’s and my eyes locked. “We will go. We will leave tonight, and you’ll never have to worry about any of us, again.”

  I can see Marigold tossing my words around in her mind, measuring the cause and effect of what I have suggested.

  Leigh has stopped her toying, pushing the room into a deep silence. Not even Rhett, who we heard from the ladder, makes a sound. The demonic cherubs are waiting, watching with eyes holding a deep interest in what is going on around them.

  “We’ve returned Leigh to you,” my voice is hushed, keeping the room at an uneasy energy. “Now return April to us.”

  April is tossing her eyes from me to Rhett. Her fear is easily seen upon her face, twisting her child-like features into worry and fright. She doesn’t want to see the monster to which she’s being offered. She doesn’t want to look. She’s searching for anyone to look at to help her hide the facts of what is happening to her.

  Aimes has crouched down beside me. The second a motion is given, she is ready to steal away the little girl who has been stolen from us. Aimes isn’t hiding in a back room this time. She’s here, ready to fight. I almost fear for Marigold if her and Rhett should get their chance.

  “You’ll ruin everything!” Marigold stretches April’s arm closer to the cage with her rage. “If she’s bitten, they will see! They will understand!”

  “We saw your playground.” Marxx has joined Rhett’s side, lending his brother his strength and support. He’s also lending him another gun. Marigold now stares at two barrels as Marxx tells her, “We understand.”

  “That’s your fault! You, and people like you, who would rather have children die than be saved!” Marigold is shaking with her anger and April’s little arm dangles in front of the open cage.

  “Lady, we just cleaned up a daycare. They were already dead.” Marxx’s voice is calm. He’s ready for whatever comes next, he just wasn’t watching the real threat.

  The rocking motion pulls the child’s eyes to April’s small arm. Everyone is watching Marigold for a sign to rush her. I’m watching the child who has found her signal to eat.

  The little girl crawls towards the dangling treat. She doesn’t make a sound of warning. There are no growls of conquest with her foreseen victory. Like the silent killer she has been groomed to be, she lunges towards the tender flesh as my scream tears the space around us.

  I didn’t know where the shot came from, at first. My vision was only for t
he little girl with her exposed teeth and murder covered clothes until Dolph acted. The shot exploded her head, sending pieces of her to coat Marigold and the wall behind her. April was baptized in fluids thick and visceral, holding colors darker than a living body would hold.

  Each group cradles their child. Rhett and Aimes rush to pull April to them, checking over her to be sure the blood running down her is not hers. Marigold is wailing in her attempts to pick up the headless body of the child whose blood she is wearing.

  Marigold is lost in her mental anguish. She caresses the broken doll, staring at what is left of her creation while staring at the blood covering her from the action. Thick pieces of the child cling to her silver hair to only fall freely with her rocking body as she begins to wail.

  Aimes has already escorted April behind me to the doorway. There’s nothing to protect Marigold now from Rhett. She has no shield to keep her hidden and safe from his wrath.

  “It’s over.” I pull on Rhett to keep the man from doing exactly what Lawless was afraid he would do. “Let’s just get April to safety.”

  I use the girl’s name like a holy word. I use it to try to pull him back from the cliff he’s about to plunge, but Rhett has already dove deep into his rage. His body is relaxed, ready to spring. Only those burning eyes hold life. There’s not a priest in this world who will be able to abolish the sins he is about to create, but once again, we forgot about the silent one who has no stones to cast when it comes to murder.

  “Don’t,” Leigh’s voice slices through my attention.

  “Hells!” Aimes screams, turning the two men who were ready to even the score.

  Leigh didn’t stop toying with the lock. She opened them and not just the single cage. Every cage in her reach has its locks popped. It’s only a matter of time before the creatures inside those metal bars figure out their freedom is a simple push.