by Renee Rocco
“Nice.” Jester nods, smirking. “Wraith fucked you right into being a whole new person. Always suspected he had a magical cock. But this… You. Confirms it.” He looks at Wraith. “We need to bottle that shit. We’ll be millionaires.”
I sit opposite him, my cheeks flaming. “But can you stop, please?”
He wags a finger at me. “Oh no, James. After last night, there’s no being embarrassed around me. Not after my tongue was down your throat.”
“You realize I’m going to knock you the fuck out, right?” Wraith snaps.
“Won’t be the first time you and I had a tussle. Sure as hell won’t be the last.” Jester shrugs. “Besides, I owe you a beating for starting that shit anyway, so bring it, bitch.”
“All’s well that ends well,” I murmur.
Jester cups his hand to his ear. “What’s that, James?”
I sigh. “I left a happy woman, so can we drop it?”
“Fuck yeah, you did,” Wraith brags.
Jester snickers. “From what I saw, you had to limp your cute ass out of Sanctum. Want me to get you an ice pack?”
Mortified, I ignore their laughter, and as much as I’m embarrassed right down to my soul, it feels terrific. Natural. Normal. Like I’m part of something fun. A happy—and not entirely unhealthy—semi-relationship with a man who cares about me. Does Wraith love me? Doubtful. And that’s fine. I don’t expect instant love after, well, everything we’ve been through. What we do have is enough for now.
Once Gomorrah is nothing but a bad memory, Wraith and I will have all the time in the world to explore whatever is happening between us because, for the first time in my life, I won’t be racing to survive. I’ll finally have the chance to enjoy the simple pleasure of living.
“So, this is where you used to hide yourself?”
“Every day.” I stroll the aisle, running my fingers along the spines and inhaling the scent of old books.
Wraith follows me as I introduce him to a building on Main Street I doubt he ever visited. The Mayhem Public Library was my haven, where I used to come on wintry days rather than go home, and as I walk among the books, I relish the familiar musty smell and the cozy feeling of being nestled among my childhood sanctuary.
“I would sit right there.” I point to an empty table near a window. “Mrs. Decker would feed me cookies and milk, even as I got older. It was always the same thing. Three chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk waiting for me every time I came. This was my happy place.”
I walk to the table and run my hands over the smooth wood, almost seeing the ghost of my younger self sitting here lost in a book. I glance at Wraith over my shoulder and give him a rueful grin. “I never had the heart to tell Mrs. Decker I hate milk.”
Wraith’s hands settle on my hips. He gives them a gentle squeeze. “You have a kind heart.”
I shrug. “Sometimes.”
“Not a compliment.”
I laugh and turn to face him. I lift up on my tiptoes and give him a quick kiss. “You’re such a jerk.” I lead him to Adult Fiction. To F, where Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth sits neglected on the shelf. “It’s still here.”
He takes the book from me and inspects the cover, before flipping it to read the back copy. “You read this thing?”
“Three times.”
He rolls his eyes and puts the book back on the shelf. “Nerd.”
“Whatever,” I snap. “It’s all about survival, betrayal, war, and revenge. That’s not nerdy.”
He gives me a once-over then shrugs. “You’re a lot like Aliena. Nothing kept you down, no matter what life threw at you.”
I point an accusatory finger at him. “You read it, too.”
“You forget, you’re not the only smart one, Jamie.”
I gasp, recalling a forgotten memory. “That’s right, you were always studying.”
He gives me a cocky grin. “Graduated with honors and everything.”
And by the tone in his voice, he’s rightly proud of that fact.
“I wish I would have graduated with you.”
“Me too, Runt.” He kisses the top of my head.
Mrs. Decker comes peeking out from her office. “Hello? May I help you?” She stops dead, her eyes wide as she takes me in. “Jamie Ellis, is that you?”
I give her a little wave. “Hello, Mrs. Decker.”
“Oh, my goodness, look at you, all grown up.” She gasps and runs over, her sturdy black shoes muffled by the dusty carpet strewn over scuffed wooden floorboards. “How long have you been home?”
Her embrace feels like a homecoming. “Not long.”
She sets me at arm’s length, inspecting me with a maternal eye. “You haven’t changed at all.”
“Neither have you,” I lie.
She hasn’t aged badly, but she does look like one gust of wind will knock her over. Her graying hair is secured in a low ponytail and a dull floral dress hangs from her thin frame. In many ways, Mrs. Decker was my inspiration, having taught me to blend into the woodwork. Ironically, her daughters had a knack for standing out in a crowd and caught the attention of almost every boy in school. Especially Faith, who was everything I wished I was—vivacious and beautiful.
“Are you visiting, or did you move back?”
I glance at Wraith. “I’m staying, yes.”
“Thank goodness.” She gives my hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them. “Please say you’ll be a regular face around here. Lord knows few people pass through our library these days.”
Few people passed through the library when I was a kid.
“I’ll be here so much you’ll beg me to leave.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” She casts a miserable look around the deteriorating room. “With Mr. Decker gone now three years from a heart attack and the girls in Brighton, it will be nice to finally have some company.”
I’m not surprised Mrs. Decker’s eldest daughter left given how, like me, Brianna was never fond of Mayhem. But Faith? They must have had to haul her out kicking and screaming.
“I’ll tell you what, I have some business I have to sort, but as soon as it’s taken care of, I’ll come here weekly. Of course, I’ll probably be here more than that, but for sure, at least once a week. How does that sound?”
It’s the least I can do for the woman who tried like hell to get my father to stop beating me. The authorities did nothing, but she was the only person who tried to intervene.
“I’d love that, Jamie. I truly would.”
“Awesome.” I give her a tight hug. “I’ll come by once I’m settled, and we’ll work out a day.”
“And you.” Mrs. Decker shifts her attention to Wraith. “Are you behaving yourself, Eric?”
I blink up at Wraith and hide my laugh at his contrite expression. “Yes, ma’am.”
Color me shocked. I hadn’t realized he and Mrs. Decker knew each other.
“Liar,” she scolds as she scrapes a scowl over his appearance. She grabs his chin and turns his face right and left, examining his scars. “Looks to me like you got yourself in some trouble.”
I snap to Wraith’s defense. “It had nothing to do with him being an Unholy. Nor was it his fault.”
“Mmm,” she grumbles and releases his chin. “Your mother, rest her soul, must be spinning in her grave if she knew you had that word scrawled across your chest.”.
“No offense, ma’am, but she didn’t seem to have a problem marrying an Unholy,” Wraith counters, his voice cold but respectful.
Mrs. Decker’s snort echoes across the moldering library. “Abigale loved your father, but she never wanted this life for her boy. And was she wrong? Rusty was a good man. Loved you both to pieces, but being an Unholy got him killed.”
A muscle tics in Wraith’s jaw. “At least he didn’t die a victim of society.”
“You still see the world without the gray?” She tsks. “It’s not about us against them anymore. It’s not about survival. It’s about trying to find some small bit of happiness while you can becaus
e nothing’s promised. That’s why I sent my daughters to Brighton to live with my sister. I didn’t want them touched by this life.”
Wraith glares down at the petite librarian. “No, instead, you sent them to go be part of a world that’s going to take everything from them without giving them a damn thing in return.” He jerks his chin toward the door. “At least if they were here, Brianna and Faith would have the freedom to live the life they wanted.”
I put my hand on his arm. “It’s getting late.”
Mrs. Decker’s expression is one of motherly concern. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I worry is all. You live a dangerous life, Eric. Your mother was my friend, and I’ve always looked out for you.” She shifts her attention to me. “You as well, Jamie.”
“It meant everything to me when you tried to help.”
She looks on the verge of tears. “They wouldn’t listen.”
“It played out exactly as it had to, Mrs. Decker.” I give her a tight, reassuring smile. “I turned out fine.”
Lies.
“And Eric,” Mrs. Decker says, drawing his glare back to her. “For what it’s worth, you’re right. Brianna did well for herself. She married a good man. Faith, well, she’s Faith. And she’s coming home in June. She doesn’t want Luke to know. Not yet, anyway.”
Intriguing. Why wouldn’t Faith want Jester to know she’s coming back to Mayhem?
It takes at least a dozen more assurances that I will, indeed, become a regular face around the library, before Mrs. Decker lets us leave. When Wraith and I step out onto the wraparound porch of the old, converted Victorian mansion, I feel a little lighter. Like another weight has dropped off my shoulders.
“So, Jester and Faith Decker have history, huh?” I ask Wraith.
“Yeah, and it got messy,” he says, staring out over Main Street. “The show I put on last night? That’s a page out of his playbook. Thing is, though, he took it all the way, and got a blow job when he found out Faith was moving to Brighton. Made sure she saw Megan Thomson going down on him. She hasn’t talked to him since. And don’t bring it up, because anyone mentions Faith, and all his happy go lucky bullshit is gone instantly. You’ll see a side of him you don’t like.”
I nod. “Got it. Never mention Faith.” I make like I’m securing a lock on my lips. “Where to next?”
Wraith shrugs. “It’s your tour, Jamie. I’m just the driver.”
I exhale loudly and think for a second. Our first stop on this tour was Sunny Days Bakery, where I used to peer in the window and watch them bake the bread on Sunday mornings. Wraith bought us coffee and donuts there, which we ate in the gazebo in the town square. After that, we visited a store where I window-shopped as a kid, but when Wraith told me to pick something to buy, I felt weird spending his money. He insisted, and I ended that part of the tour after he pulled that nonsense in the second shop.
After that, we strolled up Church Boulevard, named for the eight houses of worship that line the single avenue that runs parallel to Main Street. As a kid, I walked that road and prayed to every god from every religion to make my father go away. Just vanish. That I would go home, and he’d gone. That never happened, obviously. He was always there. Waiting. Angry. Bitter. Ready to strike. Made me rethink the whole God thing, because I couldn’t understand why He allowed someone as evil as Billy Ellis to live. It never made sense to me. Why I was being punished when I obeyed every rule. Prayed like I was supposed to.
As I got older, I realized one very important lesson about life.
It wasn’t fair.
But, my God, did it have to be so cruel?
That leaves my old house and Apple Grove Park. The latter I’ve been saving for last. The former I was hoping to avoid completely.
Wraith places a finger under my chin. “Ready?”
“No, but I can’t avoid it forever.”
“That house isn’t home, Jamie. It’s a shell. Home is where you make it. Sooner you see that, sooner you’ll find peace.”
I nod, but I don’t believe him. That place will always be home because it’s where I bled. Where a piece of me died. Where I left my soul the day I had to kill my father so he wouldn’t rape me.
But I let Wraith tug me along toward his truck. I’m in a daze when he helps me climb in the Raptor. I stare out the windshield as he drives us through town, but I know the way. If I was blindfolded, I could walk it, every step. Each turn and crack in the cement is dug into my memory, and when we turn onto Vine Street, sweat beads on my upper lip. My heart races until I have to place a hand over my chest to keep my heart from cracking my sternum.
We stop in front of a cozy yellow house. It’s almost unrecognizable, with its manicured lawn and flower boxes beneath the windows. It’s neat and clean, and not at all how it was when I lived here. When it was a house of horrors where nothing pretty thrived.
And when I hear laughter—laughter—drifting out from the open front door, I hiccup on a dry sob. “Drive away.”
“Jamie.”
I nail Wraith with a glare. “Drive away. Please.”
He wants to argue. I see it on his face, but he keeps his mouth shut and hits the gas. “Home?”
“No. Take me to Apple Grove. It’s the last stop on Jamie’s Magical Mystery Tour.”
Wraith drives us back the way we came, and the farther we get from the house, the easier it is for me to breathe. Until it no longer hurts to pull air into my lugs. Then we’re on Main Street, passing the red-light district. I see Devil’s Den and wonder if Ava’s working. I think about Tempest, and where she might have wandered off to last night. If she’s still at Sanctum, or if everyone sobered up and left. I’m unsure how these things work, but I figure I’ll eventually find out now that I’m with Wraith.
With Wraith.
For how long?
Not long, I suppose.
Because time is ticking and I’m running out of tomorrows.
Wraith takes a left and we’re in Apple Grove, and the tension lifts. Soon as he parks, I’m out of the car. My boots come off, and my toes sink in the cold grass. I roll up my pants as far as they’ll go and plunge my feet in the icy water. He’s watching me as I press my hands on the side of the cliff. My ritual. But the little girl is quiet today. I lay my cheek to the stone. Still quiet.
As silent as the dead.
“You need to talk about it, Jamie.”
I push away from the mountain. “I do not.”
“Yeah, you do.” He comes to stand at the edge of the water. “It’s poison festering in you.”
I blink down at his extended hand, then shift my gaze to his face, my chin at a stubborn tilt. The wall comes up on its own. I stomp out of the water and yank my pant legs down. “You want all the dirty details, Wraith? Will that make us equal?”
“This isn’t a competition. It’s about you getting it off your soul.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “What, like a sage burning or a good conversation will take away how he would cut me with steak knives for no reason? Or how about when he got bored during commercial breaks and would call me in the living room to ridicule me until his show came back on? I used to catch him looking at me, sizing me up like I was some random in a bar and not his daughter. How gross is that? Or maybe it’ll cleanse my soul if you know how I’d lie in bed at night, scared to death he was going to rape me while at that very same moment, some other girl was out there probably losing her virginity to you?”
I brush past him and sit at the picnic table and yank on my socks, then my boots. Wraith stays glued to the spot, but he turns to watch me, his jaw clenched. Teeth locked. His eyes are hard, his expression lethal.
“No, Jamie,” he finally says, his voice an arctic blast that sends a chill shivering up my spine. “I don’t want to know these things because it makes me want to dig up the scumbag and kill him all over again like I should have done back when we were kids. But it’s fucking you up. Like what Crane did to me is fucking me up.”
I prop my elbows on the table and
drop my head on my hands as memories shred my mind. Wraith sits across from me, but I don’t look at him. I can’t, not when shame and rage and anguish are tearing me apart.
“That morning, oh my God, that morning…” My laugh is filled with rage. “I was in the kitchen, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. For breakfast. Because that’s all we had in the house, and the bread had mold on it, because of course if did. Everything in that house was rotten. I had to rip the nasty green corner off. But I didn’t get a chance to eat that stupid sandwich.” I shake my head, a shudder of disgust running through me, and I finally look at him. “I can’t even stomach the smell of peanut butter anymore. It makes me want to puke.”
I sit back, my spine straight. Images of that morning are so vivid in my mind, it’s like I’m watching a movie of my life play out in all its disgusting and gory details.
“I was starving because I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. When he came in the kitchen, I knew I was in trouble. I could sense it. You know?” The words tumble out of my mouth, fast now. Thoughtlessly as I watch that movie only I can see. Watch what’s happening in that kitchen like it’s not me, but an actor playing the role of me. “He stood in the doorway staring at me. He was always staring, Wraith. Always. And then he was behind me. His dirty hands on me. He told me to be a good girl. To behave so he wouldn’t have to hurt me. But he was hurting me. And then he turned me around. He turned me around, and he stunk of sweat and liquor. His breath was gross. His hands were all over me, fumbling with the hem of my dress. Then one hand was on my thigh. Pinching so hard. I screamed inside my head from the pain. He moved his hand higher, and I was scared. I was so scared because this was it. I knew it. I knew it. He was going to ruin me. Take every last thing from me.”
I’m shaking. My words trip over themselves as pain flows out of my soul. I glance at Wraith, and he’s sitting so still, his expression unreadable. His hands are folded on the table. I wish I could reach inside and pull out some of his strength and take it into myself because I hate that I feel small and vulnerable.
“The drunken bastard stumbled over his own feet, and we fell. I don’t know how I did it, but I grabbed a knife out of the block on the counter. I wasn’t thinking, Wraith. I just reached out, and it was in my hand. He dropped on top of me and unzipped his pants. I still feel his weight pinning me against the cracked linoleum. Then I felt it, rubbing me between my legs. My hand came up. Not on its own. Not a mindless reaction. I knew exactly what I was doing when I stuck the knife in the side of his neck. His weight came off me, and he was gasping. Making these awful sounds. But he wasn’t dead. So, I sat there, covered in his blood, and waited. I watched him bleed to death.”