Captive Beauty

Cilla tries to pull free. “Let me go. I’m here, like you want. Dressed up like you want. I’ll even spread my legs for you later, just like you want.”

I tug on her arm. “You’re embarrassing yourself, Cilla.” I dig the phone out of my pocket.

“I don’t care what these people think of me so I must be embarrassing you. Let me go home and you won’t have to worry about me doing that ever again.”

“I’ll take her upstairs,” Hugo says.

I look at the screen, not expecting what I’m seeing.

“You won’t touch me,” Cilla spits back, trying to free herself from me.

When I release her, she stumbles backward, but Hugo catches her. I turn my back and swipe the green bar to answer.

“What?” I bark into the phone.

“Don’t fucking turn your back on me!” It’s Cilla, but I’m not paying attention to her. Not now.

“When?” I ask. Shit. Fuck. Shit. I take a deep breath in, nod, turn to face Cilla. “We’ll be right there.”

Hugo’s holding her back, but she’s not fighting anymore. Her expression changes as she watches my face, watches me disconnect the call.

It’s like she knows before I say a word because her big eyes fill up with tears and her lip is trembling.

“Cilla,” I start.

A tear rolls down her face. “What?” it’s barely a whisper.

I signal to Hugo to release her. “You need to take care of the meeting,” I tell him.

“What is it?” she’s more panicked now.

I rub the scruff of my jaw. “It’s your brother.”

“What?” She knows what I’m going to say. I see it in her eyes.

“He tried to hurt himself.” Hang himself. Like Ginny. My gut twists, and seeing Cilla double over with an unnatural sound, I know exactly what she’s feeling. Fucking exactly. It’s like the fucking past just catapulted itself into the present because it’s not done with me yet. It’s not done with either of us.

“He’s alive,” I say, but I don’t know if he’s okay. “Let’s go.”

She straightens, nods. Her face is the color of ashes and there’s a strange look in her eyes, a resignation almost. I think this is worse than hysteria.

We’re almost out the door when Cilla stops, grips my arm. I look down at her. I already know what she is going to ask. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.”

23

Cilla

I remember what Jones said to me the last time I was here. How he acted so strange. It was as though when I told him that Kill knew about Callahan, that he’d murder him, he was freed of something, something too heavy to bear. Like he could finally rest.

All these years I’ve thought I’ve been watching out for Jones, but maybe he’s been watching out for me. I don’t know any longer who’s on more shaky ground, me or him. I don’t know who was—is—more damaged.

Maybe there aren’t degrees of damage, though. Maybe we’re all just clinging to the buoy, any buoy, just managing to keep our noses out of the water. Maybe it’s a matter of who went under more. Who took in too much water, too much for there to be any room left for breath. For life.

Jones is lying in a hospital bed in a different room than the one he was in. He has too many tubes attached to him to count. His skin is pale and his lips have lost any color. He looks like a ghost under a sheet. How much weight has he lost these last weeks? The beeping of the machines is overwhelming, they seem to muffle everything else, the other machines, the doctor talking to Kill. Kill’s angry words.

I pull the chair closer and sit beside my brother’s bed. It’s a clear night and the moon shines its silvery light through the large bay window. It’s an almost unnatural light. It feels like we’re in a space between worlds. Like he’s already left this one.

His arms are above the sheet and, with my hand trembling, I reach out to touch his fingers, slowly gather them into mine. I feel the tickle of a tear sliding down my face but I don’t move to wipe it away. Instead, I look at him, his face. Feel his cold skin beneath mine.

I knew this was coming the other day.

I knew it the moment he took my hand. It was the first time we’d touched each other since we left Callahan’s house. I’d been sixteen. Callahan arranged for Jones to have legal guardianship of me. That was part of the deal. Do as we were told and in time, we would be free. Don’t and Callahan would hold on to me once Jones was out. Jones wouldn’t be there to protect me anymore. And if Jones told, who’d believe him when Judge Callahan was an upstanding citizen? A man who took in those no one else wanted?