when I dared to sneak out.
I followed him out of the Gold
and into the Shadows and moonlight.
I asked him earlier that day how he didn’t worry.
He told me it was simple.
That unlike me, he didn’t think.
He didn’t fear.
He didn’t care.
He just did.
And that he needed to breathe.
To find the air my father stole from him,
in the late hours of our cold basement.
He told me I’d understand one day.
That eventually my head would clear.
One day, I’d see the wrong.
And I’d also see the right.
One day I would see again.
God, did I want to see,
more than I wanted anything.
And maybe I finally am.
For the first time in my life,
I feel less blind.
For the first time in my life,
I can see my parents for what they are.
They’re sinners.
Killers.
And they made me one, too.
That night I snuck out,
blood stained my hands
and left a scar on my back.
The pen falls from my hand at the sound of glass shattering from inside my apartment. A beat skips by where I don’t breathe. Then I hear a loud thump, and I spring into action.
My heart lurches into my throat as I toss the notebook and pen aside and roll off my bed. Reaching my hand under, I scramble for the metal box, but pause.
Do I really want to go there yet?
I stand up with the box hugged to my chest and edge toward the hallway. I left all the lights on in the apartment, so I can easily see as I creep toward the living room. When I reach the end of the hallway, I halt to listen. The air is quiet, but the temperature has grown colder.
Sucking in a breath, I peek around into the living room and kitchen. No one is there, but shards of glass are all over the carpet. The sliding door to the porch has a hole in the top of it, and amongst the broken glass lies a brick.
“That explains the thud,” I mutter as I step into the room.
I set the box down on the floor and walk over to the sliding glass door, making sure not to step on any glass.
A note is secured to the brick by a rubber band. I pick the paper up and unfold it.
We’re watching you, Emery. You’ve been a bad, bad girl, and now you’re going to pay.
As tires squeal in the distance, I scurry to the window and look downward to the parking lot just in time to see a black Cadillac racing out onto the road.
That car. It has to be a patrol car from Ralingford.
But why is it here?
“Shit.” I weave around the glass, collect my phone, and skitter down the hallway. I start to dial my mother to tell her what happened but pause when I catch sight of the wooden circle she nailed into the wall.
What if she did it? What if she’s trying to scare me into coming home?
But what if it wasn’t her?
What if it’s more than that? What if it’s someone else? Like one of my father’s enemies.
I hang up and put the phone away, vowing to never go to my mother for help, no matter what happens. Even if my life is in danger.
Chapter 8
Welcome to Hell
Ryler
The moment I step out of the apartment, I try to force thoughts of Emery out of my mind. The last thing I want tonight is to be distracted. And Emery is definitely a distraction, one I need to make sure I want.
“Where the hell have you been, asshole?” Haven is waiting for me when I arrive at the bottom of the stairs. Her arms are crossed, her expression livid. “You haven’t been answering any of my calls, and your little friends are very rude whenever I stop by looking for you. They always tell me you’re not there” —she motions at me—“when clearly you are.”
I sigh at the sight of her and all that she represents. I lied to Emery about who Haven is. I had to. She’s part of the Elderman side of my life, the life I have to keep a secret. I didn’t like lying to Emery, not one bit, which is going to make our little thing—if I can even call it that—complicated.
I brush by Haven. It’d be pointless to try to communicate with her. She doesn’t know how to sign. I have a piece of paper and pen in the car, but I’m not about to go get them. The last time I chatted via pen with her, we ended up fucking. That was a huge mistake, considering a) she turned out to be crazy, and b) she’s Marellie’s daughter, one of Elderman’s men whose skills lie in the grey shades of life.
“Ryler, don’t walk away from me.” She stomps after me, her heels clicking against the concrete.
I fish my keys out of my pocket and swing around her, heading for my Dodge Challenger as she continues to chew me out. There are times, like now, when I can appreciate being voiceless because I have an excuse not to say anything back.
“Goddammit, Ryler.” She grabs my shoulder, jerks me back, and skitters around in front of me. Her long blond hair is tangled from the wind, and her eyes burn with fury. “I didn’t just come here to talk to your back. I have a message for you. Or my father does anyway.”
I remind myself that I have to be nice to her. If I don’t, I could piss off the wrong people.
“Oh, I see how it is. One mention of my father, and you’ll listen to me. You must really be afraid of him. You should be.” She walks her finger up my chest and plays with the collar of my shirt. “Maybe I should tell him what you did to me.” Her fingers skate downward and stop above the waistband of my jeans. “How you got me drunk and made me touch you.”
I shake my head, aggravated. That’s not what happened. She was sober and I was drunk when we stumbled back to my place and fooled around.
“Maybe I can keep my mouth shut, though,” her fingers start to drift into my jeans, “if you make me touch you again.”