The curator thanks you for your patience.
Welcome...to the Fear
Chapter 19
Suitcases
"Please, don't do this."
He ignores the pleading. The point of begging has long since passed. There is no salvaging what she still views as a relationship. She demolished that bridge down the day she drove a knife into him, flaying him like the fish they feed the mosasaur…Soni.
"Please. I'm sorry."
No amount of sorry will fix the fact he walked in on her screwing his CO. The image burns in his mind even now, and he finds his stomach churning. It makes him fumble as he ties up his duffle. How could someone who wanted to marry you turn around and betray you?
"Owen…"
The petite hand on his arm feels more like a fly then a comfort, so it doesn't feel odd when he shrugs her off. Throwing his duffle over his shoulder, he makes for the door.
"Why won't you talk about this?"
Pausing, he turns and looks at her. "There is nothing to talk about, Jess. I think you made it pretty clear how you felt. I think you've done an outstanding job establishing where this relationship will end. I don't think you need to speak anymore."
Her face scrunches like it always does when she hears something she doesn't like. It's one of the few times her beauty becomes more…pug-like.
"If you weren't so busy—"
"Let me stop you right there," he says and holds up a hand. Owen opens his mouth but then shuts it. He realizes this entire fight is not worth it. What he says is not going to change anything that's transpired. He can't forget, nor can he go on with an apology. It's a tragedy, but that's how the cards fall.
He exits the tiny home. The first place he ever bought and paid for. The place he thought he would start a family. Instead, it became the first place he realized life never works out like you plan.
Owen walks down the path and to his little Geo Metro. It's crappy and an ugly yellow in color, but it will get him from point A to point B just like he wants. The sooner he gets away from the pain; the sooner he can move on.
At some point, he finds himself at the beach and walks the shore. The sand weaves itself between his toes as the salty breeze scratches his nose. His skin feels cold and wet.
The odd thing about the situation is he can't remember visiting the beach after leaving his house…
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"Are you planning on getting fired?"
Elizabeth startles and glances up to the rim of the paddock. Shaking her head, she's relieved to see it's only Lowery. Leaving Owen in his thoughts, she scrambles up the rocks.
"Why are you here?"
"I saw you on the monitors."
Moving next to him, she feels her brow scrunch together. "It's Wednesday. I thought they were off for maintenance."
"No, it changed last week. Security has tightened in light of the midnight raptor feedings. They're narrowing down who's spearheading this "save the dinosaurs" movement," he replies with finger quotes for embellishment.
"It's not a movement. It's simple animal care," she comments with a roll of her eyes and rubs her face. She's not surprised InGen is trying to snuff it out. It would destroy everything they want for a park. Dinosaurs that aren't vicious don't sell tickets—or so InGen say.
"Well, you know they don't like people spoiling their plans." Lowery looks behind her, and his brows shoot up. "You brought the lead raptor specialist out here? Are you nuts?"
There's probably part of her that is crazy. After all, she broke free of InGen only to reenter the lion's den. Running a hand through her hair, she crosses her arms and shrugs. "He needed some—"
"Water?" Lowery questions. "Because he seems to have taken a dip."
"What?" Turning, she doesn't see Owen. However, she has an idea of where he's run off to. "Shit!"
Skidding down the rocks, she trips and busts her knee open. A string of curses leaves her lips as she pushes herself to her feet and approaches the water. Taking a deep breath, she braces herself for the cold water, when Owen's body rises to the surface.
"Soni?" she questions softly as the mosasaur pushes the body to her. After Elizabeth has taken a hold of him, Soni disappears into the depths.
Next thing she knows, Lowery's pulling Owen from her. "He's breathing. We have to get him somewhere dry."
Elizabeth nods as she continues to watch where the mosasaur was.
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He doesn't let anyone know how his heart is being ripped from his chest. He doesn't let anyone see that he cries himself to sleep at night. He doesn't let anyone in.
Days turn into months and it's not hard to pretend to be a zombie. They exist everywhere. When you walk in a grocery store, go to the bank, drive down the highway…you move past them constantly and barely notice. They're good at smiling. They're good at seeming engaged. They're just like you.
Maybe even been you at a certain time.
The zombie mask he's adopted is easy to keep up since so many others have bought the same one and no one notices they're all from the same manufacturer. No one hears that his laugh is a smidge off. No one sees that the look in his eyes is missing a spark. No one stops to think that he drinks a little more than he should.
He finds it easy to navigate his broken world held together with duct tape and tequila until InGen comes knocking on his door…
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It's the smell that wakes me.
The scent is different.
It's wrong.
My feet are beneath me in moments and I've disappeared into the bushes. It isn't long before I'm peering at the metal jaws. In the dark of the night, they seem to prowl. The fleshing probably thinks it's being quiet. Their heavy feet trample the wood chips.
My lips pull back to reveal teeth.
It's not Alpha and it's not Meat Bringer.
No, I've smelled this one before and I don't like it.
He's the heavy one with enough meat to keep me full for a few days. His eyes remind me of Echo's on a hunt. Focused, cold, determined…
I watch him now as he paces back and forth behind the bars. My tail swishes.
Let him enter. Let him challenge. He is not Alpha. He is not one of us. There is no place in our world where he can exist. Instead, he tries to threaten, and I will have none of it.
He's the one who said Echo was to die.
My gaze narrows.
Let him try to take her life.
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When he comes to, Owen doesn't recognize the green numbers on the clock. He also doesn't recognize the nightstand on which it sits. The blankets which wrap him snuggly in their grasp he fails to recognize as well.
The only thing he does seem to recognize is that it's 1:34 in the morning which means he must be alive.
Shifting, he sits up. While he feels like he just spent a decade underwater, he doesn't feel like he has a hangover. His head isn't throbbing, and while he's thirsty, he doesn't taste remnants of alcohol.
What the hell happened?
A soft buzz on the nightstand has him reaching for his phone. Opening it, he sees a message from his old C.O. It takes him a few moments to read through the long message. As his eyes scan the lines, he finds a pit in his stomach growing larger and larger. The bigger the pit grows, the angrier he becomes and before long all he can see is red.
He drags himself from the bed and makes his way to the door. The living room on the other side he immediately recognizes along with the girl fast asleep on the couch.
"Haven?"
He waits a few moments before calling out louder. "Haven?"
She stirs and rubs her eyes. Blinking, she looks around, gaze finally settling on him. Her brow is furrowed as if she isn't quite sure where she is or what's going on. There's a moment where he feels his anger soften because she looks innocent. However, when he thinks of his Blue, he steels.
"Good morning, Haven."
"Wha…?"
He takes a few steps forward. "That's your name, isn't it? Haven Lancaster?"
She's up in a moment with a wince and wide eyes. "I…"
"Funny, how when people refuse to say anything about them, the truth always comes out," he comments and walks toward her. "My C.O. finally dug up some files on you—or the dead you. Whichever you prefer."
There's fear in her eyes, but not the kind he expects. She isn't scared of him, by any means, and he isn't quite sure how to take that. Relief seems to spread through him. He never likes to make people fearful of him. Yet, there's terror buried in her eyes, and he tends to believe it's caused by InGen.
"Yeah, I'm sure O'Reilly has your back since he's in InGen's pocket."
Owen crosses his arms and moves in front of her. "Funny thing about working for InGen. He told me why you know so much about me. See, I thought it was weird, but he shined some light on the situation. He told me it was your call when it came to him sleeping with Jess and corralling me into taking this job."
"Of course, that bastard would say such things. He doesn't want to take responsibility. It was always his problem." The terror in her eyes spins into anger as she limps to the door and turns on the lights.
Owen can't stop his brow from wrinkling. She speaks of O'Reilly as if she knows him extremely well. But Owen's known him for years. There's no way she could know, and he wouldn't know.
Right?
She marches back over to him as she pulls off her shirt. "What do you know about him, Grady?" She points to a jagged shiny line on the right side of her body. "Do you know how he gets wasted and takes it out on whoever he's around. He's fond of knives."
Owen skips a breath as he looks at the scar. His right-hand reaches out, but he stops himself from touching her.
"He loves making sure you know he's the alpha male. Do you know how many times I told the nurses I fell down his stairs? They patched so many broken ribs and limbs its incredible they never called the police," she comments. "However, InGen pays well for people to look the other way."
"Jess…" His eyes widen. "He's—"
She laughs, and he can see the cruel irony on her face. "You thought she loved you." She shakes her head. "InGen pays people well to act. It took me a while to figure out O'Reilly was seeing her."
He shakes his head as she confirms what he's been thinking. "You and O'Reilly… No, I know him. He never spoke of you. He was out bars, he was single…"
"Did you ever wonder how his banister was broken?"
Owen blinks. He remembers walking in to see the stair banister gone but O'Reilly told him he was simply remodeling. "Why would InGen do that to you?"
"They keep you around as long as needed. I'm good with the animals. I have a degree in it. However, when I started speaking up about the inhumane things they were doing—like starving these creatures…" She points to a shiny scar in the middle of her chest. "O'Reilly came home wasted… Calling me things far beyond what he normally said… Nurse said he beat me beyond recognition and consciousness… Violated me in unimaginable ways… And shot me.
"Of course... InGen paid them to cover it up, and the nurse wrote me off as dead in order to save my life."
This time Owen can't stop himself from touching the scar. He rubs it in an attempt to remove the makeup. However, the feeling is one he's familiar with. His mind doesn't seem to want to wrap around the idea as his gaze slowly traces her curves from head to toe. There are several shinier patches of skin.
He seems oblivious to her flinching as he tries to rub off the scars from the places she keeps well covered. Something else occupies his mind. He can't help but think of her hiding in the closet when he yelled.
He should have recognized the symptoms.
"These people are sick," she says and recoils as he touches the wound on her side.
Owen's never felt this wrong in his entire life. He's also never been so at a loss for anything. Not even Jess's betrayal has left him so far out at sea. Blinking, he takes a breath.
He knows enough about how O'Reilly thinks, that if he sends Haven from the island, O'Reilly will find her. He'll be expecting her to flee, to run, and that's when they'll trap her.
Swallowing roughly, Owen grabs the blanket from the couch and wraps it around her. He can feel the blood drain from his face. "You have to leave the paddock."
She bites her lip for a moment and her face scrunches slightly. "If he's coming here I have to leave the island."
"No." He shakes his head. Thinking about the infrastructure of the park and how InGen works, there's one trick he knows O'Reilly will try. "He'll do a desert kite."
Head tilting, her brow rises in confusion.
"It's an ancient technique. Two short walls forming a tunnel. You lead the prey through the larger end of funnel and slaughter it on the narrow side."
Holding the blanket tighter, she gives a nod as understanding smooths her face. He can see the tears in her eyes, the regret of her decision to work here, and he wonders how long before he's in her shoes.
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