CHAPTER 2
A sink hole opens in the Earth like the eye of a giant lizard. It blinks at me and then it tries to swallow Rachel. I grab her hand as she dangles over the endless abyss. A hole to hell, perhaps.
Fear widens her eyes, a silent scream forever echoing out of her mouth. Our hands wrap together; I'm holding her up. But slowly the ground beneath me begins to sink as well. If I don't let her go, I'm going to fall in with her.
I hold tight.
Awakening to the smell of gasoline isn't exactly pleasant. We're stopped at a gas station, in the middle of God-knows-where. I faintly remember Grayson putting me in the back seat of a different car - a Porsche, I now realise - and pretty much nothing else. It's all blurry.
I sit up, rolling my head and cringing at how sore every part of me is. The door opens and Rachel bends down to look at me.
"You're finally awake," she smiles.
"Barely. How long was I out?"
"A few hours. Are you feeling ok?" She puts her hand on mine and I flinch back, recalling the horror of my dream. Sorrow overcomes her face and she recoils her hand. "I'm sorry. You saw what I did…You must think…"
I quickly reach out and take her hands in mine, squeezing tightly. "Hey, no. That's not it at all. I'm not scared of you, Rach."
A shaky breath of relief leaves her chest and she hangs her head, purple hair falling in front of her eyes.
"I'm just still pretty out of it, that's all," I explain.
The door to the gas station opens and Grayson walks out, his eyes zeroing in on me when he sees me sitting up, awake.
"I'm going to run to the toilet. Do you need anything?" She asks.
"I'm good."
As Rachel passes Grayson, he gives her a small, reassuring smile. When his eyes move back to me, he is considerably less warm. I stand up as he approaches. My legs ache like all hell and I have to steady myself on the car to keep upright.
"How are you feeling?" He questions, almost clinically, like he's going through a checklist.
"I'm fine."
"Dizzy, nauseas? You probably have a concussion."
"I said I'm fine."
A terse nod. "Good." A weighted pause. "Don't ever pull a stunt like that again. Next time, I won't be coming to your rescue."
"Rescue?" My eyebrows go up. "I didn't need rescuing, not from you."
"Really? That wasn't what it looked like when the cop had a gun aimed at your head. You hesitated and it nearly got you killed." He steps closer and I can see that he's pissed, really and truly. It's more intimidating than I let on. "You think running off like that was you helping Rachel, but it wasn't. It was just stupid and it could've gotten both of you killed."
I hate that he's right and I'm not willing to accept it. "We don't need you. You can drop us off at the nearest train station and we'll be fine from there."
There is condescension written all over his face as he shakes his head, as though I'm an idiot completely oblivious to the world. "Do you have any idea who exactly is after her? Do you even know what she is?"
"What she is?" My anger and indignation grows and I step closer to him, glaring up heatedly into his eyes. "She isn't a thing. She's my best friend and there is nothing I won't do to protect her. You're some random cop with a saviour complex. So remind me again why we need you?"
"If you think the threat is over just because one guy is dead, then you're even more naive than you realise. More will come for her and you're not going to be able to protect her alone," he states.
My ego is bruised, but I won't put my pride above Rachel's safety. Maybe she is better off with a trained cop to protect her. "How do we know we can trust you? She's clearly not safe in police custody. How do we know you aren't driving us straight toward the nearest police station?"
"We passed three police stations while you were taking a nap in the back. If I wanted you in handcuffs, you would be."
The venom between us heightens as we both glare, neither willing to look away first.
"Is…everything ok?" Rachel startles me and I flinch back, bumping into the car behind me. She stands with a bag of lollies in her hand, chewing on them.
"I thought you were going to the bathroom?" Grayson questions and she shrugs.
"Decided I was hungry instead. We ready to go?"
A sharp nod from Grayson and we all hop into the car. Rachel offers me the front seat but I'd rather chop off my left hand than sit up next to the cop.
"Where are we going?" I ask as we pull onto the highway.
"To see some old friends of mine, lay low for awhile. They're safe," Grayson says.
Safe. What does safe even mean anymore, really? Is anywhere safe for Rachel?
The car ride is long and it soon grows dark outside. I watch as the trees blur together into tall, lumbering shapes that send chills up my spine.
"How much further is it?" I ask, lying down across the backseat.
"Too far to keep driving. We'll have to pull into a motel for the night." Grayson's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. "And get your feet off the seat."
I roll my eyes and intentionally kick the back of his chair as I sit up straight.
The motel we stop at is worn in and somewhat retro, but it's clean and the beds are comfy. Rachel and I settle down, finally away from Grayson for a moment. We sit on the bed, cross-legged and facing one another.
"You trust him?" I ask quietly. Rachel is generally a pretty good judge of character; sometimes it's like she can see into people's minds.
"I do. I think he wants to help," she confirms.
"But he's a cop." A cop actually being helpful? The concept is foreign to me, though I suppose not impossible.
Rachel shakes her head. "I think he's more than that, more than he's saying."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure yet. But I know we can trust him. We're safe with him."
She reaches up and touches my temple. I can feel the dried blood there. "I'm sorry you got hurt," she whispers, so quiet I barely hear. I cover her hand with mine.
"You don't ever have to apologise to me. Not ever."
The door to the motel opens and I hear Grayson enter. "I'm going to duck out. You guys want pizza?" He calls in to us.
"Sure," Rachel replies. I'm not that hungry, even though I haven't eaten in forever.
"I'll be back soon. Don't leave this room, alright?" The door closes again, signalling his departure.
"I'm going to take a shower," I tell Rachel and slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
Alone, I let myself feel the pain of my battered body. As I shrug off my denim jacket, pull my shirt over my head and kick my jeans to the ground, I wince and cringe freely. Everything hurts. In the mirror, I inspect the various cuts and bruises littering my skin.
The warm water of the shower soothes me somewhat. When I close my eyes, I see Melissa's lifeless face, I see the pool of blood trickling from the man's mouth that Rachel killed. It's not like they're the first horrors I've seen though. At eight years old I found my mother and her boyfriend both OD'ed in our living room. She was barely alive and he was stone-cold dead. At thirteen I saw one of my foster brothers thrown so hard into a wall that his skull cracked open like an egg. At fifteen I had my arm broken in three places and four of my ribs fractured.
There is a process to these things. I have flashbacks and vivid memories for a few days, sometimes a few weeks. Next comes the insomnia, which lasts longer and keeps me from sleeping for days at a time. Then it all fades. Life goes on, I move on. The wounds close and scar. I get over it, because what other choice is there?
"Will! Come here!" Rachel calls from outside of the bathroom and I quickly turn off the shower and wrap myself into a towel. I find her in the living area of the motel room, bent over Grayson's weird-looking computer.
"What?"
"Read this." She points at the screen and I scan the title of the news article that's open.
'Circus Family Slain, Sole Survivor Sheltered by Billionaire Philanthropist: Bruce Wayne'.
"That's Dick," she points to a grainy photo of a young boy.
"Great, so not only is he a cop, but he's also rich as hell." I shake my head. Wealthy people are the worst.
"Will," Rachel chides. "His parents died, have some compassion."
I do feel bad for him, especially staring at that photo of the lost, traumatised young boy. My heart twists involuntarily in my chest. I know the devastation of feeling completely alone in the world and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
"Look, I'm gonna go out for a minute, ok? I'll be right back," I tell Rachel as I head into the bedroom.
"Where are you going?" She asks, although sounds distracted by whatever she's reading on the computer.
"Just to grab something." I pull on my jeans but stare at my shirt in disgust. It's filthy. Back in the living area, I rummage through Dick's leather duffel bag and pull out one of his shirts. He's probably going to be pissed, but I really don't want to put my dirty shirt back on.
In the zipped pocket of his bag, I find a wad of cash and take half of it, slipping it into the pocket of my denim jacket.
"Did you really just steal from him?" Rachel asks me, not even looking up from the computer screen. Sometimes I really feel like she can read my mind.
"He's rich. He probably won't even notice."
She shakes her head but doesn't say anything else as I slip out. It's a cool night. The long light bulbs flicker, the moon round and glowing. I jog down the staircase and out of the parking lot. I walk, my hands jammed into my pockets and my head low, until I find the closest liquor store. In the alleyway behind it, I find a boy not much older than me murmuring quietly with a thin, middle-aged woman. She passes him some bills and he slips her something imperceptible before she scurries away into the night.
I walk up to him, avoiding eye contact.
"What you lookin' for?" He asks, looking around to check no one else is near.
"Oxy, if you've got it," I reply.
He shakes his head, sunken cheeks and hollow eyes glinting in the dark. "Got Molly and H."
I sigh, pressing my lips together. "Give me some Molly." I hand him over a few bills, just enough for a couple of pills. In return, he gives me a small plastic bag filled with MDMA. I slip it into my pocket and quickly walk away.
Getting high was something I used to detest. I smoked my first cigarette before I was eight, had my first joint around the same time. It was fucked up; I recognise that now and for a long time I refused to touch any drugs or alcohol. But I'm not going to lie, it makes things easier, especially when I'm dealing with hard shit like my best friend's mom getting murdered or like almost being choked out twice in one day.
Still, as I walk back toward the motel, I can't bring myself to take one of the pills. The bag stays full in my pocket, a heavy reminder of what might be weakness.
As soon as I step through the doorway and into the motel room, I know something is wrong. The chair Rachel was last sitting on is knocked over on the floor and I hear faint sobs coming from the bathroom. I rush through, skidding to a halt when I find her sitting in the bathtub, surrounded by paper-drawn crosses, praying and sobbing all at once. Dick is crouched beside her, bewilderment and confusion mixing together on his face.
"Rachel, what happened?" I ask, trying not to sound too distressed. The last thing I want to do is upset her more.
"It's in me, it's inside of me. It's trying to get out." Her breathing is uneven and shallow; she's having a full on panic attack.
"Where the hell have you been?" Dick demands. His face scrunches up. "Is that my shirt?"
I ignore him in favour of climbing into the tub with Rachel and taking her into my arms. She sobs into my shoulder, clinging tight. I run my hand up and down her back slowly, methodically, trying to calm her.
"You're ok. It's alright. You're in control, Rach. Nothing bad is going to happen."
Eventually, her breathing slows and she stops shaking. I coax her out of the tub and tuck her into bed, brushing her hair out of her face. She's so exhausted that she falls asleep almost straight away.
Dick jerks his head for me to follow him out of the bedroom and I do so reluctantly, closing the door silently behind me so we don't wake her up.
"Where the fuck were you?"
I refuse to be intimidated by him, staring him down blankly. But inside, my guilt threatens to drown me. I shouldn't have left her alone. "I had to duck out to get something. She was fine when I left—"
"You were supposed to stay with her. I told you both not to leave the Goddamn room." He's beyond pissed, lips set in a hard scowl.
"I thought she was fine!"
"Clearly she wasn't! You know you spout all this bullshit about being willing to do anything to protect her but it seems like when it really comes down to it, you bail—"
"Oh fuck you! You have no idea what you're talking about. I'm not the only one who left! You were gone that long just to getting a fucking pizza? What were you really doing?!"
"It's none of your business! You—"
I scoff and shake my head, turning away. "If you're not going to be honest, neither am I."
"Hey!" He grabs my arm and pulls me back. Instinctively, I yank away from him, tearing out of his grip. As I do, the small bag of Molly flies out of my pocket and lands on the ground between us. We both stop.
Shit.
His eyes slowly move from the pills on the carpet up to my face. "That's what you were doing? Rachel was here having a mental breakdown while you were out scoring and getting high?"
My bottom lip trembles and I sink my teeth into it until I taste blood. The silence stretches between us, filled with his anger and my mounting shame. Unable to handle it for a moment longer, I swoop down to pick up the pills but he manages to snatch them up first.
"Give them to me." My voice breaks and for the first time, I can't meet his eye.
"I'm not giving you shit." His anger has dissipated and what's left is pity or maybe disgust. "If she can't rely on you—"
"She can," I interrupt. "I'm not an addict." And I'm not…at least I don't think I am. Not like my mom was. She couldn't go more than a few hours without popping something or shooting up. I only use when things get really hard.
But that's still an addict, isn't it? Just a different kind.
Maybe I'm more like my mom than I care to admit.
I shake my head and back up, keeping my eyes low. "Whatever. Keep them."
"Will—"
I slip into the bedroom and close the door behind me. I can't bear for him to look at me like that for even a moment longer.
In the dark of the room, I pull my boots off and slip under the covers beside Rachel. She's serene, her eyelids gently fluttering as she dreams, dark eyelashes brushing her pale cheeks.
"You can rely on me," I whisper, very hushed so as not to disturb her. "I promise."
As though serving penance, I stay awake the whole night and watch over her. Only when dawn comes - and with it, a false sense of security - do I let myself sleep.
~O~
"They used to sleep together," Rachel whispers to me, leaning in close. We sit, facing a bird enclosure on the roof of a building.
"Who?" I ask, poking my finger through the cage and trying to touch one of the birds. With a flutter of its wings, it flies up, away from my grasp.
"Them." She nods her head over to Grayson and Dawn. I follow her gaze. They're talking quietly to one another, sitting on a bench. Deep in conversation, the lines of Dick's face are severe like he's concerned.
I haven't spoken a word to him since last night, not even when we showed up at Dawn's apartment earlier today and he told us we were staying.
"How do you know?" I question, studying Dick and Dawn's body language. They are sitting kind of close.
"I saw it, when I shook her hand," Rachel replies and I look at her sharply.
"You saw it?"
She hums and nods, cooing softly at one of the birds. I lean into her. "You saw him naked?"
"Stop!" She pushes me off, laughing and I can't help but crack a smile as well.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing here, Dick?" An unfamiliar, anger-filled voice interrupts the relative peace of the rooftop. Rachel and I look up to see a tall, muscular man striding across the gravel toward Dawn and Dick, who quickly stand and take a few steps apart, like they've been caught doing something wrong.
"Hank," Dawn shakes her head.
"I had a situation—"
"Nice little reunion you got going here," Hank interrupts Dick.
"You know it's not like that," Dick says.
"Awkward," I murmur to Rachel, who bumps her shoulder into mine; a signal for me to shut the hell up.
"Hank, enough." Dawn says and then tilts her head toward Rachel and I.
After a few more tense moments, Dawn, Hank and Dick all retreat back inside.
"We could bail right now," I tell Rachel. "There's a fire exit right there. We could climb down to the street and just go."
"Why would we do that? We're safe here." She reaches over and puts her hand on mine, chipped, black fingernails gently running over my scabbed knuckles. "I never thanked you."
"For what?"
"For everything. For sticking by me, looking out for me. You really are the best friend a girl could ask for." She smiles, her eyes scrunching. I roll my eyes, but can't stop myself from smiling too.
"Yeah, yeah. You're welcome."
~O~
For two whole days, Rachel and I live like normal teenagers.
We wake up and we eat breakfast and we relax, chat, laugh. There is no running, no danger, no fighting for our lives. It's something close to peace.
Dawn even takes us shopping.
She is kind and warm and always has a nice word to offer. Dick spends most of the time brooding or sneaking out to do God knows what, but I pay him no mind. Rachel is the happiest she's been in a while, so I'm happy too.
It doesn't last; nothing good ever can.
Moonlight leaks in through one of the open windows of the apartment, bouncing off some of the fine china that I assume belongs to Dawn. Rachel has fallen asleep in our shared room, Game of Thrones playing softly in the background.
Having a home that I actually feel safe in is unfamiliar to me. But as I wander through the living room, barefoot and dressed in sweats, I realise that I am comfortable. Living in foster care meant living on edge, always sleeping with one eye open, always counting the exits in every room, planning a quick escape. Here, there is none of that. Here, there is safety.
I run my hand along the velvet, green couch, feeling how smooth it is. Dick's been sleeping on it while Rachel and I have been sharing a single bed. I almost envy him; this thing is soft. His sheets are folded up neatly on a leather chair next to the iron fireplace. I touch them as well, noticing a lump in the middle. I lift up the top sheet and find an envelop addressed to Hank and Dawn. Inside is a stack of money and a letter.
~O~
It's late when the front door opens and Hank, Dawn and Dick enter. I am waiting in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, my hands gripping it tightly.
They look to me as they shrug off their coats.
"Where's Rachel?" Dick asks.
"Asleep." I reply coldly, staring him down.
"Will, is everything ok?" Dawn sounds concerned, noticing how rigid I stand.
"Give us a minute," I request, my eyes not shifting away from Grayson for even a heartbeat.
"Of course." Dawn grabs Hank's arm and coaxes him out to the roof.
Dick lays his jacket down across the couch as he approaches me. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
I reach behind me and grab the envelope, then toss it onto the dining table next to him. He looks down at it and closes his eyes momentarily.
"I can explain—"
"You don't need to," I interrupt. "Trust me, I get it. You can save the whole 'we're better off without you' speech. It's just a bunch of bullshit anyway."
"Will, you don't understand." He crosses the kitchen to stand in front of me. "You and Rachel will be safe here."
"You fucking promised her." I glare up at him, wanting so badly to hit him. "I heard you, in the car on the way here. You promised her that you wouldn't leave and now the first chance you get, you dump us here and run away."
"It's not like that. I'm no good at this, at family. Whether you want to hear it or not, you both are better off without me." I can see the guilt written all over his face and for a moment I almost feel a tinge of sympathy for him. But then I imagine what Rachel's face is going to look like when she finds out that he plans to leave us here and all my sympathy vanishes.
I get close to him, so he can see the hatred in my eyes. "You know, I knew you were a pig and an arrogant asshole. I just didn't realise you were coward and a liar as well." I push past him and stride toward the room Rachel is asleep in. "Rach! Get up, we're leaving!"
She sits up, rubbing at her eyes as Dawn and Hank come back inside.
"What's going on?" Dawn asks as Rachel blinks up at me.
"Get your stuff," I tell her and she quickly stands up, confused.
"What? Why?"
"We're not staying here. C'mon, grab your stuff." I shove the clothes Dawn bought for me into a backpack and sling it onto my shoulder.
Still a little dazed and disoriented, Rachel begins to pack as well.
"Stop, you're not going anywhere," Dick says, trying to sound stern. It comes across as half-hearted. He knows he's in the wrong.
"Will, I don't understand," Rachel says and I pause. Part of me doesn't even want to tell her because I know it will break her heart. But I won't keep secrets from her; she deserves better than that.
"Dick plans on ditching us here with Dawn and Hank. He was going to disappear. He left a letter and some cash."
Rachel's eyes go wide, tears filling them as she looks past me and at Dick. I turn away, not wanting to see her cry.
"What is she talking about?" Hank demands. Dawn doesn't seem surprised though; she must have already known.
"Let's go." I take Rachel's hand, lacing our fingers together, and lead her past Dick and toward the front door.
"Wait. Just wait! Where are you even going to go?" Dick questions, following after us.
"Away from here," I bite back.
"Rachel, I was going to come back for you," he implores, putting a hand on her shoulder. She stops, tugging me to a halt along with her, and looks back at him.
"Liar," she declares, brushing his hand off. I pull open the front door, fully intending on getting the hell out of here, but a family standing in the hallway stops me in my tracks.
The mother smiles sweetly, pearls adorning her neck. "Well, hello there. What a warm welcome."
~O~