After she died, p.12
After She Died, page 12
part #1 of Girl Broken Series
“Sorry. We had engine trouble. Got stuck around the next bend. We had to paddle the damn thing back to the closest shore.”
“It was crazy,” Faith said, “but some guys came along and helped out. They managed to get the motor going again so we could limp back here.”
My eyes danced between the pair. Were they telling me the truth?
“Sorry you had to wait here while we got things sorted out, babe,” Scott said.
I exhaled, letting the stupid flow out of me. There was a reason they took so long. “That’s okay. Not your fault. So what are you going to do with this faulty jet ski?”
“I’ll tell the guy in the shop to give us another one and extend our time to make up for it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to ask for a refund? I don’t mind missing out.”
“No. Screw that. He can restart our time and give us a jet ski that works.”
Scott dismounted when it was safe to do so and stomped off toward the shop. After a few minutes he came back out with a new set of keys and directed us to a different jet ski.
I spent the next few hours alternating with Faith between the water and the shore. Things got back on track, but I still had doubt creeping into my mind about the first jet ski having engine troubles. I couldn’t help it. Maybe I’d never be able to remove the possibility from my brain.
As I drove us back home to the cabin, I spotted a smile or two between Scott and Faith. Were they getting along and being friendly for the sake of unity, or was there something going on I could no longer control?
25
After
Lily’s been gone all day. I spend most of my time out in the gardens, taking in the fresh air once the maintenance workers finish up. Normally, I hide away inside, but today feels different. Things have changed.
I’ve always suspected something awful happened to Faith. In the back of my mind, I knew she was dead, but I hoped with all my heart I had nothing to do with it. I guess wishing for such an outcome only sealed my fate.
I must be a killer. One who can’t come to terms with what she did. Sure, I’m currently not blacking out when I think about the implications of that knowledge, but it’s only because I still don’t remember what sent me down the darkest pathway a person can take.
Dinner comes and goes. The familiar conversations echo and fragment the dining room. The usual patients have their outbursts. I’m not one of them. I’m too hollowed out to make any noise.
When I’m back in my room, I think about what Elsie said to me. Incompetent to stand trial. It makes a person sound like they’re too stupid to understand the English language. That their basic grasp of communication is too limited for a courtroom session. But there’s far more to it than that.
I know it’s not what my status means, but it’s hard not to let it make me feel even smaller than I already do.
Incompetent to stand trial. What’s the alternative? I remember what I did and go to prison? Or I never learn the truth and be declared not guilty by reason of insanity. Then I’d be assigned to a hospital like this for a long time, maybe forever.
I don’t know what outcome scares me the most, but I want to remember. As painful as it will be to see myself willingly harm and kill my sister, I have to understand what drove me to that point. So the question beckons: How do I force myself to remember? Is it even possible? Am I subconsciously protecting my mind from a harsh reality?
I think back to the dream I had only a few days ago, about the lake. Why was I so young? And why was I remembering a time spent there during winter? The fire happened at the start of summer. I should be dreaming about the times leading up to the end. That’s what’s important here, right?
Ignoring the creeping visions of snow forming in my head, I concentrate as hard as I can on my burns. The pain is always there, and I can’t seem to get used to it, despite the medication the hospital has me on. I know I got the burns from the fire, the one Elsie says I lit. I mustn’t have gotten out fast enough when . . .
I jump up from my bed and pace around in a hurry, doing what I can to avoid the origin of the pain in my arms. But I can’t ignore it. I need to go back there and see for myself what I did, so I sit back down and breathe.
On the edge of my bed, I contemplate how I can summon the strength needed to recall the past. My forearms throb, interrupting. Lightning stabs through my nerve endings. Whether I meant to, I give myself the answer. I read once that an event where a person experiences significant pain will stay in their long-term memory. If I can focus my thoughts on the burns on my arms, then maybe I can go back in my mind to the moment I killed Faith.
The moment I killed Faith. The words echo in my skull. I’m a killer, whose only reminder of the horrendous act is a few burns on her forearms.
I cough and choke, so much so that I fall to my knees. The pain in my arms rips through my skin like a rusty blade. I try to bring my hands up to my mouth to silence the scream begging to come out of me, but I can’t raise my arms without intensifying the pain twofold.
Sweat pours down my face and drips to the floor. I grit my teeth as tight as I can without cracking them. But it’s not enough. A groan escapes me and turns into a yell so loud that I might as well be on fire.
I collapse forward and land hard on my chest and face. My arms sting with such agony I fail to shield my fall. The thud knocks the wind out of my depleted lungs, stifling my cries, transitioning them into a wordless call to the nurse outside my room.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. What is happening to me? Is this another seizure?
A nurse rushes into my room and sees me on the floor.
“What are you doing? Get up.”
I try to blurt out a response, but I can’t think past the choking in my throat. Feeling like the ground is a bed of uneven nails, I roll to my side and bring a shaking hand up to my neck to show the nurse that I can’t breathe. Can she see me in the dark, turning blue?
“Wait, are you choking?” The nurse drops to my side and inspects my airways like I’ve swallowed a chicken bone. She pulls my hands down to my sides, dragging them through an invisible wall of fire. She rips a hand-held device off her belt and yells into it.
Moments later, my room is flooded with people. Emergency personnel all pour over me and check my vitals. I breathe on my own in short, sharp rasps.
“You need to calm down,” one of the emergency nurses says. “Focus on my eyes and take slow breaths in and out.”
I nod as best I can.
“We believe you are having an extreme panic attack. Try not to move.”
“Okay,” I whisper. My voice cracks, sounding pathetic. They keep me on my side, no doubt afraid I might have another seizure.
“Can you tell me what set this off? What were you doing?”
My eyes roll around in my head as I try to avoid the question. How can I possibly explain what happened?
“My name is Janet. We’re here to help you. You’re not in any trouble. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”
I nod again. “The burns on my arms. They were pulsating with so much pain, I thought I was on fire.”
The nurse tries to hide her reaction, but I can see straightaway that she thinks I’m crazy. It’s not far from the truth given that I’m in a mental hospital for a murder my psyche is conveniently blocking out.
“How bad was this pain?” Janet asks.
I shy away, but the nurse has a solid grip on my shoulders. I can’t escape her eyes. “It felt like someone was slowly stabbing me with a knife. But at the same time, it felt like that blade was on fire.”
“Okay,” one of the other nurses utters.
A few of the many people in my room exchange glances, doing their best not to reveal their inner thoughts. But I can tell what they’re thinking. I’m just another crazy person hallucinating in the night.
“It felt real. I thought I was going to die.”
“You’re okay now, and that’s all that matters. Let’s get you back to your bed. Some sleep will help.”
Janet and one of her colleagues lift me to my feet. They lower me to my bed like I’m a fragile vase covered in hairline cracks. To them, I’m broken on the inside when all they care about is my physical body. Leave what’s going on in my head to the psychotherapists and doctors.
“Before we go, I think it might be best if I check your arms.” Janet turns to a coworker and says, “Johnson, can you turn the lights on?”
The dusty bulb above comes on and bathes my room with light too bright for my eyes.
Janet inspects my right arm. “What kind of injury do you have under there, if you don’t mind telling me?”
“I . . .”
“You don’t need to say. I can figure it out if you are uncomfortable discussing it.”
“No, it’s fine. There was a fire. A bad one. I think both of my forearms got burned in the flames.”
“Sounds painful.”
“Yeah. Every so often they hurt so much I can barely think. This time was the worst by far.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Janet unwraps the bandages on my arm. They get changed frequently, but I always face away when my dressings come off. I don’t think I’ve ever seen just how bad they are. Maybe this time I should look and stop being afraid.
But I can’t bring myself to lock eyes with the burns that are now a permanent reminder of what I did to my sister. Plus, I’m convinced Janet will take off my bandages and find that everything has gotten worse.
“Okay,” she says. “That’s the old bandage off. Everything seems fine. Hang on a second. You said these were burns, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, why?”
“These are cuts.”
“Cuts? What do you mean, cuts? I’ve got burns on my arms. Not cuts.” I stare into Janet’s eyes and take in the confusion lining her brow.
“I don’t know what to tell you other than to take a look.” Her eyes fall to my wrist as she takes hold of it with care. My forearm is facing down. The top of my arm looks normal, apart from appearing a few shades lighter.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Janet doesn’t answer my question. Instead, she rolls my arm over to expose my forearm.
My eyes go wide as my mouth falls open. “No,” I mutter. “That can’t be right.”
“These are cuts from a serrated blade that run the length of your forearm over your veins. I’m assuming you have the same wound on your left arm.”
My pulse quickens, slamming my heart against my chest. “This is a trick.”
Without another word, Janet takes hold of my other arm and unwraps the surrounding bandage to show me the same hideous trauma haphazardly sliced over my forearm.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “I was burned. Not this.”
“It’s okay. Please try to remain calm.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?” I shout.
The nurse lets go of my wrists as one of her coworkers backs up.
“Someone has cut me. They must have drugged me in my sleep and done this. It explains the constant gaps in my memory.”
“No one is drugging you in your sleep. I promise.”
“Then how do you explain this?” I ask, holding my cut wrists up.
More glances flow around the room. They all know something they’re not telling me. “Well? Tell me!”
The nurse places a hand on my shoulder and says, “You did this to yourself.”
26
Before
I found my boating card. Scott and I were alone in our room with the door shut. After three hours of searching for the card when we got back to the cabin, it mysteriously showed up in a place I swear I already looked: underneath our bed on the floor.
“Are you sure you didn’t miss seeing it here?” Scott asked me. “I do that all the time when I’m looking for something.”
“You do that because you’re hopeless at finding things. I’m not. I’m always the one who locates your so-called missing shoes in under a minute. And more to the point, I don’t lose stuff either.”
“So you’re perfect, right?”
“No, I’m not saying that.”
“Then what are you getting at, exactly?”
I sighed and lowered my voice to respond. “How does a card like this magically fall out of my zipped-shut purse and land under our bed?”
“What are you saying? You think someone did this on purpose?” Scott leaned in closer to me and whispered, “Faith?”
I nodded, knowing she was downstairs by herself.
“Why would she do that, huh? What would be the point?” Scott crossed his arms.
“She knew you would go off alone on your jet ski while I had her as a passenger. If I wasn’t able to take her because of a ‘missing’ card, that meant she’d get to be your passenger for part of the time.”
“So you think Faith planned out some elaborate scheme so she could ride alone with me on a jet ski?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?”
I squeezed my fists tight for a moment. “I know you don’t think anything is happening, but you don’t understand what my sister is capable of.”
Scott shook his head and sat me down on the bed beside him. “Look, babe. I get that you are worried that Faith has feelings for me. I really do. But at some point, you need to move past it. So what if she likes me? Do you think it will change anything between us?”
“I don’t know. What if you start to have feelings for her? What if you get sick of me and decide Faith is the better option?”
“That’s not going to happen, okay? I love you more than anyone in the world. Faith is your sister, so I’m nice to her. That’s all there will ever be between the two of us.”
“Okay,” I said while my eyes settled on a spot on the wooden flooring of the cabin. Years of scuff marks from my family’s feet covered the surface. How many years of life did this place have left in it?
Scott kissed me on the forehead as he draped his arm over my shoulder. “I know this weekend has been a disaster from the start, but we can still make something of it, can’t we?”
I lifted my eyes to his and pulled him in close. We kissed and started to make out. Within seconds, the cabin melted away, and there were no longer any problems looming over my head. Scott picked me up with two strong arms and laid me down on the bed.
I killed the light on the bedside table and felt the rush of anticipation flood my system. Night had fallen. Scott ran his hands over the sides of my body like I was some sort of goddess, making me feel like there was no one else in the world. It had been too long since we’d had sex.
A bump downstairs startled us both, pulling me out of the moment. We ignored the noise and went straight back to kissing. It was most likely Faith dropping something or the cabin settling with the change of temperature fast approaching.
Another bump came, this time louder than before.
“What was that?” I asked, unable to ignore the disruption.
“Nothing,” Scott said with confidence. The cabin could be on fire. He would say the same thing. He just wanted to get laid.
“It wasn’t nothing.”
“It’s stopped.”
I stared through the dark into his eyes, as they made me feel safe. Whatever the noise was, it didn’t need our attention. We started kissing again. Scott moved things along and slid his hand up my shirt.
Another loud bang crashed from below.
“Jesus,” Scott yelled. “What the hell is going on down there?”
“We better go find out.”
Scott exhaled with closed eyes. His nostrils flared, showing a frustrated agreement. “Fine.”
“Hey,” I said, drawing him in with my hands on his face. “We can pick back up where we left off.”
He smiled.
I flicked on the light and climbed out of bed to straighten myself up. Once we’d both composed ourselves, Scott and I headed downstairs to see if we could find the source of the noise.
“Faith?” I called out when we reached the bottom of the stairs. The lights were all on. I couldn’t see her in the combined living and dining room. Scott and I moved around the corner to the kitchen and found it empty.
“I’ll check the bathroom,” I said.
Scott nodded with his hands on his hips as he scanned the cabin like he had X-ray vision.
I knocked on the door to the bathroom. “Faith? You in there?”
No response.
I noticed the light was off, so I twisted the handle and opened the door to find another empty room. “What the heck?”
“No good?” Scott asked when I reappeared in the living room.
“Nope. She’s not here.”
“What about her room upstairs?”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “We both heard the noise come from down here.”
“You better check. Just in case.”
I agreed and rushed up the steps two at a time. When I got to Faith’s door, it was wide open to a dark room. Why didn’t we look in there first? “Faith? You in your room?”
No reply.
I pulled my cell out and activated the flashlight, scanning it over the shadows from the doorway to see if Faith was in her bed. Her blankets were in a mess on the floor, just as they would be in her room at Mom’s house.
I shrugged and went back downstairs. “Nothing. I’m not sure where—”
I stopped when I realized Scott was no longer in the living room. “Babe? Where are you?”
Scott didn’t respond. “Where the hell did you go?” I whispered to myself. I rechecked the same spaces I’d been to downstairs and found nothing.
In the living room, I stood in the middle of the cabin as my head darted left and right. My arms raised up to ask where everyone had gone. I slapped them down at my sides and cursed under my breath. With no other option, I went outside.
I stepped out the back door and found Scott kneeling down on the pathway that ran along the back side of the cabin. His presence startled me, kicking my heartbeat up a notch. “What are you doing? Tell me next time you plan on walking off on me.”
“It was crazy,” Faith said, “but some guys came along and helped out. They managed to get the motor going again so we could limp back here.”
My eyes danced between the pair. Were they telling me the truth?
“Sorry you had to wait here while we got things sorted out, babe,” Scott said.
I exhaled, letting the stupid flow out of me. There was a reason they took so long. “That’s okay. Not your fault. So what are you going to do with this faulty jet ski?”
“I’ll tell the guy in the shop to give us another one and extend our time to make up for it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to ask for a refund? I don’t mind missing out.”
“No. Screw that. He can restart our time and give us a jet ski that works.”
Scott dismounted when it was safe to do so and stomped off toward the shop. After a few minutes he came back out with a new set of keys and directed us to a different jet ski.
I spent the next few hours alternating with Faith between the water and the shore. Things got back on track, but I still had doubt creeping into my mind about the first jet ski having engine troubles. I couldn’t help it. Maybe I’d never be able to remove the possibility from my brain.
As I drove us back home to the cabin, I spotted a smile or two between Scott and Faith. Were they getting along and being friendly for the sake of unity, or was there something going on I could no longer control?
25
After
Lily’s been gone all day. I spend most of my time out in the gardens, taking in the fresh air once the maintenance workers finish up. Normally, I hide away inside, but today feels different. Things have changed.
I’ve always suspected something awful happened to Faith. In the back of my mind, I knew she was dead, but I hoped with all my heart I had nothing to do with it. I guess wishing for such an outcome only sealed my fate.
I must be a killer. One who can’t come to terms with what she did. Sure, I’m currently not blacking out when I think about the implications of that knowledge, but it’s only because I still don’t remember what sent me down the darkest pathway a person can take.
Dinner comes and goes. The familiar conversations echo and fragment the dining room. The usual patients have their outbursts. I’m not one of them. I’m too hollowed out to make any noise.
When I’m back in my room, I think about what Elsie said to me. Incompetent to stand trial. It makes a person sound like they’re too stupid to understand the English language. That their basic grasp of communication is too limited for a courtroom session. But there’s far more to it than that.
I know it’s not what my status means, but it’s hard not to let it make me feel even smaller than I already do.
Incompetent to stand trial. What’s the alternative? I remember what I did and go to prison? Or I never learn the truth and be declared not guilty by reason of insanity. Then I’d be assigned to a hospital like this for a long time, maybe forever.
I don’t know what outcome scares me the most, but I want to remember. As painful as it will be to see myself willingly harm and kill my sister, I have to understand what drove me to that point. So the question beckons: How do I force myself to remember? Is it even possible? Am I subconsciously protecting my mind from a harsh reality?
I think back to the dream I had only a few days ago, about the lake. Why was I so young? And why was I remembering a time spent there during winter? The fire happened at the start of summer. I should be dreaming about the times leading up to the end. That’s what’s important here, right?
Ignoring the creeping visions of snow forming in my head, I concentrate as hard as I can on my burns. The pain is always there, and I can’t seem to get used to it, despite the medication the hospital has me on. I know I got the burns from the fire, the one Elsie says I lit. I mustn’t have gotten out fast enough when . . .
I jump up from my bed and pace around in a hurry, doing what I can to avoid the origin of the pain in my arms. But I can’t ignore it. I need to go back there and see for myself what I did, so I sit back down and breathe.
On the edge of my bed, I contemplate how I can summon the strength needed to recall the past. My forearms throb, interrupting. Lightning stabs through my nerve endings. Whether I meant to, I give myself the answer. I read once that an event where a person experiences significant pain will stay in their long-term memory. If I can focus my thoughts on the burns on my arms, then maybe I can go back in my mind to the moment I killed Faith.
The moment I killed Faith. The words echo in my skull. I’m a killer, whose only reminder of the horrendous act is a few burns on her forearms.
I cough and choke, so much so that I fall to my knees. The pain in my arms rips through my skin like a rusty blade. I try to bring my hands up to my mouth to silence the scream begging to come out of me, but I can’t raise my arms without intensifying the pain twofold.
Sweat pours down my face and drips to the floor. I grit my teeth as tight as I can without cracking them. But it’s not enough. A groan escapes me and turns into a yell so loud that I might as well be on fire.
I collapse forward and land hard on my chest and face. My arms sting with such agony I fail to shield my fall. The thud knocks the wind out of my depleted lungs, stifling my cries, transitioning them into a wordless call to the nurse outside my room.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. What is happening to me? Is this another seizure?
A nurse rushes into my room and sees me on the floor.
“What are you doing? Get up.”
I try to blurt out a response, but I can’t think past the choking in my throat. Feeling like the ground is a bed of uneven nails, I roll to my side and bring a shaking hand up to my neck to show the nurse that I can’t breathe. Can she see me in the dark, turning blue?
“Wait, are you choking?” The nurse drops to my side and inspects my airways like I’ve swallowed a chicken bone. She pulls my hands down to my sides, dragging them through an invisible wall of fire. She rips a hand-held device off her belt and yells into it.
Moments later, my room is flooded with people. Emergency personnel all pour over me and check my vitals. I breathe on my own in short, sharp rasps.
“You need to calm down,” one of the emergency nurses says. “Focus on my eyes and take slow breaths in and out.”
I nod as best I can.
“We believe you are having an extreme panic attack. Try not to move.”
“Okay,” I whisper. My voice cracks, sounding pathetic. They keep me on my side, no doubt afraid I might have another seizure.
“Can you tell me what set this off? What were you doing?”
My eyes roll around in my head as I try to avoid the question. How can I possibly explain what happened?
“My name is Janet. We’re here to help you. You’re not in any trouble. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”
I nod again. “The burns on my arms. They were pulsating with so much pain, I thought I was on fire.”
The nurse tries to hide her reaction, but I can see straightaway that she thinks I’m crazy. It’s not far from the truth given that I’m in a mental hospital for a murder my psyche is conveniently blocking out.
“How bad was this pain?” Janet asks.
I shy away, but the nurse has a solid grip on my shoulders. I can’t escape her eyes. “It felt like someone was slowly stabbing me with a knife. But at the same time, it felt like that blade was on fire.”
“Okay,” one of the other nurses utters.
A few of the many people in my room exchange glances, doing their best not to reveal their inner thoughts. But I can tell what they’re thinking. I’m just another crazy person hallucinating in the night.
“It felt real. I thought I was going to die.”
“You’re okay now, and that’s all that matters. Let’s get you back to your bed. Some sleep will help.”
Janet and one of her colleagues lift me to my feet. They lower me to my bed like I’m a fragile vase covered in hairline cracks. To them, I’m broken on the inside when all they care about is my physical body. Leave what’s going on in my head to the psychotherapists and doctors.
“Before we go, I think it might be best if I check your arms.” Janet turns to a coworker and says, “Johnson, can you turn the lights on?”
The dusty bulb above comes on and bathes my room with light too bright for my eyes.
Janet inspects my right arm. “What kind of injury do you have under there, if you don’t mind telling me?”
“I . . .”
“You don’t need to say. I can figure it out if you are uncomfortable discussing it.”
“No, it’s fine. There was a fire. A bad one. I think both of my forearms got burned in the flames.”
“Sounds painful.”
“Yeah. Every so often they hurt so much I can barely think. This time was the worst by far.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Janet unwraps the bandages on my arm. They get changed frequently, but I always face away when my dressings come off. I don’t think I’ve ever seen just how bad they are. Maybe this time I should look and stop being afraid.
But I can’t bring myself to lock eyes with the burns that are now a permanent reminder of what I did to my sister. Plus, I’m convinced Janet will take off my bandages and find that everything has gotten worse.
“Okay,” she says. “That’s the old bandage off. Everything seems fine. Hang on a second. You said these were burns, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, why?”
“These are cuts.”
“Cuts? What do you mean, cuts? I’ve got burns on my arms. Not cuts.” I stare into Janet’s eyes and take in the confusion lining her brow.
“I don’t know what to tell you other than to take a look.” Her eyes fall to my wrist as she takes hold of it with care. My forearm is facing down. The top of my arm looks normal, apart from appearing a few shades lighter.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Janet doesn’t answer my question. Instead, she rolls my arm over to expose my forearm.
My eyes go wide as my mouth falls open. “No,” I mutter. “That can’t be right.”
“These are cuts from a serrated blade that run the length of your forearm over your veins. I’m assuming you have the same wound on your left arm.”
My pulse quickens, slamming my heart against my chest. “This is a trick.”
Without another word, Janet takes hold of my other arm and unwraps the surrounding bandage to show me the same hideous trauma haphazardly sliced over my forearm.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “I was burned. Not this.”
“It’s okay. Please try to remain calm.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?” I shout.
The nurse lets go of my wrists as one of her coworkers backs up.
“Someone has cut me. They must have drugged me in my sleep and done this. It explains the constant gaps in my memory.”
“No one is drugging you in your sleep. I promise.”
“Then how do you explain this?” I ask, holding my cut wrists up.
More glances flow around the room. They all know something they’re not telling me. “Well? Tell me!”
The nurse places a hand on my shoulder and says, “You did this to yourself.”
26
Before
I found my boating card. Scott and I were alone in our room with the door shut. After three hours of searching for the card when we got back to the cabin, it mysteriously showed up in a place I swear I already looked: underneath our bed on the floor.
“Are you sure you didn’t miss seeing it here?” Scott asked me. “I do that all the time when I’m looking for something.”
“You do that because you’re hopeless at finding things. I’m not. I’m always the one who locates your so-called missing shoes in under a minute. And more to the point, I don’t lose stuff either.”
“So you’re perfect, right?”
“No, I’m not saying that.”
“Then what are you getting at, exactly?”
I sighed and lowered my voice to respond. “How does a card like this magically fall out of my zipped-shut purse and land under our bed?”
“What are you saying? You think someone did this on purpose?” Scott leaned in closer to me and whispered, “Faith?”
I nodded, knowing she was downstairs by herself.
“Why would she do that, huh? What would be the point?” Scott crossed his arms.
“She knew you would go off alone on your jet ski while I had her as a passenger. If I wasn’t able to take her because of a ‘missing’ card, that meant she’d get to be your passenger for part of the time.”
“So you think Faith planned out some elaborate scheme so she could ride alone with me on a jet ski?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?”
I squeezed my fists tight for a moment. “I know you don’t think anything is happening, but you don’t understand what my sister is capable of.”
Scott shook his head and sat me down on the bed beside him. “Look, babe. I get that you are worried that Faith has feelings for me. I really do. But at some point, you need to move past it. So what if she likes me? Do you think it will change anything between us?”
“I don’t know. What if you start to have feelings for her? What if you get sick of me and decide Faith is the better option?”
“That’s not going to happen, okay? I love you more than anyone in the world. Faith is your sister, so I’m nice to her. That’s all there will ever be between the two of us.”
“Okay,” I said while my eyes settled on a spot on the wooden flooring of the cabin. Years of scuff marks from my family’s feet covered the surface. How many years of life did this place have left in it?
Scott kissed me on the forehead as he draped his arm over my shoulder. “I know this weekend has been a disaster from the start, but we can still make something of it, can’t we?”
I lifted my eyes to his and pulled him in close. We kissed and started to make out. Within seconds, the cabin melted away, and there were no longer any problems looming over my head. Scott picked me up with two strong arms and laid me down on the bed.
I killed the light on the bedside table and felt the rush of anticipation flood my system. Night had fallen. Scott ran his hands over the sides of my body like I was some sort of goddess, making me feel like there was no one else in the world. It had been too long since we’d had sex.
A bump downstairs startled us both, pulling me out of the moment. We ignored the noise and went straight back to kissing. It was most likely Faith dropping something or the cabin settling with the change of temperature fast approaching.
Another bump came, this time louder than before.
“What was that?” I asked, unable to ignore the disruption.
“Nothing,” Scott said with confidence. The cabin could be on fire. He would say the same thing. He just wanted to get laid.
“It wasn’t nothing.”
“It’s stopped.”
I stared through the dark into his eyes, as they made me feel safe. Whatever the noise was, it didn’t need our attention. We started kissing again. Scott moved things along and slid his hand up my shirt.
Another loud bang crashed from below.
“Jesus,” Scott yelled. “What the hell is going on down there?”
“We better go find out.”
Scott exhaled with closed eyes. His nostrils flared, showing a frustrated agreement. “Fine.”
“Hey,” I said, drawing him in with my hands on his face. “We can pick back up where we left off.”
He smiled.
I flicked on the light and climbed out of bed to straighten myself up. Once we’d both composed ourselves, Scott and I headed downstairs to see if we could find the source of the noise.
“Faith?” I called out when we reached the bottom of the stairs. The lights were all on. I couldn’t see her in the combined living and dining room. Scott and I moved around the corner to the kitchen and found it empty.
“I’ll check the bathroom,” I said.
Scott nodded with his hands on his hips as he scanned the cabin like he had X-ray vision.
I knocked on the door to the bathroom. “Faith? You in there?”
No response.
I noticed the light was off, so I twisted the handle and opened the door to find another empty room. “What the heck?”
“No good?” Scott asked when I reappeared in the living room.
“Nope. She’s not here.”
“What about her room upstairs?”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “We both heard the noise come from down here.”
“You better check. Just in case.”
I agreed and rushed up the steps two at a time. When I got to Faith’s door, it was wide open to a dark room. Why didn’t we look in there first? “Faith? You in your room?”
No reply.
I pulled my cell out and activated the flashlight, scanning it over the shadows from the doorway to see if Faith was in her bed. Her blankets were in a mess on the floor, just as they would be in her room at Mom’s house.
I shrugged and went back downstairs. “Nothing. I’m not sure where—”
I stopped when I realized Scott was no longer in the living room. “Babe? Where are you?”
Scott didn’t respond. “Where the hell did you go?” I whispered to myself. I rechecked the same spaces I’d been to downstairs and found nothing.
In the living room, I stood in the middle of the cabin as my head darted left and right. My arms raised up to ask where everyone had gone. I slapped them down at my sides and cursed under my breath. With no other option, I went outside.
I stepped out the back door and found Scott kneeling down on the pathway that ran along the back side of the cabin. His presence startled me, kicking my heartbeat up a notch. “What are you doing? Tell me next time you plan on walking off on me.”
