CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

DANIEL

––––––––

A mild concussion.

A dislocated shoulder.

Two stitches over her left brow.

Several lacerations and bruises.

Otherwise — according to Jefferson’s three thousand year old doctor who had delivered my mom, dad and both Chris and I — she’s perfectly fine.

“Full recovery,” Dr. Hammell assures us, pressing a cherry flavored sucker into Mira’s hand.

A sucker isn’t going to fix what happened. It’s not going to help Mira forget those nine hours of hell. It’s not going to heal her injuries. It sure as fuck isn’t going to bring Dirk and Boyd back for me to kill so she doesn’t have to live with that in her head.

She’s in a soft, cotton hospital gown, bundled under a thin blanket. Most of the blood was washed by Dr. Hammell’s assistant, a tiny blonde who immediately went stark white when we brought Mira in. I can’t blame her. With all the blood, dirt and stench coming off her, Mira looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

She hasn’t said much. Her gaze has been latched to her filthy toes for nearly an hour and I can’t tell if she’s just tired or too traumatized to function. I’m too afraid to touch her, even to brush the matted hair off her temple.

Christian hasn’t come near her since scooping her up when we first arrived at the lodge. He’d crushed her up into his arms, held her until she stopped her deep, guttural sobbing before giving her to me. He’d climbed into the back and not said a word the entire drive back to Jefferson.

I know why she’s still and silent, but his distance bothers me. Mira doesn’t need him to pull away right now. She needs to know we’re here, no matter what.

But I can’t bring it up. Not yet.

“Baby?”

Her usually vibrant blue eyes are dull and wary lifting to my face, but it’s her face itself that catches in my chest. It’s the gash across her bottom lip, the patchwork of bruises in a deep violet explosion across the entire width of her left cheek. The swollen skin over her right eye where two thin stitches peek amongst the dried blood.

Aside from the damage to her face, skin has been shredded across her palms, along her knees. A thick, purple bruise burns bright across her ribs. Man shaped hands extend along her inner thighs.

I can’t stop staring at them, the long, blunt fingers. There had been so much blood covering her, I can’t be sure he hadn’t raped her. I know she’d been wearing panties that morning. I watched her slide into them. She’s not wearing any now.

I know I should say something. Ask even. But the prospect of triggering something she’s not ready to face has me swallowing back my words.

I’m also saved by Brewer charging into the room, having aged about fifty years since we saw him last.

“Mira.” His usually cold and hostile gaze is oddly soft ... kind as he does a once over of her sitting on the examination table. “How are you?”

How do you think she is, is on the tip of my tongue, but Mira answers quietly, “Fine, thank you. Tired. I’d like a shower.”

Brewer nods like that makes all the sense in the world. “My team and I just left the cabin.” He swipes a hand back through his gray locks. “I have no words.”

Mira bobs her head slightly. “It’s pretty awful.” She meets his gaze squarely. “Do you know any of the girls down there?”

The Sheriff shakes his head. “Might be from the towns over. Could be hitchhikers. Won’t know until we get prints and DNAs sorted. Get their families notified.”

“Can you let me know which girls don’t get to go home? I’d like to take care of their burial.”

Brewer seems as surprised as I feel, but Mira doesn’t bat an eye and the man relents with a slight inclination of his chin. “That’s kind of you.”

Mira drops her gaze back to her knees, but Brewer doesn’t leave. He shifts slightly. Glances between me and Christian before voicing the real reason he’s here.

“I know you want to go home, but I have some questions if you can spare me a few more minutes?”

It’s the kindest I’ve ever seen the man. Even before Chris and I got into trouble, Brewer was always a mean, asshole of a man. Hearing him speak so gently to Mira made me both grateful and suspicious.

“I figured,” Mira sighs.

Brewer shifts and reaches for his pen and pad from his front shirt pocket. “Can you tell us what happened the best you can remember it?”

She tugs the blanket tighter around her hunched shoulders and all I want to do is pull her into my arms, cradle her in my lap and never let her out of my sights again.

“Dirk came up behind me in the kitchen,” she mumbles to her knees. “I think Boyd was the one at the backdoor. He got Christian to follow him and Dirk grabbed me from behind. He got me in the truck. Boyd was already behind the wheel so I guess he was a really good runner.” She scratches the tip of her nose with the corner of the blanket. “We drove for hours until we got to the lodge. Dirk tried to ... attack me in the truck. Boyd told him they were supposed to wait. Lucy told them to wait.”

Little by little, she unfurls every disgusting, infuriating moment of her captivity. She speaks calmly, evenly, like she’s relaying someone else’s experience. The detachment is understandable when she reaches the cellar.

“I guess I’m getting charged with manslaughter?”

I open my mouth, fully prepared to defend her against any charge Brewer might think of throwing at her, but the older man shakes his head slowly.

“Let’s not worry about that, okay? No one is going to fault you for anything you had to do to protect yourself.”

Mira’s whole body seems to inflate with her deep inhale and deflates with her slow exhale. “Has anyone seen Lucy?”

“She’s being detained until her legal counsel comes in from Mayfield.”

Mira clicks her tongue, still watching her knees and missing Brewer’s hard scowl when she mutters dryly, “I’m glad the woman who actively helped her brothers rape and murder over a dozen girls got her phone call and lawyer.” She swipes absently at the tear sliding down her cheek. “I’d hate for the system to be broken or corrupt.”

There’s no doubt in my mind she’s referring to Christian’s detainment on our first night. I love her for her bravery and loyalty.

Brewer does not feel the same. “Jameson called for her.”

Which is news to me. Granted, after he exposed Lucy, I hadn’t stuck around to hear what happened next. I barely remember anything beyond the hazy memory of closing the distance between us, grabbing Jameson and dragging him to the truck.

He explained nothing during the two-and-a-half-hour drive — at normal speed, I’m sure it would have been longer, but I had the pedal down to the carpet. I blew through every light and tore around every car that got in my way. I was not stopping or slowing for anyone. As a lawyer, I understood. As the man ready to bury him in the ground, I had a different set of feelings.

Still, I followed his directions to the cabin, already fearing the worst; she’d been gone the entire day. A whole day with those monsters.

“Guess she’ll be out by morning, right?” Mira lifts her chin and fixes Brewer with the full focus of her hate. “Time served?”

Patches of color darkens behind Brewer’s leathery skin. “That is not how things work here, young lady.”

Mira doesn’t bat an eye. “Sure, if that helps you sleep at night. Can I go?” she cuts in when Brewer opens his mouth again.

Brewer nods and steps back away from the door. “I’ll swing by tomorrow morning to check on you.”

Mira shakes her head. “That’s not necessary. We’re not staying. I’ve had all I can take of Jefferson’s hospitality.” I reach out to help her slide off the cot. The white paper crinkles with her movement and tears a little when she hops to the floor. “There is one thing I would like. I’d like to see Lucy.”

Three voices immediately object to her request, but Mira never glances away from the Sheriff.

“That is not a good idea,” Brewer attempts to pacify. “Lucy’s currently in holding and for her safety—”

“She can stay in holding. I just want to see her.”

I can understand her desire to face the woman who tried to get her killed, but I don’t want Mira anywhere near Lucy or this town ever again.

Brewer doesn’t seem to have any such compulsion. Maybe it’s the guilt of ignoring everything Chris and I said about Lucy, of burying evidence of our attack, of nearly getting Mira killed for his own lack of foresight, but he agrees. He promises Mira to let her talk to Lucy before we leave. Then he leaves, leaves me to face the tiny creature I don’t know what to do with.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, baby,” I murmur, hoping to change her mind.

“Why?” She turns in my direction and fixes me with her unnerving calm. “She’s behind bars. She can’t hurt me.”

She’s not wrong. I don’t know why I’m reluctant to let her breathe the same air as that conniving bitch, but something feels off.

Still, I lead her back to the truck with Christian behind us and take us back to the house.

Mira says nothing as she immediately hurries upstairs.

I turn to my brother.

“Stop that,” I tell him.

Christian doesn’t even pretend to misunderstand my warning.

“It’s my fault they got her,” he says lamely. “If I hadn’t fallen for that stupid trick...”

“How were you supposed to know it was a trick?”

“I left the front door open. I ran in here ready to ... but I left the door open. That’s my fault. I let them right in. If she’s hurt, if they hurt her ... it’s on me.”

“It’s on them,” I correct sharply. “You can’t pull away from her. She needs us more than ever.”

“Why? So I can fail her again?”

I sigh. “You didn’t fail her.”

“What if we didn’t get her back? What if Jameson kept his mouth shut and let his brothers have Mira? What if—”

“A certain asshole not that long ago told me to stop with the what ifs. He was right. Now, I’m telling you. Mira is home. That’s all that matters.”

“Until she realizes—”

“She won’t. I can promise you she won’t. That’s not Mira.”

Chris sighs and hangs his head. “I hate myself. I don’t deserve her.”

“You don’t,” I murmur honestly. “I don’t either. Neither of us deserve her, but she’s chosen us and we’re going to be everything she ever fucking wants and needs. Understand? You’re in this now, Chris. She’s our baby. It’s our job to protect her. So, pull your shit together, go upstairs and stay with her. I’m going to get food.”

He nods, rubbing both hands back through his hair. “You’re right.”

I don’t bother saying I fucking know but let him jog up the stairs to where we can hear the faint rush of water in Mira’s room. I wait until I hear her door open and close before leaving the house.

With Dirk and Boyd dead and Lucy behind bars, and the whole town now knowing the truth of Lucy’s lies from all those years ago, I’m not worried about leaving the house. I do lock the door behind me before jogging to the truck.

I turn the ignition and roll through a town I could navigate with my eyes shut and yet it has never looked so unfamiliar. Every street from my childhood stands exactly as is, right down to the trees along the streets, every fire hydrant, every sign post. The Wong house still has the yellow front door. The Gordans have the same plastic play structure out front seventeen years later. The colors have faded, but it’s still there.

It’s amazing and a little sad to see so much of everything I used to know still there like time never passed. As if it just continued on without me. Or maybe, nothing changed because it can’t. The people raising the new generation raise them the same way the generation before. The format never changes and so, nothing changes. The cycle of fear and conformation will continue forever.

“Fuck you, Jefferson,” I mutter under my breath as I take the turn down Pine Road and head in the direction of the diner.

Cooking takes too long, and I want to be with Mira. I want to focus on her.

Only a group of three boys sit in one of the corner booths when I pull open the door and step inside. I don’t recognize them, but I lock eyes with the one in the middle, a tall, broad kid with intense brown eyes. The other two seem deep in conversation and barely glance up until the tiny blonde with the big, green eyes hurries over to greet me with a pretty smile.

“Hi! Table for one?”

All three watch me like they expect me to do something shady. Like I can’t be trusted standing so close to the girl.

Sister?

Perhaps, but doubtful. Not the way the three are braced possessively to attack.

The girl’s grin widens as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Don’t worry about them.”

“Boy ... friends?” I guess, adding the plural just in case.

Cherrie, as her name tag labels her, flushes scarlet and quickly drops her gaze. “Friends. I guess friends who are boys. Just friends.”

I don’t know why I’m asking. I really don’t care and I will not be seeing these people again to get a follow up.

I give Cherrie my order and take a seat at the counter while I wait. Whatever song is playing is turned down so low, it’s barely audible over the grinding of the ceiling fan and the hiss of frying meat through the pickup window.

Cherrie has abandoned me. She’s drifted off to stand at the table with the three boys and not a single one of them is looking at her like they consider her a friend.

I ignore them. It’s not my business. Instead, I turn my attention to the notification on my phone. The emails from work I’ve been avoiding. The several missed calls from an unknown number that didn’t even bother leaving a voicemail. Clients most likely. But I have Elliot from work handling my files and my outgoing message gives his name and number in case anyone needs me.

I bite back my annoyance and stuff my phone back into my pocket; the only reason I even looked was in case Christian texted.

“Long day?” Cherrie’s back, green eyes bright against her smiling face.

I don’t need to glance back to feel the full weight of three pairs of eyes boring into the back of my skull.

“You have no idea.”

Cherrie purses her lips even as she reaches for a mug and fills it with coffee. She slides it in front of me.

“Go on. I’m a really good listener.”

The offer’s sweet, but I’m not going into my life story with a barely ... what? Sixteen? Seventeen year old. But I accept the coffee and sip it black.

“How long have you lived here?” I ask her instead.

A shoulder bumps up and down. “Whole life, but...” she leans in like she’s about to tell me her darkest secret. “I’m going to get out. Going to see the world.”

I grin at that. “Good for you. I hope you do. It’s pretty nice out there.”

Cherrie sighs and folds her arms over her chest. “Anything is better than this place.”

I don’t tell her how right she is.

My order arrives and Cherrie tucks it into a bag. I pay and leave a generous tip to get her started on that trip out of Jefferson. And just because I’m an ass, I glance over at the three still eyeing me and give a two-finger salute.

“Don’t wait too long,” I tell them before pushing open the diner door and stepping out into the night.