IT WAS IN the early hours of morning when I finally crept into Charlotte. The day had arrived where, for better or worse, I would be facing Clay again. My stomach had barely settled from the constant churning I’d endured since learning of Luke’s death, and it was in turmoil once again.
Butterflies swarmed within me, but I couldn’t be certain whether my nerves were from the prospect of reuniting with my past love or fear of the possibility of facing a ruthless hunter. It was possible the person I was about to meet would be some combination of both.
It was quite likely my last day on earth, and yet a strange calm about the prospect of it all ending soon washed over me. It was as if the sunbird had taken over my body and was allowing me a few moments of peace, even though I was still in control.
Despite my determination to head straight to the warehouse where Clay and I had spent stolen time together—to arrive early and stake out the area to assess any danger—there was one stop I needed to make. Between the years I’d spent avoiding Charlotte and the appearance of the letter cutting short my last visit, I still hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to my father. I was determined to rectify that before I died if things went awry when meeting Clay.
The sun was just beginning to chase the dew from the ground as I walked into the cemetery. While I walked through the space, my gaze scanned around me. The presence that had been watching me, stalking me, last time was dulled, but it still festered like an itch in the pit of my stomach. When I reached Dad’s grave, I kneeled down beside it and brushed off some grass cuttings that had come to rest on it since the last time I’d been at his side.
“Hi, Daddy,” I murmured, tears blurring my vision. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep myself as safe as you always did. It’s been hard ever since you were taken from me.”
I crossed my hands in my lap and bowed my head.
When I continued, it was in a low voice. “I’m still so angry at myself for being powerless to save you. Part of me wishes for revenge, but what would that do? There’d just be more death, and hasn’t there been enough? First Mom, and then you. Nurse Nancy. Luke and his mom. Even Louise,” I choked back on her name as guilt flooded through me. It was the reminder that hers was the one death that had come by my own hand. When I continued, my tears constricted my voice. “I wish I was strong enough to fight against the life I’ve been dealt. I’ve been trying. I’ve been fighting almost every day since you left. But I don’t feel like fighting anymore, Daddy. I can’t.
“I’m going to meet with Clay today, and I have to admit I’m equally scared and excited. I have no idea what it is that he wants to tell me. I know what you would say, especially after everything that’s happened between me and him. You’d warn me that it’s probably a trap and to stay away. You might be right about that, but I have to know. One way or another, something is going to change today, and I need that, Dad. I’m just so tired. I’m tired of living half a life and hiding in the shadows. I don’t want to give up, but I can’t keep moving unless something changes.”
I stood and rubbed my hands along my arms, trying to shift the uneasy ache that had settled back into my bones. It was almost as if once more the weight of someone’s eyes was on me, pinning me in place. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I spied a man in black watching me from the tree line, but when I turned to confirm the sight, no one was there.
It must have been a shadow.
Spinning a slow circle on the spot, I took in every corner of the place carefully, but I was alone in the cemetery. Paranoia had certainly become my constant companion. Once again, I crouched by my father’s plaque.
“I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you,” I pressed on, needing to say everything that was on my mind—a confession to the only person who had some idea of what my life was like. “I’m sorry that you had to spend all of our time together being so vigilant. Thank you for what you did to protect me and for trying to teach me everything I needed to know to survive. I know I never said that enough. I never thanked you for everything you sacrificed just to keep me safe. I love you. I never said that enough either. I wish we’d had more time together.”
The perfectly formed shadow of a man stretched out in front of me on the grass. I spun quickly, falling off balance and tumbling to the ground in the process, but I was still alone. I wondered whether death himself was haunting me in preparation of the destiny I was headed toward. Brushing my hand through my hair, I took a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart.
As desperate as I was to stay at Dad’s side for longer, I was more than ready to leave. The paranoia that gripped me was overwhelming and increased with each passing second. A shudder raced down my spine as a cool breeze whispered across the back of my neck like an exhaled breath that tickled though my hair.
Shaking off my dread, I righted myself before pressing my fingers to my lips and then against the plaque.
“I might see you soon, Daddy.”
With one last sweep of my hand to ensure the plaque was clear of all grass and debris, I stood. Wrapping my arms around myself, I walked back out of the graveyard and took the first steps on the journey that might very well end up being my last.
Each step I took had a sense of purpose, taking great care to pay attention to the process of placing one foot in front of the other and repeating over and over. It was something simple to turn my mind to. By concentrating on the simple task, I hoped to push other thoughts—of both shadows and death, and of possibility and hope—out of my mind. It worked, but only barely.
Passing a string of fast food restaurants, I decided to stop and tidy up my appearance.
The fact that I might have been willingly walking into my death wasn’t a good enough excuse for looking like I’d been camping out in the forest—even if that was the case. I owed the memory of my relationship with Clay more than that. We’d meant something to each other once, even if that meant nothing anymore. Ducking into the last restaurant in the row, I made a beeline for the restroom. I tried to ignore the gaunt appearance that greeted me in the mirror, and instead focused on fixing those things I could—neatening my hair, washing my face, and brushing my teeth.
After freshening up as best as I was able to in the tiny sink, I changed into a fresh outfit—one of the precious few I had left—slid my dark sunglasses on and pulled my hoodie over my head. Sneaking out of the restaurant again, I hoped that I passed for something almost human, even if I didn’t feel like one.
By the time the street that would lead to Clay’s warehouse was visible in the distance, I was a bundle of nerves. My mind raced with memories, and the weight of the history I shared with the derelict building made me pause. Swallowing down a deep breath, I steadied myself for what was to come. It was still early afternoon. I had at least another hour before Clay’s promised arrival time.
Assessing the building from afar, I watched for any signs of movement or indication that there was indeed a trap hidden behind the walls. I may have been knowingly walking toward a place that held unknown consequences, but that didn’t mean I wanted to do it without an escape route—I wouldn’t risk getting caught like I had when Clay’s brother and father arrived the last time.
The memory of leaving Clay behind as I attempted to flee was at the front of my mind. He’d said his sister had found him through CCTV around the airport and the same facial recognition software that he’d used to find me. Even as the thought struck me, I lowered my face and watched my feet. I hoped that between the sunglasses, hoodie, and ducked head, I would be able to avoid detection.
I risked a glance up and rubbed my wrist absently as Clay’s warehouse loomed in front of me. After scoping the building out for a while, I came to the conclusion that there was no one around. Careful not to expose my face to any cameras that might be active in the street, I circled the area, looking for any other exit to the building, but someone had boarded up and screwed shut the two other doors into the warehouse. Resigning myself to the fact that I would have no real escape, I headed back to the front of the building. If I was truly walking into a trap, I figured it was better to be in the middle of it before it was set.
When I reached the old sliding door, I took a breath. A wave of nostalgia washed over me so strongly that it threatened to force me to my knees. The memories of what we’d shared were so strong that it was almost as if I’d traveled back in time. I even half-expected Clay’s hand to shoot out to pull me into his embrace and for his lips to press desperately against mine.
I had to remind myself of everything that had passed since then.
For seven days, this building had housed my clandestine relationship with Clay. Even at the thought, the moment he’d revealed the changes he’d made for his hastily prepared but utterly perfect first date flashed into my mind. The candles, the music, and the picnic he’d prepared.
It was overwhelming to think of the secrets that Clay and I had shared in the space during the formative stage of our relationship and to recall exactly how many ways we’d betrayed each other in the years since. Edging forward, I pushed the door open just wide enough to slip into the hallway beyond and slid it shut behind me as quietly as possible, flinching when it closed with a clang.
My feet trailed the path to the center of Clay’s secret warehouse as if I had walked it just yesterday, not four years earlier. Just like the first time I’d ever come here, my stomach twisted and turned like it was being invaded by a hundred tiny serpents breathing fire through me until it accumulated in my limbs. Trailing through the once-familiar corridors, I watched for anything suspicious but noticed nothing. I listened carefully for any signs that Clay might have been staying in the warehouse like he did before, but the space was deathly quiet—I hoped it wasn’t an omen of things to come.
There didn’t appear to be another soul in the building, but that didn’t mean my mind was willing to relax. I still wasn’t convinced that the Rain hadn’t set a trap and every terrible scenario played over and over just behind my eyes. I could imagine Clay hiding in the room, waiting to pounce with a gun in his hand. Worse, Clay trussed up and left as bait—caught in the crossfire when the trap was sprung.
The graffiti I’d once found welcoming grew cold and distant as I considered the danger I might be putting myself in. In my mind, the actual words were lost to messages like “Go back” and “Get out,” but I still forced my feet to move forward one step at a time.
When I reached the room where my relationship with Clay had blossomed, I paused in front of the closed door. All of our secrets and confessions were behind there. They would spill out and overwhelm me if I moved too fast.
With my heart in my throat, I pushed open the door.
I took a quiet moment to calm myself before stepping inside to wait. I was effectively trapping myself inside the space, but it seemed fitting that whatever was going to happen would happen inside the room that had held so much meaning for me once. Almost as if the universe had come full circle.
Life or death.
Reunion or revenge.
Whatever happened, it would play out in the space that had seen our formative moments.
The evidence of Clay’s last stay still littered the floor. The camping table had one leg broken off—no doubt the result of the fight between him and his family on the day they’d discovered him in hiding with a monster. The tarp had fallen most of the way to the ground; only one stubborn nail held it up at all. Around all of the edges, years of spider webs and mold had claimed an area and taken root.
The music player and portable speakers were a pile of broken plastic, loose wires, and electronic mess. Ruddy brown stains spread in intricate patterns over the graffiti on one wall. It reminded me of the gash Clay had been sporting when I’d seen him later that day, and I wondered whether this was his blood spilled around the room.
To someone else, the history of the items littered around would go unnoticed to almost anyone else entering the tiny former office, but it was unmistakable to me. If I closed my eyes, the echo of Clay and his brother fighting while Clay shouted at me to run played in my head. The clamor was so loud, as if part of me was back there witnessing it all again.
My mind raced to process all of my thoughts since that day. If I had a chance to go back, how much would I change about that time?
The regrets I had come back to haunt me.
If only I’d insisted to Clay that he just run with Dad and me as soon as I’d learned Louise had tracked him down. Or if I’d convinced him to leave his belongings and not return to the warehouse. How different would our lives have been?
What if instead of the time we’d spent stealing a few precious kisses, we’d raced inside and gathered all of his items and been back out of the warehouse and on the road in less than a heartbeat? Would my father still be alive? Would Louise? Would Clay and I have spent the last four years together rather than just having one failed reunion, barely two months together in total, under our belt?
What if I’d stayed? Fought alongside Clay against his brother and father? I might have lost Clay anyway. Or my life.
Allowing my libido and innocence to take over my decisions the last time we were there had cost me so much. When it had gone bad, I’d run from the place so fast, with barely a backward glance.
Guilt twisted inside me, as a multitude of other scenarios formed in my mind. Both Clay and I could have been happy, but there was no guarantee that things would be any different. Now that I knew what the sunbird was capable of when forced into a corner and trapped, I understood things could have been far worse. Everyone in the building could have lost their lives; Clay, his father, his brother, and I could have all died. Clay could have survived and hated me for a range of different reasons. My own words from years earlier filtered back into my mind:
“Living with ‘what-ifs’ will only put you in danger.”
I sank to the floor and forced my nails into the palms of my hands to stop myself from crying. If Clay had truly lured me here as a trap, I wouldn’t allow him to find me curled on the floor claimed by my tears. He would learn that I still had some strength left in me. If he was able to take my life, it would be on my terms.