- Chapter Fourteen -

Georgia Mary King

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There was a knock at my door.

Sitting up, I worked to gather myself and make sense of this oddly polite noise. It was late.  Conway hadn't come back after he'd stormed off. Why would he knock? “Come in,” I said, smoothing my hair unconsciously. It didn't cross my mind to try and look pretty. I didn't care about looking good for anyone; it was almost a relief that he kept bringing me boring clothes that barely fit.

Lonnie opened the door, scanned the room, than fixated on me. “Evening,” he said with a grin. “Got a minute?”

Do I have a minute? What the fuck? I slid further down the bed, away from him. “What do you want?”

Shutting the door, he did something Conway never did anymore—not since he'd stopped tying me to the bed. He locked it. It reminded me that I'd been acting too much like a good little hostage and staying put. Why did I only think about escaping when I no longer could?

“Easy,” he said, holding up his hands. “I'm not here to cause trouble.”

Looped over his wrist was a small black bag. It wasn't the one Conway used, but the sight of it made my eyes widen. Lonnie saw my reaction; he shook his head. “Ah, shit. I don't want to freak you out. I just brought—well, here,” he said, emptying the contents onto the foot of my bed.

Out of the bag rolled a small bottle of lemonade, some Reese cups, and a paperback book, The Valley of the Horses. My eyes didn't unwiden, they were permanently stuck at their limit. “What is all this?” I asked.

“I don't know.” Awkwardly, he scratched at his neck. I'd never seen Lonnie behave like a normal person; it unsettled me. “I thought you could use a boost. I imagine whatever my brother is putting you through is painful.”

“You talk like you don't know.”

“Well, I don't.” He shrugged. “I have an idea, because I know Dad asked him to do this, so I'm not oblivious.”

He hasn't seen the videotapes of me. It was a huge relief. Inhaling, I stopped fighting my urge and grabbed up the candy. I'd bitten one of the cups in two before thinking to savor them—I couldn't help myself. Chocolate was familiar and sweet and god damn delicious, and plates of crackers were not.

Lonnie sat on the edge of the bed, not asking if he could. Would I have told him not to? It was hard to be sure. I didn't trust him, but he'd brought me snacks. Something Conway used to do forever ago. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked gently.

I shoved the other cup into my mouth, chewing as I spoke. “I'm not sure how to answer that.”

He leaned closer. “Is it that bad?”

“What do you think?”

“I think it's got to be awful for you.”

Uncapping the lemonade, I took a big gulp. “I don't remember you being sympathetic before.”

Lonnie's smile was thin as new ice. Had he edged closer to me? “I'm sorry. I was a kid, I didn't know what I was doing.”

The bottle twisted in my palms. “Now you know, though. And if you know this is awful, you could help me.”

“I did help.” He pointed at the food.

“I mean... you're saying what Conway is doing to me is bad. You know the biggest thing you could do is get me off this island.” I didn't trust Lonnie at all, but here he was, bringing me treats and a favorite book and—and how did he know? Startled by my own realization, I gaped at him.

His eyebrows knotted at my stare. “Huh. Something interesting just crossed your mind. Tell me.” He was definitely closer now, his leg brushing mine on the bed. I glanced at the door. “Oh,” he chuckled. “Don't get ideas.”

The sugar turned into glass in my guts. “Who told you about this book?” I asked, reaching for it.

Lonnie's grip came down, trapping my wrist on the mattress. I could smell the mint on his breath. “Conway told me. He told me everything about you.”

“No, he wouldn't.”

Squeezing so tight that I gasped, Lonnie said, “Of course he would. He wants to transform you, Georgia. He's not on your side.”

I yanked, trying to break away, but he grabbed my other wrist instead. We were sitting on the bed facing each other. “And what, you're my only friend here, is that it?”

“I can be.” His muscles flexed; he pushed my palms down between us, his nose coming close to mine. “Oh, sweet peach, I can be so nice to you. Wouldn't you like that? I'd treat you like a queen, all you have to do is get on your knees for me.”

“Queens don't kneel, slaves do. I'm not your fucking slave.”

His polite act slipped. “Not yet. Let's fix that.” Shoving me backwards, he braced his knees on either side of me on the bed. My head came down hard enough that my brain sloshed in my skull.

Lonnie squinted at me, his grip shifting; he held my left hand on the bed, and with his other, he wrapped my hair up. He leveraged his hold until I was face down in the mattress, my upper body struggling as he twisted me like a pretzel.

Inhaling, I tried to scream. The mattress muffled most of it.

“Shh,” he said. His chest crushed into mine, his heart picking up speed. “Stop fighting me. There's no point.”

This was what he'd longed to do to me years ago. Back then, he'd been young, but his mind was sick. He hadn't known the core of his black desires but here, he could finally exercise them.

I was hyperventilating—straining. But not to fight him off, I needed my strength for something more reliable. “Dumb bitch,” he breathed on the side of my throat. He couldn't strip me; his hands were busy holding me still. “Why do you always resist when complying would make your life so much easier?”

Flashes of color moved through my vision. I'd wondered what his plan was—and it hit me. He was going to knock me out by keeping me from breathing. It's amazing how your body can keep acting when you're so detached from it. I was floating above, seeing myself bending, contorting, pushing my right shoulder to the point of dislocation.

“I knew he wasn't strong enough to break you,” he whispered in my ear.

My fingers brushed something by the bedpost—pain bloomed. I'd cut myself.

“But I am, little peach. I am.”

“No,” I gasped. “You aren't.” Spinning around with the force of a slingshot, I slashed blindly. He released me and I faced the man who was pinning me to the bed. I got to witness the uncertainty in his face as it morphed into shocked pain. Did he see the shard of mirror before it sliced through his cheek, or did he just feel it?

“What the fuck?!” Flying off of me, Lonnie grasped at the blood leaking from the gash in his face. I would have loved to cut out his tongue to shut him up forever, but being free was more important than a lust for revenge.

Scrambling to stand opposite him, I brandished the makeshift blade. “Give me your keys.”

“You cut me! You cut my face you stupid fucking whore!”

The room was small, I cornered him with a few quick air slashes; he bumped into the far wall, his hands going up. “I'll cut off more if you don't give me the keys!”

Red droplets hung from his chin, then fell, staining his shirt. It bothered me that he didn't look afraid. His robin's egg eyes were shining with humor. “Which keys do you want?”

I faltered, my hand dropping an inch. He's scared - he has to be. I just cut his damn face! “All of them. I need the one for this door, and the one for the fence blocking the boats.”

He tilted his head slightly. “How do you know I even have a key for that fence?”

“As if you'd let yourself be stranded here while Conway was gone. You both have keys, there's two damn boats.”

“Alright. Fair.” Watching me carefully, he reached a hand into his back pocket. “You ever wish you had a gun for moments like these?”

My heart exploded with adrenaline. Taking a stance, I prepared to dodge the inevitable bullets.

Grinning, Lonnie offered me a small ring dangling with keys. I couldn't count them all—more than two, less than ten. “Lucky girl. No gun on me, this time.”

Snatching the keys and trying not to touch his skin, I backed up. “Stay there.”

“Aren't you worried about what you're doing?”

I was quick to find the right key and undo the latch. I shot look after wary look at Lonnie as I did so. “If you mean letting you live...”

His smile cracked, then recovered. “I'm talking about what happens to Conway if you escape.”

My spine went straight. Conway... No. I couldn't wonder. He'd made it clear that staying here was my path to a grim future with Facile. There was no reason to care about Conway after learning that.

He wasn't someone who had ever loved me.

His purpose was to peel my skin back and erase my heart.

Locking the door behind me, I ran down the hallway.

****

It was dark outside. My ears echoed with my frantic panting; I bumped into walls, boxes, and things I couldn't name. But the pain just drove me on.

Bluish light illuminated the main room through the front door. It peeked through the cracks of the boarded up windows, my eyes finally adjusting. Sweat stained my entire back as I gripped the door handle. It wasn't locked; it opened after a single twist.

On bare feet I jumped the steps, skidding on gravel, sprawling hard. I cried out sharply when my elbow slammed down. The bloodstained mirror fell from my grip.  I wasted a few precious minutes until I found it glinting on the pale sand. I refused to lose the one weapon I had.

The moon behind its shawl of clouds guided me down the path. Run, run, go! Be faster go faster just move! My strides were long as a deer's—I bounced into the chain fence, unable to pull up in time. Slick fingers scraped over the metal, seeking the gate's opening. I was shaking all over, my skull feeling like it was spreading. I expected it to burst.

Behind me, on the path, someone called my name.

Sucking in air like I was one breath short of dying, I gripped the padlock. Lonnie's keys jingled as they hit the ground. “Fuck!” I sobbed, crouching in the shadows, hands clawing in the sand. I couldn't see anything!

“Georgia! Georgia!” Conway shouted.

There was a dream I used to have, one of the only semi-pleasant ones about being kidnapped. In it, I was racing for the trees while Facile roared like a rabid bear in the distance. Safety kept getting farther and farther away. I couldn't escape.

Not without him.

So unlike what had really happened, I'd looked back. There was Conway with his mysterious, youthful smile. He grabbed my hand and ran away with me. It was what I'd always wished for. The ending I really wanted.

And here I was now, running from him.

My nails touched metal—I grabbed the keys. Sweat and tears mixed on my cheeks. The telltale crunch of feet pounding on the ground rose up behind me. I had too many keys to test. What did these all go to? One by one I tried them; a thin copper key, a jagged one shaped like a house key, one meant for a vehicle of some kind.

Closing my eyes, I tested the fourth key of the set. It fit, opening the padlock, the gate creaking as I forced it wide. I looked over my shoulder. The figure rushing towards me was all shadow and breakneck speed. Conway's eyes glowed, challenging the moon to shine brighter.

Then I saw Lonnie was with him.

How did he get free?

Turning, I raced across the bent wooden planks of the dock. The water sloshed, calmer than I'd last seen it. This side of the island resisted the waves. I didn't know enough about the ocean to understand if it was due to direction, shape, or time of day. It comforted me enough to consider jumping in and forgetting the boat entirely.

Fumbling with the rope on the nearest boat, I remembered how easily Conway had worked with it. His hands had the same ease when he touched me. Gritting my teeth, I gave up being gentle; I hacked at the rope with my piece of mirror.

The fibers frayed. Conway's shoes hammered on the dock. Panicked, I cut my own hands with the shard, blood spreading on the wood, the water, until the rope snapped and my lovely man-made weapon splashed into the ocean. It had been more useful than I'd imagined.

I spotted Conway from the corner of my eye just as I ducked into the boat, fighting with the oars to make it move. “Georgia!” he growled, bending down, reaching for my arms. He caught me by my sweater.

“Let go of me!” I screamed, trying to shrug him off. He was too strong.  I couldn't pull.

So I pushed.

Wide-eyed, he tumbled backwards, letting go of me and vanishing on the other side of the dock. Black water fanned upwards; I was free.

Lonnie was standing nearby. Just watching.

Not caring about the reason for this burst of luck, I began to row. My hands burned from their fresh cuts—but that wasn't why I struggled. I'd never rowed a boat before. I didn't know what I was doing.

Conway parted the gentle waves with powerful strokes. He came at me like a shark, too fast and ready to strike for me to avoid. He hoisted himself into my boat, and I expected his face to be painted with anger.

Shaking water from his hair, he sat opposite of me, his eyes heavy with sorrow. “Is this really what I've driven you to? Will you keep risking your own safety, just to get away from me?”

My mouth fell open. Over his head, I saw Lonnie staring at us with a quiet thoughtfulness. “I'm not running from you,” I said, the truth erupting. “I'm running from your father. From your brother, who came into my room to hurt me! Again!” It was a sickening nostalgia.

Conway's face went deathly flat. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder. Lonnie didn't smile or frown or even shrug. He kept watching like he didn't want to interrupt. Scanning me again, he said, “I saw what you did to his face. Where did you get the knife?”

“It was a piece of mirror. From the rest stop bathroom.”

“Of course,” he said, laughing like a man who hadn't slept in ages. His smile was weary. “I underestimated you.”

“Stop talking to me like we're rivals! Conway, look at us. We can leave right now, go to the cops... we can be safe from your father! What's stopping us from rowing away from that island?”

Utter despair flooded his expression. Gently, firmly, he put his hands over mine on the oars. “What's stopping us is me.”

The energy went out of my body. “You don't care if I hate you, do you?”

Water dripped steadily into the boat from his clothes. In silence he began to row, taking us smoothly to the dock. I'd barely gotten twelve feet out. Lonnie came close, helping tie the vessel back up with what was left of the rope.

Conway hooked me by the elbow, forcing me out ahead of him. His brother started to reach for me but I dodged, yanking out of Conway's grip, glaring at them both. Lonnie's gash was still dripping; he didn't stifle it with his palm. I think he wanted me to see what I'd done. “Like I said. If you can't break her, I'll do it instead.”

Conway thrust himself between his brother and me. His chest puffed out; I'd seen him pissed off before, but now, he looked ready to kill. “What the fuck did you do to her, Lonnie?”

“Sorry, what did I do to her?” He ran a fingertip in the air over his cut. “She sliced me open with a piece of glass. How did you let her get access to a weapon, huh?”

“I'm asking,” he said, so cold and quiet, “What you did to her.”

I shivered with a mix of fear and pride. Amazingly, Lonnie didn't back down. “Brother, all I did was test how your work was coming along. If it isn't clear as day, you've fucked this process up. Or have you forgotten what Dad expects?”

None of the rage went out of Conway's stance. The veins in his neck throbbed. “Don't you ever, ever touch her again. Understand?”

They stood across from each other; men who shared the same genes, but acted so different. Neither blinked... and neither twitched a muscle. The night wind tossed my hair, and when I brushed it away from my eyes, it was as if my movement ended the standoff.

Lonnie turned on a heel, speaking as he went. “At this rate, she really will end up just like Anna.”

Conway looked after his brother. He didn't uncurl his fists until the other man was gone, and when he did, I caught a glimpse of the exhaustion in his bones. His attention slid to me; I jumped under that fiercely cold stare. “Keys. Now.”

Offering him Lonnie's ring, his fingers grazed mine. Both of us lingered; we were the only warm things on this island, and we recognized it. “You're bleeding,” he said, holding me still.

“It's nothing,” I whispered.

His arm moved away. “Let's go inside and clean you up.”

I saw the water dripping from his clothes—how his teeth chattered ever so slightly. He had to be freezing, and he was acting like I wasn't the one who'd pushed him into the ocean. Conway behaved the way he always did.

Like he felt nothing.

Except I kept seeing the glow of his heart... the corner of his soul, no matter how he hid it. Not moving from the dock, I asked, “Who's Anna?”

“Nobody.” His whole frame shook; I didn't know if it was from my question or from the cold.

“She's important, or Lonnie wouldn't keep bringing her up.”

He spread his fingers over his face. “What will it take for you to stop challenging me?” His scorn disintegrated my confidence. “Can't you recognize danger when it's right under your nose?”

I swallowed. “Are you talking about Lonnie... or about yourself?”

Grimacing, he reached for me—then he stopped. “Georgia, just go inside. That's all I'm asking.”

“You're asking me for much more than that.” Lifting my chin, I passed around him, walking on sore, naked feet over splintered wood and hard rocks.

After a few seconds, I heard him following me. I didn't turn, my mind working on this mystery that felt like the core of Conway's villainous actions.

Whatever had happened to Anna was bad.

I needed to know who she was.