- Chapter Twenty -

Conway

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“This is a farce, and you know it.” Lonnie slammed the scissors down on the table. He'd just finished pulling out the hasty stitches he'd done on himself weeks ago.

Patiently, I moved the box I had away from his bloody threads. “She's doing exactly what Dad wants. That's good enough.”

“It's not good enough! Not one fucking bit! And what's up with those videos, hm? Why haven't you shown them to me by now?”

“The ones I recorded are corrupted,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I'll make new ones once I buy a better camera.” I had no intention of that.

“Dad is going to be pissed,” he said, his anger sliding through. I didn't see Lonnie lose his cool often. “He's seen no solid proof that you're doing anything that he's instructed.”

“Have you heard from him?” I asked, taking out my phone. “Because I haven't, not since I first arrived here with Georgia. For all we know he got shanked in prison and he's dead.”

Lonnie coiled with tension from head to toe. “He's not dead. And she's not fooling anyone. When Dad meets up with us, you know what's going to happen to her? He's going to beat the shit out of her. She can trick you, but not me, and not him. Everyone will be fucked. Including Emily.”

I didn't think—I just grabbed him by the front of his sweater and slammed him against the fridge. Breathing in great heaves through my nose, I said, “Don't talk about her. Not when you're not responsible for her life.”

His eyes trembled in their sockets, yet he smiled. “But I am. I'm very responsible. Dad said I'm the Watcher. I'm watching to make sure you make Georgia perfect for him. But you're not, so I can't stay quiet about it.” He leaned close to me. His newly healed scar shined. “If you don't crush her actual fucking spirit, this shallow, surface level game you've got her playing will put all of us in the ground.”

Letting him go, I stepped back, grabbing the box. “Let's hope for the shanked in prison thing, then. Yeah?”

His eyes burned on the back of my head as I left the room. Outside, Georgia was waiting for me on the front steps. November had created constant rain, but she wanted to be out in the open as often as I'd let her.

I didn't believe she'd run again. Not after what I'd revealed to her. Perhaps being honest was the truly selfish thing, because it had insured that Georgia finally did as she was told. But my guilt over it all was a constant weight on my chest.

The heavy rain had left massive puddles around the outside of the house. As we passed the left side, I noticed the ground there was sunken in. “I hope we don't get flooding inside,” I mumbled. “I'll ask Lonnie about it later. There was a big storm back in the spring, he said the cellar got pretty wrecked then.”

Georgia followed my eyes. “You were here in the spring?”

“Lonnie was. He's been holding up here since then, kind of like a squatter.” He'd come here to get away from the world while he figured out what to do without Dad guiding us. It was convenient that the abandoned island served as a perfect place for our current dirty work.

“It's dry today,” she said, stretching out her arms. “Maybe it'll stay like that.”

“Maybe.” We circled the island, crossing by the fence that blocked the docks, by the cliff that could snap our necks. Finally, we spread a blanket on the gravel and sat on it.

“When asked for more fresh air, I never expected a picnic,” she said, chuckling.

My smile was wry. “Happy birthday,” I said, offering her the box.

She blinked. “Sorry, did you say birthday?”

“Today is November 2nd.” Her face fell. My black guilt spread to my limbs, I became sluggish all over. Reaching for the box took too long. “You're right. I'm sorry, this was tone deaf of me.”

To her credit, she recovered and smiled. “It's fine, just... shocking. Come on, what did you get me?” She picked the present up curiously. I hadn't wrapped it, but I'd stuck a purple, shiny ribbon on top.

Examining the box, she opened it like it was full of fragile porcelain. I watched how wide her beautiful eyes were capable of getting. “I told you forever ago that I'd sneak you some cake,” I said. “I never got to. And I'm glad for that, of course, but a promise is a promise.”

Georgia gazed down at the whipped cream topping on the small slice of cake. Lonnie thought I'd left yesterday morning to get more supplies. I hadn't lied entirely; I'd just also bought a strawberry and cream cake slice from the nearest bakery.

It had been a huge risk.

I didn't regret it at all.

“Conway, how did you remember?”

I settled my hand on hers. Our pinky fingers linked together. “How could I have forgotten?”

Dipping her head, she scrubbed at her eyes with her free hand.

“Are you crying?”

“Forget it,” she laughed. Lifting her hands, she fanned herself and stared at the clouds. “It's nothing some sugar won't fix. Let's eat this cake.”

I was torn between thinking I'd done something amazing... and something horrible. Could it really be both? We ate in silence, the air around us shifting into something easier to manage. It was almost joyous, but it never quite tipped there.

She plucked the purple ribbon off of the box and wrapped it around her wrist. “Can I keep this?”

My eyebrows lowered. “I don't care. But once Dad arrives, I can't guarantee anything.” Thinking about the future made me sick.

Her eyes were glistening. I expected her to cry again, but she didn't. “I know. Just for now.”

“For now,” I whispered, brushing the curling ribbon.

****

Lonnie was still in the kitchen when we went inside.

“Go on,” I said to Georgia, waving her down the hallway. She hesitated, eyeing my brother, before she darted out of view. When she was gone, I looked back at him. “You want something. What is it?”

He pushed his phone towards me. I expected there to be a message from our father, but it was a website instead. We had very spotty Internet on the island. Squinting, I read the article.

The police had started searching for Georgia back in October. That wasn't news to me, I'd paid attention to everything that had to do with her abduction. But I'd quit looking up news stories around two weeks back, when they still hadn't connected me to the crime.

Yesterday, they'd finally done it.

The article had my photos from the gas station plastered all over. It talked about my connection to the white van they thought was picking up girls. That the vehicle had been in the area Georgia Mary King was last seen in.

Her friend, Chelsea, insisted there was foul play. Georgia hadn't returned home the day after a party and her purse was still in Chelsea's car. Again, this was all old information. What was new was that piece of shit that’d tried to rape her finally come forward.

He'd told the police that he'd tried to save Georgia from a man with dark hair in a brown jacket and jeans. According to him, I'd overwhelmed him after a fight, and a lucky punch had knocked him out. He claimed to be very concerned about Georgia.

“Fun, right?” Lonnie said crisply.

I handed the phone back, sitting down across from him. “It's not like they can find us here.”

“No, probably not.”

My eyebrows scrunched together. “Then what are you worried about?”

“Me?” He touched his chest, blinking. “I'm not worried about anything. I'm just pointing out that you can't walk away from this unscathed.”

My shoulders bunched up, my jaw tensing. “I never thought I could.”

He watched me for a long, silent minute. “Okay then. This was your daily reality check, go back to having cake with your rent-a-girl.”

Shoving myself upwards, I knocked my chair to the floor loudly. I was furious—but not at Lonnie. He was right; there was no walking away from this. Had I honestly thought there was?

If I save Emily, it doesn't matter.

That belief lacked strength. It was smothered by a new voice that cried out to protect Georgia. But I could only keep them alive if I stayed on this path. There was no way out.

Was there?

Rounding the corner, I ran into her. She backed up before we collided. “What are you doing out here?” I asked.

“You just said to go. You didn't say where.”

“I meant your room and you know that.”

Her hip kicked to one side, emphasizing the drastic dip of her middle. My hands buzzed at the thought of fitting there so perfectly. “That's not fair, you're assuming I know what you want without you saying it clearly.”

The pulsing in my body stalled. “Don't you?” I wondered out loud. Georgia's face tilted down, her eyes hidden in the dim hallway. This whole house was crawling with shadows. Even when we were forced together, they still let us hide what we really desired.

She started to walk away. I closed my hand on her shoulder. “Wait,” I said. “You're right. I don't want you to go to your room.” My fingers tightened on her soft skin. “Let's go to mine.”

****

I'd been staying upstairs. I had a view of the ocean through the gaps in the wooden boards on my window. Lonnie was on the same floor, but down the opposite hall. We didn't have to sleep near each other in this huge house and we took advantage of that.

Georgia stared around as we entered. “Nice,” she said. It wasn't—it was a single bed with thick blankets, a chair with my jacket draped on it. One wall had a dusty dresser that was barren. It was the opposite of fucking nice.

Yet... with her in here with me, it wasn't so bad.

She must have felt my stare, because she spun around, squinting. “You get blankets, but not me.”

“I told you why.”

“How do I make you understand I won't do anything to hurt myself?”

Sighing, I sat on the bed. “Alright. I'll get you a blanket.”

“I could also sleep here.”

My eyes flashed at her. The idea of sleeping with her curled against me, my hands able to touch her whenever I ached to, was tempting. Stop getting close to her. You can't keep her. “No,” I said, channeling what ice was left in my blood.

“What? Why not?”

“Because you're my prisoner.”

She backed up from the force of my claim. “I thought—”

“You think you're free,” I growled, standing again. Gripping her by her hair, I pushed her roughly onto the blankets. The pent up frustration at being between a rock and a hard place had gotten to me. “You think I want you.”

Amazingly, when she knelt and faced me, she lacked any hint of terror. I knew I was frightening. I didn't know where her strength came from. “What do you want, then, if it's not me? What would truly make you happy?”

Grasping the front of my shirt, I traced the obvious scar beneath. I palmed the old injuries on my arms, the ink I'd covered myself with because choosing to experience pain instead of having it forced on me was intoxicating. Surreal.

I touched myself to see if I really existed. The lack of hate in her eyes made me think I had to be invisible. How else could Georgia not wish death on me with every glance? “What would make me happy,” I said, choking up, “Is if I could erase my existence. It's the only way to make sure this moment never happens to you.”

Her pretty mouth made an ugly shape. “What?”

“Have you looked around?” I asked. “You're my slave, Georgia. And soon you'll be my father's.” I quivered, and as if picturing her out of my life, I gripped her forearms and dug in until she winced. But she didn't buckle. “My life equals your suffering.”

“Being with you isn't suffering!” she cried.

“No? You mean you like this?” I loomed over her, watching how she did her best not to crumble under my ferocity. “You wouldn't change things if you could?”

“I—I would. Of course I would.” She gathered herself. “I'd go back and make sure you ran away with me.”

I locked up at her words. “What?”

“That day, when you told me to never look back, I listened. Did you know that's my biggest regret?”

I released her as if she burned. “You don't know what you're saying.”

Her defiance nested in her stare. She bent away from me, folding in half, scooping her hair off her neck as she did it. That stunningly beautiful tattoo of an open eye was exposed. The blue iris pierced my soul.

The day I'd first seen it, I'd been pressing Georgia onto the bed. Fighting with her had excited the most primal part of me. And with her face in the mattress, I could avoid her judgment. Then I'd pushed her hair aside. That inked eye was her eye. It had stripped away my courage and replaced it with loathing.

“I do know what I'm saying. I knew it when I had this needled into my skin the day after my mother died. Death makes you look back at your actions, realize what you'd change if you could. This is here to remind me of that.”

I digested everything she'd told me. “Your mother is dead?”

“Cancer gets all the wrong people,” she said, not yet facing me. “We moved next to one of the best hospitals in the country. Best treatments, best doctors, best everything. It didn't matter.”

She'd always spoken about her mother so fondly. Everything had been a constant worry, afraid to leave her alone... to let her suffer. And she was dead? The unfairness blackened my mood further.

Her head turned. I could see part of her wistful smile. “I told you before that I never knew my dad. But I did know his money. He left so much for her. For us. Treatment wasn't a burden.” Her laugh sounded like a stone was rolling across her sternum. “All that cash didn't matter. You can't buy immortality.”

Watching her, I was reminded of the women from classic paintings who always wore such placid expressions. She was crafted from quiet knowledge, her soul untouchable. “You've suffered through so much,” I said, reaching for her—then stopping. “How do you do it?”

Georgia rounded on me, her hair slipping over her back again. “What?”

“Keep fighting. Keep your head up high. How do you find the will to keep going and be so strong?” It was a plea that turned my voice ragged. She'd spoken about immortality—but to me, living forever was the worst curse imaginable.

Her hands came down on my shoulders. I could have thrown her off with ease, but her gentle weight was comforting. The mystery in her face was gone. She'd become the girl I'd known nine years ago - the young woman who'd been brave enough to tell me to kiss her.

She said, “You've been carrying around Anna for years. That death is a burden that's made you hate yourself and think you should be erased. But for me... when Mom passed... I realized how much it meant for me to live. That's what makes me strong, my love for her. My love for you.”

I pressed her against my chest and hid my face in her thick hair. Was my body built the same as everyone else? Could I handle this explosion of compassion that shoved at the back of my eyes like a tsunami?

“I love you so much,” I whispered against her scalp. “And I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry.” They were just words but maybe, if I was this close, they'd sink in and mean more.

She didn't ask me what I was apologizing for.

Whether Georgia held me, or I held her, it wasn't clear. As a bundle of regret and soothing whispers, we sat on my bed and listened to the rain outside. It attacked the boarded windows. It wanted to come inside and flay us to pieces. Mother Nature was as likely to help as rip you to shreds. I didn't need the weather for that—I was amazing at cutting myself open on my own. I was doing it now as I combed my mind for solutions.

Just keeping Georgia alive wasn't enough anymore. Her beautiful heart deserved freedom. She deserved the whole fucking world. If I can find out where Emily is, my father will have nothing over me. I could free Georgia and my sister both.

The plan that was forming inside of me was knitting my soul back together. “I have an idea,” I said.

Pulling back, she stared at me. “For...?”

“Keeping you from my father. But it's risky, Georgia. There's a chance it could go wrong.”

With kind hands, she traced the curve of my ear. “A boy once told me the same line before he rescued me. I trusted him then. I trust him now.”

I wove our fingers together until our knuckles clicked into each other's gaps. The purple ribbon on her wrist rustled over my skin. “I'm going to kill my father.”