Dead By Dusk

17. What Remains Hidden Ronan

17

What Remains Hidden: Ronan

I barely have enough time to dodge the blade as it flies through the air, directly toward the space where my heart beats frantically beneath my skin. Just barely, but enough, and it ends up catching the area of my arm that had already been torn through the other day. My eyes are wide as they take in her shocked features before her eyes darken with fury.

Her eyebrows furrow and her cheeks redden before she stomps towards me and begins slapping my arms and pushing my chest while spewing incoherent profanities at me.

“You stupid fucking—How could you even, why the hell—and you’d think, but obviously you didn’t—and what the—” I feel the cold surface of the wall against my back, still wet from the storm we got caught in. The chill that runs through the length of my spine borders on painful as I try to hide any sort of noticeable physical reaction.

I see the rage in her gaze as she continues her mission to bombard me with open and closed fists while keeping me pinned between her and the wall. But I lock on her eyes. Even through the rage, there’s something so ethereal about them. The violence in them. They’re almost like Venus fly traps, ready to draw in their prey with promised divinity before consuming it. The painful truth of loving her is a revelation: she would devour me in a suffocatingly slow death with no remorse as she feasts on the essence I so willingly give her. There’s something to say about the way I would willingly put myself through such pain over and over if it meant I could experience what it was to love and be loved by her again.

“Easy, Killer.” Her movements stop as she throws a glare my way, but I just rest my hands on her shoulders and slowly inch her body backwards. Beneath my palms, I feel her whole body tense when she realizes how close we are in proximity only separated by a towel.

“You scared me, you stupid idiot,” she says, aiming her gaze at the hardwood floor and tightening the towel around her body. She crosses her arms over her chest to hold the fabric in place, almost looking sheepish as she avoids my gaze. I don’t like how foreign it feels coming from her. Not once have I ever seen her like this—ashamed for defending herself—even if it was from me. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed sneaking up on me like that.”

“I could’ve. Thank God you’re a shit shot.” She whips her head back to me quicker than I can blink and that bashful look is quickly replaced with pure fire. Good. Shame is not a feature that was ever meant for her, and as long as I’m around, I’ll ensure it never will be.

“Anyone else would’ve been dead,” she states plainly as we hold each other’s stares.

“I’m not anyone else.”

Our standoff lasts far longer than it should as she scrutinizes me. A look that promises death, so much so that, even though I stand taller, I feel much smaller as she looks down upon me. “Well, out with it then. What happened?”

I continue to drown within her emerald isle eyes for a moment longer, allowing my thoughts to wander further than is appropriate before bringing myself back to reality.

“You were right. Someone got in. They went straight for Carmen while she was scrubbing the past few days off of her jacket. Nate and Adonis were in other rooms when it happened, I guess.”

She nods her head, looking at everything but me while taking in the words that I’ve said before waving me on.

“Adonis got to her first. Nate and I showed up just in time to see him bashing the guy’s head in…it was strange.”

“Why was it strange? He’s more than capable of handling things, wouldn’t you say?” Her voice isn’t soft and inquisitive like I thought it would be while discussing the matter revolving around her friend. Instead, it’s cold and hard. Calculating like I know she can be, but wasn’t expecting her to be at this moment, suggesting she has a theory of her own that she has yet to share. That isn’t surprising though, not when she likes to be certain before speaking of uncertainties.

“That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just that he hasn’t killed anyone up until this point. There was something about the way he did it that just felt…off.”

“But why?”

Again, she demands an answer to a question I’m not sure of yet. I don’t know why it didn’t feel right. I don’t really know much about anyone here other than what I’ve seen. I have barely remembered anything that doesn’t revolve around the frustrating woman in front of me. Quickly brushing past her, I take soft steps toward the stairs, watching which board I step on to not make any noise. I want to make sure no one has made themselves busy by listening to our conversation.

When I’m convinced no one is in sight, I stalk back toward her and push her own body against the wall, resting my hands against her shoulders, despite there being no need for them to.

“Anger, Silene. He seemed possessed by it. There were other ways to do what he did, but he opted for the messiest option. We had to pull him off the man to get him to stop. Had to move Carmen to another room so she wouldn’t have to look at what was left of the man.”

Gone is the cold calculated look, as hesitance settles on her features before she looks away from me and shakes away any lingering thoughts. She doesn’t voice them.

“Okay well…let me put on some clothes, and then I’ll head downstairs. You don’t have to wait for me,” she says while taking a small step to the side to try and escape my hold, but I drift my hand to the side just enough for a few strands of her long hair to weave between my fingers. A small cough tears my focus away from the dark chocolatey strands, and I step back far enough for her to walk around me.

I’m not sure how long I linger. Not sure if she closes the door as soon as she enters the confines of the bathroom, or if she looks back and waits for me to return her stare. I’m not even sure why I stay unmoving in the dark, empty hallway, but I wait until light outlines my skin and the creak of the opening door tells me she’s dressed and ready.

“You waited.” Her voice is hushed and raspy with disbelief, though I’m not sure why she doesn’t understand. I shift my weight for a moment before turning to face her. She’s wearing a black sports bra and running shorts. Her feet are bare against the hardwood floor, and her towel is hanging over her arm as she runs her fingers through her long hair, curls already forming despite her lightly combing through them.

“Always,” is my only response as I continue staring at her. I’m not sure if she heard me, but the way she immediately stiffens and turns away from me is evidence enough that she most likely did.

“I was wearing these under my clothes,” she says in explanation as to why she’s wearing so much less than what she showed up in. “I thought maybe it was still decent enough while the rest of my clothes dry off a bit more.”

I go to say something but stop the incoherent ramblings that threaten to spill from my lips. Truthfully, I don’t really know what to say right now with her standing in front of me. Not when I said all that I did yet still know nothing from her end. Not when she’s staring at me as if she’s waiting for me to say something that I myself am unaware of.

So I say nothing. I dip my chin and clear my throat as I walk past her and toward the stairs. Each step down is slightly more daunting than the last as the light flickers around us. The closer we get, the louder the sound of arguing becomes, and the more I slow my descent. I’m straining to hear the words being said, praying each step I take is lighter than the last. No attention is given to Silene as she presses close behind me, and I assume she’s doing the same as me.

Each word is harshly whispered, and I’m unable to tell who is saying what, but the anger echoing in one voice is unmistakable as I see flashes of blood and bone across the floor that splits the kitchen and living room. Flashes of torn flesh and thumbs pressing into dead eyes embed themselves into the deepest parts of my mind as I listen to the harsh tone disrupting the hushed conversation already taking place.

If it weren’t for the last step onto the first floor, maybe she and I would have made it unnoticed long enough to decipher the words beyond us. But we don’t. Instead, my weight gives us away and our three acquaintances fall silent. Their gazes bore into our own as their postures straighten. None look surprised by our presence.

“What’s going on?”

I look to Silene as she asks the question and then look back toward the others.

“Nothing. We’re just trying to figure out what to do. We didn’t think there was any other way in or out of here. Now we know there is but don’t know where. We thought a discussion was necessary. Wouldn’t you think so?”

As expected, it’s Nate who answers. The man who has played mediator and leader for the duration of this nightmare. But I didn’t just watch him as he spoke. I watched Adonis as his own stare pierced through me. Watched him move to a more defensive stance, while Carmen stands rigid and wide-eyed. Similar to how one would look if they had just been caught red-handed. But her eyes have me wondering if that’s actually the case for her because they are filled with a searching sincerity. Filled with an unknowing desire. But for what? For the first time, I wish I could be inside her head and learn what exactly is going on in there. I know it’s not intrusive thoughts of guilt, but those of a lost hope whose remnants have lingered longer than they were ever meant to.

It’s the same hope that wraps itself around bones and convinces her to keep moving despite the fact that she, of everyone here, doesn’t seem to belong. Whispers to her soul the names of those she should stick by and heed warnings she’s not sure she even believes. She may be a mystery among us, but the facts are obvious in her actions.

“The answer is obvious. We tear that fucking door down. There’s no discussion to be had over the matter. I’m not waiting any longer.”

I feel the loss of heat from her before I hear the sound of loud steps rushing up the stairs. By the time I turn, she’s over halfway there and everyone is rushing to follow.

“Silene, what the hell are you doing!?” Nate booms from somewhere behind me, and I only continue forward so as to not get trampled, but once I make it to the second landing I step aside watching Adonis and Carmen shoot in the direction Silene had gone. Once they’re past, I swing my arm out and catch the sleeve of Nate’s sweater and pull his body toward me. The sound of his head slamming into the wall behind him is a dull roar compared to the way I feel as my hand grips his neck.

“You don’t get to raise your voice to her. She did it your way, and it was a piss poor plan that almost got someone killed. She’s allowed to be mad. Not you. Raise your voice to her again, and you’ll find yourself missing your tongue. Understood?”

Strangled sounds escape his throat as his face reddens and his hands claw at my own. But I don’t loosen my grip in his struggle, only tighten it further at his delayed answer.

“I asked you a question. Do. You. Understand?”

He continues to struggle against me before urgently nodding his head, and it’s only then that I release him.

Then I hear the chaos around us. The sound of metal slamming against the wood of the door and breaking it apart. The crunching sound mixes with Silene’s grunts as I turn to watch her slam one of her axes into the area over and over again. Adonis has his arms wrapped around Carmen’s waist. He’s holding her back as she tries to reach her friend pleading Silene to slow down before she hurts herself.

But she doesn’t stop.

Silene keeps going over and over again until she’s able to break apart the small pieces of wood that are still connected and blocking the way through. When she’s done hatching and clawing, she drops the blade and lets it clammer to the floor as she heaves, violently trying to catch her breath while staring at the damage she’s inflicted upon the door. The hole is big enough that we should all be able to bend through it if we desire to see the contents of the other side, though now that the opportunity is upon us, I’m not so sure I’m ready to find out what is waiting for us on the other side. If it weren’t for the fact that I know we need to and that I don’t want her going in alone, I probably would have left it alone for the night. Would have been okay with not knowing just a little longer: but anywhere she goes, I will follow.

And that’s what I find myself doing as she briefly casts a glance at all of us before slipping through the jagged wood of the broken door. The rest of us hesitate for a breath before I follow suit.

Memories invade my senses the second I see the bed centered against the far wall of the room. I refuse to look at anything else as I remember the late nights that would always end with us watching the rising sun as dawn came and passed. The stories we would tell each other to pass the time.

I remember the small pockets of time spent here, and it feels like everything.

“Do you see this?”

I take my time tearing the bed from my line of sight before turning toward her and what I assume she’s asking about.

I almost stop breathing altogether when I study the sheets of paper tacked to the wall.

Photographs of each of us line the walls, our personal information haphazardly scribbled onto Post-It notes attached to yet more printed pages of our lives. Names, birthdays, addresses, schools we attended, parents and siblings if we had them…everything you could know about us has been reduced to sentences and numbers inked onto the paper before us. The only thing more unsettling is the fact that the photographs aren’t just from our old day-to-day lives and interactions with each other prior to arriving here. There are also images of us here in the woods. Sleeping, fighting, walking.

There may not have been a single moment where we were truly alone.

My fingers brush over my own family history and see the names of parents that are still alive and doing well from the looks of it—living in the four-bedroom house off the coast of Whidbey Island I was born and raised in, apparently. But some information is blacked out, hidden from prying eyes, and it makes me wonder who would have access to these papers that wasn’t meant to know everything.

The next set of pages belong to Adonis, then William, Silene, Carmen, and lastly Nate. Every single page of lives we don’t remember and will remain just out of reach while information is still withheld. As our lives will remain our own in the little moments that no one sees and thoughts no one hears.

My eyes scan each page to see little bits of information on my counterparts. Adonis is the oldest at twenty-nine, while Carmen is the youngest at nineteen. Silene, the only one born outside the US, was raised in Greece but shortly moved here after the passings of both her parents: supposedly an accident, but the details are redacted. William was prior Military Special Ops. There’s not much about Nate’s family ties or personal life, but his early adulthood gives enough information to know that he was intelligent enough to graduate high school early and attend MIT where he earned his computer science degree.

Pieces of all of us that lead to this moment but don’t quite connect.

“What the fuck are you doing?” My shoulders tense at how calm his dark and lethal voice sounds. I turn to face Adonis, but he’s not looking at me, and instead, is glaring daggers at the women before us. I follow his line of sight to see Silene at the opposite wall standing next to a desk and computer screen. She shifts, and I realize what Adonis is referencing.

There is a corpse seated at the desk. I see the hole that had been put through his head and the blood spattered across the computer screen.

Silene is poking and prodding at the seated body, checking the stiffness in its neck and arms. My assumption is that her actions are to check for a brief idea of when this treacherous man had taken his final breath.

“I want to know when he died.”

She pays no mind to either of us as she makes quick work of her investigation. Neither of us stop her. To me, it seems like an open and shut case since the weapon that killed him lies near his body. It could have easily been a suicide. He could’ve been remorseful for his actions or sick of all the death he has likely been forced to witness. No one else has had access to this room, that we know of, at least. So the time of death doesn’t seem necessary at the moment. But I also don’t know much about forensics and Silene, if I recall her paperwork correctly, obtained her degree in the field.

“Rigor mortis hasn’t set in yet. He hasn’t even been dead for two hours,” she says as she stands behind him and examines the bullet hole before gazing at the blood.

“You can tell a lot by the bullet hole and blood trajectory. The angle the blood spattered suggests he was shot by someone standing much taller than he had been sitting. They probably knew each other given there’s no sign of a struggle beforehand. That, or he was unaware that anyone else was in here. But this was very recent.” There’s no room for question in her voice. No doubt marring her features, but instead morbid curiosity.

“That would be impossible, wouldn’t it? We would have heard something if that were the case. And no one has entered the house since we checked it.”

I’m not sure when he quietly entered the room, but it was Nate who voiced the question.

“It would be impossible,” she starts cooly and confidently before locking eyes with him. “It would be, if it weren’t one of us that killed him.”