Chapter 64 What it Cost – Elijah
WHAT IT COST
ELIJAH
Ihuck a little stone into the pond and pull my jacket tighter against the chill in the evening air.
"It's been half an hour," I grumble. "Where is he?"
"She said he wasn't doing so well yesterday," Atticus replies in a gruff monotone. "Give them a few more minutes."
Atticus throws a stick for Ellie, but there's no joy in it for either of them as she trots to retrieve it and brings it back. But instead of waiting for him to throw it again, she comes to me as I sit on the crop of flat stone by the pond.
Ellie sits by my legs, dropping her chin onto my knees. I sink a hand into her fur, and she lets out a soft whine at the contact. I'm so fucking glad she's okay—her and Céline. They were at the house when we made it back. Sick with worry, but alive and unharmed.
But Ellie…she didn't understand. She kept looking around us, past us, sitting by the door, tail wagging as she waited for Sev and Aurora. Eventually, her tail stopped wagging. Then she lay by the door instead. Barely moving to eat or drink or ask to go outside to do her business.
She knows something is wrong.
It's why we had to take her with us. The only person she'll eat for is Atticus right now.
I didn't think it was the best idea. It's bad enough we're this close to the old house, but his nurse said he couldn't be taken far in his current state. Which doesn't exactly bode well for what we need.
"Anything from Sev?" I ask, and Atty checks his phone and shakes his head. "Nothing since his last check-in a few hours ago."
Turns out the lead was legit. Coyote is in Spain, and Sev found some of his associates, but last we heard, he was no closer to finding the man himself.
"It's still looking like Coyote's gone completely dark," Atty adds.
"Well, that's what happens when you leave a trail of bodies to tip the guy off that he's being hunted."
I know Sev won't find him now. Coyote's probably halfway around the world. Atticus would have a better chance of locating the guy using his military contacts.
That's where Atty should be. Doing what he does best. But he wouldn't let me come here alone, and now we're wasting even more fucking time.
I take a shallow breath and let it out through my nose as my teeth grind.
"Call the house."
Atticus cocks his head at me. "What?"
"The nurse isn't answering your text, so call the house. We can't just sit here."
Not while she's…
My throat stings with bile, and I throw the thoughts—the images that accompany them—far, far away.
I can't go there. It's been mental gymnastics every waking moment. I know if I let myself think too hard—imagine what could be happening to my angel right now—I won't be able to function, and I need to be able to function.
She needs me.
She needs all of us.
None of us has said it out loud, but we all know…
There's only one reason why he would've taken her. But then why hasn't he made his move? He has us in checkmate. We're right where he wants us. So why the silence?
I rub the ache in my palm, and Ellie licks my fingers. When my knee starts to bounce, she puts a paw on it as if she can stop the tic, but not even I can.
The hole in my chest only seems to grow in size by the hour. Filling with more hopelessness and dread and despair than any one person can hold.
She brought me back to life, and without her, it's like…
Like I don't even have a soul.
It's just empty.
Hollow.
I chew the inside of my cheek. Every damn second that passes is like a personal attack.
"Hey," Atticus says in an uncharacteristically calm tone, sitting next to me. "Focus on right now, E."
I hate that tone. I know he's worried about me. Céline is, too. But I don't care. I don't know if I'll care about anything until she's back.
I could've fucking stopped this.
I could've pushed harder to make them see that this wasn't the right move.
I should've put my foot down. Said no like I wanted to.
And now if anything happens to her, it's because I didn't—
Stop spiraling.
Stop. Spiraling.
"Either call the house, or I'll go up there and bring him down to the pond myself," I snap.
Atticus's jaw tics, but he lifts his phone and dials the house, putting it on speaker.
It rings endlessly, and every second it goes unanswered is one second too many.
I rise to my feet, squinting through the trees toward where the house is. Shouldn't we be able to see the lights from here?
What if—
"Hello?"
I blow out a breath in relief, but it's short-lived when I realize I don't recognize the voice on the other end.
"Who is this?" Atticus asks. "Where's Nancy?"
"Oh, sorry, it's Beth. I'm her fill-in for the next couple of days. Nancy got that flu that was going around and didn't want to risk giving it to Mr. Ashford."
I recognize her voice now. Beth is the weekend nurse and has worked with Dad intermittently when his regular care nurse has needed a day or two off for vacations or illness.
"We spoke with Nancy yesterday," I whisper to Atticus. "It's not like her to forget to pass along a message from us."
"Hello?" Beth says, probably thinking the line has disconnected. "Is everything okay?"
Atticus shares a look with me.
Is everything okay?
I don't think paranoia is unprecedented right now, and I'm absolutely questioning everything and don't intend to stop anytime soon.
"We had plans to visit with Julian this evening," Atticus says cautiously. "We're down at the pond."
"Oh," Beth says, confused. "Nancy said I shouldn't take Mr. Ashford outside. He's been a little irritable the last couple of days and should rest."
That's what she told us, too. I don't want to drag him out if it's going to cause him even more distress, but then how the hell is any of this going to work?
"How is he now?" Atticus asks.
"Um, he seems all right."
"Could you bring him down, please?" I press.
"Maybe you could come up to the house? Nancy won't be happy if she finds out I went against her recommendation."
A vein in Atticus's forehead pulses. "I'll deal with Nancy. Bring him down."
"That was weird," I mutter when he ends the call without waiting for a response.
His eyes darken. "I don't like it. Feels off."
"Everything feels off," I counter.
Nothing will be right again until we get her back…and I can't help feeling this is a monumental waste of time.
We've tried to get Dad to talk about it so many times, so sure there was more he knew that could help. It didn't work before, so why the hell would it work now?
Can we really take him away from here? From Mom? Get him off his meds—which sounds like a terrible and cruel idea—and then, what? Reopen old wounds? Make him relive all that past trauma? All for a chance he could have some tiny bit of information that could point us in the right direction.
Then the real question: can I even do this to him?
Am I willing to put my father through this for that tiny fraction of a chance?
A chill races through me, and I pull my arms in, shivering it off.
I know one thing that's true—if my dad was in his right mind and he knew what was at stake, he'd want to help. No matter what.
But knowing that doesn't make what we're doing any more morally sound.
Ellie hears them first, her ears pricking as she barks at the overgrown trailhead that leads to the house.
"It's okay, girl," Atty comforts her. "It's Julian. Remember Julian?" He reaches to give her some scratches around the ears. "You met him before."
He stands with me, and we walk the edge of the pond to meet them as they come through the trees and into the moonlight, the nurse's flashlight bobbing over the ground in front of Dad so he doesn't trip.
When he sees us, I know this is going to be so much fucking harder than I planned for.
There's no recognition in his flat stare, and though he doesn't seem irritable, it's clear he isn't exactly lucid, either.
"Oh, hello," he says. "You must be the visitors that…" He blinks, patting the nurse's hand where she has it on his arm. "That…"
"Beth," she supplies for him.
"Yes, the visitors that Beth mentioned. Funny place for a visit, though. Why not come back to the house?"
Atticus clears his throat. "Julian, we—"
"No," I interrupt, pulling Atty aside, my voice low. "Could you give me a minute? I want to try to talk to him alone."
His brows draw together, but he nods, letting me take the lead.
I step up to face my father and extend a hand. "Hi, I'm Elijah."
He takes my hand, his grip dry and soft, strained. "Julian."
At least he knows that.
"Could we take a seat?" I indicate the flat crop of stone, and his nurse releases him to me.
Atticus crowds her, already whispering harsh questions while I lead my father around the pond to sit, and Ellie follows us, sniffing at Julian's pants and jacket.
"Is this your dog?"
"That's Eleven," I explain. "She belongs to a friend."
"Eleven?" he repeats, his eyes narrowing while he sits down. "Like the number?"
"Yes, like the number."
"Hm."
He lets Ellie scent his hand, and then Ellie lets him pat her. Maybe she can bring him some comfort—some calm—while I try to gently wake up his sleeping mind.
"What's this about?" my father asks, giving me a curious look.
I stop chewing my lip. "I wanted to talk."
A knot forms between his brows. "Do I know you?"
I sit next to him, sighing. "That's not important."
In the past, he hasn't responded well when we tell him he should know us, and I don't want to get off on the wrong foot here.
"I forget things a lot," Dad muses, looking up at the moon while he pets Ellie.
This is good. If he's conscious of his memory lapses, it could be easier.
"Tell me about that," I prod gently. "What sorts of things do you forget?"
"All kinds of things, I think. Names, the date, earlier I forgot how to tie my shoe." He laughs sadly.
My chest pangs. "What else?"
His lips press into a thin line. "I'm not sure. People, maybe? Things that have happened."
The hand he isn't using to pet Ellie clenches on his lap.
"Do you ever try to remember them? The people you think you're forgetting? The things that happened that you don't remember?"
For a long moment, he doesn't answer, but the shadow over his eyes deepens.
"Sometimes," he murmurs. "But it's like…like looking into a dark room, and the harder I look, the more distant the memory becomes. And when I try to follow it, the darkness gets…deeper. If I push against it, it just—just swallows me up."
His knuckles turn white, and my throat burns.
"And then I'm lost in it," he continues in a trembling whisper. "And it's endless. Suffocating and so…so lonely."
I fight to swallow past the ball forming in my throat, and I hate—god, I hate myself for doing this.
"Is something wrong?" he asks, and I realize I've been quiet for too long. "You seem upset."
At this, I nod.
"Have you ever done something…" I shudder, pushing through the resistance twisting in my chest. "Something you regret?"
I need to try to ease him into a conversation that will lead to Ambrose and somehow avoid the inevitable explosion when it all comes rushing back in.
"Hasn't every man?" he replies.
My hand aches as I close it into a tight fist.
"Anything you can remember?" I push, my stomach roiling.
He frowns, and for one fleeting second, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before it fades away.
"Try to remember," I urge gently, choking on bile.
He drops his gaze from me, thinking. "Perhaps there is something I remember."
I resist the urge to grab him and rattle the answers from his mind. "What is it?"
His lips part, twitch. "I think…I think I did something. Something wrong. It—it had a great cost. I lost something important, but I don't know what."
I hide my disappointment, forcing even breaths and more patience.
I need more patience.
"Have you ever done something like that?" he asks. "Is that why you're so sad?"
A heavy stone drops in my stomach.
"Yes," I admit, holding back the growing sensation in my chest where that gaping fucking hole keeps getting bigger and bigger. "We tried to do something…" I trail off, lifting my hands to cover my mouth as I sigh into them.
"Do what?"
I blink away the stinging in my eyes.
"We tried to do something to put things right for my—my…family. "
We really fucking tried.
I clutch my chest, wondering if the hole there is like my father's darkness. Maybe it'll swallow me up, too.
"We were so close…" I whisper. "We almost had our vengeance—the vengeance we are owed. We could've, if I were stronger."
Ellie whines, coming to nudge my knees with her nose.
"I see," my father says. "And what did your vengeance cost you?"
Oh god…
My hands shake on my lap, and I can't breathe.
She's gone.
I lost her.
I can't…
I. Can't.
A sob breaks free from the empty cavern of my chest.
"Everything," I cry.
I gasp, choking on the sobs stuck in my throat.
"It cost us everything, Dad."
I drop my face into my hands, powerless against the wave of reality that finally crashes over me, dragging me down to a place where there is no air. No light. No her.
"Fuck."
"Elijah?"
The sobs rack my body, and I can't do this.
I can't do any of it.
I want to rage and riot, but without an enemy in reach to tear apart, all I can do…
…is drown.