Chapter 6 #2
I scan the garden, and when I spot Jason’s glare, I wave at him, feeling all happy and cheerful. With his arms crossed, he stands tall and doesn’t bother to wave back.
He snaps his head to the side, staring into the deep forest as the sound of an earth-shuddering growl quickly catches his attention.
“Stay inside.”
“What was that?” I shout, scanning the space between the trees before glancing back at Jason, but he’s gone.
Crap!
I dash downstairs to the basement, grab a rifle, and pop open the ammunition box. After loading a magazine, I take an extra one and stow it in my thigh bag as I head out the door.
The atmosphere feels like a loaded gun out of plain sight. This eerily silent and unsettling forest feels like it came straight from my drawings. The sounds I heard just moments ago are now gone.
I take a few steps forward and survey the area.
My fingers dig into my pocket for my knife, hoping Jason put it back inside on the way here.
I exhale a sigh of relief.
He did.
I always carry it with me. It’s special.
A deep growl disrupts the silence once more, leaving me only with the sound of my pounding heart as it fades away. I press the butt of the rifle against my shoulder and cock it. Peeking one eye open through the riflescope aimed at the trees, I remain on high alert, watching and waiting.
“I told you to stay inside.”
I startle at the voice behind me and jump, sending my elbow into his ribs, but Jason blocks my move and grabs my wrist. As he shoves me back inside the tower, I catch a glimpse of the alarm bells in his eyes before he slams the door shut behind me.
The growls grow louder and closer.
“What is that thing?” I shout, smacking the door with my fist.
“The bear I mentioned earlier,” he replies calmly, with no trace of panic in his voice. “Stay inside. I’ll take care of it.”
“Jason,” I call out. “Jason!”
No response.
My gut tells me to go after him, but I have no idea what I’m up against, and he probably knows the forest like the back of his hand. He should leave before it’s too late anyway. There’s probably a secret getaway.
He can take care of himself.
He is not my responsibility.
Acid whisks in my stomach. Even in my thoughts, it sounds wrong.
I return upstairs and collapse onto the bed. Sifting through my backpack, I spread out the notes I collected on the mattress, realizing I had left the key on the bed, but I didn’t hear the door shut behind me when I stepped outside. He must have held it open.
Putting it around my neck, I tuck it inside my shirt.
I would have been stuck outside the tower if he hadn’t been there.
I pull the scrunched paper I found at the party out of my pocket to compare the handwriting with the notes—they all match—and I huff in annoyance.
Did anyone else stand out to me at the party besides Jason?
The creepy police officer and the bunny.
The jokers. The third one I saw is dead, but the first two were suspicious. One of them is named Klaus. For some reason, he seemed familiar. Maybe he attended college with me.
The driver, Mitch.
And Summer.
They are the ones I encountered, which doesn’t necessarily mean they are involved.
It can be anybody.
The question is: what is their motive? Who is the real target?
Is it me?
Or could it be someone else?
What if I’m the bait?
I flick the knife open as I reread the notes over and over again. I’ve reviewed these a thousand times and consistently come up with more questions than answers.
A sudden gust of wind swooshes past the open door, leaving goosebumps on my skin. I bring the knife to my lap and whip my head around.
“Take this pocket knife.” My bodyguard hands it to me as we stare at the training dummy he positioned at the center of our home gym.
My stance is solid; my legs are steady against the mat.
Standing beside me, he eyes the knife in my hand. “What is it like to hold a knife?”
I assume it’s a rhetorical question, so I stay silent.
“Feel its weight in your palm. The pain it can inflict with one swing. Own the damage this small object holds in your hand.”
Moving behind me, the heat of his body collides with my back.
“Focus on your target and clear your head,” he whispers in my ear.
I detach from everything; the only voice in my head is his.
“Take a deep breath for me,” he instructs.
I inhale a chunk of air into my lungs. My eyes lock on the dummy with intent.
“Attack.”
I swing my hand and just skim the rubber.
That sucked.
“When you attack, you don’t hold the knife like you are holding it right now, the blade facing forward between your thumb and forefinger.
You want to have a stronger grip.” Still standing behind me, he sends his arms forward, cocooning my small frame.
“The butt of the handle aligns with your thumb and forefinger, blade facing down. Now, you have full control of the blade, and it doesn’t restrict your movements. Try it.” He withdraws.
I aim at the dummy’s chest and carotid artery, and in one swift motion, I cut them with speed and precision.
“Oh, shit! It makes it so easy to hold the knife like this.” I stare in amazement.
“How does it feel?”
Giggles of excitement burst out of me, “Like I have control.”
“Good,” he replies with a grin, “It’s yours. Practice when I’m gone every day and combine it with your ninja moves.” I love it when he calls them like that, but I hate being reminded that he’s leaving.
“Wait,” I urge as my fingers caress the handle. “It has your initials. It must be special.”
“A family heirloom, but it’s yours now.” He smiles. “Rule number three: If you’re in danger, don’t hesitate.”
Blinking back to reality, there’s nothing on the balcony except the absence I feel daily.
What is he trying to tell me?
I step onto the balcony after a warm shower and a hearty meal. Silence prevails—one that feels unfamiliar. Even the noisy creatures have bid their farewells.
A blanket of stars glows overhead—a blend of navy blue and indigo.
The warm lights on the balcony shine bright and dreamy. I feel like the tower is a star, surrounded by total darkness.
No matter where I am, this is the farthest I’ve ever traveled from home. Completely and utterly alone.
I still wish he were here with me.
A shiver rakes through me, and I tuck the fur coat I found in the closet into my body.
I’m supposed to watch the area and ensure no one wanders around until I do what I came here to do: find answers.
The underground prison is buried beneath it all and has two entrances: one through land and the other through a stream.
I memorized its layout well enough to know where to go without ever seeing it, but that’s all I know, which makes it the tricky part.
I don’t know precisely where those entrances are located, and that’s what I need to find out.
It’s going to be challenging.
I have no idea how to do that when I’m not supposed to leave this tower, and my gut tells me it’s probably not here. Too convenient.
What is the real purpose of this job? It’s a nice way to lie low, far away, and alone, playing survival in a secluded area, but it’s just… too vague.
What does that even mean?
For all I know, this is a safe house, far away, where no one can find me. Grandma’s hesitance made me question and rethink the reason behind it even more. What if that was her plan? Faking it to make me run the other way faster.
She’s Romina Bishop, after all. No one should underestimate her. Once again, I’m sucked into her web of lies, trying to find a sliver of the truth.
I glance over my shoulder at the couch where I left my rifle, then back at the opposite tower just in time to see it light up. The bottom and top levels illuminate first, then the balcony lights flash brightly.
I stiffen.
My pulse races wildly, and I feel its frantic movement as I gulp.
No one is supposed to be here.
The radio behind me crackles to life, and heavy breaths come through. I rush to grab it and listen closely.
The sound disappears within seconds.
I press the push-to-talk button. “Hello, is someone there?” I wait for a reply, my eyes glued to the balcony door on the opposite side.
I’m met with silence.
“Hello,” I try again.
“I’m here. Your favorite person.” A husky voice grabs my attention, and my heart nearly stops. Rule number four. His dark silhouette comes into view as he slides the door open and paces toward the railings.
Jason…
There’s something intimidating about the way he stands in front of me. Our balconies aren’t very far from each other—about thirty feet away, I presume. The gap between us is small, yet it feels so distant.
Blood stains his shirt and open jacket. The fabric is torn and scraped in certain areas, as if he fought with a… bear.
I scan his body from head to toe. “Are you hurt?”
He places the radio on the top rail, lights a cigarette, and brings it near the mask. He pulls it back just enough to take a long drag while still obscuring his face. Thick streams of smoke are exhaled through his nose. Despite the blood staining the bright streaks in his hair, he remains calm.
He brings the radio to his mouth, “I have a cut on my shoulder, nothing serious. I’ll take a shower, suture it in the bathroom, and take a bunch of painkillers.”
Oh, it looks serious to me.
“You might need antibiotics. Show it to me.” It comes out as a demand, and I’m unsure if it is or if I can’t stand the thought of knowing someone needs help when I can’t help them.
He pauses briefly to gaze at me, placing the cigarette on the top rail.
Instead of removing his mask, he takes off his jacket and tears his shirt in the middle with his pocket knife—the fabric pools at his feet.
Black ink covers every inch of his torso, flowing in intricate, mystical patterns and symbols across his sculpted chest, narrow waist, the deeply cut V of his abdomen, and disappearing below the waistband of his pants.