Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Winona Bishop
Is It Really You? — Sleep Token
Jason is sprawled on the couch, a bowl half-filled with Cheerios resting on his solid abs, his hand wrapped around it as it slightly moves with each breath he takes.
I grab the rifle, cock it, and aim at the empty beer bottle he left on the top rail.
Jason, you’re sweet, but…
I pull the trigger.
He jolts out of sleep like a cockroach. His limbs fly in the air as he tumbles off the couch with the bowl—the glass cracks in the middle, and his Cheerios scatter around him.
Payback’s a bitch. I chuckle to myself.
He sits there, contemplating the event, before reaching to grab the radio from the table.
“You crazy motherfucker,” he says in a groggy voice. The confusion surrounding him is priceless.
I bark out a laugh.
“Come on, Sunshine. We have work to do unless you’re only here for the view,” I quip with a wicked smirk.
“The view isn’t that bad, to be honest.” His gaze locks with mine. “What’s the plan, boss?”
“You’re coming here, and we’re going to look for the prison together,” I say as I go downstairs to eat breakfast.
“Subtle,” he replies. “Now I’ve got glass all over the balcony.”
“Careful, these things are sharp,” I tease.
“You’re such a brat.”
You know I am.
“I have a few things to take care of first.”
“See you later, Jason.”
I could be wrong, but my gut tells me I’m right.
He told me to trust my instincts, and I never stopped following them. I never stopped chasing the voice in my head that urged me to find him.
I feel like I’m dancing on landmines, and they’re about to go off and wake me from this dream.
Sometimes, I feel like he isn’t real, as if I conjured him solely to feel connected to someone. Nothing scares me more than realizing he was a game all along.
He should have been here by now.
I gaze up at the stars, reciting grandma’s words. When you’re lost, find your north star… I lower my head to look at Jason’s tower just as the lights bounce off the walls.
My north star…
The door to his balcony opens, and I hone in on his boots first before my eyes travel along his muscular thighs and bare chest, stopping where his gaze meets mine.
He brings the radio up to his mask, hesitating for a moment but confident the next. “Come here and take it off.”
I look at him in confusion, holding the radio to my lips. “What do you mean?” I let out an embarrassed chuckle.
“Come here and remove my mask.”
He was supposed to be here helping me, but now he wants me to go to him.
“Why now?”
“Because what you’re looking for is right here. Because I miss my wife.” He reaches the railings. “And I’m looking at her.”
Goosebumps creep over my skin, but I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched right in the gut. My mind reels, confusion rushing to the forefront.
My eyes fill with unexplainable tears.
“Is this a game to you?”
“No,” he lowers his voice. Worry settles deep in his throat.
The pressure around my head intensifies.
“You know what you need to do,” he says nervously, looking at the zipline. His voice is filled with emotion. “You’re free now.”
My body is frozen in place.
I knew it all along, but I tried to make sense of it.
The only explanation is that my grandma was behind it. She faked his death and sent him away because she disapproved of him.
How could she?
“Winona…” His voice cuts like the sharpest knife.
“I’m coming to kill you,” I force past gritted teeth, and he chuckles affectionately.
“Fair enough.”
I rush to grab the gear from the closet inside.
I’m nervous. My hands shake, and my heart races. I fumble with the cables and harness, needing a few deep breaths to calm down.
Fidgeting from foot to foot, I clear my throat and concentrate on securing it properly.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I don’t know if I’m excited or terrified.
I push the coffee table toward the railing and climb on top. Please be real. I attach the harness to the carabiner that clips onto the trolley, clip the radio to my pants, and juggle my backpack on my shoulders.
My gaze falls to the gap between us.
I’m doing this.
My boots blur slightly when my heart rate picks up, but I breathe the fresh air in and out until everything comes into focus.
With one last glance at the night sky, I jump. A squeal escapes me as I slide forward at high speed. A tickling sensation bursts in my feet and hands. I smile and laugh.
The cold air feels less numbing. The sadness fades, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. A tear rolls down my cheek because it feels like flying.
Jason catches me as I reach his balcony and helps me down.
“That was epic.” I glance at my balcony, breathing heavily. Adrenaline pumps through my body as I remove my helmet.
“You had fun?” he asks, disconnecting all the gear from my body.
“Absolutely.”
“Nothing can stop you,” he whispers, and I swallow thickly.
I don’t know what to think or what to say.
I don’t know if this is… another game.
My eyes follow his movements, as if he were a deceptive ghost whispering lies.
I don’t want it to be a trap or to be given false hope.
“Do you really want me to take off your mask?” I ask. I want to see what he looks like. I want to know who he is. But what if he… isn’t him.
“Yes, I want you to do it.”
He bows his head to me but keeps his eyes on mine. With shaky hands, I reach up to grab the mask and lift the straps that hold it tightly behind his head.
My throat clogs.
My heart thuds against my ribcage.
Terror and relief wash over me, but mostly I feel as though I’m about to faint.
Those have always been my husband’s eyes. How could I not recognize the man I am deeply in love with and have never stopped loving for a second?
I thought I was losing it.
But when he stood before me, it was hard to deny it.
On the night of my twenty-sixth birthday, right before he left and never came back, he said, “I will be back, I promise.”
The mask drops between us, hitting the floor as his face is finally revealed. He didn’t use black paint this time. A layer of light stubble covers his handsome face.
Hauntingly beautiful.
The thin scar above his upper lip stretches about an inch to the left side of his face. My first instinct is to ask who did this to him, but it doesn’t matter as long as he is safe here with me.
“Reeve…”
A needle-like sensation shoots up my right arm.
This is too much.
Pain, confusion, and joy attack my system, and my head spins.
“Please, say my name again.” It’s a heart-wrenching, desperate plea that escapes him.
I wish I could talk, but the shock tightens my vocal cords. Instead, I look at him, running my fingers over the scar on his shoulder, gently touching it and committing its beauty to memory.
Maybe I do this to calm myself down, too.
I flatten my hand, which perfectly fits against the handprint tattoo on his chest.
My handprint.
I want to hug and kiss him, but I can’t move much. This is all I can do for now. He looks at me, stirring up the emotions I tried to bury after I was told he’s dead. I never really succeeded anyway, like I never believed he was dead.
I would’ve felt it if he were.
His warm breath brushes my lips.
Minutes pass, and he stays with me, allowing me to process it at my own pace. I had months to prepare, yet I’m overwhelmed to even speak.