Chapter 5
FIVE
JUDAS
My heart slams against my ribs like it wants out. I promised myself a long time ago that I would never drive recklessly. Never. And tonight, realizing I might have put Carmen in danger just because I dragged her to a party full of strangers makes my stomach twist with anger at myself.
I never ride without a helmet. Never. I could hardly see anything while I drove, and my eyes were still burning from the wind. I put us both in danger. I lost control tonight.
Did she do this to me? Is she going to be my ruin?
Dad stands there, disappointment carved into his face. But it is not just that. Anger is beneath it. I promised him I would always be safe.
Tonight, I proved I am not.
I never wanted him to see this side of me. I hid it so well before. But with her, I can’t hide anything.
I shut off the bike and pull the key free as my boots hit the ground. Carmen is still shaking, her fingers clenched around the seat. I help her down. She stays behind me while I step toward him.
I am sorry, I sign towards him.
“What were you thinking?” he shouts, his hands cutting sharply through the air as he signs back.
I wasn’t. I am sorry. I sign.
“And driving without helmets? Judas, what the fuck?” His hands fly, fists tight, then one finger snaps forward as he steps closer. He points straight at Carmen. “This is all your fault. You are a bad influence.”
I move fast, stepping between them, my hands spread wide.
I am the one to blame. I took her out. I sign to him.
“Don’t protect her,” he shouts, signing just as hard. “I knew it was a bad idea to adopt a problem.”
Before I can respond, Carmen shoves past me. She plants herself in front of him, her voice exploding.
“Then why the fuck did you do it, huh? I was doing fine in juvie before you all messed that up.”
“You’re right, Carmen,” he says. “You were doing so great, you tried to kill yourself.”
The words hit like a punch.
She tried what?
I turn to Carmen. Her eyes drop to the floor. Her shoulders fold inward, shame pulling her down.
What the fuck, Dad? I sign. Why would you say that?
She asked for it, he signs back, his mouth silent.
“Maybe I should go back then,” she snaps. “Finish what I started.”
She shoves him aside and runs, disappearing behind the garage toward the garden.
Father of the year, I sign, clapping my hands together once.
Then I turn and run after her.
I can’t shout. All I can do is sprint towards her.
I reach for her hand. She jerks away and moves faster, racing for the door. Inside, Mom stands at the bottom of the stairs in her pajamas, glasses crooked on her nose, a glass of red wine in her hand.
“Where...?” She starts to say something as she stares at us, but we rush past her and up the steps.
Carmen throws open her bedroom door. I grab for the handle, but she slams it shut and locks it before I can reach it.
The click of the lock stays in my ears.
Fuuck. I wish I could shout at her.
I move to my bedroom door and slip inside. As soon as I close it, I rush straight to the balcony. I grip the railing, step onto the edge, and cross over to hers.
Her balcony door is wide open. She is grabbing her navy blue sweatpants and the shirt she wore when she arrived, stuffing everything into a small plastic bag with her fists clenched tightly around the fabric.
“Go away, Judas,” she says as she ties the bag handles into a knot.
Little sister, I sign.
She looks at me.
“I am not your sister, Judas,” she sighs. “And obviously, I am not welcome here.”
I step closer, snatch the plastic bag, and lift it over my head. She jumps, reaching for it, but I am tall enough that her fingers grasp at air.
“Damn it. I hate you, Judas Harrington. Why can’t you just let me be?” She slams her hands into my chest.
I shake my head and step closer. She steps back instinctively.
“Give me back my clothes,” she shouts.
I shake my head again and toss the bag over the balcony railing.
Her eyes widen. “Why would you do that?”
She rushes toward the edge, but I catch her first. My arm wraps around her thin waist, pulling her back into me.
I shake my head once more, slower this time. My palm brushes her cheek. I shake my head again.
“You can’t keep me here forever,” she says, locking her eyes with mine.
I nod.
Sure as hell I can.
A smirk creeps onto my lips as I sign, Little sister.
She swallows hard as I pull my hand away and reach into my pocket, and take out my phone.
Parents shout. That’s what parents do.
I type and turn the screen toward her.
“Judas, they are not my parents,” she says. “My only parent died in 2014. And I got blamed for it. Catherine and William Harrington are not and never will be my parents.”
They are not that bad. Give them a chance.
“I gave people chances before,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I always end up disappointed.”
Stay then. For me.
I type fast, frustrated.
“Judas,” she sighs. “You’ve known me for what, twenty-four hours? You call me sister, family. You’ve got issues.” She pushes my chest.
I laugh and shrug my shoulders.
True.
I type.
I turn around and walk to the front door. I turn the knob to confirm the door is locked. Then, I remove the key from the lock and hold it up for her to see.
“Judas,” she says, shaking her head.
I move back toward the balcony, the key dangling from my fingers.
“You are such a psycho,” she shouts. “You know I can just jump from this balcony. You literally showed me how a few hours ago.”
She is not wrong.
I raise my brow and glance at the balcony door. The key still sits in the lock. I pull it free and step outside. I close the door behind me and lock it from the outside.
Now I hold both keys.
I pull the gold chain from beneath my hoodie, unclip it, and slide both keys onto it. Then I fasten it back around my neck.
“You can’t lock me in here,” she shouts.
I laugh at her through the glass, then type on my phone.
I will and I can. You will stay here until you find a reason to care enough not to leave.
I blow her a kiss through the air and sit on the railing, lifting my hand and flipping my middle finger at her.
She slams her palms against the glass. “Judas!”
I ignore her. I jump back onto my balcony and walk into my bedroom.
She will stay here. One way or another.
My eyes stay closed as I lie in bed, sinking into the sheets. Small points of light glow behind my eyelids, though I have no idea where they come from. Every light in the room is off, leaving it completely dark.
For a long time, I slept with the light on. For a long time, I had been afraid of the dark. I thought someone hid in the shadows, watching me and waiting. But as I grew older and slid deeper into my teenage years, I learned the truth.
The only thing you should be afraid of is people.
Dark can’t hurt you. What comes out of it can.
And it did.
And it all started in March 2005. When I was just seven years old.
2005.
I sat on the sofa with my legs tucked under me, the glow of the television washing the room in blue.
The volume was too loud. Mom stood behind me, telling me to turn it off.
She knew the news would turn into nightmares and make me wet the bed at night, but I stayed glued to the screen anyway.
I wanted to be grown up. I wanted to prove I could handle things meant for adults.
The anchor’s voice was coming through, almost bored.
“Last night, bodies were found inside a family home in San Diego. Detectives confirmed the scene is connected to a previous case. Here is what the profiler has to say.”
The screen changed. A woman with black hair and red lipstick stared into the camera, her eyes blinking slowly as she spoke.
“We believe the killer is male, mid-twenties. He is calculated and precise,” she said. “We suspect he works for a delivery or cable company. When he is invited in, he makes his victims comfortable while he watches them. He kills the husband first, while the wife is forced to...”
The television went black.
Mom snatched the remote and jabbed the button harder than was necessary.
“Judas,” she said. “I told you you can’t watch this.”
She shoved a plate with a ham and cheese sandwich into my hands. The crusts were gone, just the soft white bread, the way I liked it.
“But Mom,” I started.
She lifted the sandwich and pressed it closer to my mouth.
“Eat.”
Before I could argue again, the doorbell rang.
Mom stiffened. Then she hurried down the hallway toward the front door.
I took one bite. The cheese stuck to the roof of my mouth as the door opened. A man stepped inside with her, and the door closed behind them.
He didn’t see me.
He carried a heavy box, his arms wrapped around it. His boots thudded against the floor as he headed for the kitchen. Mom followed close behind, while Dad shouted from upstairs.
“Is that the delivery?” He laughed, clapping his hands as he came down the stairs. “The parts for my bike?”
I slid off the sofa and crept closer to the doorway. The hallway felt longer than it ever had.
The delivery man grunted as he lowered the box onto the kitchen floor.
“Engine parts,” he said. “Heavy ones.”
Mom nodded.
“He warned me,” she said. “Said not to try lifting it.”
Dad passed by me, grabbing the top of my head and messing with my hair as he went toward the kitchen. He took a knife and sliced through the tape. The cardboard peeled back to reveal layers of grease-stained paper and thick plastic.
He lifted a piece of something with both hands. “Crankshaft,” he said, almost proudly. “That alone weighs a ton.”
The man pointed back into the box. “There’s the cylinder head too. Pistons. Starter motor. The whole bottom end’s in there.”
Dad let out a low whistle. “No wonder you didn’t park far.”
Another smaller box sat beside the first, but even that one looked heavy. Dad nudged it with his foot.
“Gear assembly,” he said. “And bearings. Those things are solid steel.”
Mom crossed her arms. “I just don’t want oil on my counters.”
“I’ll take it to the garage,” Dad said, but he didn’t move yet. He was still staring into the box.
The delivery man cleared his throat, staring at my dad for too long.
Something was wrong.
I blinked.
The knife appeared in his hand, and he grabbed my mom, yanking her back against him. The blade pressed into her throat, dimpling her skin. She gasped, trying to claw at his arm with her palms.
My dad turned instantly.
His eyes locked on mine. His hand lifted, palm moving through the air, telling me to hide.
But I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
I stood frozen, my back pressed to the doorway, my fingers numb against the wood. The man still hadn’t noticed me.
He reached into his pocket and took out zip ties. The plastic gently rasped as he separated them.
“Sit down,” he said to my dad.
Dad dragged a chair back. The legs scraped against the tile and then stopped just before he sat.
The man shoved the zip ties into my mom’s shaking hands and said, “Tie him up.”
She sobbed, her shoulders shaking, her hands trembling so badly she could barely hold them.
“Shut the fuck up,” he shouted.
She flinched but obeyed, looping the ties around Dad’s wrists, pulling them tight.
“It will be okay,” Dad said.
The man yanked another chair into place across from him and shoved my mom down. He knelt down and bound her hands, too. She cried quietly now.
He placed a folded piece of paper on my dad’s thighs.
Then he stepped closer, the knife sliding up until it rested against my dad’s neck.
“Read it.”
I still couldn’t see his face. All I could see were my parents staring at each other.
Dad lowered his gaze to the paper.
“Your voice was a candle I pinched out the flame,” he read, his voice shaking. “Now silence remembers what breath could not name. Read this in stillness; we end the same.”
The knife moved.
Blood burst forward, spraying across my mom’s face and chest.
She screamed.
I screamed at her.
My hands flew to my mouth, my whole body shaking as I pressed myself harder into the doorframe. The sound ripped through the house, making the man turn his head.
His eyes met mine.
I screamed again and tried to run.
But he caught me.
I woke drenched in sweat, lying in my bedroom, trying to piece together which nightmare dragged me out of sleep. My chest rises too fast as I look around, making sure I’m back in the present and not reliving it all again.
The balcony light next door switches on, and I hear the door slide open. A dull thud follows, then footsteps approach.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Carmen says. “I’m trying to sleep.”
I push myself up and sit in the middle of the bed. My fingers find the switch on the wall, and the overhead light floods the room. I’m shirtless, still in my boxers. Sweat drops are on my skin. My hair is soaked, and two stubborn strands are falling into my forehead.
She looks at me, really looks at me this time. My breathing is uneven. As she steps closer, her voice drops.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. My hand reaches for the nightstand, grabbing my phone. My fingers slide against the screen, damp from sweat, but I manage to type.
Just nightmares.
I hold the phone up for her to read.
She sits on the bed beside me. “I have them too,” she says.
Anything that helps?
I type.
She shakes her head.
“Try to think of happy thoughts,” she says.
I have none.
She laughs softly. “Wow. That’s tragic.”
Yeah.
I had no time for happiness. I was always trying to be a golden boy.
I point toward the trophies lined up on the shelf.
“Ouch,” she says. She exhales, then shrugs. “Well, lucky for you, there’s no timeline for happiness.”
I raise a brow.
“But we do have limited time,” she adds. “So you’d better find it quick.”
I nod at her.
Maybe she’s my happiness.
“You’re a big pile of chaos,” she chuckles. “Nightmares. Not being able to talk. Fuckboy. Trouble boy. List goes on.”
I push her shoulder lightly.
“Cha-os,” she says, dragging the word out.
I smirk, glance down at my phone, then type.
If I’m chaos, you can be ruin.
“Ruin?” She laughs and shrugs. “Well, I guess it’s true. I do ruin everything I touch.”
I laugh, then type.
You can’t ruin me.
I lock eyes with her and sign, Little sister.
“Good night, Chaos,” she says as she stands. She turns and signs back, Brother.
She steps onto the railing and twists around, jumping back to her balcony. A moment later, I hear her door slide shut.
Shit.
My gaze drops to the gold chain still hanging around my neck, the two keys resting against my chest.
How the fuck did you get out?
I message her.
Magic.
She replies.
Carmen… ??
Catherine came earlier with the spare key. ??
So you decided to stay, huh?
Maybe. I have nowhere else to go.
I don’t answer.
I lie back down, staring at the ceiling.
She wants to stay.
I close my eyes, and somehow, sleep finds me again.