Chapter 3
Valli
Once Kayla leaves, I’m left alone with the scarecrow, who is possibly a little psychotic. Honestly, who dresses as a scarecrow in the first place and takes it so seriously? He stares at me but says nothing, though Kayla warned that he only speaks in riddles.
He sits down, and I pull my knees up tighter. The man who hurt me could still be out there in the darkness, and my instincts are telling me to stay, since these people have not tried to hurt me.
I repeat his riddle from before in my head, trying to make sense of it. If this is how he communicates, maybe I need to answer it.
“Your riddle,” I say. “I don’t know the answer. I’m not even sure who I am on a good day, and today has been . . .” I stop and press two fingers to my cheekbone where the pain is the worst and breathe through it. “Today has been a lot.”
He doesn’t move or speak, his amber eyes focused on mine. He is an enormous man, yet I don’t think he seems to understand how big and scary he really is to others.
“Kayla said you’re the Scarecrow, like it’s your job.” He tilts his head and nods. “Is your name really Cave?”
He nods again.
“Okay, well, I’m Valli. Thank you for saving me.”
The cornfield surrounding us is tall enough that I can’t see over the stalks. It spreads out in every direction, and weirdly, being right in the center feels comforting. I can see why he enjoys being here.
I contemplate going home since I have a shift tomorrow, but I don’t know where my phone ended up. It could be in the trunk of the car or in a ditch, for all I know.
“I need to go home—I have work tomorrow. I don’t have my phone, and I have no idea where I am,” I murmur.
Cave looks down at his hands, intentionally inhales, then looks at me and opens his mouth, but he quickly closes it. He opens his mouth a second time. “Morning.”
I blink. Kayla said he doesn’t really talk. “You want me to wait until morning? That’s probably smart since I have no idea where I am.”
He pats the pile of straw at the bottom of the post, reaches over to pull the blanket Kayla brought over me, and even fluffs the pillow.
The air is cold, and the pain in my face is a dull ache.
My ankle feels tender, but hopefully it’s just a sprain.
I have endured a lot worse than this, thanks to Rowan and his never-ending debts.
If he isn’t around when they come to collect, they have no issues making me pay as a warning, not that Rowan ever cares. He is too far gone for that.
“Okay, I think I would like that.”
I lie down, and Cave reclines against his post. As I close my eyes and listen to the corn rustle, I can feel him watching me, yet it doesn’t feel icky.
Instead, I stupidly feel protected, and that should tell me more about who I am as a person—that I feel safe under the watch of a man dressed as a scarecrow.
When I open my eyes, my face pounds in time with my pulse. My jaw and cheekbone mostly, but my eye only opens about three-quarters of the way. Great, I don’t think I will win any beauty pageants anytime soon.
Cave is standing several feet away with his back to me, surveying the edge of the corn. I sit up and he turns around.
“Morning,” I say roughly, my voice a wreck from all the screaming.
He attempts a smile at me; it’s not a full one, but his lips definitely curve at the corners.
I get to my feet slowly, my ankle stiff but feeling okay. After folding the blanket, I place it on top of the pillow. “I need a phone and maybe a map of how I get off the island. Is there someone who can help me with that?”
He holds out his hand, and I reach for it, hoping this is what he wants. Once my fingers link with his, he starts to walk.
The sight of the field in daylight is such a vast difference to the darkness.
He leads us through the stalks off the main path, and we come out the other side.
My eyes widen; this place is a lot to take in.
In one direction, graves are visible over a small fence.
In the other is a tent top that reminds me of the circus, with signs I can’t read from this distance.
Cave keeps walking, seemingly in the opposite direction to the exit.
I don’t say anything because if he wanted to kill me, it would have happened while I slept.
The further we walk, the denser the trees get, and smoke from a fire fills the air.
A man crosses the path ahead of us. He looks our way but keeps walking, like a giant scarecrow walking with a battered woman is normal and no cause for concern.
“Do many people end up here by accident?” I ask, and Cave glances at me. “Or on purpose?”
He looks ahead again. “Both,” he says, his voice deep and raspy, like he hasn’t used it in a while. From what I’ve been told, I’m guessing he probably doesn’t.
A shed comes into view in the trees, and as we get closer, I can hear a radio crackle. The doors are open, and as Cave slows down at the entrance, he lets my hand go, and we walk in.
It’s warm inside. There is a workbench running the length of the wall, and tools hanging from the wall above it.
A man sits on an upturned crate with a radio and screwdriver in his hands, and he glances up as we enter.
He has dark eyes, and his jacket is covered in little trinkets, but I can’t make out what exactly they are at this distance.
His eyes scan over me, lingering on my face, and I can see the questions forming.
He then looks past me at Cave, and a silent conversation passes between them. Then the man looks back at me.
“Cipher,” he says simply.
“Valli,” I reply.
“Coffee?” he asks. Just when I thought things couldn’t get weirder, the Scarecrow brings me to meet someone who doesn’t even question why I look like a human punching bag.
“Please, that would be great.”
He stands, moving to a small setup on the far end of the bench, while I look at Cave, who stands in the doorway with one hand braced on the frame. Interesting. Does everyone have their own territory? Why will he not come inside?
Breaking eye contact with Cave, I look back at Cipher. “I need to get back home. I have a shift starting at nine and no phone.”
“I can take you,” Cipher says, holding out the mug.
“Thank you, I appreciate that since I have no idea where I am.”
Cipher simply nods, and I peer back over at Cave, whose eyes are still on me. “Thank you for saving me last night. I might not be alive right now if you hadn’t shown up.”
His jaw moves, and he straightens up, pushing off the doorframe and taking a step back. I think he is about to leave, but he doesn’t.
“I have no roots, yet I hold my ground. I have no walls, yet nothing gets past me. I stand in the open, and still I keep what matters safe.” He pauses. “What am I?”
We stare at each other. I’m really shit at riddles. “I don’t know. A scarecrow?”
Cave nods and disappears. I turn back to where Cipher is staring at me. “Does he always just talk in riddles?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone ever answer?”
“Sometimes.”
There is a slightly awkward silence before he speaks again. “You ready?”
I nod, drink the last of my coffee, then hand him the empty cup. He places it on the workbench and heads outside. I follow behind him and around the side of the shed to where a motorbike waits.
It’s old, though it looks like newer parts have been added. The mirror is attached by what I am certain is a cable tie. Cipher hands me a helmet, and I take it while praying the bike doesn’t fall apart.
“It runs,” he says, reading my mind.
“I live in West Thornfield. How far away is that?”
“Forty minutes,” he says without even having to think about it.
I weigh my options, but walking isn’t one of them.
I’ll never get to work on time, and my boss will fire me—and I refuse to let my sister go without.
Pulling on the helmet as Cipher swings onto the bike, I watch it start on the first try, which surprises me.
I slide behind him and find somewhere to put my hands; he chuckles and grabs my arms, wrapping them around his waist.
The bike moves out of the trees and onto a path, and before I can take in more of my surroundings, we are at the front gates and flying down the bridge.
The ride back is cold. I keep my arms locked tight around Cipher’s waist, and for half the ride I keep my eyes closed as last night replays vividly in my mind.
The man in the alley, the smell of cigarette smoke, being thrown into the trunk.
By the time the streets become familiar, the worst of the flashbacks have subsided.
Cipher slows at one stage to get directions and then easily finds my street and cuts the engine in front of my house.
I get off and pull the helmet from my head, standing for a moment in front of my house.
The paint is chipped around the window frames, the front step is still cracked from before my parents died, and the lamp beside the window is on.
It means Rowan is home, and my stomach churns at the thought of what I’m about to walk into.
Turning back to Cipher, I see he is sitting on the bike with his helmet on and visor up, watching me.
“Thanks for the ride and the coffee. And for not asking questions.”
The corner of his mouth tilts. “You know where the island is now.”
I stare at him, not knowing if that’s supposed to be an open invitation or a statement. Honestly, I think it could be both. “I do.”
He pulls his visor back down, the bike revs, and he is gone before I can say anything else. I watch until he reaches the end of the street, then turn back to the house.
I lost everything last night—my bag, keys, phone, earphones, all of it gone. I can’t afford to replace any of it. Thankfully, there is a spare key under the flowerpot, due to Rowan constantly losing his keys, and I find it exactly where I left it and let myself in.
The hallway smells like stale takeaway, and the television is on in the front room, the volume almost deafening. He’s either half deaf or inconsiderate, and knowing him, it’s the latter.
My brother is on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table, a plate balanced on his chest. He looks up as I walk in, and I drop the key on the side table. His eyes roam over my injuries, but there is no genuine concern.
“Before you say anything—”
“I thought you were dead,” Rowan interrupts.
I laugh. “Clearly you were so concerned.”
He puts his plate down on the coffee table and sits up.
“Who did you owe money to this time?” I demand.
Rowan glances at the television.
“Rowan,” I snap.
“It’s handled.”
I laugh and shake my head. I’ve heard this so many times before. Even dug him out but stopped when I knew I needed to focus on getting Leni out of here.
“It is not fucking handled, Rowan. I got shoved into some guy’s trunk last night, and had my face used as a punching bag. So whatever you think you handled is very much not handled. Who is it?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “His name is Tommy, and he works for a guy named Steedy. I owe him money.”
“How much?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I scoff. “How much, Rowan?”
He tells me the figure, and I stare at him in disbelief. I don’t have money, let alone that much. The emergency fund I had saved, I used to get Leni settled into college. I didn’t want her to be the only one without nice things.
“And where is Tommy now?” I ask, mainly because I need to know if he is still after me.
Rowan’s eyes come to mine. “That’s the thing. I was told he came to collect, and he hasn’t been contactable since.”
Shit, shit, double fucking shit. Did Cave kill him? If he did, I’ve dragged him into my mess, and he doesn’t deserve that.
“He needs to show back up, Valli, like ASAP.” Rowan runs his hand through his hair, a sign of his growing worry.
I try to keep my face neutral, or as much as I can, since the whole thing is swollen. “And how would I know where he is?”
“I didn’t say you did. But if he doesn’t turn up, Steedy is going to want answers, and if Tommy went after you last night instead of me . . .”
“Then what?” I snap.
“Then you’re the last person to have seen him.”
I look at my brother, really look at him. He is only five years older than me but looks like he’s nearing forty.
“If Tommy was the asshole who put me in the trunk and did this to my face, then he had it coming. But I don’t know where he is. I escaped and ran for my life.”
Rowan stares at me. There is no concern at all that his sister was hurt; it doesn’t surprise me but still stings a little.
“Sort your debt out. I mean it this time,” I growl. “Stop pulling me into your shit, or I will change the locks. I have to shower and get ready for work.”
“Valli,” he says, and I turn around to face him. “If Steedy comes here—”
“You better hope he doesn’t,” I cut him off as I pause in the doorway. “Just sort it out.”
I rush upstairs before he can say anything else.
The bathroom mirror does me no favors. My eye is dark and swollen, my cheekbone is a nasty color, and my jaw is bruised as well.
I turn the shower on, strip down, and get in.
Then I stand under the stream of water until it turns cold.
I get out and dress, pulling my hair up out of my face and glaring in the mirror as I try to cover the mess.
I call it a day when the bruises are no longer a nasty purple color, though I can’t hide the swelling, unfortunately.
Picking up Kayla’s hoodie, I hang it over the back of the rickety old desk chair I refuse to get rid of because my father built it for me. I will have to work out how to get it back to her.
Grabbing my spare set of keys from my desk drawer, I head back downstairs to find Rowan still on the sofa. He doesn’t say anything as I walk past, for which I’m grateful.
I lock the front door as I leave. As much as I can’t stand Rowan, he’s still my blood, and I really don’t want to see him dead.