Chapter Twenty-One
Landon
Something is off. I can feel it.
And I have no idea why. But something in me is telling me I need to be by her side. Even if that means just being in the same room as her.
Today is the first Christmas without her family, and she is sitting all alone in that cabin. I know Logan and Mom invited her over, but she’s not ready. I considered not even going to family Christmas, but I knew she would get upset if I skipped.
I love my family, but sometimes when I look at Logan, I feel a sliver of guilt. If I had found Mike sooner, I could have stopped him before he got to her. Before he gave her an awful head injury on top of the emotional trauma that is keeping her from her job.
Not once has she blamed me, but I still feel it. Just like I feel the dozens of others. Every moment my mind isn’t numbed by alcohol, I feel them.
So going to family Christmas, I thought it was going to be a good distraction from just sitting at my computer searching for more victims or sitting in silence with Allie.
But the longer I sat there, I kept getting this feeling that something was wrong. Something more than her normal pain and heartache. I don’t understand it, but something was telling me to check on her. So I said my goodbyes and bolted out the door.
I slide on the ice in the driveway as I reach my truck and drop my keys.
“Fuck!”
Quickly, I find my footing, grab my keys, and hop into the truck. Luckily, my tires have more traction than my feet do and they glide over the icy drive with ease. As soon as I am on the nice plowed roads, I pick up speed and make my way towards her.
I round the corner, my skin tingles and I feel like I just rolled in fire ants.
Fuck. Not now.
I knew today was going to be rough. I knew I was going to want to run out to my truck and drain half a bottle of whiskey just at the sight of seeing Logan and Gray home from their getaway.
That you fucking ruined, you idiot.
I shake my head to clear the annoying voice in my head. I know they aren’t upset, but the guilt is still there. Hell, it never leaves. None of it does.
I should never have sent them on that mission, especially after everything Logan has gone through. But I’m selfish and didn’t want to leave Allie.
I round another corner and my skin sets fire again. I hit my steering wheel and yell, “Fuck! Get it together Landon.”
Great, now I’m talking to myself. And here I am on the way to help Allie. She needs someone that isn’t losing his mind. She needs someone that isn’t reaching for a bottle of whiskey under the passenger seat as he goes to help her.
But is that need going to stop me? No.
Ever since she told me the truth about her parents, it’s almost like she retreated into herself. I came back the next day to check on her, but she wouldn’t let me in. She texted me, telling me she was fine, but I didn’t believe her for a second. Since that day, she has barely spoken. A few days later, she warmed back up to letting me inside, but most days, I stay in her driveway.
I can’t fathom what is going on inside her head, but I will do whatever she needs. Whether that’s sitting in the driveway or sitting in the living room in complete silence.
And as selfish as it sounds, I’m relieved when she texts me and it’s because it shows that she is still here. That is a big part of it, but the main reason is being in proximity to her. Knowing she is alive silences the voices in my head. So, in a way, I think she may be trying to heal herself while I am simultaneously attempting to figure out how to silence my own demons.
She hasn’t allowed me anywhere close to touching her like she did that day, and I wouldn’t even dare try to. Even if it breaks my fucking heart to sit and watch her go from utter silence to sobs ricocheting off the walls.
But for some reason, she is letting me close, and it’s the least I can do. Even if I have to watch as she slowly fades away into her pain while I slowly drown myself in mine.
I pull into Allie’s driveway and before getting out, I stare at the bottle of whiskey in my hand.
“Don’t do it,” I beg myself.
My grip on the bottle tightens and the fire spreads to my throat. It’s almost like my body takes over and I am just a passenger on its way to complete self destruction.
I know I need to stop messing around and get to Allie, but I won’t be able to focus with the pain and need coursing through my body.
Maybe if I just smell it, that will cure the urge and I can go inside.
I pop the cap off the bottle, and the sounds echo throughout my truck. I bring the bottle to my nose. The warm spices and smoke fill my nose and I feel my body relax. But as I go to close the bottle, my stomach revolts and the fire returns.
Before I can tell myself to stop, I bring the bottle to my lips, and it’s cold from sitting in the truck. I tilt the bottle back slightly and, as the liquid hits my tongue and slides down my throat, the fire settles.
My eyes close and I settle back into my seat. My muscles relax, my mind clears, and the panic ceases to exist.
When I open my eyes and rest the bottle on my knee, I look down at it and see half the bottle is gone.
I find myself being oddly proud only half the bottle is gone this time.
The wind picks up outside and I’m reminded of where I am.
Shit. Allie!
I put the cap back on the bottle and shove it back under my seat.
Hopping out of the truck, I nearly slip on the ice and head to the front door. I don’t know if she will answer, but if she doesn’t, I’ll text her.
Somehow, our agreement has stayed strong. She has cameras and never sleeps, so I know she sees when I pull into the driveway. If she doesn’t answer the door or my text within ten minutes, I will use my key.
I knock and, as suspected, nothing. I pull out my phone to text her and expect to see a message from her already telling me she’s fine, but nothing. So I send her one.
Landon : I’m here.
I watch the clock tick down, and as the minutes tick by, my panic grows. Everything in me wants to run back to the truck and make the panic go away. But for the first time, I can’t. Something is wrong.
The final minute ticks by and as the soon as it runs out, I already have my key in the door ready to unlock it.
As I open the door, my body is on alert, but I keep my eyes down just in case she is in the living room sleeping. The last thing I want is for her to feel exposed.
“Allie,” I call out.
When she doesn’t answer, I slowly lift my eyes to scan the living room. It’s quiet, and the TV is playing some Christmas movie quietly.
Maybe she is sleeping upstairs, but then my eyes see the mess in the kitchen.
Steam is billowing from the stove, and I run over and turn it off. Luckily, it looks like it was only water and nothing that could have turned into a fire.
I turn around to face the sink and freeze.
Blood.
Blood covers the inside of the sink and I try to stop myself from panicking, but I feel it rising in my chest.
“Allie!” I yell and wait again, but hear no response.
I take a step back and feel something hit my foot. I look down to see a butcher knife covered in blood on the floor.
No. No. Please no.
I frantically start searching every room downstairs and as I start up the stairs, I hear a low cry.
Skipping two stairs at a time, I hit the loft bedroom and see the bathroom light on and run straight to it.
When I get into the doorway of the bathroom, I see her.
Part of me is happy that no one is here with her and I didn’t just walk in to her being murdered. But the way she looks right now tells me this is almost just as bad.
She is sitting in the bathtub holding her wrist. The shower is running, and she is sitting fully clothed, staring at her still bleeding wrist.
Slowly I walk into the bathroom, making my steps loud so my presence doesn’t shock her. “Allie,” I say quietly.
Her light blue eyes slowly rise to look at me, but as soon as she sees me, she immediately looks back down at her wrist.
When I reach her, I put my hand up to the water and feel it is seconds from becoming freezing and turn it off.
I quickly grab a towel and drape it over her shoulders.
Now that I’m close enough, I can see how much blood is in the bathtub and how pale she is.
Crouching down to kneel in front of the tub, I say, “Allie. You need help.”
I watch as tears stream down her face, and she shakes her head no.
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself before continuing. Fuck. This isn’t my norm. This is what Grayson does. This is why we send him in after the victims. He has this ability to make everyone feel safe. And I just get him where he needs to be to do it.
But there’s not a chance in hell she would let him around her. So she is stuck with me. Pressure rises in my chest and I will it to go away.
I cannot have my own demons trying to take me down while someone else desperately needs me.
“Allie. Please.”
She shakes her head no again.
“Okay. Can you show me the cut?” I say, barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I know. I know. I promise I know. Can I please see it?”
She thinks about it for a moment and I watch as shivers take over her drenched body. Her wet hair sticking to the sides of her face. The steady stream of blood seems to have stopped and most of it has drained down.
As she turns her wrist towards me, I see a cut at the base of her hand into her wrist. It doesn’t look nearly as bad as I thought it would. And a big part of me is happy it doesn’t look like the markings I’ve seen so often in the past.
I can see now that the water from the shower was making the scene in front of me look way worse than it is.
But that isn’t saying much. She is still sitting in a tub, freezing, staring at her wrist, and I don’t know if I should touch her.
What the hell do I do?
Think Landon think.
I glance around the room and see a folded pile of towels. I know from when Logan was living here, she had a first aid kit in here somewhere.
I turn back to Allie. “We need to get you out of the tub. You’re freezing and we need to bandage your wrist. I’m going to swap out these towels since they are already soaked. I need to get you, but if at any time you don’t want me touching you, tell me and we will readjust. Then I’m going to bandage your cut so it’s safe while we get you changed and to the doctor. Or if you think you can, I will be here to help. Is that okay?”
She lets out a breath and nods. I see the resolve drift across her face and can tell she is choosing to give in.
Discarding the damp towels and draping the new ones over her, Igently place my hands right below her shoulder blades, near her armpits, and try to guide her to stand. She slowly rises, but I grip her shoulders to steady her.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods.
Now to figure out how I’m going to get her out of the tub. I don’t want her to be uncomfortable and lift her out, but if she falls and smacks her face off the side of the tub, that won’t be good either.
Allie seems to think the same thing as she looks down and examines the predicament we are in. Her eyes drift up to mine, and I give her a slight nod.
Whatever she needs me to do, I will do. She stares at me for a moment and I take a deep breath.
“Allie. Can I lift you out of the tub and place you right back down on the rug in front of the sink? You can say no, and I will help you lift your legs, but you are shaking and I really don’t want you to fall.”
Her eyes cast down to her shaking legs, then to her wrist, and when they finally make their way back up to meet mine, my heart breaks. I can see the waves of pain crashing in her eyes, and I know she must be exhausted.
An overwhelming sense of need to protect her and never let anything happen to her again consumes all of my senses, but I tamper it down and search her eyes for an answer. Allie’s eyes cast down once more and then she nods.
Not wanting to misinterpret her answer, I ask, “I can pick you up?”
She nods again.
I place one arm behind her legs and the other on her back and gently cradle her to my chest. Instantly, her cold, damp clothes shock my body as she curls into herself and hides her face in my chest.
My heart breaks once again for her and then I hear a tiny sob break free from her and I feel my heart shatter. The words leave my mouth before I can stop them as hug her slightly closer to my chest, “Oh, sweetheart. I am so freaking sorry.”
Another sob escapes from her and I know I should put her down, but how can I when she is breaking apart in my arms?
She tries to speak, but it’s all jumbled by the tears clogging her throat. “It’s okay. I know. You don’t have to say a word.”
Allie nods against my chest and Isituate us so that I am leaning against the counter. I need to look at her hand and get her out of these clothes that are now soaking me to the bone, but I can’t. I somehow have become the person, her safe space in which she allows herself to feel and right now she is feeling the weight of the world.
Seconds, minutes, hours, who knows, pass by before Allie moves and I know she must be feeling the pain now. Slowly, I set her down on her feet, my hands hovering near her arms in case she gets dizzy.
Allie’s uninjured hand goes to wipe the last tear cascading down her face away, and I can see the mask slipping back into place.
She needs to get out of the wet clothes and a bandage on her hand, but I know I probably have pushed her miles past her comfort zone, so I have no idea what to do.
My mind is reeling when Allie’s voice cuts through.
“Um…I’m fine Landon.”
My gaze darts to her. I know she is far from fine, but I’m not going to force her to tell me what happened. I will listen if she wants to tell me, but I won’t push her, so I just nod.
“Can I look at your hand?” I ask.
She holds it out to me and I see it’s deep and could use a look at by a doctor, but she knows better than I do.
“If you help me wrap it, I’ll drive myself to the hospital,” Allie says, her voice almost cold and void of emotion.
“I can–”
“Just follow behind in case I can’t drive home,” she says, cutting me off.
I nod. We stand there in silence, the only sound coming from the heater and the water dripping onto the floor from Allie’s clothes.
I make my way over to the cabinet and grab the first aid kit. Taking out gauze and a wrap, she holds out her arm, and I gently start wrapping her wrist. The bleeding has slowed, but she still needs stitches and probably a pain killer…or two.
When I’m done, I take a step back. Her eyes stay locked on her wrist. I don’t even think she notices how badly she is shaking and needs to get out of the wet clothes, so I say, “I’ll be downstairs. If you need help, just yell down to me.”
She nods and I head downstairs. As I reach the living room, I let out a breath and grip the back of the couch.
All the energy drains out of me and the gravity of the situation I just faced smacks me hard in the face. The fire immediately returns and I fight the urge to run to my truck. My hands start to shake and my arms feel like tiny fire ants are crawling over me.
I need a fucking drink.
No! I can’t.
My mind starts to spiral and the few words we exchanged replay in my head, and then it hits me.
Did Allie smell the whiskey on my breath? Is that why she won’t let me drive?
Of course it is. She will never trust you.
“Fuck off,” I whisper to my inner thoughts.
I shake my head and try to think of anything but the fire climbing inside me.
And my mind drifts to one thing. Why was she in the shower? Why was that the first place she went?
My eyes drift over the cabin as I try to come up with the slightest clue or answer as to why that was her first place to run to. Then my eyes lock on the sink.
I don’t look at the stairs in case she is walking in front of them. I don’t want her to feel exposed.
I run over to the kitchen, pick the knife off the ground, and clean it, as well as the sink.
Whatever her reasonings are, she doesn’t need to come home to be reminded of what happened.
As I finished up, I hear her coming down the stairs. I don’t hide what I’m doing.
I finish up, dry the knife, and place it back in the block. When I turn around, I see Allie watching me.
We stand there, silence once again filling the room. And the question is eating at me so strongly, I decide to just ask.
“You don’t have to answer.” I stop for a moment and watch her face. She changed into a pair of sweats and a sweater. Her wet hair is in a knot on top of her head and she stares at me, waiting for me to continue.
I try to see if I can detect any panic or fear, but I can’t. All I see is resignation. I recognize it because it’s the same mask I wear every day.
I hesitate, but as I’m about to ask, she stops me. “You want to know why I was in the bath?”
I nod.
“Because. The voices in my head that told me it wasn’t an accident were too loud, and I needed the water to drown them out.”
With that, she nods her head towards the door, and I follow her.
I never doubted that her pain was insurmountable, but now I can see just how deep it is.
We come from two completely different ends of the pain scale, but our masks are the same. Two people drifting along, without letting a single person in to feel an ounce of what we do on the inside.