39. Willow
39
WILLOW
T he plane’s wheels touch down on the small private airstrip, jolting me from my half-sleep against Axel’s shoulder. Darkness envelops us outside the windows, with only the runway lights illuminating our arrival. The reality hits me—we made it. We’re actually in Brazil.
Tommy exits first, scanning the area with practiced vigilance before giving us a nod. Axel takes my hand as we descend the steps, his grip firm and reassuring. The warm, humid night air wraps around us, so different from what we left behind.
Axel’s lips brush my ear. “Home sweet home, little pixie.”
A black SUV waits for us at the edge of the tarmac, headlights cutting through the darkness. The driver doesn’t ask questions; he just takes the address I provide in broken Portuguese and pulls away from the airstrip.
My stomach twists with nerves as we wind along coastal roads under a star-filled sky. Not about the escape—that part worked perfectly. It’s what waits for us at the beach house. Who waits for us.
Mom.
The beach house appears around a bend—white stucco walls illuminated by landscape lighting, the ocean invisible in the night beyond. Behind it rises a dense wall of lush tropical forest, silvery in the moonlight that filters through the canopy. I purchased it through an offshore account, carefully covering my tracks. Four days ago, I sent Mom here for a much-needed vacation.
She has no idea what’s coming.
“That’s it.” I point as the SUV slows. “Pull in there.”
Tommy whistles low. “Nice digs.”
Axel’s eyes are narrow as he studies the property. “Isolated. Good sight lines.” He nods approvingly, his gaze lingering on the moonlit forest that provides natural cover on three sides. “Smart choice.”
The car stops, and I hold my breath in anticipation. I exit onto the crushed shell driveway, the night air heavy with salt and humidity. Through the house’s open windows, I hear the faint sound of classical music—Mom’s favorite Chopin.
I move toward the door, Axel and Tommy flanking me like shadows.
Before I can knock, the door swings open. Mom stands there, dressed in flowing linen pants and a light blouse, a welcome smile freezing on her face as she registers who is standing before her. The warm glow from inside casts long shadows across her features as her eyes widen from my face to Axel’s scarred knuckles to Tommy’s watchful stance.
“Willow?” The color drains from her face. “What are—how did you—” Her gaze locks onto Axel, recognition sparking in her eyes. She’s seen his face on the news. “What is happening? Who are these men?”
I step forward, placing my hand on Mom’s arm. “Mom, I need to talk to you.”
She flinches away from my touch, her eyes never leaving Axel’s face.
“Axel,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the hurricane of emotions swirling inside me. “Can you and Tommy check the perimeter? Make sure everything’s secure?”
Axel’s eyes meet mine, an unspoken question in them. I nod slightly, letting him know I’ll be okay.
“Sure thing.” He brushes his fingers against my cheek, a possessive gesture that makes my mother gasp. “Holler if you need me.”
As they move away into the darkness surrounding the house, I guide Mom inside and close the door. Her complexion pales visibly as we sit on the pristine white couch under the soft lamplight.
“That’s Axel Morrison. The serial killer. Willow, what have you done?”
I take a deep breath. “I helped him escape prison. Him and Tommy.”
“You what?” She jerks back like I’ve slapped her. “This is—this can’t be happening. You’re a psychologist, Willow! You help people!”
“I’m helping someone. I’m helping Axel.”
“He’s a murderer!” Mom’s voice rises, edged with panic.
“It’s complicated, Mom. We... fell in love. And I know how that sounds crazy, believe me, but he’s different. He’s changing.”
Tears well in her eyes. “You’ve thrown away your career, your life... for a psychopath? Willow, this isn’t you!”
“It is me. Maybe it always was. I’ve never felt more alive, more myself than I do with him.”
Mom’s shoulders sag, disappointment etching deep lines around her mouth. “And what about me? What am I supposed to do now? I can’t just uproot my entire life and move to Brazil!”
“I know, Mom. I’m not asking you to. I couldn’t leave you behind without explaining and giving you that choice—without saying goodbye.”
The word hangs between us like a physical thing. Goodbye.
“So that’s it?” she asks. “You’re choosing him over your career? Over me?”
I look at Mom’s tear-streaked face and feel my chest tighten. The words catch in my throat, but I force them out.
“I was hoping you might... stay.” My voice cracks. “Here. With us.”
Mom’s mouth drops open. “With you and—and the murderer?”
“Axel,” I correct her gently. “And yes.”
A painful silence stretches between us. The clock on the wall reads 10:17 PM, the late hour adding to the surreal quality of this conversation.
“I know it sounds insane,” I continue, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “I thought—I hoped—we could be a family here. You’ve always wanted to travel more, and this place is beautiful.” I gesture toward the windows where the night hides the ocean, but its rhythmic sounds fill the quiet spaces between our words. “And you could get to know Axel, the real Axel, not just what you’ve seen on the news.”
Mom stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Willow, do you hear yourself? You want me to leave my entire life behind to live with my fugitive daughter and her psychopathic boyfriend?”
“He’s more than that.” Pain lances through me at her words. “When I’m with him, the voices in his head stop. I help him. He helps me. We balance each other.”
“This isn’t balance, honey. This is madness.” She reaches for my hand. “You need help. We can find a way out of this. It’s not too late.”
I pull my hand away. “I don’t want a way out. I want you to understand. I love him, Mom. And I love you too. That’s why I arranged all this—the house, bringing you here. I thought maybe you’d see how happy I am and... I don’t know... want to be part of it.”
Mom’s eyes fill with fresh tears. “Oh, Willow.” Her voice is heavy with grief. “My sweet girl. What has he done to you?”
The sound of the sliding glass door makes us both turn. Axel stands in the doorway, his imposing frame silhouetted against the night. His jaw is tight, eyes stormy—he’s heard everything. My heart sinks.
“Axel—” I start, but he raises a hand, cutting me off.
“I need to say something.” His voice is different—stripped of its usual dangerous edge. He steps forward, and Mom instinctively shrinks back against the couch.
Axel surprises me by abandoning his usual domineering stance, lowering himself to one knee before my mother and putting himself below her eye level. I’ve never seen him make himself small for anyone.
“Mrs. Matthews,” he says quietly. “I understand your fear. If I were you, I’d feel the same.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, a gesture of nervousness I’ve rarely witnessed. “I’ve done terrible things. I won’t deny that. But your daughter—” His voice catches. “Willow is the only person who’s ever made the voices stop.”
Mom’s eyes widen, her gaze darting between us.
“I’ve had them since I was a kid,” Axel continues, his green eyes earnest in a way I’ve only seen in our most intimate moments. “Voices telling me to hurt, to destroy. They never shut up. Not until her.” He looks at me, vulnerability naked on his face. “When she touches me when she’s near me—there’s quiet for the first time in my life.”
He turns back to Mom. “I haven’t hurt anyone since meeting her except out of survival. I don’t want to. She makes me feel... normal. Human. Something I never thought possible.” His hands are open, palms up—a gesture of supplication. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I love your daughter. And I think she loves me too. Not because she’s broken or damaged, but because she sees something in me worth saving.”
Mom’s face is still pale, but her expression has shifted from terror to something more complex—disbelief alongside reluctant curiosity.
“The voices,” she enquires. “They stop completely?”
I watch this unexpected moment unfold. Axel—dangerous, powerful Axel—kneeling before my mother, laying himself bare. I’ve never seen him make himself vulnerable like this for anyone else.
“Yes,” I say, answering Mom. “They stop completely when we’re together. It’s like... I anchor him somehow.”
Mom’s eyes search mine, looking for signs of manipulation or delusion. I hold her gaze steadily, letting her see the truth.
“I didn’t plan for any of this to happen,” I continue, moving to sit beside her. “I was doing my job, trying to help him, and something... connected. Something powerful.”
Mom shakes her head slowly, but there’s less fear in her eyes now. “Willow, you’ve always wanted to fix broken things. Ever since you were little.”
“This isn’t about fixing him, Mom. It’s about loving him exactly as he is.” I reach for her hands, and she doesn’t pull away this time. “He makes me feel alive in ways I never knew were possible. He sees the part of me that I’ve always tried to hide, and he accepts it. Embraces it.”
Axel remains kneeling, watching us with those intense green eyes. The predator in him is still there—it always will be—but there’s something else. Something softer when he looks at me.
“I know this is impossible to understand,” I say, squeezing Mom’s hands. “But I need you to try. For me.”
The weight of what I’m asking hangs between us. Mom looks from me to Axel and back again, her expression unreadable.
“The authorities will be looking for you—for all of us if I stay.”
A flash of hope ignites in my chest. She’s considering it.
“We’ve covered our tracks,” I assure her. “New identities, untraceable money. This house is purchased through layers of shell corporations. We’re safe here.”
Mom’s gaze drifts to the windows, reflecting the room’s warm light against the night outside. Her fingers are still intertwined with mine. I can see the war raging behind her eyes—her love for me battling against decades of right and wrong.
“I don’t know, Willow,” she says softly. “This is... a lot.”
I squeeze her hands. “I know. I’m not asking for an answer right now. Just... stay a few days. Get to know Axel—the real Axel.”
Axel rises from his kneeling position, his movements deliberately slow and non-threatening.
“I’ll give you two some space,” he says, voice gentle in a way few people have ever heard. “Tommy and I will finish securing the perimeter.”
As he steps back into the night, Mom releases an exhale. “He’s not what I expected.”
“No one’s ever seen this side of him before,” I reply, warmth blooming in my chest. “Just me, and now you.”
She studies my face, searching for signs of the daughter she thought she knew. “You really love him, don’t you?”
“More than I knew was possible.” The truth of it feels raw in my throat. “He sees me, Mom. All of me—even the parts I’ve always hidden from everyone else...”
“I never knew you felt that way,” she whispers, pain etching lines around her eyes.
“I couldn’t tell you. I was afraid you’d look at me exactly how you’re looking at me now.”
She flinches at my words but doesn’t correct me.
“I’m not asking you to understand everything right away,” I continue. “Just give us a chance. Give yourself a chance to see if maybe—just maybe—this could work.”
Mom looks out at the darkened windows. The night hides the ocean view but not its constant sound. Classical music still plays softly in the background, a thread connecting her old life to this strange new reality.
“Three days,” she finally says. “I’ll stay three days. Then I decide.”
It’s more than I dared hope for. My eyes fill with tears as I wrap my arms around her, guilt churning beneath my relief. She doesn’t know yet that there’s no easy way back. I’ve already sold her house—the home she’s lived in for thirty years, where she raised me and stored all her memories. She doesn’t know her bank accounts are nearly empty, the money transferred to untraceable accounts here in Brazil.
“Thank you, Mom. You won’t regret it.”
Even as I say the words, I wonder if I’m promising something I can’t possibly guarantee. The weight of my deception sits heavy on my chest. When she discovers what I’ve done—liquidating her life without permission—will she forgive me? Or will she see it as the ultimate betrayal, further proof that Axel has corrupted me beyond recognition?
I hold her tighter, as if I could somehow transfer my certainty that this was the only way, that I did it to protect her as much as us. But the truth is simpler and more selfish: I couldn’t bear to leave her behind.
The next morning, Mom doesn’t come down for breakfast. I leave a tray outside her door—fresh fruit, pastries from the local bakery, coffee the way she likes. When I return to check an hour later, she’s taken the coffee but the food is untouched.
When I step out onto the veranda, his expression is unreadable. “Give her time.”
“What if time isn’t enough?” The fear claws at my throat. “What if she can never accept this—accept us?”
“Then that’s her choice, but at least you gave her a chance, right?” His hand finds mine, warm and steady.
A little later, we bump into each other, and she heads toward the kitchen. An awkward silence lingers for a moment.
“Hey, Mom,” I murmur.
Her jaw clenches. “I keep trying to understand how my brilliant, compassionate daughter could throw away everything for this man.”
“Mom—”
“He’s killed people, Willow!” Her voice rises, breaking on my name. “Multiple people. Brutally. How can you possibly?—”
“I know what he’s done.” The words emerge stronger than I expected. “I’ve read every case file, seen every crime scene photo. I know exactly who he is.”
“And you love him anyway.” It’s not a question but a painful realization.
“Yes.” The simple truth is impossible to explain.
She sinks onto the bar stool, suddenly looking older than her sixty-two years. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”
The words cut deeper than I expected. “I’m still me, Mom. I’ve just stopped hiding parts of myself.”
Her eyes, so like mine, search my face. “What parts, Willow? What exactly have you been hiding from me all these years?”
I don’t have an answer she could bear to hear.
I’m painfully aware of the time slipping through my fingers as I walk along the beach beside Mom in silence on the second day.
“He’s different with me,” I state, breaking the silence.
The morning sun casts long shadows across the sand.
“All his victims probably thought the same thing,” she says quietly.
“It’s not like that. I told you he feels peace when he’s with me for the first time.”
Mom stops walking, turning to face me. “You believe that?”
“I’ve seen it. I’ve watched him change when I touch him. It’s like I anchor him somehow.”
She stares out at the ocean, processing. “And if that changes? If these ‘voices’ return and tell him to hurt you?”
The question has haunted me, too, though I’d never admit it aloud. “Axel wouldn’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do know that.” Even to my ears, the certainty sounds fragile.
Mom resumes walking, her footprints leaving temporary impressions in the wet sand. “I raised you to help people, Willow. To heal them. Not to?—”
“Not to love a broken man?” I finish for her.
“Not to throw your life away for someone who can never truly be fixed.” She stops again, tears tracking down her cheeks. “I’m trying to understand. I am. The problem is every time I look at him, I see the monster from the news reports. The killer.”
“Then look harder,” I beg. “See the man beneath that. The one who’s learning to control himself. The one who’d die to protect me.”
“Or kill for you?” The question hangs between us, uncomfortable and accurate.
I don’t deny it. Can’t deny it. “Would that be so wrong if it meant keeping me safe?”
Mom’s silence speaks volumes.
We walk back to the house in silence, the gulf between us as vast as the ocean beside us.