Chapter 14 #2
He let her go without a word.
She walked to the back door and stared out at the woods. Her movements were slow, deliberate as she touched the doorframe. A quiet war was playing out inside her.
She’d never told anyone everything. Not even Brie.
It had been too dangerous.
Too painful.
Too much.
But something had changed. Being here. Being with him.
She was tired of hiding.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of being alone.
She felt him behind her again, the warmth of his body just shy of touching hers.
Then his hands found her hips—gentle, grounding.
And need coiled low in her belly. Not just physical. Emotional. The terrifying kind. The kind that shattered walls.
She closed her eyes, breathing in and out as the memories of the aroma, the feel of the humid dampness in the air, the tension that never seemed to uncoil inside her rose and spilled over as if she were a child again.
The secrets of her life overflowed as if the dam holding her emotions had been struck by an invisible hammer.
Jakarta, Indonesia
Sixteen years ago
The air carried sun-baked dust, fried noodles, and the sweetness of rain that wasn’t quite ready to fall.
Kiki perched on the stoop outside their flat, dragging a stick through the dirt, drawing wobbly circles that were supposed to be cats.
The red paint of their doorway peeled in curling strips, the plywood window shutters sagged, and bright shirts and faded sarongs fluttered from laundry lines like prayer flags between the rusting bicycles and crumbling walls.
Her mother hummed softly above her, pinning another shirt to the line. It was one of the lullabies Kiki loved—something about the stars and the sea. Kiki hummed along under her breath, her bare feet dusted with gray powder from the street.
She looked up when a shadow crossed her drawing.
“Mama,” she started to protest as a dusty sandal scuffed through her circles.
Before she could finish, her mother scooped her up, her arms trembling under Kiki’s slight weight. Kiki felt the change immediately. The hum was gone. The song stopped. Her mother’s heart beat wildly, fluttering like a trapped bird.
“Hold on to me, sayang. Hold on tight,” her mother whispered in a raw voice.
Kiki’s stick fell from her hand. She didn’t understand, only that her mother’s fear was thick like the honey she sometimes put on her toast. The air itself seemed to shrink around them.
Her mother burst through the door, rushing up the narrow stairwell as fast as her legs could go. Kiki clung to her neck, bumping against the chipped plaster wall, too scared to breathe.
“Mama, what—”
“Quiet, Kiki!” Her mother’s whisper cracked.
Kiki could feel her slipping. Her small body slid down her mother’s hip as they reached the top landing. The door to the roof slammed open, and a blinding glare of white light flooded over them.
“Mama?”
Her mother’s breath caught, and then everything exploded.
Hands. Hands grabbing her—another set pulling her mother away as she fought and screamed.
Voices. Growling out threats. Horrible, mean voices.
Yelling. Her mother told her to run.
One man grabbed her mother’s arm. Another yanked Kiki in the opposite direction.
“MAMA!” Kiki cried.
Her mother twisted, yelled her name, reached back—but the men were too strong.
“Don’t let them see, Kiki! Don’t—”
The words vanished in a sob.
Kiki fought wildly, kicking, biting, but the man’s grip on her wrist was iron. Tears streamed down her face. She wanted to stop him. She could stop him. But Mama had said no one must know.
Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned everything.
Then she heard her mother cry out—a short, terrible sound that made the world go still.
“Mama?”
The man jerked her arm, and something inside her snapped.
She turned her head and pressed her tiny palm against the man’s arm. A pulse—soft, invisible—rushed from her skin into his.
He froze. His mouth opened in shock, then his fingers went slack, and he collapsed.
Kiki stumbled backward as she gazed down at the man’s vacant eyes, her chest heaving. Her gaze darted toward the sound of her mother’s voice. She ran—bare feet slapping the hot concrete—and rounded the corner.
Her mother was on her knees, one hand clutching a wound blooming red across her chest. A knife jutted from her ribs. The man beside her looked startled—like he didn’t understand what he’d done.
Kiki’s knees buckled. “Mama!”
Her mother’s eyes found hers. So full of love. Of sorrow.
“Run,” she rasped. “Go to Father Bishop.”
Kiki shook her head violently, sobbing.
The man turned toward her.
She lifted her hand, trembling. Her small fingers curled into a fist.
The man’s eyes widened—and he collapsed.
The rooftop went still.
Kiki crawled to her mother, the concrete scraping her knees. She pressed both hands against the wound, trying to stop the blood. “Mama, please, please—”
Her mother’s breath came shallow. “Shhh, sayang… no tears.”
Her head tipped forward. Her eyes went glassy.
“Mama?”
Kiki wanted to scream when she heard the voices rising from below. She wanted to tear the world apart when the heavy boots pounded up the stairwell.
More men.
More men like the one who hurt her beautiful mama. They rounded the corner and stopped short. Kiki could hear them muttering prayers and curses under their breath as they took in the two bodies sprawled in the heat.
She didn’t look at them. She couldn’t.
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. Go to Father Bishop.
Arms grabbed her from behind. She screamed, twisting. “No! Let me go!”
Her mother’s body lay still. Her thick, black hair had come loose from its braid. Something inside Kiki broke. The grief, the terror—it all turned to sound.
She screamed.
And the power inside her answered.
The men dropped where they stood—one after another—their eyes wide, their mouths open, their hearts bursting in their chests.
Then… silence.
Kiki crawled back to her mother and pressed her face into her hair. Her hand reached down to press over her mother’s heart. She waited for a heartbeat that never came. The world smelled of heat, rain, and blood.
Voices echoed from the stairwell below—more were coming.
She lifted her head, her vision blurred, and staggered to the low wall at the edge of the roof. Her mother had hidden a rope ladder there.
“Only for emergencies,” she’d said. “Like climbing your favorite tree.”
Kiki’s fingers shook as she dragged it up and over the edge. The rope thumped down the wall.
She turned back one last time. Her mother lay surrounded by the fallen, her face peaceful at last.
“I’ll come back for you,” Kiki whispered.
Her breath came in uneven hiccups as she swung her small legs over the edge and climbed down into the maze of narrow streets—running, barefoot and trembling, away from the heat, the blood, and the only home she’d ever known.
Kiki blinked as she looked up at Nikos, tears glimmering in her eyes. Her vision shimmered, but not from sorrow alone—there was something about the way he saw her, as if he was trying to carry the weight of her memories with her.
She stared around her in confusion. When did he guide her to the kitchen table without her noticing? Heck, when did he make her tea? She looked down at the steaming mug on the table with a dazed expression. The peppermint curled upward, crisp and soothing.
“When did…” she murmured.
“You looked like you needed something to comfort you,” he said quietly.
She wrapped her hands around the mug and breathed in, letting the sharp, fragrant aroma seep into the cracks inside her. The warmth spread through her chest as she sipped—soothing, anchoring.
“I killed all those men—with just a thought. I wanted to hurt them like they hurt my mother. Like they wanted to hurt me,” she whispered, her eyes dazed and unfocused.
He sat across from her, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes steady. “What happened next?”
Kiki’s lips wobbled. She lowered the cup.
“I went to the orphanage,” she said. “The one where Father Bishop was. Mama had been taking me there for a while. She said it was a safe place. She’d talk with him while I played with the other kids in the courtyard.”
Nikos’s brow furrowed gently. “What about your father?”
She shook her head. “Mama didn’t talk about him. Just that he was an American soldier. He went back to the States before I was born. I don’t even know his name.”
Nikos nodded slowly, as if tucking that piece away without judgment. “And Father Bishop? What was he like?”
Kiki’s eyes drifted closed. She bowed her head. The comfort of the peppermint scent still lingered—but it was fading.
She murmured, “He was… different.”
“How was he different?”
Kiki looked up at Nikos with a far-away look in her eyes. “He was former military. I overheard him and Mama talking about that. He was like the men who came for me—only he wanted to protect me.”
Talenta Kasih Orphanage, Jakarta
Sixteen years earlier
The bell over the front gate jangled when she pushed through it, the sound far too cheerful for a world that had just fallen apart.
Her legs were shaking. Her arms were scraped from climbing. Her clothes clung to her skin, streaked with her mother’s blood.
Children were laughing somewhere inside—shouts and the thump of a ball echoed from the courtyard.
Kiki stumbled forward.
She slipped through the arched doorway into a shaded hall. The painted walls were covered in bright murals—smiling suns, open books, birds in flight. The contrast with what she had just left behind made her chest ache.
“Child? Are you lost?”
She looked up. A nun stood at the far end of the corridor, her voice soft but concerned.
Kiki’s throat worked up and down. She couldn’t speak at first.
“Father Bishop,” she choked out hoarsely.
The nun’s face softened. “He’s in his study. Come with me.”
Her feet felt like they didn’t belong to her as she followed the swaying shape of the nun’s robes.
The office door creaked open. Warm sunlight spilled across dark wooden floors.
Father Bishop sat at his desk by the window, his white collar stark against his sun-dark skin. He looked up—then froze.
“Kiki?”
At the sound of her name, her legs gave out.
She fell to her knees. Drawing her legs up, she wrapped her thin arms around them, buried her face against her scraped flesh, and started crying.
He was there in an instant, his arms strong, yet gentle, as he cradled her.
“Where is your mother?”
She opened her mouth—the words choked by her sobs. “She told me to come here. She said… she said to go to you.”
“Oh, child,” he breathed, holding her close. “You’re safe now.”
But she wasn’t. She never would be. She could feel the power building inside her again. That buzzing, cracking pulse under her skin. Her gift. Her curse.
“She’s gone,” Kiki whispered. “They hurt her. I-I… hurt them back.”
She stopped, her voice trembling. Her fists clenched in the fabric of his shirt. She didn’t look at his face.
“I made them fall, Papà Bishop. All of them.”
His arms stiffened around her. She waited for fear. Disgust. Anger.
But all she heard was his heartbeat. Strong. Steady.
He murmured, “Some gifts are born from pain. That doesn’t make them evil, Kiki. It only means you need help learning how to carry them.”
A shudder ran through her petite body, and she melted against him, clinging to him like a lifeline. Sobs wracked her body. Long, loud, ugly ones that made her feel as if her body would break apart.
She didn’t know how long she cried, but Papà Bishop held her through all of it. Refusing to let her grief and pain break her.