CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
He died after the sun went down. His last breaths were taken when the light died over the horizon. I wanted him to think he was alone, but I was there, taking it all in, needing to see it for myself.
I crept to him slowly and knelt beside his immobile form.
His eyes were wide open, unmoving. His face was still wet from tears.
He had dug his fingers into the earth, his cheek pressed into his shoulder, seeking comfort that didn’t come.
His hair stirred when the gentle wind swept through the grounds. Nothing else moved.
Death was a lonely experience, but it was made worse when you left the world behind knowing nobody would mourn you. I told myself to forget him after this moment. To leave him here, in this place, where he belonged.
But it still hurt sharper than a blade, hotter than fire, and colder than ice. It hurt in a way that pierced the entire soul, so wholly, not a shred of it was left untouched.
Because as I was letting him go, I had to let my former self go. The gentle girl with the hopeful heart. I shed tears, but I was selfish because they were for me. I didn’t really say goodbye to Oliver at that moment. I said goodbye to the Daisy I had been.
I looked up at the stars, and then I smiled. “Welcome out of the cave, my friend. It’s a bit colder out here, but the stars are just beautiful.”
Tears slid down my face. “I love you, June.”
Then I walked out of there, barefoot, in nothing but my nightgown. Weak and covered in blood and bruises, I didn’t stop walking. I stared up at the stars, thanking them for their company.
They would lead me where I needed to go.
I’d been walking for what felt like hours. After I’d made it out of the dirt trails, asphalt greeted me beneath my feet. I walked up a steep, unending hill, and then down and then up again. Not a single car passed by, a hint that I was more painfully far from civilization than I realized.
I passed a few signs, though, pointing to Ammonite Falls, and then I sort of knew where I was going.
Another hour later, and there was a scattering of homes on large plots of land. I could have gone to one of them and banged on a door, but I didn’t want to raise alarms. I had to see this through. I was the wife who left the professor; therefore, I needed to appear unremarkable.
Not a good start, though. I was aware my nightgown was filthy. I had washed the blood from my face and cleaned the dirt from my neck at the cabin, but the bruising remained if you looked long enough. I was also barefoot.
Still.
It wouldn’t matter. Not when I saw the lights of a pub down the road.
It looked like a star to me, all blinking lights.
I moved to it, aching everywhere, determined to seek shelter.
The place would be buzzing. Hopefully most patrons would be too drunk to notice, plus there were pockets around the entrance that were dimly lit.
I approached, wincing as my bare feet stepped over the stones scattered across the parking lot.
I breathed deeply through the pain and paused in my step as the entrance burst open and a laughing couple stepped out.
I pressed myself into one of the dark pockets by the dumpster, wrapping my arms tightly around my chest. They didn’t notice me, but the entrance door was left ajar, and music filtered out of it.
I shut my eyes, relaxing my body against the brick wall as a deep voice carried through the open doorway.
I stilled. The song was about being guided through fear and finding your way toward the light. June used to love it. As the singer’s voice moved through me, it felt like she was right there beside me.
I broke apart.
My body wracked with sobs. Emotion erupted out of me. Even saying goodbye to my former self didn’t fill me with the freedom I felt in this very moment. I felt the words run over me, felt the relief and surrender in the core of me.
It’s over. It’s over. It’s truly over. He can’t hurt us anymore.
But there was still one more thing I needed to do before I could truly believe it.
The landline phone hung on the wall and was attached to a cord. Beside it was a taped piece of paper with various numbers for taxi services. I picked up the phone and put it to my ear. I dialed a number that wasn’t a taxi and waited there, in the front room of the pub, for the rings to sound.
All the while, my heart was beating in my throat. I held my breath, terrified I was too late. That Oliver had known where to strike before bringing me to the cabin.
“Hello,” a voice said.
My knees buckled and I swallowed down a cry. I sniffed, trying to gather my voice. I could only manage a whisper. “Rowe…”
His breath caught in his throat. He choked out, “Mom?”
“It’s me.”
His breaths came out harder. Panting now. “It’s been weeks…Mom, it’s been weeks…Mom…”
“It’s over.”
Now his breathing stilled. There was nothing but silence on the line. Then, “What’s over?”
“Sweetheart, we’re out.”
“What does that mean? Where is Oliver?”
“He will never hurt us again.”
“Mom…” Doubt crept into his tone.
My voice came stronger, surer. “Rowe, it’s over.”
He didn’t speak for so long, but I knew he was there. He didn’t challenge me. His breaths grew steady as his disbelief ebbed away. “What do we do now?”
I smiled, tears spilling down my face. The answer was so simple and easy. “We live.”
“He can’t hurt you anymore?” he demanded.
“No.”
“I can finally see you?”
My smile grew wider. “Yes!”
“How did you do it?” he asked, his voice breaking as he cried softly.
It had been so long since we’d seen each other.
I’d made sure Rowe was out of Oliver’s grasp.
Over the years, I’d found solace in him going to boarding school.
Now he was still there. His contact with Oliver was infrequent, but only because his contact with me had to be, too.
We had agreed it had to be this way. Rowe knew what Oliver did to me when I stopped him from going to school that summer he was eight.
When the shuttle he would have been on crashed, Rowe understood that I wasn’t crazy.
He played his part for Oliver, though he secretly believed me.
While Oliver believed he’d dampened the bond between Rowe and me, he couldn’t be more wrong.
Rowe and I had an unspoken bond, one confirmed through exchanged looks and hidden touches.
He knew I was trapped. In the rare moments we shared alone, he vowed that one day he would save me.
Except…
“I needed to save myself,” I told Rowe.
Perhaps Rowe understood what I was implying in that moment. If he didn’t, he would in the weeks to come when police discovered Oliver’s body on that cabin property. They would find the texts from his student and discover he’d plagiarized the content his own students fed him.
They would find me eventually. They would question me, perhaps even suspect me. I would break apart and tell them he was not the man he appeared to be. They would search the property and finally put names to the faceless victims.
The world would know the real Oliver Black.
I stared at my shaking hands. I was dizzy, anxious, confused.
Alone.
I was completely alone, and though I was used to that feeling, this was a different sort of alone.
I kept thinking of the many “lasts” in my life.
Like the day Rowe held my hand for the last time when he was eleven.
We were about to cross the street to his summer jiu jitsu class, and when I had extended my hand out for him, he’d held it, but it was loose.
I felt it slipping the closer we got to the studio.
By the time we reached the doors, he had let go, and he’d never held it as we crossed a street again.
Or the day he’d packed up his suitcase, gave me a hug and said, “Goodbye, Mom. I’ll see you during winter break. Hang in there. Alright?”
The fact my sixteen-year-old boy knew to say that to me. Like he could sense the fragility of my spirit. Without him, I was going to spiral.
I did.
But the spiral needed to happen. I needed to break. To see all the shattered pieces of me.
I needed to put myself back together again.
I got off the phone with Rowe shortly after.
I knew I should call for a taxi. I wasn’t sure where I should go.
If it were up to me, I’d disappear for a while, tucked out of sight.
A place disconnected from the world where I could relearn to breathe and live.
But first, I just needed to sit down and breathe.
I trudged deeper into the pub and found a seat at the bar.
I ordered a tall glass of water, ignoring the strange look the bartender shot me.
A moment later, the glass of water was settled before me.
Unable to look away, I spun the glass around, absorbed by it.
I thought about what water had meant inside that room, and what it meant now.
Then I shut my eyes and breathed again. I didn’t know what freedom felt like until that very moment.
Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me.
I heard the heavy sound of something hitting the floor. I cracked open an eye, taking in the long guitar case resting against the empty seat beside me.
“Hello,” a voice cut through the noise, and my body came alive at the sound of it. An arm came out, a hand settling not far from mine. My heart sped with anticipation as my gaze darted from the large hand to the tall, broad form looking down at me. The most beautiful man looked back at me.
My heart stopped, then restarted. He smiled, his blue eyes holding me hostage for a moment there before he said, “You look lost.”
Yes, I wanted to say as I smiled slowly in response.
I am lost on purpose, and I’ve never been freer.