Chapter Fifteen
Roland laid Marissa down gently on the concrete floor. If he’d known she’d run, he’d have kept her tied up. Look at her now: blood on her cheeks and wrists, deep pits in her nose, scratches on her arms. She was covered with coal dust. Purple bruises were already rising to the surface of her skin.
He reached for the jug of antifreeze, pouring out just enough to complete his plan—born together, die together—and took a swig.
He swallowed the liquid as if it were liquor, in one quick gulp, relishing the taste of what would bring him to the other side of this terrible world.
He held Marissa’s hand, knowing what he had to do, and ruing it just the same.
He couldn’t take the chance of her running again.
He bound her hands with tape, murmuring to himself.
His mother’s voice came back to him. “I can’t be trusted.
My hands,” she’d said, and looked at her hands as if they’d belonged to someone else.
“I just can’t chance slipping again, hurting Marissa.
She’s your responsibility, Roland. You must take care of her.
” Roland reached up and touched the hills and valleys of his scars.
He’d take care of Marissa. No one would take her away again.
The memory played over and over in his mind, his promise engrained. “No slippery fingers,” he mumbled.
Roland sat next to her, sweating, scratching his hands raw. Bits of skin and blood flecked the floor beneath them. “Keep you safe,” he mumbled.
She awoke with a cough and a loud moan. She lay on the floor, her arms bound, her body curled into a fetal position. Her swollen eyelids forced her eyes into painful slits. Marissa turned her head in his direction, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Help me, Roland, please help me,” she whispered.
“I am helping you,” he said.
Sobs pushed forth from Marissa’s chest. She raised her bound hands to her bruised face. She flinched, her face contorted with pain.
Roland watched with sadness. Why did she have to run? “Like when we were young. Remember? Remember how I kept you safe?”
She looked up at him with hatred in her eyes. A spear shot through Roland’s heart.
“No,” she sobbed. “You didn’t help me, Roland.”
He turned his body toward her, raising his voice. “How can you say that? I kept you safe!”
“You’re insane,” she spat.
He stood and paced. “No, no I’m not. You told me, Marissa. You told me!”
“I didn’t tell you shit.”
“You said I wasn’t crazy. You said you loved me.”
“When did Marissa tell you that? When?” she yelled.
“When…when they were taking you away from me. Don’t you remember? You were so little. All I wanted was to protect you.”
Marissa pushed herself up with a cry, stumbled, and leaned against the pole she’d been tied to earlier. “You’re crazy,” she seethed.
“I’m not crazy. You told me so. You promised.”
“I lied.”
Roland curled his hands into fists and stomped toward her, stopping inches from her shaking body. “Why are you saying that?”
“It’s true.”
“It’s not true! They brainwashed you! You love me.”
Marissa’s body swayed from side to side, then her legs buckled. She fell to her knees, pulling her bound wrists to her stomach, moaning in pain. “I want my mother. Let me go. Take me out of here!” she yelled.
“Mom gave you to me. She can’t take care of you. She has slippery fingers.”
“My mother! I want my fucking mother, not your mother!” she sobbed.
Roland covered his face with his hands. The muscles in his neck twitched. “Shut up! Shut up!”
“Get me outta here!” she yelled. Her hair was wild and matted, and her eyes were shooting daggers in Roland’s direction.
“Shut up!” Roland opened and clenched his fists repeatedly. His shoulders rounded forward. He focused on the ticking clock. Only twenty-two more hours and she’d be silent, she’d be happy.
Marissa keeled over, falling onto her side, and crying out in pain.
Roland stood above her like a giant. She looked like a small child. Tension drained from his face, replaced with empathy. He crouched next to her and put his hand on her arm.
She pushed him off. “Don’t touch me!”
“Marissa.”
“I’m not fucking Marissa! I’m Kara! Kara Knight!” she cried.
“That’s who they told you you were,” he said angrily. “You’re Marissa Greer, born October 28, 1983. You’re my twin.” He stood and paced, each step quick and heated.
“You’re crazy.”
“Don’t you remember, Marissa? Did they steal your memories, too?
At Lowrey’s, you used to cry at night. You were always so scared.
” He looked away, the memory pulling at him.
“You’d call my name. ‘Ro,’ you’d say in your tiny little voice.
I’d go to your room and hold you until they’d come and tell me I was sick, disgusting.
” His face softened. He reached for his scars.
“You are!” Marissa trembled. Her eyes danced wildly around the room.
“Don’t say that!” He brought fists to his forehead. Blood rushed to his face. “You love me!” he spat.
“I hate you!” she said in a deep, furious voice.
Roland turned away, punching his fists against his thighs and mumbling under his breath, “Love me. You love me.”
“They’re gonna find me and they’re gonna kill you,” Marissa hissed.