CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
SARAH
“Be strong. You’re going to change the world.”
That’s what my mom whispered to me when I was born. I’ve held onto those words all my life. But right now… I don’t feel strong enough.
“Sarah, talk to me. Where does it hurt?”
Tyler’s eyes didn’t close. Why didn’t they close?
“Michael, whose blood is this? Hers or his?”
James is rubbing his jaw again. He always does that when he’s stressed.
“Baby, can you hear me?”
The wind’s coming from the west. I can tell by the smell.
“You’re fine. You’re safe.”
I need to wash Dad’s old AC/DC shirt. He always said it made him look badass.
“James, let me take care of her.”
Michael makes the best pancakes in the world. He uses honey instead of sugar.
“I’m not leaving her, Michael.”
James’s sleeve is torn. I wonder if he noticed.
“You could move the bodies out of camp. She doesn’t need to see them.”
Oh, look, an ant just crawled across my boot.
“Sarah, you need to drink this. It’s gonna help with the pain.”
Michael’s laces are double-knotted. He always double-knots.
“Come on, baby. Drink. You’re gonna feel better, I promise.”
There’s a crack in the mug. It curves like a smile.
I must’ve done what they told me, because they didn’t ask again. But I didn’t feel the mug in my hand or taste anything at all.
“Sarah, I’m gonna take care of a few things. I’ll be back soon. Michael’s gonna take care of you, okay?”
I nod. Or maybe I don’t. I can’t feel my face. Can’t feel anything but the blood on my hands.
Memories keep looping in my head, like a carousel that won’t stop spinning. Half of me is here, in the present. The other half is still trapped in that tent with Tyler.
I’m sitting on a fallen log with my back to our old bonfire. I wince, stealing a quick glance over my shoulder at Tyler’s body inside my tent, just to be sure.
He’s still there. Still not moving. Still dead.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Oliver’s knife lying in the dirt, the same one James used to free himself and Michael, then to kill Russell and Oliver.
That noise I kept hearing while I was trapped in the tent with Tyler? It was James. He was fighting them. Trying to save me.
I hear James dragging the bodies across the dirt, away from our campsite.
I don’t look, though. I can’t.
The thought of seeing their dead faces again makes my stomach twist.
I blink as Michael crouches in front of me, a medical kit in his hands. There’s a sadness in his eyes that’s hard to look at.
Michael keeps surviving this world for me, and I always joke he’s my personal bodyguard, but we both know it’s not a joke. It’s a weight he’s been carrying ever since Dad’s last words. And now, after what Tyler did to me, Michael thinks he failed.
“The painkillers should be working by now,” Michael says. “I can start the stitches.”
I look back at him. He already has a bandage ready and some gauze to clean me up.
I exhale, but no words come out. My mouth is too dry.
I’m just… tired. So damn tired.
Michael stares at the purple bruises covering my skin. Marks of slaps, punches, fingers that grabbed me too hard.
His eyes drop to my torn clothes. My skirt, ripped halfway up my thigh. My shirt, slipping off one shoulder. I pull the blanket tighter around me, trying to cover up, but it’s too late. Last night, he saw things no brother should ever have to witness.
Am I still the same Sarah in his eyes?
He lowers his eyes and picks at a loose thread on the med kit. Then, his voice—hesitant, strained—breaks the silence I couldn’t.
“I’m really sorry, little sister. I should have protected you.”
He blames himself, like he could’ve stopped it.
I shake my head. “Big brother, what Dad asked you to do… it wasn’t fair. You couldn’t protect me forever, you know that, right?”
“I should’ve stopped it. At least James tried.”
“Don’t go there. That’s not your fault.”
He doesn’t look convinced, doesn’t even answer.
So I reach out and ruffle his hair the way he always does to mine, and the lines in his forehead soften a little.
“If anything hurts, tell me,” he says, gently dabbing the blood on my cheek and lip.
While he focuses on patching me up, I watch him instead.
He’s so careful, so gentle, even now, when his own wounds still need tending. That cut on his forehead may have stopped bleeding, but it’s gonna scar. Another reminder of tonight.
He winces when he moves, like he forgot he’s hurting too, but it’s enough to tell me he’s not as okay as he wants me to believe.
My gaze drifts to the fresh cigarette burns on his arm, and my stomach churns. They’re just like the burns Kevin gave James ten years ago.
It was all right there the whole time. The pieces of the puzzle we never put together.
Tyler was Kevin’s brother. He was the boy who ran away after James shot Kevin for the first time. He didn’t know James’s name back then, but he never forgot his face. And he never let go of that need for revenge.
It makes me sick, knowing he planned all of this.
“I’m sorry about Alicia,” I murmur, my throat tightening. “I’m sorry you weren’t with her.”
Michael’s jaw clenches. There’s a haze in his eyes, thick with pain. “I was where I should be. With you.”
He takes my right hand, and the blanket slips off my shoulder, exposing my blood-covered forearm. His eyes scan it, searching for the source, until they land on the cut.
“He cut your arm?” Michael asks, grabbing a clean cloth and starting to wipe the blood off, his touch way gentler than mine would’ve been.
I can’t bring myself to answer.
The cloth moves in steady circles over my arm. I can tell the exact second Michael sees it. His eyes lock on the spot, brows drawn together, and his fingers start to shake against my skin.
A chill creeps up my spine. I follow his gaze and finally see it for myself.
A bird. Carved into my flesh.
Tyler’s mark.
And now it’s part of me.
A sick wave of pain ripples through me, like my body’s reliving it. I want to cover it, scratch it off, scream… anything.
I tear my eyes away and look at Michael. He’s already staring at me, his expression frozen in shock.
Will James look at me like that too?
I lower my head, and tears start to fall.
Alicia had a tattoo, Tyler’s mark, branded on her. But mine… mine is deeper. I can cover it up one day, but I’ll still feel it every time I touch the scar.
“Do you think James will still love me after seeing this?” I ask.
Michael gently cups my chin, lifting my gaze to his.
“Don’t forget I was there, back at that school last year, when he told you he loved you for the first time.
You two were yelling at each other like an old married couple, even though you’d just started being together.
” He wipes my tears away with his thumb.
“I knew it then. You two are soulmates. You found each other in this life, but I swear, you’ve known each other in others.
That kind of love doesn’t just fade, Sarah. ”
I reach for his hand and grip it tight, my eyes begging. “Michael… please, don’t tell him about this.”
Just the thought of James seeing this twists my stomach into knots.
“You show him when you’re ready. But he needs to know eventually, Sarah.”
I press my lips together. It’s hard to breathe.
It doesn’t matter if I don’t tell him today. One day, he’s gonna see it.
Michael’s gaze flicks back to my torn clothes.
“Sarah, I—” he starts to say something, then stops.
His shoulders slump.
“I don’t want to ask you this, but… did Tyler… did he hurt you in any other way?”
We stare at each other. He doesn’t say the word, but I know what he’s asking.
“He tried…” I pause for a second. My mouth opens, then shuts.
I tug at Michael’s hand, desperate to pull the hem of my shirt down, like maybe that’ll make me feel clean again. But I can still feel Tyler’s fingers where they never should’ve been. I hate that I feel dirty when I didn’t do anything wrong.
My throat closes around the words, but I make myself say them.
“…but I stopped him.”
No, Tyler didn’t rape me, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t break something. Everywhere he touched feels ruined. Every rule he screamed still echoes in my head. Every slap he gave me left bruises I can’t see. Every single thing he did cracked the foundation of who I used to be.
And I’m gonna miss her. Miss me.
I feel Michael’s hold loosen around my hand, and then he finally exhales like he’s been holding that breath forever. But I don’t feel the same relief he does.
“What would Dad think of me now?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
Michael frowns. “What do you mean?”
“About me being… a killer.”
Am I still the child he raised, or have I turned into something else?
Michael studies my face. “You’re not a killer, Sarah.”
“Everyone has a role here. Lorelai cooks. Ryan fixes cars. You’re a doctor. And James is an Outsider. But what am I in this world? I’m not built to survive on my own, and you know that.”
“You survived last night.”
“Come on, Michael, look at me.” I gesture at myself, as if it’s not obvious what a mess I am.
“If I didn’t have you to patch me up, I would’ve bled out.
” I blow out a sigh, feeling defeated, just like my body.
“Dad taught me how to shoot, how to hunt, how to live in the woods. But this?” I shake my head. “This world is just…”
“Wrong,” he finishes for me.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I get it now. That’s why Dad never wanted me to leave the ranch. I’m not strong enough. Maybe Mom was wrong about me.”
“No, she wasn’t. She told you to be strong. And you have been.”
I blink at him, not expecting him to know that.
“You… you remember that?”
“Believe it or not, I didn’t sit at that dining table every night just to crack dumb jokes with Dad.
I wanted to hear him talk about Mom, too.
I don’t really remember her, but I liked knowing stuff about her.
Why do you think I read all her medical books?
Books, Sarah. Did you hear that? That’s plural. ”
I bite back a laugh, feeling a little lighter.
“Mom also said you’re going to change the world. And I believe her.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. You’re gonna be the first ballerina of the new world.” He grins. “You’re gonna help make it better. Help bring things back to how they used to be. You’ll see.”
“You really believe that?”
“I’m your big brother,” he says, dead serious. “I know it.”
Sometimes I feel empty where Dad’s laugh used to echo, and where his words made me feel brave. But when Michael talks, it’s like he brings a piece of that back.
Just looking at him is like seeing a ghost. Michael is practically a younger version of our dad. Sometimes it makes me smile. Other times, it makes the ache of missing him worse. It’s strange and comforting all at once, like a part of Dad is still here, following me around.
“Do you know why I didn’t cry when Dad died?”
Michael tilts his head, curious.
“Because he’s still with me. I see him in you every day, in every little thing you do.”
Michael lets a smile slip, his cheeks flushing.
His attention shifts back to my forearm as he finishes the last few stitches on the wound Tyler left behind. By the time I look down again, he’s already wrapped it up.
Michael reaches for the medical kit, which is nearly empty now.
When I packed that thing, I knew we’d use it on me eventually—I’m the accident magnet, after all. But I never thought we’d use almost everything in just one day.
Michael presses his lips together, fingers hovering over what little’s left in the bag. Something’s clearly bothering him, and I already know what it is. The one thing we’ve both been avoiding.
My broken fingers.
No pill, no potion, nothing is gonna shield me from the jolt of pain that comes with putting those bones back in place.
“Looking for a magic wand in there?” I joke.
Michael shoots me a look, amused. “Yeah. If I pull out a rabbit, I’m done hunting.”
He sets the kit on the ground and takes a deep breath. His eyes lock onto my broken fingers. Slowly, he reaches for my hand, and I pull back without thinking.
The body never forgets.
The pain isn’t just a memory. It’s still alive. Still kicking.
Michael pauses. “It’ll be okay, little sister. I’m right here with you.”
I lick my dry lips as his hand reaches for mine again. The simplest touch is all it takes to break the dam. I sob, hard. Tears blur my vision, my breath catches, and suddenly everything feels heavy—my body, my eyelids, even the air around me.
It’s all too much. Too fast. Too painful.
Michael immediately pulls back and wraps me in a hug. I bury my face in his shoulder and cry even harder.
He doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t say anything either. He just holds me.
Poor Michael, always carrying the weight of protecting me. And that weight keeps getting heavier.
When he finally manages to set one of my fingers back in place, the pain is sharp, blinding. I don’t scream, though.
Black spots crowd my vision, and Michael’s face blurs in front of me. My head slumps forward, too heavy to hold up, and my chin brushes my chest.
Michael shifts closer. “It’s okay, little sister. You can rest now. Me and James will be right here when you wake up.” His voice is soft in my ear.
Then everything goes dark, and I pass out.
Maybe that’s for the best. At least this way, Michael doesn’t have to hear me cry again. Maybe, without meaning to, I can spare him that.