Chapter 3
Three
Emory
My hands were shaking and sweaty, and my grip was too tight on the handles of my bike. I had only stopped long enough to grab my backpack, helmet, and keys, yet I didn’t stop the bike or pull over. Protective gear wasn’t going to stop me from getting killed by my past life.
I sped up, the road a blur as I merged onto the highway, as far away from downtown as I could get.
The ringing in my helmet from my Bluetooth abruptly stopped.
“Hello?”
“He’s here. He saw me. He knows I’m alive.”
“Who?” He didn’t seem affected by my distress.
“Enoch.”
“The kid from your high school?”
“Yes! He’s fucking here in Anchorage. Showed up at my work.”
He released a long sigh, more annoyed sounding than worried. “Okay. We’ve planned for a recognition event. Get your ass to the meeting point. A Marshall agent will be there waiting. Your place will be cleaned within the hour.”
My blood was rushing in my ears as I merged onto the highway.
My breath caught in my throat and suddenly it was as if my lungs had stopped functioning voluntarily and I needed to force the oxygen inside.
Fuck, breathe dammit. Not now. Dammit. Not now.
I weaved around a semi, the road like a box closing in on me.
“Emory? Did you hear me? Get to the meeting point? Do you remember where it is?”
“Fuck! This isn’t fair! I don’t want to leave!”
My throat was clogged with the urge to cry, and I let out a scream of frustration. I will not fucking break my record. Three fucking years since I’ve cried and I will not let him ruin it.
“Emory, you know what you signed up for.”
“I know. I know. I just…” I sucked in a deep breath, trying to will myself to breathe like a normal fucking human being. “I can’t live like this anymore. I’m so fucking tired, Bradley. I don’t think I can do this again. I’d rather—Oh fuck!”
I swerved around the car merging directly in front of me, aiming for the shoulder. Suddenly, I was on my side sliding through the gravel.
My head bashed against the hard ground, and I rolled, tucking my arms into my chest until I finally stopped. My whole body was on fire, little rocks piercing my skin.
I let out a scream, unphased by the pain but frustrated to hell that my day had turned to fucking shit.
Six.
I screamed again, half-relieved and half-terrified. Six lives.
“Emory, answer me dammit! Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”
“No.” My voice was hoarse from screaming and I could hear someone pulling over on the highway.
I rolled onto my back, my backpack cushioning me from the gravel.
My head throbbed where I hit the ground.
I blinked up at the blue sky, realizing I’d have to explain to this Good Samaritan that I didn’t need help in the next however-fuck-long it took for them to reach me from where they’d parked ten feet away from me.
“I’m fine. I think. Just a road rash and a bump on the head. ”
“Okay, I’ll send a car to pick you up and tow your bike.”
“Fuck! My bike.”
I was getting onto my feet just as the stranger called out, “Hey, you okay?”
I hobbled over to my overturned bike. With an audible groan of exertion, I picked her up, turned off the ignition, and gave her a once over. Thank fuck.
She seemed to have just gotten scratched.
“Miss?”
The person, a man in his thirties, probably, with a beer belly was looking me over. Thankfully, I was still wearing a helmet so he couldn’t see my face.
“Yeah man. I’m good. Thanks for stopping. You can leave now.”
The guy raised a brow, seemingly surprised by my brashness.
“Um, okay. I-if you’re sure.”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
He gave me another long look before nodding and turning on his heel. I watched him until he’d merged back onto the road and was out of sight.
“Brad?”
“Yeah. I’m here, kid.”
“My bike is fine. Don’t call anyone.”
“Listen, Emory,” he started and by his tone I already knew I was in for a lecture.
“I understand it’s difficult living this way, but what’s the alternative?
That Enoch kid isn’t gonna keep his mouth shut.
He’ll tell his friends, his family. Who will tell their friends, their family.
WITSEC only works when there’s complete secrecy.
I cannot guarantee your safety if you stay there. ”
“I know that.”
“You’re putting his life at risk and anyone he tells, too. A Marshal will handle the kid. You need to get out of there.”
I kicked the gravel beside my bike in frustration.
“This isn’t fucking fair! Why?! Why now?! Hell I shouldn’t have even joined this damn program. I’ve wasted all this fucking time trying to outrun the inevitable.” My hands shook with anger.
“It’s been almost three years. I finally have a job I like and friends who don’t ask questions.
And now this motherfucker comes in and ruins everything.
It’s my fucking retribution! How can it not be?
It’s what I deserve, right? ‘For whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.’ And his face, Bradley.
Fuck! His face when he realized it was me and I couldn’t say anything.
Hell, it was like watching someone die and not doing a damn thing to save them.
And believe me, I know what that fucking looks like. ”
“Emory your safety is more important than some guilt you have over leaving behind a high school crush. I told you—the kid will be handled. You don’t need to worry about him.”
“Handled?! You’re not listening to me, Bradley!
” I heaved another breath, my body burning from the road rash and my lips tingling from my erratic breathing.
“I’d rather be dead. I’d rather be dead right now than have to keep running away from the inevitable.
At least if I kill myself, it won’t have been by the hands of someone from my past. I cannot keep doing this.
I don’t want to. I can’t wait anymore for number seven. I’m done.”
“Christ, kid. You can’t say shit like that without expecting me to put you on suicide watch. Are you fucking with me? Because if this just some tantrum so I don’t have the ability to move you right away, I’m gonna rip you a new one.”
My heart was pounding and suddenly everything felt clear. It was the most obvious solution, ironic considering everything, but maybe the one thing I should have actually done a long time ago.
“Shut the fuck up, Bradley! I’m not a fucking brat throwing a tantrum. I’m telling you that I’m genuinely fucking done. And I don’t need you anymore. So don’t worry, I won’t waste any more of your precious time.”
“Emory,” he sighed heavily, again, and I was tempted to just hang up on the fucker.
But the tone of his voice, the emotion behind it, reminded me of all Bradley had done to care for me, to ensure my safety.
I shut my mouth and listened. “I’m calling your therapist. You’re gonna drive there right now and let her talk some sense into you.
Shit,” he muttered under his breath, and I heard the sound of a keyboard clacking in the background.
“You’re a real pain in my ass making me fly all the way out there.
You’ve got eight hours before I land and drag your ass out of there, kicking and screaming if I have to.
Because I will. You are government fucking property, Emory.
You cannot just decide to no longer listen.
And I’m not risking your life for some first love bullshit.
I care way too much about you to let you do this to yourself.
Now get on your bike or I’ll send someone to drive you to her office.
When you’re done, don’t leave your damn apartment.
I’ll send agents to watch until I get there, but I swear to God, Emory, I’ll make them cuff you to a radiator if you can’t listen.
You wait for me and you don’t fucking talk to nobody but your therapist. Leave the fucking kid alone! ”
“Bradley!”
I pulled my phone from my ear when I was met with silence. The fucker ended the call. I narrowly avoided throwing my phone into the woods beside me. I settled for kicking the gravel some more and screaming like a fucking child.
This is fucking fucked. Damn you, Enoch! Why didn’t you fucking move on and forget about me? Why did you have to beg and plead for me to be real and rip my heart out of my chest in the process?
My phone buzzed in my hand.
Brad: 15 minutes or I’m sending an agent out. And it better not be to find you’ve offed yourself over a pathetic ex-boyfriend. I will not have you fucking up my record of zero witness deaths because you decided to throw a fit about moving again.
Fuck you, Bradley. Sarah isn’t gonna change my mind. I’m fucking done.
◆◆◆
I could feel the weight of it in my backpack and my hands were twitching to grab it. I just needed some fucking relief. Something to take the edge off. Something to make telling my therapist I was gonna kill myself a little easier.
I was already cut to shreds on my arms and legs from the road rash, but I was craving a different kind of pain. The kind that woke up my numb body for a moment of bliss.
I closed myself in the bathroom and threw my bag on the counter. Every second was too long as I rifled through my things until I reached the inside pocket and pulled them out.
My pulse quickened just at the sight of the shiny blades and my skin pebbled with goosebumps in anticipation.
Just one. Or two.
And then I’d be okay enough to walk into Sarah’s office and listen to her try to talk me out of offing myself.
I pulled up my shirt with my left hand, just enough to reveal an area of unmarked skin. The first cut was like eating an edible. It never hit right away, and I was too fucking impatient to wait and quickly went for a second and third cut.
I sighed as the endorphins hit my bloodstream, my eyes rolling into the back of my head.
It was so fucked that I was addicted to hurting myself, but I convinced myself it wasn’t that bad. At least it wasn’t heroin. At least it was my own pain I was addicted to and not that of others.