Chapter 40 #2
With the internal rebuke, I suddenly find myself on the edge of a precipice, the wind pushing on my back, calling me to take the last step forward into the abyss with promises of better things beyond.
When I look down into that unknown, I don’t feel fear about what’s waiting for me.
Taking a hard look at the course of my life up until now, I don’t know why I was so afraid of taking the leap before.
Now, as I turn and look out at the parking lot and the sprawling, barren landscape beyond, I take a deep breath, the crisp November air filling my lungs. It feels like the first time I’ve breathed without constriction—unencumbered.
So, without further ado, I take the step off the cliff into the unknown, and my heart soars.
I don’t bother going back in to collect my things—nothing I left there is irreplaceable, and the sooner I can leave this hell hole in the dust, the better. I hop into my truck and drive toward home, leaving the old parts of me behind that aren’t serving me anymore.
Luke doesn’t return any of my calls or texts for the rest of the day.
My imagination runs through all the horrible scenarios that could explain why not: Frank definitely killed him.
He’s dead in a ditch somewhere on the side of the road, or his body is hidden on a plot of farmland where no one would find him until the next harvest. Perhaps he got into a terrible accident on the drive home and is lying in a morgue, and no one can identify him.
I may have even called the local hospitals to check if they had any John Does matching his description, but to no avail.
Then my brain takes the inevitable turn to the oblique, and rational thought gives way to the ridiculous.
Are we fighting? Is that why he’s ignoring me?
He’s still mad at me from earlier… Maybe he’s finally decided he’s well and truly done with my bullshit and drove straight back to New York in a fugue state.
Is he breaking up with me? Does he hate me?
The longer I go without a response, the more my imagination runs wild, and I’m trapped under its incessant prodding with every new horrible scenario it conjures up. No matter how far-fetched or outlandish.
Misty must be able to tell I’m stressed because she follows me as I pace throughout the house, keeping a firm eye on me but never getting close enough to let me pet her.
It’s like she’s still uncertain about my trustworthiness but can’t bring herself to act aloof around me, either.
There’s something oddly nurturing in how she hovers, meowing at me like she’s telling me to chill out.
When I eventually lay down on the bed upstairs and get on the internet, scouring through Luke’s Instagram—for comfort and distraction—Misty gives me company.
She curls her legs underneath her body and begins to purr, and the rhythmic vibration is hypnotic.
She stares at me for a long while, those uncanny blue eyes so reminiscent of her owners, quietly assessing me.
At one point, she blinks slowly, then decides to get more comfortable, curling up into a tight roll next to my head before falling asleep.
And eventually, with my phone still in my hand, I drift off to sleep, too.
I’m woken up by Misty standing directly on my chest, the full weight of her little body exerting so much pressure that it feels like it could leave a bruise. She meows, butting her head into my chin with force, bringing me fully to consciousness.
When she sees me reach up to pet her, she leaps off my chest with an impressive amount of power for such a small creature, and I let out a little ‘oomph’ from the effort.
“What was that for?” I grumble, rubbing at my eyes.
She’s standing alert on the edge of the bed, her tail flicking back and forth while she stares across the room toward the bathroom door.
She glances back at me expectantly, and it’s very peculiar—almost like she’s trying to tell me something.
That’s when I notice a sliver of light pouring out underneath the bathroom door.
I know I didn’t leave any lights on. Then I hear the sound of water running.
“Luke?” I call out hopefully, but there’s no response.
Misty stays on the bed as I cross the room. I knock on the bathroom door, calling out again, but I can’t hear anything beyond the sound of the shower. The door isn’t locked, but I open it slowly, not wanting to startle him.
My heart jolts with confusion at the scene before me.
The room is filled with steam, fogging up the mirror and the glass shower doors, heat pouring out at me like a sauna. After the air clears, I see Luke’s silhouette on the shower floor. He’s sitting with his knees to his chest, his head down, but he’s still fully clothed.
“Luke!” I cry, rushing inside.
He doesn’t answer me, not even looking up.
I open the shower door and reach in to turn off the faucet, getting soaked in the process.
The water’s scalding hot on my skin, but Luke seems completely unfazed by the temperature.
I step into the shower and crouch down in front of him, and that’s when I see the state he’s in. My heart drops to my stomach.
His face has been beaten to a pulp. He’s bruised and bleeding from his nose and a gash at his hairline, and there are scratch marks under his chin.
His neck is red and bruised with the unmistakable imprints of a man’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing tight enough to kill. Someone strangled him. Hard.
I’m going to kill Frank.
My heart starts racing uncontrollably, my body oscillating between unfathomable anger and abject terror as I try to grapple with what I’m seeing.
Luke won’t look at me, his eyes glazed and unfocused.
I can’t tell if he even registers that I’m here or that the water is turned off.
He seems dazed and out of it, staring vacantly like a statue.
“Luke,” I call out again, gently lifting his head.
With my physical touch, he recoils violently, shoving me back. I lose my balance, slipping backward on the wet tiles. Thankfully, I manage to catch myself before I crack my skull against the wall, but I can’t help but gape at Luke in awe.
I watch as he slowly comes to life like he’s waking from a coma, completely disoriented. His eyes go wide with genuine terror, and he starts breathing erratically, his chest heaving as he whips his head back and forth with confusion, like he doesn’t know where he is.
“Luke, it’s okay,” I say quickly, grabbing his attention. “You’re at my house. You’re safe. It’s okay.”
Luke looks at me then—really looks at me for the first time—and takes a staggering breath. “Ethan?” he whispers, almost like he’s not sure if this is real.
I nod, giving a timid smile. “Yeah, Luke. It’s me. I’m here.”
“H—how’d I g—get here?” he asks, looking down at himself and around at the shower walls with a furrowed brow. His voice is scratchy, clearly causing him physical pain to speak. He puts his hand to his throat, grimacing as he tries to swallow, and is met with more discomfort.
“You don’t remember coming here?” I frown, moving closer to him. But Luke flinches backward as I reach out to touch him, and I hesitate, pulling my hand back. “Luke….”
He seems to realize what he’s just done, then he suddenly breaks down. It’s almost like it’s a delayed reaction to the trauma—as if he’s been frozen in shock since it happened, and now he has no control over the release.
“I’m s—sorry,” he sobs. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I d—didn’t mean it.”
“It’s okay. You’re okay.”
He shakes his head emphatically. “I’m not. Everything’s f—fucked. I’m so fucking s—stupid.”
“What happened? Did Frank do this to you?”
“He w—wouldn’t st—stop. I couldn’t st—stop him.”
“Where is he?” I demand, my voice low. But Luke doesn’t seem to hear me.
“And she…” he says before stopping midsentence, gasping for breath at the words.
Suddenly, Luke lets out the most guttural, broken cry I’ve ever heard.
It’s a noise I didn’t know a human could make, and it stabs through my chest with how wounded it sounds.
I’ve never encountered anything so gut-wrenching in my life.
He starts howling in agony, gripping his hair and doubling over as if he’s been kicked in the gut.
He gasps for air, coughing from the effort and his injuries.
But he can’t seem to stop, nearly hyperventilating.
I’m terrified, unsure what’s happening or what to do from here.
I gently move closer, trying not to startle him again, and pull him toward me.
This time, he folds into my arms, lying his head against my chest, and he continues to sob uncontrollably, gripping onto me for dear life.
He’s shaking like a leaf, the spasms wracking his whole body.
I listen while Luke sputters out more nonsensical fragments of what happened to him, but I can only catch bits and pieces of the story.
It paints a confusing picture. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting this—it resulted from an altercation that escalated out of control.
Frank was drunk, and he’d made him angry…
But then he keeps mentioning a woman who must have been there to witness the strangulation.
He keeps saying things like “she couldn’t stop him” and then confusingly things like “she chose him,” but never explains who she is, or why she was there.
I’m desperate to understand, but my clarifying questions seem to fall on deaf ears as Luke replays the moment over and over in his mind, stuck in a loop of torment. Even though he clings to me, it’s almost like I’m not here.
Still, I hold him through it, soothing him as best as I can.
And after a long while, he finally settles to the point that he’s no longer gasping for air until he eventually goes quiet, his head lying heavily on my shoulder.
For a minute, I’m worried he may have passed out, but then he lifts a hand and wipes at his eyes.