Chapter 33
Thirty-three
Lane
“Couldn’t sleep either?” Mama C asks gently as she shuffles into the living room, her soft footsteps carrying through the quiet room.
I look up from the couch, setting aside the e-reader Kam, bless her, packed for me. “No.”
I laid in bed, tossing and turning. Unable to get comfortable. Worry gnawed at me. I know he’s safe, that he has Vic and Miles with him. But still my body refused to relax without him beside me.
“How did you deal with it when Vic was away on dangerous cases?” I ask, biting my bottom lip. “I’m one day in and worried sick.”
She settles into the armchair beside me, the cushion dipping beneath her weight, and gives me a reassuring smile. “It wasn’t easy, but it helped that we were friends first. I knew what his job demanded before my heart got involved. The phone calls and flowers helped too.”
I shift in my seat nervously. “Can I ask you something?”
She crosses her legs and leans back, posture relaxed and open. “Of course, dear.”
“Why did you paint bedroom doors with wildflowers?”
Her gaze drops to my arms, which are currently covered by one of Jameson’s hoodies that smells distinctly of him, and smiles knowingly.
“The same reason you wear them on your skin. Wildflowers symbolize freedom. Joy. Hope. All the things I didn’t have before Jameson’s father left. They also symbolize new beginnings.
That’s what I got when he left, a new beginning to start fresh.
To live my life how I wanted. That first night, Jameson and I painted our front door in wildflowers, because that’s what I wanted for us.
To enjoy our newfound freedom, to feel joy in life, and to have hope for the future; instead of just chasing after them. ”
She pauses, her eyes moving around the room with fondness. “When Vic and I got engaged, we decided to move in together, but we didn’t want to start our new life together in the house that held so many awful memories. We must have looked at fifteen houses, but nothing felt right.
Not until we found this place. Vic fell in love with it right away. I wasn’t convinced, until we walked around the property, and I saw it. A field of wildflowers just beyond the trees. As soon as I saw them, I knew. This was our home.”
Tears slip from my eyes before I can stop them, not from sadness, but from the beauty of her story. Of what she survived. Of what she built. Of what she found. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
She reaches over and grabs my hand. “You’re not chasing wildflowers anymore, sweetheart. You already learned to grow your own. Now you just have to tend them.” She squeezes once before letting go and standing. “I’m going to bed. Try to get some sleep, dear. They will be home soon.”
I watch as she walks up the stairs, her words replaying in my head as her footsteps fade.
She’s absolutely right. I’m not chasing wildflowers anymore.
I found my freedom and a new beginning in New Haven.
The town I love. I’ve found joy in my friendship with Kam.
And now I’ve found my hope for the future in Jameson.
A future I’m no longer afraid of. A future I want with everything inside me.
Although I’m sure sleep won’t come easy, I take her advice and head upstairs.
I step into my room, grabbing my phone off the nightstand, hoping to find a message from Jameson saying he’s on his way back.
My blood runs cold.
Unknown
Hello Ceciley.
He found me.
Unknown
I’m sending you an address. If you aren’t there by 3 AM I’m sending the evidence I have of Jameson killing Luke Colwell to The police.
The next message is just an address. I copy and paste it into my GPS. Forty minutes away. I glance at the clock.
1:52 a.m.
My heart slams into my ribcage like it’s trying to break free, as I fight to remain calm. There's no way he has footage. Right? Jameson and Miles would have taken care of the cameras. Wouldn’t they have?
It’s a chance I can’t take. Not when Jameson’s life is at risk.
He protected me when I didn’t even realize I was in danger. And if protecting him means walking straight into the lion's den, then so be it.
I dig through the drawer beside the bed until I find a pen and a half-used notepad. My hand shakes slightly as I quickly write Jameson a note, telling him that I love him and I’m sorry.
The small piece of paper feels like lead in my hand as I lay it on his pillow. He won’t find it until I’m already gone, after it’s too late. But at least he will be safe.
I crack the door open, careful to keep it from squeaking, and peek my head out.
The hall is dark, except for the light coming from the bathroom a few doors down.
Kam’s door is closed. Mama C’s too. I slip out the door silently, closing it behind me with a soft click, and tiptoe down the stairs, heart pounding in my ears.
The keys to Mama C’s SUV hang on the hook by the door. I grab them and ease the front door open, my feet moving as soon as the door closes behind me. I wince when the engine starts, and throw it into gear, slowly easing down the long drive, keeping my headlights off until I reach the road.
Tears stream down my face, making it hard to see the road as I drive to what could very well be my end.
I’m mourning the life Jameson and I will never have.
I’m going to break his heart. I just pray he can forgive me.
That he understands I did this because I love him and can’t imagine a world without him in it.
I pray Kam forgives me, too. That she knows how much her friendship has meant to me. How she saved me and showed me it’s okay to be true to myself. I hope she understands why I sacrificed myself to protect him.
I should be grateful for the years of freedom I had, living the life I wanted. That I got the time I did with Kam and Jameson.
But I don’t feel very grateful.
I’m fucking pissed.
How fucking dare someone take away the life I literally killed to have? The life I built with my own two hands. After years of suffering first through my mother's emotional neglect and then Byron’s abuse, I was finally happy.
I had everything in life that I could need or want. Just to have it ripped away from me.
The GPS leads me off the main road, gravel crunching under my tires, as I follow the narrow path. I keep driving until a robotic voice tells me I’ve arrived at my destination. I turn into the long, overgrown driveway, my headlights cutting through the darkness.
I stop when they land on an old, rundown house that looks like it's been abandoned for longer than I've been alive. Paint is peeling from the wood siding, the roof looks like it’s caving in, and the windows are all boarded up.
Easing forward, I park next to a sleek black car. My hands tremble as I cut the engine, my rapid heartbeat the only sound in the eerie quiet. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly as I take a few deep breaths. It does little to help the nerves coiled tightly through my body.
Once I walk into that house, that’s it. I know I won’t be coming out alive. Jameson will be safe. That’s all that matters.
With another deep breath, I grab the door handle and force myself out of the car. The soft glow of my flashlight cuts through the darkness, as my shoes crunch against the gravel; each step heavier than the last.
Be brave.
I repeat the words in my head as I step onto the decaying porch, the boards groaning loudly under my feet. The silent pep talk does nothing to stop the shake in my hand as it closes around the doorknob.
The door creaks open, and I step into a foyer lit only by a small lantern on the floor, its glow casting long shadows on the wall. The smell of mold and old, rotted wood hangs in the air, adding to the nausea coursing through my body.
I move slowly, keeping my footsteps light as I step deeper into the house, still using my phone to light my way.
Stopping at what was once the living room, I slowly sweep my light across the empty space.
Faded wallpaper is curling off the walls, the floorboards are warped in places, a few of them sticking up.
It’s been a long time since this house has seen the love of a family, and now it’s going to be tainted with my blood.
After clearing the entire first floor and finding nothing, I go back to the foyer. I flash my light up the stairs, and swallow around the lump in my throat.
With my phone clenched tightly in my hand, I slowly creep up the stairs, trying to avoid as many creaking boards as I can. They squeak anyway, loudly announcing me to anyone in the house.
At the top I sweep my flashlight down both sides of the long hallway. Two doors to my right. Three to my left.
I take a deep breath and steel my shoulders, desperately trying to find the courage deep within me to make my feet move.
My death lies behind one of those doors.
My feet are lead as I walk to the first door on my right and push it open.
The room is completely empty except for an ugly shag rug and faded paint.
“Hello, Ceciley.” I hear from behind me, low and unmistakably cruel.
Every muscle in my body locks up.
No. No fucking way.
I whip around, coming face to face with my nightmare.
Byron.
His hand is raised, fingers wrapped around a gun, the same cruel smirk tugging at his lips. The blow lands before I can react, white hot pain exploding across my face, and I hit the ground.
He crouches beside me, eyes hard. “Did you miss me?”
My head throbs and my mind is trying to wrap itself around what is happening. I try to sit up but he pushes me back down with a hand on my chest and pulls something I can’t see from his pocket.
There’s a sharp prick in the side of my neck. My last thought as darkness takes me is of the life with Jameson I will never have.