42. Ivy
Ivy
Rayne gave me a tight smile and thrust a red gasoline canister toward me. “I’ve always felt like fire was cleansing, and your soul needs a hell of a lot of cleansing.”
I couldn’t stifle the small laugh from spilling out. Why the hell not? It’s not like I had anything to lose by setting fire to the place that was the setting for some of my darkest days. My grasp on the container tightened, and I stalked off to the front door of the place where nightmares were made. I didn’t know how long it had been closed, but the air was stale after a period of disuse. Despite that, I could almost hear the tinkle of laughter and the murmur of small talk. My first stop was the basement. My free hand glided along the wall as my feet descended into the basement.
I shuddered at the memories that threatened to overtake me. How I’d been held down, my face scraped against the rough floors and walls while I was used by whoever Wells had seen fit. How I had conjured memories of Niko playing guitar, trying to dissociate from what was happening to my body and soul. That was the only way I had survived. The smell of accelerant filled my nose as I poured it along the walls, hoping that Rayne was right. Maybe fire was cleansing.
I whirled in a circle, spreading the gasoline along the floor, thinking of the past. Even though I had thought I was trapped, they saved me. Even Cam, wearing a mask, had shown up. They had come when I was certain I was at my lowest.
Slowly, I climbed the stairs, taking in the facade of luxury that had surrounded me. The plush carpets and the oil paintings of women basking in the sunlight, eating grapes. The vases and settees. The rich wood of the bar top. Every single detail was carefully placed, hiding the sinister nature of what the place truly was.
No one that was held here had willingly given themselves to the men who paraded the hallways. We had all been held against our will, deceived, and abused. Olya had taught me that.
The memory of her brushing my hair made my throat tight. I wandered the hallway like a ghost, my feet leading me to the last place I wanted to be. The details of the night they had come for me were muted, like I was watching it unfold underwater, but one thing stood out. Olya’s body swinging from the ceiling was emblazoned in my mind. The person who had shown me so much kindness had lost her battle, no longer able to hope she’d be let free or that she would somehow escape. The death of hope crushed her spirit, and she thought she only had one way out.
If only she had held on a little tighter for a few more minutes. I would have convinced the men I loved to save her, too. There was no doubt in my soul that she was the reason I had survived. She was the one who made sure that I knew how to act and brought me food, even when I didn’t want to eat. She was the one who gave me books to escape with, complete with tattered pages and smudged ink.
Tears ran rivers down my skin as I poured accelerant around the room. Maybe fire would help to burn the memory from my brain. The gasoline emulated the liquid that seeped from my eyes, cascading in ribbons down the paint.
Rayne appeared in the doorway, sympathy etched on her features. Her phone rang, and she sighed, pulling it from her pants. “Hello?” She leaned against the doorway and bit down on her lower lip. “Sure. We’re just out shopping. We’ll be back later this evening.”
Joey stood several feet away and muttered, “Unless shopping has something to do with gasoline and matches… He’s never going to believe you. He has a tracker on your car.”
Despite the tears on my skin, I stifled a laugh. He raised an eyebrow at me before allowing me to step past to head to the last place I wanted to ensure burned to cinders, the room where I was held after being unchained from the basement. The only saving grace of the room was my memories of Olya. That was where I had sought refuge when I thought Ros and Caleb had played me. It was where I had destroyed furniture and read books. It was the last place I had spent drugged out of my mind, not knowing whether it was day or night.
The bedroom, with all of its rich furnishings, was where I had thought my lowest point was. If I were the story’s main character, I would have assumed that period of my life was my dark night of the soul. I was so very wrong. Things would get much worse before they ever got better.
It was so funny looking at the room. It was just that—a room. It didn’t look sinister or carry any telltale signs of the events that happened. You couldn’t tell the space broke me, but in hindsight, that was where the first cracks had appeared. They were microscopic at the time, but with more pressure, they spread outward, growing larger with everything that happened.
Along the way, I had hoped to be reborn from the events I’d lived through. I had assumed that, like the heroines I had read, I would magically turn into someone else. Someone who was stronger. The type of person who didn’t put up with anything and didn’t accept disrespect of any type.
I was still waiting. Perhaps setting the Gilded Lily ablaze would finally push me into being reborn, into becoming someone new. If not, hopefully, it would be cathartic.
Gasoline spilled on the mattress and headboard, the dresser where fresh lilies were always placed, the dressing table where makeup had been neatly organized, and the carpet where my toes had sunk deep into it.
Even though fire wouldn’t destroy it, I splashed it all over the marble in the bathroom, onto the mirror that hung on the wall showing the shadows beneath my eyes and the purple smudges on my skin. It reminded me of what an empty shell I had once been, my face vacant and soulless.
I strolled down the hall to where Ros and Rayne stood, waiting by the entrance, trailing accelerant behind me. The corner of Ros’ lips lifted. “You good?”
And for once, it wasn’t a lie when I answered her. “Yeah. I’m good.”
Rayne’s hand extended, and she dropped a book of matches in my palm. “You should do the honors.”
With the flick of my fingers, the match lit, and I dropped it. Quickly, everything was engulfed, flames dancing along the interior. The sight was mesmerizing, and my heart beat in my chest. At first, I wondered why Rayne had suggested setting the building on fire. It was just a structure. An inferno couldn’t remove the pain of my past.
But as I watched the building become engulfed, fire licking at the sky, I understood. This was her gift to me. My future was a fresh slate, and I got to choose what it looked like. I thought moving to Clearhaven was the moment that I got to start over, but it wasn’t. Now, I got what I had desperately sought for the past year: I got to decide who I was. The building was merely symbolic, and the lure of the flames was addictive.
I placed my hands on my stomach, and a tiny flutter pushed against my palm. Ros laid her hand over mine, and Rayne wrapped an arm over my shoulders. We stood there, not speaking for an eternity, some undefined amount of time. Embers flew into the air as the sunset.
Finally, Rayne patted my back. “I have one last suggestion. There’s a guy I know, and I think you should speak to him.”
I gave her a small nod. My soul felt lighter after watching the Gilded Lily burn. I had done that. If she thought it would help me, I’d gladly do it—at least once.
Ros frowned and rocked back on her heels. “I have something to take care of. Will the two of you…” She didn’t have to ask. She had tried to support me through the ups and downs of my life since the day she met me. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I was all in.
We stood in the small space at the nursing home, my hand holding Ros’ as I watched her heart break. “You don’t have to do this,” I told her. What she had planned didn’t have to be done tonight.
She wiped across her eyes with the back of her hand. “No, it’s time. It’s been time. He’s never coming back. He wouldn’t want this. Now that my grandfather is gone, my grandmother doesn’t visit. Even she knows that this has been going on too long.”
Her uncle was the last victim of the Order I knew about, lying lifeless in the bed. Like Caleb’s parents, he was just another casualty for daring to question them. An entire generation was taken out for daring to do what was right.
Her hand slipped from mine as she grabbed lines and tubing, disconnecting the machinery that kept Andrew Jensen breathing. There was nothing I could do to comfort her except stand there and watch as yet one more life was extinguished.
When she finished, we watched as the man’s chest stopped lifting and falling. Rosalyn collapsed against me. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her shoulder. Maybe we were more alike than I thought. Maybe she was just a better actress.