CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
Brett
Present
It seems like a dream, the one I have over and over, but this time I know I’m awake, standing in my bedroom with my arms out in front of me, aiming a gun at the doorway.
He’s standing in front of me, and he’s real. Black t-shirt, black boots, black camo pants…
Seeing isn’t always believing, but smelling his cigarettes is, and feeling the heat of his stifling presence is. Now he’s standing on my side of the glass, leaning motionless against the doorframe, and his deep brown eyes are looking at me like he’s starving.
Finally, Bowen rakes his black hair away from his eyes, “Brett Sorensen, whose pen is mightier than the sword…I didn’t mean to scare you,” he nods behind him to the hallway with that same wide, dimpled Cheshire Cat smile I used to love, “I was just cleaning out your closet .”
My eyes dart over his shoulder to the dim hallway where the door of the linen closet is hanging open.
I forgot the closets, like I forgot the front door…
But there’s no time for admonishments. Adapt.
“Baby girl,” Bowen chuckles, “your self-awareness is for shit.”
Stop calling me that. And no, it’s not.
I adjust my stance, my arms still locked in front of me, “Are you here to kill me?” I ask him.
He shifts his gaze from me to my Glock, pointed straight at him, “Seems you’ve graduated from pens to something more useful. You’re not afraid of guns anymore?”
He didn’t say no …
“Why are you here?” I demand, focusing on keeping my muscles tense but calm.
“I want to take you on a hike. You used to love that.” The way he says it is unsettling, like he’s reminiscing, but not about me.
Pivot.
“You gave me my book back,” I glance at the wall, the flash drive still plugged into my computer in the office, “I thought it was gone forever.”
He’s had it all this time, and somehow that’s worse than if he just clicked Delete.
“Nothing’s ever gone forever,” Bowen gives a slight shake of his head, looking down as he picks at a callous on his palm, “I’d have let you keep it if I knew you were just going to write a bunch of lies about me instead.”
Yeah, well, that’s a bummer isn’t it…
“They’re not lies,” I state bluntly.
Bowen looks up, meeting my eyes, “It’s been a year, why hasn’t he married you?” He squints, disguising his jab as curiosity, “What’s wrong with you?”
It’s no one else’s concern, especially not his.
“You don’t have to marry someone to prove that you love them,” I focus on my periphery as I speak, “just like you don’t have to love someone to marry them.” If Bowen’s still talking, it means I still have time.
“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” Bowen deflects, “He has you now, but every time he touches you, he knows what I’ve done to you…what you like me to do to you…just like the last object of his affection.” His smug grin turns my stomach.
More projection, more games…
“Col’s such a fucking baby,” he scoffs, “I took away his toy back in high school and now he’s bitching and moaning because he couldn’t hang on to his next one. And I didn’t even have to look for you, you came right to me. The first time I saw you, every moment after that,” his face softens and he shakes his head, “you were so right. And no one else mattered, just you and me…” He trails off for a few moments, a faraway look in his eye, before a smile seeps across his face, “ Finder’s keepers. ”
I clench my jaw, trying to ignore his sinister tone, “I was there, you know, in our bedroom. You can’t act like—”
“Lying by omission is still lying, Brett,” Bowen barks, cutting me off. It gives me a start, but I manage to keep my hands steady. “All I did in that room was remind you of what would happen if you kept fucking around and playing with fire.”
I remain silent as he oscillates between desire and seething hatred. He didn’t come here for catharsis or closure—at least the kind that I’m willing to give him.
“ You don’t get to talk to me about lying, by omission or otherwise,” I glare at him through the rear sight aperture, “Yeah, I cheated on you, with the man whose sister you murdered. And I’m fine with it.”
Bowen stretches both arms above his head and hooks his fingers over the edge of the door frame, making himself look even bigger than he already is—the same thing animals do when they feel threatened. I don’t have to see the holster tucked in the back of his jeans to know he’s carrying. He’s always carrying.
His arms flex and my eye catches something on the inside of his left arm; a tattoo that wasn’t there a year ago. The thick black curves of the body stand out against the delicate grey shading of the wings, making it look almost whimsical.
A honeybee…
My pulse quickens and I gently angle my body as I prepare to move.
“I’m not usually a forgiving person, Brett,” Bowen’s eyes move down to my abdomen and linger there for longer than necessary. Eventually, he looks back up at me, filled with indignation, “But I can overlook mistakes—lapses in judgement—when I want to.” He pauses, and after a minute, his voice softens again. “I bet she’ll look like you. What’s her name?”
My skin crawls. How the hell does he know that my baby is a she?
Oh yeah, Valerie…
Regardless, he needs to stop talking about my daughter and implying that she’s anything close to a mistake. For a split-second, I consider lying, making up a different name just to move on. But then I remember that room, and then the closet, the box, and everything inside…
There is no going back, no compromises, no negotiations. Everything is out in the open now; the lyrics, the fox, now the honeybee…but why the bluebells? Where did those come from? It doesn’t matter, the ink on his arm confirms that I’m already dead to him, so I might as well tell him the truth. It’ll all be over soon, anyway.
“Evelyn Ashley.”
I see the subtle flash in his eyes, if only for a split-second before he darts behind the mask to hide again. He looks at the floor, a tiny grin appearing at the edges of his mouth. For a second, he looks like the Bowen I met all those years ago, before I really met Bowen.
But this is why I need to remember that night. I can’t let myself forget the feeling of Bowen’s weight on top of me, smothering me, throwing me around that room. I can’t—I refuse —to forget the look on his face. That sneer; the utter contempt for me while he stood over me, relishing in my terror.
“You hate me so much, but Col’s the one who broke you. When I found you, you were just a scared, damaged piece of ass. A good one,” he says with a smirk, “but damaged nonetheless. And you wouldn’t have turned out to be such a disappointment if you’d just fucking listened to me and cut him loose,” he mutters with disdain. “Your trauma bond… ”
“I guess we’re all disappointments, aren’t we?” I taunt him, “How about Valerie? How does she measure up to the rest of us?”
“Don’t do that, Brett, don’t you fucking dare,” Bowen scoffs as though I just lobbed the ultimate insult at him, “you know I’ll never love anyone the way that I love you.”
He literally does not acknowledge her. Even now, he doesn’t call her by name. She’s just another victim of his vanity. She is unimportant, her role in this affair finished. Valerie Marston—or whoever she is—will become twisted in the wreckage, rusted out, and eventually lost to time.
She has, after all, deviated from the plan. A mistake that I don’t intend to make.
“Why did you just leave?” Bowen whines, veering back into loathing, “I never would’ve done something that cruel to you. Do you know how that feels? ” he says through clenched teeth.
I tighten my grip on my gun, trying in vain to tamp down the cascade of adrenaline-fueled wrath running through my body. He’s a tornado spinning up outbursts of manic, sociopathic rage, unable to decide whether to stay a mortal man or transform into a hellish beast.
“Bowen,” I murmur on my breath, “you don’t have feelings.”
He tilts his head, studying me as he runs his tongue along the backs of his teeth.
“Is this the part where you freak out, Bowen?” I ask as his breaths get deeper, “Because you screwed up so bad that I told you to fuck the hell off?” I speak slowly and with intention, “You’re like a leech, using everyone up and sucking the life out of them until there’s nothing left. And once you throw them away , you move on to someone else. You don’t love anyone. You don’t know how. ” I casually emphasize the last word as my voice slowly reverberates against the ceiling. Bowen bares his teeth in a momentary grimace like the werewolf that stalks the woods of Hellbranch. But I’m not finished, “The only thing to do is take you out into those woods and put a bullet between your eyes, because that’s what you do to rabid animals.”
His arms fall from the door frame and he straightens up, drawing air through his teeth.
When the adrenaline hits, what are you going to do?
It all happens at once, but before he can take a step, there’s a faint click when I pull the trigger and then I cast the Glock to the floor at the same moment I reach for the sliding glass door. Bowen probably doesn’t realize the gun jammed. To him, it probably looks like I just ditched my only protection—that I really don’t have the nerve. But it’s not because I’m afraid, it’s because I’m prepared for anything.
The thunder came without rain, and now sunlight spills through the clouds and floods the yard. In only a few strides, I fly off the deck and tear across the grass toward the forest. My only indication of anyone behind me is Bowen’s heavy footfalls on the deck as he takes off after me.
Every time you look back, you slow down.
The balls of my feet grab at the dirt, tossing dust and grass as I approach the slope. Through the pines, I find the rocks that jut out of the soil and make it to the top. It’s not the toughest hill, and I clear it, adrenaline propelling me through the trees once it levels out. Stay to the right, steer clear of the brambles, keep going…
My heart pounds and each breath feels like fire in my throat, but soon the drop-off comes into view. I grab the pine branch in the same spot I did before and swing down into the leaves. But, this time, I dig my heels in and jump to the side, right into a dried-up culvert running through the hillside.
I duck inside the galvanized pipe and crouch down, motionless, listening and inhaling precious oxygen. Gently, I start moving my hips back and forth, trying to work through a sharp pain in my lower belly. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t let it slow me down now.
About five seconds later, I hear Bowen’s heavy strides on the earth above me and he skids down the hill onto the moss and pine needles.
Please don’t turn around…
He takes off again at full speed through the trees straight ahead. He’s fast, and agile. He’s been running through forests since he was a kid. But this is my forest, and I know where I’m going.
As soon as his daunting figure disappears through the trees, I dart out from the culvert and continue on the path I’ve run countless times since I’ve lived here. I keep running, hopping over the rocks and tiny streams that split the earth. Finally, I see the barn in the distance. I can make it.
But as I approach, sprinting through a grove of birches, I see a flash of black in my periphery. Bowen’s flanking me, his eyes trained on his target. A jolt of panic shoots through my chest and I push harder. It’s half fear, half burst of adrenaline, but I let out a guttural scream as I barrel toward the barn door.
I don’t slow down. I’m going to run straight through the ancient wood, splintering it in my wake. I push harder and brace for impact.
Suddenly, the door swings open, seemingly from my energy alone, and I burst into the barn. Flying across the dirt floor, I slam shoulder first into the planks of the animal stalls. I bounce off the wood and look over my shoulder at the doorway just in time to see the outline of another dark figure. But it’s not Bowen.
He’s a solar eclipse, blocking out every modicum of sunlight. Bowen doesn’t know that there are more than monsters in this forest. Colson’s the reaper, clad all in black, and he’s come to collect.