Chapter 2
Isabelle
Idon’t remember this many twists and turns when I arrived.
Each time I think we’re nearing freedom, Officer Friendly turns and pivots when we reach the end of a hall.
It’s a labyrinth, but I’m certain the design is on purpose.
Wouldn’t want us criminals seeing the light of day.
Not that anyone would be able to get out of here if they tried.
There are far too many cameras, and even though I’m only with one officer, I sense there are more watching me, just waiting for their chance to raise their guns if I step out of line.
We finally reach a desk with a middle-aged woman sitting behind a computer.
She looks up through her wire-rimmed glasses, mouth pressed in a tight line as if she’s just sucked on a particularly sour lemon.
“Officer Canto, can I help you?” she asks in a thick Southern accent.
You don’t hear that much in Grym Hollow, which means it’s probably fake.
Just something to make her stand out amongst the sea of carbon copies that populate this godforsaken town.
“Isabelle Sinclair is being released on bond. We need to process her,” Officer Friendly—or rather, Officer Canto—grunts like the troll he is.
We stand awkwardly as the woman types on her computer.
She asks me basic questions they already know the answer to—my name, birth date, and address—but then otherwise ignores me.
It’s hard not to feel small and insignificant here.
Where my life and freedom aren’t my own, but in the hands of people who don’t give a shit about me or the reason why I did what I did.
They see life in black and white with no room for gray areas.
You’re either innocent or guilty, and the reasons don’t matter.
Soon the woman stands and beckons us to follow. Officer Canto makes me walk in front of him this time as we follow the woman to a room filled with lockers. She glances down at a sticky note she wrote something on before leaving her station, then walks over to a locker, typing in a code I can’t see.
With a soft click, the locker door opens, and inside is my backpack, the only personal item I had on me when I was arrested.
“This has been thoroughly searched, and anything deemed a weapon was taken.” She hands me the backpack. It’s just as heavy as it was when I packed it, so I’m not sure how “thorough” they actually were. Another shitty job executed by the Grym Hollow PD.
“Let’s go, Miss Sinclair.” Officer Canto grabs my upper arm and leads me down the white hallway to a large black door with a keypad. He swipes his badge, and there’s another audible click before the door opens.
Standing on the other side is my ticket out of jail.
The Guardian.
A tall, inhuman…thing. I can’t call him a man because no man I’ve ever come across looks like they were carved from stone. His gray skin and piercing blue eyes are beautiful but terrifying. Two horns protrude from the top of his head, curling slightly in at the end.
Officer Canto tenses beside me. If he could, I think he’d use me as a shield against The Guardian.
Coward.
The Guardian’s presence isn’t any less intimidating than the first time I encountered him, months ago when I sought him out. I hadn’t yet developed my plan to kill James, but I knew I would need a way out of jail. I had—and still have—no intentions of rotting in prison.
My freedom comes at a price, though. I exchanged one prison for another, but The Guardian’s deal sounded much more appealing.
Marry someone who calls himself a demon king and help restore his kingdom.
It’s vague and, frankly, unbelievable, but I’d rather live in a supposed mythical land with a man I don’t know than stay here behind bars until I die.
I need out. And it has to be now.
Officer Canto clears his throat, eyes darting around the room as if looking for the nearest escape route. He drops his hand from my shoulder, and I scowl. Though kicking him in the balls would probably only get me in more trouble and prevent me from leaving.
“She must appear in court next week. Officers will check in daily to make sure she hasn’t fled. Is she…staying with you?” The last question is laced with disdain and perhaps fear?
Good. It’s not enough.
The Guardian reaches out. At first, I think he wants to shake hands, but then he gestures to my backpack. “Allow me to carry it, Miss Sinclair.”
I’m not sure I trust The Guardian, but I also don’t want to fuck up my one chance at escape.
I’m hesitant to hand it over, seeing as it’s the last of my possessions after going through my house one last time.
I couldn’t take everything, but I found the most important things I couldn’t part with.
To outsiders, it looks like an old, dingy backpack that has seen better days.
But to me, it’s priceless because it was Anna’s.
Reluctantly, I hand it over. The Guardian takes the backpack, and in his hands, it looks like it was made for a toddler. He flings it over one arm, muscles bulging as he secures it around one shoulder, and nods. “We must be off.”
“Wait, you didn’t answer me. Is she staying at your house or not?” Officer Canto’s face flushes red, barely concealing his annoyance.
“Or not,” The Guardian dismisses him, and before the officer can demand any more, I’m being escorted out of the building with a hand on my shoulder by the scary horned man.
I doubt anyone will be knocking down The Guardian’s door to try and find me.
And if they do? I suspect they won’t be breathing for much longer after that.
We don’t stop walking until we are out the door, down the steps, and halfway down the street. The Guardian’s long strides force me to jog to keep up with him. “Can you slow down, please? Some of us have normal-sized legs.”
The Guardian slows but doesn’t stop. He, thankfully, drops his hand from my shoulder. I’m not big on being touched, and I’ve been touched and patted down enough to last me a lifetime over the past few days.
“My apologies, Miss Sinclair.”
“It’s Isabelle.” He ignores me.
“We must get you to Oziel,” The Guardian says. The name doesn’t sound familiar, but I’m guessing he has something to do with the contract I signed.
I'm in no position to make any more demands, but I do anyway. “Wait, we can’t leave yet.”
The scary non-man stops and slowly turns around. I think he’s glaring at me, or maybe that’s just how he always looks. If so, The Guardian has locked down resting bitch face better than any teenage girl I’ve met.
“And why can we not leave yet? Are you going back on the contract?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. I just need…” I take a deep breath, awkwardly shifting my weight from foot to foot. I don’t know why asking The Guardian to go see my dead sister one last time is harder than killing James, yet here we are.
“I need to go to the Grym Hollow cemetery.” My words are faster than they should be. “I need to say goodbye to someone.”
The Guardian doesn’t speak for a long time. If he refuses me, then…there’s nothing I can do. But I have to see her. Just one last time. If I don’t—
“Very well,” The Guardian says at last, cutting off my wayward thoughts. “But make it quick.”
We reach the wrought iron fence that surrounds the perimeter of the cemetery.
Two large weeping willows decorate the entrance, their branches cascading down in an array of greens and browns.
They appear to be crying, as if the trees themselves are in mourning.
The scent of fresh-cut grass and blooming flowers fill the air.
The only sound comes from the birds flying overhead and the occasional car passing by.
Aside from a family of three hunched over a grave on the opposite side of where I’ll be, The Guardian and I are the only ones here. My horned companion stares upon the graves with melancholy. He makes no attempt to walk inside, instead taking up residence outside the gate.
“I will give you privacy. Ten minutes, and we must go,” he warns.
“I only need five.” I reach my hand out. “Can I have my backpack?”
With a nod, he slides the backpack off his shoulder and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I say before walking in, my body on autopilot.
I have walked through those very gates hundreds, if not thousands, of times.
The gravel crunches beneath my feet until I veer off toward a grassy area.
I pass old and new tombstones. The saddest ones are the ones with birth and death dates close together.
Five. Seven. Three.
I make my way toward the end, near the wrought iron fence directly opposite the entrance.
Nestled under an oak tree is a marble tombstone with the name Anna Sinclair forever etched into the surface.
She sleeps peacefully between our mother, who died of breast cancer when we were teenagers, and our father, who died a year before Anna from a heart attack.
My family together for eternity.
I allow my backpack to fall to the ground next to the tombstones as I sink to my knees.
The red roses I brought before finding myself in jail have wilted some but still look beautiful decorating their graves.
I think Anna would like them. She always had a thing for roses.
Personally, I hated them because of the thorns, and always ended up stabbing my fingers, but when she died, they became my favorite flower.
“Sometimes the most beautiful things in life can hurt you. Unless you know how to tend them,” Anna would say each time she brought home a fresh bouquet.
A silent tear rolls down my cheek. You would think after a year without my sister, this would be easier.
But that’s a lie society tells you so you’ll stop grieving the dead.
The truth of the matter is that it never gets easier.
The pain is still there. Sometimes it lies dormant, and just when you think you have a handle on your emotions, something comes along and slashes right through the box you put them in.
It will never be easier. But if that is the cost of remembrance, then I shall pay it in full.
Before my vision can get too clouded with tears, I unzip my backpack. The neatly folded clothes I packed are now strewn about. Fucking cops.
Fortunately, the clothes were on top, and the small zippered bags at the bottom seem mostly untouched. I say a silent thank you to the person who “thoroughly” searched the backpack and decided the bottom half wasn’t important.
I pull out a leather-bound journal and open it to the first page.
A beautiful brunette with a heart-shaped face stares back at me.
Many people mistook us for twins, but I always thought my older sister was more beautiful.
Her soft brown eyes always held warmness and love, ready to greet anyone as if they were lifelong friends.
It’s true what they say about eyes being a window to the soul.
Taking a few rocks scattered about, I place her picture near her grave, keeping it pinned down with the rocks and safe from the wind. I hope the tree above the grave will help protect it from the worst of the rain. Anyone who looks down will see her smiling up at them. Just as she always did.
I close the journal back up and then place it next to her photo. I don’t need it anymore; I want to share her memory with more people.
“When you died, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.” My throat is thick with emotions, tears burning my eyes. If I allow myself, I would curl up in a fetal position atop my family's graves and never leave.
“To be honest, I’m still not ready to say goodbye. But I think I know how to keep you alive, even when I’m gone.” I glide my hands over the leather of the journal.
“I’ve never been one for words. That was more your thing, but I took your advice and wrote down my feelings. Well, that turned into writing about you and the type of person you are…were.”
God, why is this so fucking hard? A blade or bullet to the heart would hurt less than this. But Anna, my big sister, took care of me for years. I have to return the favor, even if it’s small compared to everything she did for me and taught me.
“These pages are filled with your story—everything you were and the joy you brought to people. I even included that one night at the bonfire where you accidentally burned the entire bag of marshmallows.” I smile at the memory.
It was the last winter before our mother died.
The last time we were together as a complete family.
The last time I remember feeling genuine happiness.
“I’m going to leave this here so anyone who walks by can read your story and know how good a person and big sister you were. I don’t know how it will stand up against the weather, but I’m hoping for the best. I love you, Anna, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”
This time, the tears fall freely, and I don’t try to stop them.
I lean forward, placing a kiss to her tombstone and then do the same for my parents.
A gentle wind blows, feeling like a caress to the skin, carrying the smell of roses.
I imagine it’s a sign from Anna that she’s still here, and maybe that she forgives me for what I have done.
“Goodbye, Anna. Goodbye, Mom and Dad. I love you all so much.” I force myself up and fling my backpack over my arm. I allow myself one last glance at my parents’ and Anna’s graves before turning my back on them for the last time.
The tears don’t completely dry up by the time I make it back to The Guardian, who is still perched in the same spot I left him. I don’t have to see myself to know my eyes are puffy and red from crying, but The Guardian doesn’t comment.
I’m not sure if I’m thankful or upset about that.
“Before we go,” I say at last, “I need to know if there is a woman named Erin Goodwin in Mescos?”
The Guardian gives little away. He’s closed-off in emotion and body language. He studies me for what feels likes long minutes, but in reality is only a few seconds, before he nods. “Yes. Ms. Goodwin is in Mescos.”
“I want to see her.”
“I see.” He doesn’t ask me why, and I don’t offer an explanation. It’s not for him to know. He wasn’t affected by James like Erin and I were. “I suppose you’ll need to ask your husband.”
Before I can protest, The Guardian turns and starts to walk away from the cemetery. I hold my tongue for now, silently following behind him, allowing him to take the lead. “Now, let us go to my house,” he says. “The portal for us awaits, and so does the demon king. He’ll be expecting us.”