Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
“What do you know about the founding of our town?” Kane asks, voice barely audible over my thundering heartbeat as we shuffle down the hill toward the skeletal remains of Divine Mercy Bible Church.
“Not much,” I squeak, keeping my eyes planted on the dead grass. “Just that the Cartwrights were given a land grant to settle this area in the late 1820s.”
Kane clicks his tongue. “That’s all you know because that’s all you were taught . History books are written to fuel a specific narrative. Which means the version of the past we’re spoon-fed is not only biased, it’s often grossly exaggerated or flat-out false.”
I roll my eyes. Kane is barely five years older than me, but he’s speaking as if I’m a child or a student in need of mentoring. I’m tempted to tell him to get over himself, but there’s a part of me that’s curious where he’s going with this.
“Anyway,” he continues, half-up man bun bobbing on top of his head with every step. “John Cartwright died on the trip out west, leaving the landright to his eldest son who opted to share the inheritance with his younger brother. They split everything right down the middle, equal in all things except for one.”
He glances back at me over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Neither of the brothers knew it at the time, but the aquifer that runs beneath this region was almost entirely located on the younger brother’s portion of the property while the water beneath the west section is unusable.” He points to the copse of trees barely visible through the dense pines. “The tainted water is what killed those trees and gave the town its namesake.”
Hushed voices sound from up ahead, but Kane ignores them and keeps on talking. “Over the years, the younger brother’s crops and livestock flourished while every potable well the older brother dug ran dry and every crop he planted withered. One night, finally fed up with years of losses, the eldest snuck into the mansion behind us and slayed his brother and nephews in their beds—taking the younger brother’s wife and the land as his own.”
Despite the little hairs on my neck rising, I roll my eyes. “That sounds like an urban legend.”
“Every word of it is true. Abel Cartwright and his four boys are buried in the family mausoleum near the woods. If you don’t believe me, you can go see for yourself.”
“He killed his own brother?” My mouth gapes open as I stop mid-step. “Why wouldn’t he ask if they could share the water?”
A dark cloud passes overhead, making the deep shadows under Kane’s eyes appear almost sinister. “Why would he ask permission for what was rightfully his all along?”
Someone claps their hands, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Alright, break’s over. Masks back on, everyone,” a delicate voice says.
I peer around Kane while a group of twelve or so people slink out from the shade of a gnarled tree, donning dust masks and respirators before spreading out to pick up various construction equipment and filing into the church.
Noah was right. Kane’s friends all wearing the same thing is pretty damn creepy. There’s just something about matching outfits that screams Heaven’s Gate and cultish mischief.
I scan the group, noting how each of them is dressed head to toe in white garments caked in dirt and soot, except for one, who’s dressed in a black jumpsuit that’s a shade darker than her tight-coil pixie cut hair. Her deep-brown skin is dotted with freckles and beauty marks, the most prominent one heart-shaped and located right below her left eye.
She claps her hands again, and the last straggler—a petite woman whose face I can’t quite see—scurries into the decaying church.
Nausea eats at my stomach, along with a renewed desire to get the hell out of here. But the scaffolding and plastic sheeting covering up the most severely burned sections of the church make the fear slightly less crippling than when I first drove in.
I blink, raise my chin, and finally take in the monstrosity before me.
First, my gaze skims up the worn stone steps leading to two metal doors with thick crosses carved out of their centers. I hover there, bracing myself for the assault of a long-forgotten memory… When none comes, I follow the rotted support pillars up to the partially collapsed roof and then higher, to the soot-stained steeple where a neon-red cross is strung up in one of the busted-out windows.
Sweat drips down my spine, and a low electric hum vibrates through the air, the red cross flickering on and off like its power source is seconds away from calling it quits.
With the hairs on my arms standing on end, I look away, uneasy for reasons I can’t quite explain… It might be the creaking skeletal trees of the dead forest or the unnerving quiet of the graveyard, or maybe even the field of off-white flowers I’m almost positive Elanor told me were poisonous, but everything about this place has me on edge.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Kane says, placing his hand on the small of my back .
I shrug out of his touch, throwing him an incredulous, brow-heavy glance that earns me a tight-lipped half grin.
“Look again,” he insists.
Silence falls between us while the shrill cry of the cicadas in the nearby branches increases tenfold. Sweat beads on my brow and my pulse pounds against my temples, but I force myself to take another look.
Even then, I have no idea what Kane thinks is beautiful. It’s definitely not the three large dumpsters and what looks to be some sort of burn pit near the rock wall of the cemetery. It can’t be the charred chairs, the broken desks and bookshelves, or the bits of heavily graffitied doors and church pews littering the ground.
I take another pass, finally noticing the curious, unsettling glances from Kane’s creepy friends while they scurry about and diligently work on Divine Mercy.
“These people and I have spent the last few years dedicating our lives to false promises. Here we’re finally free.” Kane places a hand on my shoulder, and a shiver crawls up my spine when his pinkie brushes the bare flesh of my neck. “This church was always a monument to your survival. Now, it’s also a sign of hope for the future.”
My lips tug downward. If you ask me, it would have been easier to bulldoze the entire thing and put all the money and man hours into renovating the mansion, but at least he’s gutting it—destroying every trace of what my mother did here.
A wall of flames dances across my memory, and I quickly avert my gaze from the ruins, pausing when I spot someone sitting under the shade of a large oak tree. I almost look away, but then I spot broad shoulders and a flash of raven hair.
“Ryker?” I call out.
Dressed all in white with his back against a tree trunk, he sways, struggling to keep himself upright. A sick feeling opens up in the pit of my stomach, and I call his name again.
He doesn’t so much as turn his head in my direction.
“What the hell is wrong with him? Why isn’t he answering? ”
Kane just shakes his head. “My brother is helping us clear the way for the future.” He slides his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “The work can be?—”
“Ryker!” I shout, my patience with the eldest Bennett brother’s vague answers wearing thin. I scream Ryker’s name again. And this time, the sound of my voice seems to increase the odd movements of his wobbly head.
Something’s not right… Leaving Kane in the dust, I quicken my pace and jog across the field.
Out of breath, I drop to my knees and take Ryker’s face between my palms. His eyes are glassy, skin pale and clammy. And he doesn’t so much as blink or flinch at my touch.
Panic tears through my gut, hot and sticky as it climbs into my throat.
“What did you take? Did Kane give you something?” I pat him down, ripping a cutting of white flowers from his shirt pocket like I might find whatever drugs he’s on tucked beneath it. But all his pockets are empty. No cigarettes, no lighter, no cellphone—which I should have anticipated because he’s wearing the same all-white ensemble as the others. Even his hair has been combed to the side in a way that makes him look nothing like the Ryker I know.
To my knowledge, he’s never done drugs…and there’s no way he’d start now when he wants to file for guardianship of his sister. Ryker also wouldn’t be caught dead without his cigarettes and lighter…
What in the actual hell is going on here?
I run my fingers through his hair, combing it backward until he looks more like himself. He blinks, slowly bringing his gaze to mine. “ Willa ,” he whispers, cracking the tiniest smile, his face so childlike that for a moment all his hard edges are erased.
Then he frowns, swaying like he might fall over. “How can you stand to look at me?”
“Why would I have a problem looking at you?” I murmur, voice breaking as I try to keep my tone light and figure out how to get him out of here. “You’re the one with the pretty face. I’m the one with the scars, remember?”
“Your scars might be more visible, but mine are worse,” he whispers, clutching at his chest like he can’t breathe. “You don’t remember any of it, Princess. You’re still whole. I remember every second. I see it every time I close my eyes.”
When he peers up at me, the whites of his eyes are bloodshot and weary. My heart gives a painful thump. How can one person walk around with that much hurt on their shoulders? Not knowing what else to do and unsure of what to say, I press my forehead to his.
“Come on,” I whisper, rising to my feet. “I’m taking you home.”
Kane steps behind me and places himself directly in my path, like he actually thinks he can stop me. I whirl on him, shoving my finger into his chest, breathing so hard I can barely think straight. “Did you drug your brother and take his stuff?”
Kane’s eyes narrow to slits. “Of course not.”
“Then what is this?” I gesture to Ryker, but once again Kane just shrugs.
“Heat exhaustion is always a risk in these conditions.” He turns slightly and waves over the woman in the black outfit. “I’ll have one of my healers have a look at him.”
I laugh out loud. “Absolutely not. You’ve done more than enough. We’re leaving.” My attention briefly shifts to the crowd of people walking our way, the one in black now carrying a leather medical bag. “Listen, Kane, I’ve been trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, but whatever the hell you’re up to up here, leave your brother out of it.”
I drop into a squat, draping Ryker’s arm over my shoulder and grunting as I help him to his feet. “If you tell me what you gave him,” I say to his half brother, “I’ll consider not telling my father about this.”
Kane’s jaw hardens and his posture goes rigid, but after a quick glance over his shoulder, he relaxes his expression and laughs. “She’s not ready,” he calls out to the dozen faces slowly making their way across the field.
“ I’m ready to get the hell out of here ,” I mumble to myself, already dragging Ryker up the hill while Kane addresses his weird-ass friends.
“There are still preparations to be made,” he continues, voice growing smaller as I put more distance between us. “Only once we?—”
Tuning him out, I make it about thirty feet before the woman with the medical bag catches up, the heart-shaped beauty mark below her eye even more prominent than I’d initially thought.
“Ryker was working in the fields all morning,” she says, hurrying to keep step with me as I pick up the pace. “Give him lots of water and he should be good as new in an hour or two.” She smiles, her dark-brown eyes kind and almost sad.
“We don’t need your help,” I hiss, giving her the rudest smile I can muster to drive home my point. After a few more steps and another woeful smile, she finally takes the hint and drops back.
By the time Ryker and I stumble our way to my truck, I’m sweating and out of breath. So when he stops to stare at the derelict Cartwright mansion—that’s even more foreboding now that the sun is starting to set and the storm clouds are moving in—I can’t help but let out a frustrated growl. “Come on. Just a few more steps.”
“Kane and I used to ride our bikes up here as kids,” he says, green eyes fixed on the crumbling ornamental gables. “The property is riddled with tunnels and there’s a way to get in through the basement. We found all sorts of stuff in there. Photos, town records…” He says something else, but his words trail off and I don’t quite catch it. Then he shakes his head. “Kane was obsessed.”
After dragging Ryker the last few steps to the truck, I wrench open the door and ease him onto the seat while making sure he doesn’t hit his head.
“Yeah,” I say with a grunt, lifting his booted foot into the truck, “Kane gave me a little history lesson earlier. I got to hear all about the Cartwrights’ lurid past, fratricide and all. Your brother’s a real fun guy.” I lean over Ryker’s lap to buckle his seat belt before realizing there isn’t one.
Shit. Dad’s going to hate that…
I startle when Ryker places his calloused palm gently on my lower back where my shirt must’ve ridden up, shivering as his thumb slides over the patch of scars.
“Kane always leaves out the best part,” he says so quietly I almost don’t hear it.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, voice trembling. “And what’s that?”
“After losing her husband and children, the youngest Cartwright’s widow went looking for revenge,” he mumbles, hand falling into his lap. “She stabbed the eldest Cartwright in the chest and burned that bastard alive in the family mausoleum before he could bleed out. Did it right next to her husband’s crypt.”
“Jesus,” I murmur, eyes locked on the half-dead trees near where Kane said the Cartwrights were buried. “Why would Kane leave out that part of the story?”
Ryker chuckles. “Because my brother’s never been able to tell the difference between the hero of the story and the villain.”