Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I’m on my hands and knees. My neck aches as I look up. The prison’s unrecognizable. Like a bomb’s detonated. Insulation falls like snow over the rubble, the strong walls reduced to crumbled brick, as raw sky lords over the destruction.
My lungs burn with filth as I shriek. “River! Charlie!”
The only response is more ringing. Rough edges cut into my knees as I scramble over the debris, nails scraping raw as I dig. Even as the tips of my fingers bleed, nothing hurts.
Where are they?
I swim through the dust-drenched air, heart thundering, breathing ragged. I have to find them. I have to get to my brother. Charlie was right. I’m too late.
“Winona!”
It’s a tiny, muffled sound—takes me a second to recognize it’s my name.
I turn. A body crashes into me, kneeling in the rubble and wrapping me in a hug. Charlie? No. My own eyes, clouded with pure terror, reflect back at me.
“River!” I sob.
He’s okay. He’s here. He’s alive.
I wasn’t too late.
Gripping his collar, I tuck my face against his neck. “Oh my god. You’re okay!”
Curling into me, he sniffles. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I saw a bunch of shit flying and ran the car off into the trees. I might’ve dented it—”
I choke out a phlegmy laugh. “It’s fine.”
He pushes me back and takes me in. “Are you okay?”
Nodding, I insist, “Yeah, I’m good.”
A tear slips down River’s cheek, lancing me through the heart. “I tried to call you, to warn you about the storm. I got the alert. You were still on Airplane Mode.” He rasps, “You didn’t pick up the fucking phone, Win.”
My expression crumples as I fight not to cry again. “You shouldn’t have come back. It wasn’t safe.”
“I wouldn’t leave you,” he says fiercely, brow furrowing. “You didn’t leave me.”
“But I did.” I cup the back of his neck and pull him in again. “I did and I’m so fucking sorry.”
“But you came back.” His tear-stricken words muffle against the damp fabric of my shirt and I hold him tighter. It’s the most direct we’ve talked about that night since it happened.
“I’m always going to put you first, okay?” I lean back, meeting his eyes, our broken expressions matching. “You hear that? Always.”
River nods, throat bobbing.
He so deeply deserves to be loved selflessly. To have someone in his corner who will give up everything if it means doing what’s best for him. I will choose him before myself. Before our parents. Before my job. Before my marriage.
My marriage.
Charlie.
Bile crawls up my throat. “Oh god—”
“The car’s over—”
“Where is he?” A sob racks through me as I stand, bracing against River’s shoulder. “Please be okay. Please be okay.”
I swivel frantically, looking for any sign of him.
River stands. “Where’s who?”
“CHARLIE!” My vocal cords are shot, sandpapered down as I trip over piles of fallen stone.
River’s talking but I can’t hear him over my own shrieking, the name I plead with everything I’ve got. I scramble aimlessly. Searching for any signs of him. Please let him be okay.
I should’ve fought him off. Should’ve sent him away to take cover. He was protecting me when the roof blew off. He was holding me. Then he wasn’t. This is my fault.
“Charlie. Please,” I whimper, but it feels like nothing is listening.
“You were with someone?”
Oh, god. I never got to tell him the truth about why I left.
About River. There was so much I never told him.
So many pieces of myself I kept hidden. And for what?
What good did it do us? I thought I was doing what was best for him but what does any of that matter if I lose him for good?
If he dies still believing he did something wrong?
I didn’t even get to tell him I love him.
If Charlie dies, a piece of me dies with him.
“Help me find him. Please.” I tug River’s hand.
“Who—okay, yeah. Sure.”
Frustration and desperation and terror boil up in me and I whip my head over my shoulder, left, right, back. God dammit. Where is he? I cry out his name again.
“ATTIC.”
I drop River’s hand and jerk toward the mangled, robotic sound of the Ovilus.
A slash of red is wedged between two stones, the antenna snapped off, next to the standing remains of a wall.
I stumble to it and snatch it, holding it to my chest like a rosary.
I pray he’s okay. All I want is for Charlie to be okay.
To tell me I was an idiot for not listening to him.
To tell me he thinks ghosts are stupid and not real.
To tell me he hates me. To tell me he loves me. To tell me anything at all.
“FRENCH.”
“Stupid thing,” I sob, shaking it.
“Uh, Winona?” River points.
I spin.
Through the thick cloud of wet dust in the air, there’s a slope of shoulders under a twisted piece of metal. A flash of cinnamon hair. My heart pounds with a desperate hope: Let. Him. Be. Alive.
“CHARLIE!”
River and I clamber over the hills of rubble to where he’s sprawled on his back.
Filth coats his skin, blood weeps from the corner of his forehead caking in his hair.
His glasses are nowhere to be found, but his eyes flutter open.
Every muscle in my body goes slack as I fall to my knees and a breathy, wild laugh bursts from me as tears stream down my cheeks.
He’s alive.
I clap a hand to my mouth as I reach out, hovering my trembling fingers over the trail of blood seeping from a gash through his eyebrow. “You’re alive.”
His eyes are foggy as he takes in the sight of us. “Winona?”
“Yeah. It’s me, baby.” I cradle his head in my lap.
“You’re okay,” he says, awed.
I nod, more tears falling. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Oh, fuck,” River blurts. “I’ll call nine-one-one!” He pulls out his phone, lofting it high like he’s searching for a signal.
Charlie shifts his weight on one arm, wincing as he weakly says, “No, I’m okay.” He coughs a laugh, wincing again. “I don’t have great insurance.”
My brows knit together. “But—”
“I’m fine. I just need to get this shit off me.” He attempts to push the twisted metal sheet up, but it doesn’t budge.
“Let me help.” I gently shift his head out of my lap and stand.
“Winnie, no. Not by yourself—” His light eyes flick toward the direction River prowled off. But River’s too far away and I need this thing off of Charlie right now.
“I got it,” I insist, squatting to grip the edge.
“But your hip—”
“Is fine!” It’s not a lie; I’m still numb with adrenaline. “Now are you going to put your goddamn hands under it to help push, or do you want me to do this alone, Charlie?”
He puts his goddamn hands under it.
“One. Two. Three.” Taking a deep breath, I brace my core and lift as Charlie pushes. “Fuck,” I pant. Heavier than it looks. It’s up a few inches but not enough.
“Try getting underneath it. Your shoulder . . .” Charlie strains, a muscle popping in his neck.
Nodding, I sink lower and twist my body, nudging it beneath the sheet.
Jagged metal cuts into my skin as I grit my teeth.
My thighs burn as I grunt and lift the weight again with a strength I didn’t know I had.
When it’s high enough, I push it over. Scraping the stones beneath, it topples, freeing Charlie.
Except his shirt clings to his abdomen, soaked through with fresh, bright blood as he sits up, his backpack crushed beneath him. My fear ratchets back up and I sink to my knees next to him.
“Oh my god, Winnie.” Charlie clutches me to his chest, hand cradling the back of my head as he kisses my hair. “You’re okay. I thought—I thought I lost you. You took off and everything went black.”
The smell of iron turns my stomach as I nestle in the crook of his neck, sobbing. God, it feels so good to be in his arms. To feel his thundering pulse beneath my cheek. He’s alive. “I know. I’m so sorry. I never should’ve—”
“Sh, shh.” He strokes my hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“You’re bleeding.” I press my hand to the wound hiding beneath his shirt.
But he ignores me, tipping my chin up so I’m looking at him. His eyes are wet but a tender smile curls on his mouth. “That’s River?”
My heart bursts, more tears falling. What a first meeting. I nod as I brush at the blood crusting by his eye, trickling from a jagged cut near his hairline. “I think you need stitches.”
He snorts a phlegmy laugh, passing his thumb over my cheek. “I see the resemblance.”
I cup the back of his neck, tipping my forehead against his. “Oh god, Charlie. He was the reason. It wasn’t you—it was never you. I needed to protect him. And then my mom—god, my mom. But it was never you. Okay? I promise it was never you. I was trying to keep you from getting mixed up in it all.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t understand—”
“I’ll explain. Everything, okay? All of it.” I swallow. “But let me take care of you first.”
He tenses, hissing as I peel up the hem of his shirt.
His stomach heaves with his tortured breathing.
The usual taut muscle is puffy and swollen, pink with inflammation.
But it darkens into a mottle of purple and blue, heavy bruising spreading across his torso.
Blood smears across the colors, spilling from a nasty gash across his ribs.
I blink back tears as I trace the wound without touching. “Charlie—”
“Don’t worry about me,” he grits. His hand sweeps over my bad hip. “Are you hurt?”
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m fine? You’re not. I need to do something about this bleeding.”
He’s losing blood, and I have no idea if the amount soaking his clothes is dangerous or not, but I can’t get caught up in a panic.
Staunching the flow is the first priority.
I yank my shirt, trying to rip off something I can use to apply pressure, but it doesn’t give.
Groaning in frustration, I tear the stupid thing over my head and bunch the fabric in my fist. He sucks in a breath as I straddle his lap, and gasps in pain as I press it to his wound with force.
“I’m sorry it hurts,” I mutter, damp tendrils of hair falling around me as I lean forward, putting my weight into it.