28. Drop
Drop
Helena
We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair;
I stand at the kitchen sink, my hands gripping the edge so tightly my knuckles go white.
The window’s faint reflection of my furrowed brow does nothing to distract me from the dark expanse beyond it.
The stables are dimly lit, silent and still.
I strain my eyes, willing Silas to emerge with Shadow.
Tonight, the pull in my chest is unbearable, the questions too loud to ignore.
I can’t stand at my bedroom window again, like a prisoner behind glass, powerless as he vanishes into the night. I need to know.
As if sensing my resolve, Silas appears.
A shadow, tall and unwavering, moves out of the stables.
Shadow’s powerful form shimmers under the meager light of the stars.
I see Silas swing into the saddle, his movements purposeful.
My pulse quickens as he nudges Shadow forward, the pair swiftly blending into the black ribbon of trees.
I grab my flannel, shoving my arms through the sleeves as I slip into my boots.
The door rattles on its hinges as I race into the cool night air.
I rush to the stables; Merriweather huffs softly, pawing at the dirt floor.
“I need your help,” I whisper, my voice trembling with urgency as I slide a harness over her head.
My fingers fumble for a moment before finding the buckles.
She shakes her head in protest, but I murmur to her, stroking her neck until she calms. Dragging over a hay bale, I leap onto her bare back, the rough bristles scratching my bare legs as my nightgown gathers at the top of my thighs.
There’s no saddle tonight; I can’t waste the time.
We head out into the vast night, heavy shadows folding in around us.
The trees close in, their branches clawing at the air, creating a jagged frame for the sky.
A sliver of a moon hangs low, doing little to fight the inky blackness.
Merriweather’s rhythmic hoofbeats on the soft trail thuds in my ears.
I guide her to the edge of the clearing, slipping into the cover of the dense brush.
The trees are eerily quiet, my breath loud against the hushed symphony of chirping crickets.
The eastern border of the property rises ahead, its thin line of trees looking almost skeletal against the low glow from beyond.
It’s been years since I’ve seen this part of the land, and I’m struck by the unnatural newness of the neighboring property.
A barn stands proud, its wooden face gleaming even in the dark, and beside it, the imposing silhouette of a two-story house looms. Why here?
My mind churns with possibilities, but none explain why Bennett would build this far from the road.
Ahead, Silas gallops with an urgency I’ve never seen, the fevered pace kicking up clouds of dust in the pale moonlight.
He heads into the thin line of trees marking Everly’s property without hesitation.
I hold Merriweather back, her gentle gait blending with the soft rustle of leaves around us.
Silas moves like a man on a mission, dismounting in one fluid motion as Shadow snorts and tosses his mane.
A coiled rope gleams in Silas’s hand, dangling at his side like a predator’s leash.
From the cover of the trees, I watch, my chest tightening as I strain to see through the oppressive dark.
Silas strides across the yard with a startling boldness, as though he owns it, his back straight, his movements deliberate.
Not once does he check his surroundings.
My eyes dart toward the barn, where a police car sits idle, its lights out.
The officer inside is oblivious, his line of sight completely blocked by the house. What the hell is Silas doing?
I nudge Merriweather forward, her hooves pressing into the soft carpet of leaves with a sound that seems impossibly loud in the stillness.
Every crunch feels like a gunshot, my pulse pounding in time with the beat of her steps.
My fingers tremble on the reins, sweat slicking my palms despite the chill in the air.
With shallow breaths, I lean against her neck, my focus narrowing on Silas, a phantom against the faint light of the house.
A jagged tug of fear knots in my gut, coiling tighter with every move he makes.
Silas halts, blending into the shadows like he’s part of the night itself.
He keeps to the side of a window, his silhouette still as he peers into the glass.
The house looms dark and silent, every trace of light extinguished in the hour past midnight.
He waits, poised and calculating, his figure etched in stark relief under the glow of the security lights.
My chest tightens as I watch him pull away from the window, retreating farther into the black where he becomes more shadow than man.
Then, with determination, he heads for the back door.
His hand moves to his pocket, pulling out what looks like a worn wallet.
But it isn’t. I watch as he opens it, extracting something too rigid to be mere bills or cards.
A slim, silvery tool catches the light for a brief second.
My breath hitches as he leans into the door, one hand gripping the knob while the other works the tool in the lock above.
The unmistakable sound of the metallic jiggle carries across the yard to where I crouch.
He’s breaking into Bennett’s home. I scream the thought in my mind, no words escaping my lips.
My throat feels dry, my voice a prisoner of my growing panic.
Cold dread washes over me as my gaze shifts to the tightly coiled rope under his arm.
He isn’t just breaking in— he’s here for Bennett .
The dark purpose looming in the air is undeniable now, heavy and suffocating .
“Fuck, Silas, no,” I whisper, the sound no louder than the rustle of leaves. My lips press against Meriweather’s mane, my body trembling with the knowledge of what’s to come if I don’t stop him.
I rest my forehead against the warmth of the horse’s neck. Closing my eyes, I force the panic back with a sharp inhale, and focus every ounce of strength on a desperate call to him.
Silas.
Silas.
My mind sends the word out with growing insistence, louder and louder within me, until the very night seems to vibrate with it.
Silas.
Stop.
Leave.
His body stiffens, the reaction almost indistinguishable but obvious in the tense stillness.
I hold my breath as he slowly scans the yard, his sharp gaze cutting through the darkness, but instead of retreating, his hand falters only briefly before returning to the door.
With a frustrated tug, he adjusts his hat, then refocuses on the lock.
A lump forms in my throat as I realize he’s ignoring me.
I straighten, my thoughts spinning wildly, grasping for anything to force him back. And then, it strikes me—a dangerous, reckless plan. If he won’t stop at my silent call, he’ll stop when he sees me.
Swallowing my fear, I slide off Meriweather, my knees buckling slightly as I hit the ground.
Twigs crunch softly under my boots as I inch toward the edge of the brush.
My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape as I step into the faint glow of the barn’s security light.
It casts my figure into clarity, a single interruption in the empty expanse of the yard.
I close my eyes for a moment, my hands clenched at my sides.
Silas .
Behind you, Silas.
My silent plea carries all the strength and urgency I can muster. He pauses, turning just enough for the brim of his Stetson to catch the light. His head tilts, the gleam of his eyes locking with mine across the space between us.
The moment stands thick in the air; the world contracting around that gaze. I see the flicker of shock, a breathless stillness in his posture. His sharp inhale slices through the quiet, his focus on me now as though nothing else in the world exists.
I tilt my head slowly, the movement meant to make him question, my eyes boring into him.
What are you here for, Silas?
My unspoken question hangs in the air, heavy with accusation.
Come home to me.
The words echo in my mind, incisive and commanding, and I see him falter. Silas turns, his eyes flashing with confusion, then a deeper, darker emotion flickers through: fear. His breathing deepens, but I don’t let up. Not yet.
Keeping my gaze locked with his, I make my final move, my ultimate deterrent. With a deep breath, I lower the veil that separates what he sees from who I am. A ripple of something unearthly moves through me, a tingling sensation spreading as my features shift.
From the edge of my vision, I see my hair lighten. I can feel the transformation take hold of me. The night seems to pull in tighter; the wind whipping around my legs as though nature itself answers to my call. My nightgown billows, its loose folds snapping like soft thunder in the sudden gale.
Silas stiffens. The coil of rope falls from his grip as his hands drop to his side, forgetting their purpose.
He takes an unsteady step back, his spine hitting the wall of the house.
Eyes wide with panic, they dart frantically around the yard, looking for a rational anchor, an explanation for the impossible.
When none appears, his hands scramble against the wood behind him, desperate for purchase.
The energy thrumming inside me tells me to press further, to let him steep in his terror, but I resist. Instead, I let the silence drag for a heartbeat longer, his panicked breath loud in the oppressive quiet. Then, with precise control, I release him from my presence.
I step back with a slow grace, my eyes still holding his for one last breath before I pivot on my heel.
Each movement is careful, as if reminding him of the gulf between us, between what he thinks he knows and what I’ve just revealed.
My bare feet carry me to the safety of the trees, their dark canopies swallowing me whole.
Once under their cover, I let the transformation dissipate; the energy rolling off me in soft waves as I regain my veiled shape.
My chest burns from holding back the trembling in my hands, but there’s no time for weakness now.
With speed born of urgency, I spring onto Merriweather’s back, her body tensing as she senses my urgency.
I dig my heels into her flanks, the leather of my boot pressing firm. She launches into a gallop, her powerful strides eating up the ground beneath us as we hurtle through the night. The wind tears at my hair, and the trees blur into dark smudges on either side of us, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
When the open expanse of the pasture appears, I press harder, urging her faster, until the world becomes a rushing void of sound and motion. My heart pounds not just with the exertion, but with the knowledge of what I’ve done, what I’ve set into motion.
I have to make it home before Silas.