Chapter 40
Indie
a cure for minds unwell - lewis capaldi
One month later
My mom squeezes me a little tighter, pulling back as her glacial eyes look into mine, her voice gentle. “I’m going to take a little walk around the grounds with Malcolm.”
I give her the best smile I can, watching her as she reaches the double doors of the Pit, Saint’s dad giving me a knowing nod before following her outside.
It’s been over a month since my sister was buried.
The state held a public memorial for her, and then we were able to have a personal funeral, burying her in with my dad.
Her death was all over the headlines, a constant reminder of something else that was taken. The Omnia’s last hidden checkmate on me.
I walked into the university full of blood-soaked vengeance, and a wrath that could engulf the earth.
I left with my torn heart in my blood-soaked hands.
Regrets hanging over me that I never managed to get the forgiveness past my lips.
My sister’s body grew colder the longer I held her.
I was so caught up that she had lied to me again, that she managed to pull the wool over my eyes, that I saw nothing but tearing her apart the minute I heard the chaos in the library.
I stalked up those steps ready to destroy her—that was, until I heard her words that keep haunting the darkest parts of my mind.
She’s my fucking little sister.
I’m proud of you, Indigo.
A tear sinks down my cheek as I stare at the door, life moving along around me, and yet the world feels like it’s stood still since she left.
I visit Louisa’s grave whenever I can find the strength to.
Sometimes I just stare at it; sometimes I yell into the abyss at how angry I am with her and her choices, pleading for some fucking understanding to why she stayed silent, others I whisper that I wish I didn’t let that dark side overshadow my thoughts.
If the innocent side of me hadn’t been crushed a long time ago, then maybe I’d have enough empathy to hear the truth. But that’s just life.
To have gotten past our problems, we would have needed a lifetime of conversation. Now, that’s been taken from me, and all I can do is converse with a headstone.
At least I have an outlet to get the anger out of me, and it’s chained in the cells beneath the ground I’m standing on. I haven’t taken it up yet; I’m waiting until the moment feels right.
Because I know when I finally meet Conrad’s gaze, it’ll be the last time.
Louisa’s murder was reported for exactly what it was, a cold-hearted, anger-fuelled revenge killing.
Dawson and Regina slipped the files they had, along with the CCTV of Conrad luring my sister inside to the media and police. The latter I thought was pointless, but Regina pointed out, the Omnia has fallen. They’ll be forced to expose themselves now that the information is spreading.
The corruption has ended; fear and control no longer has its claws into Kingstone. The entire policing structure and the university is being investigated.
It still doesn’t feel like enough. We’ve only eradicated one source. It’s haunting to have the awareness that evil comes in many forms, and it’s rooted deep into the earth.
Conrad and Barry have been reported as missing, along with the rest of the hierarchy; the authorities believe they’re on the run, and that my sister’s actions of speaking up against a society that tried to control her cost her life.
Yeah, that was the only thing I could think of as being close to forgiveness.
Even though a small part of me will never comprehend her actions completely, the fact she endured it all just to keep Mom and I safe? Staying away because they killed our father for her disobedience?
It’s a hard pill to swallow.
We marked all the files and evidence as coming from Louisa, made out everything that Regina and I uncovered, along with Ultio, was all down to my sister.
We don’t want the credit for it. I could also go to jail if anyone looked through the murders with a fine-toothed comb, so we kept my death toll separate. I might be a killer, but I don’t deserve to be trialled for doing the right thing.
My faith will never be restored in the authorities, no matter if their crimes are being brought to the light.
I sigh, pinching my nose when I feel the strain along my forehead.
My head still battles with the thoughts. I know Louisa endured years in a marriage she was fooled into; I understand she was a victim of coercion, living in fear since the moment she was forced to do everything they asked her.
She couldn’t win to keep anyone safe.
Dammed if she did, dammed if she didn’t.
My throat constricts, and I try to clear it, but the sob gets stuck, causing me to choke. Hands wrap around my waist, pulling me into the only safety net my mind doesn’t seem to slip through. “I’m here, beautiful girl.”
My eyes squeeze shut as Saint holds me to his front, and when my body trembles to the point I can’t control it, he turns me to face him.
I’m scooped up in his arms, and my legs wrap around his waist as I bury my face into his neck.
He carries me into his bedroom and sets me down on the bathroom counter.
My blurry eyes stare at the wall, my skin becoming clammy, and by the time I break my fixation with the tiles, I notice he’s run a bath.
We don’t speak a word as he helps me out of my clothes, holding my hand as I sink down into the warmth. I don’t always need to say what I’m feeling; Saint just knows.
He can sense when my silence means my thoughts are loud. When my smiles are to hide the sadness threatening to drown me. That even though I’m standing tall, I’m ready to fall apart.
“Tilt your head back,” he whispers, leaning over the side of the tub and kissing my temple. I do as he says, the water soaking my hair as he washes it. The gesture causes my butchered heart to constrict.
Once he’s finished, he squeezes the water out of it, twisting the ends tight and wrapping it in a bun with a hair tie.
The first huff of a genuine laugh leaves me in weeks, and my voice is croaky. “Who taught you that?” I ask, glancing up at him.
He gives me a lopsided smile. “When you’ve been sleeping, I happen to end up stuck with your best friends, seeing as they’re always glued to mine.”
I spend most of my time napping. I’m so exhausted that I can’t fight the ache in my bones. I replay everything that’s happened in my life these past few months.
I sometimes think my psyche is slipping, and I’ve tried to open up more to the girls.
Talking helps, just not when you hold back, not wanting to bother the people you love.
I know they’d listen, and it’s early days.
I’ll get there with everything; I always do.
Thank God Doctor Beverley is still hanging around, although we’ve all probably pushed her back into retirement.
Saint helps me out of the bath, wrapping me in a fluffy towel, and leads me to the bed. He heads over to the closet whilst I dry off, returning with a pair of his sweatpants and hoodie for me.
Once I have them on, the comforting notes of his aftershave wrapping around me, he throws back the covers for me to get into.
I stare up at him as he sits against the headboard. His hand is scooped into the neck of the hoodie, palm gliding across my spine.
We lie in a comfortable silence, and the question that’s been lurking in the back of my mind is loud. I’ve been batting it away, not ready to deal with it quite yet.
It’s time to rip off the Band-Aid.
“Can you get them?” I whisper, looking up at Saint.
“Sure.” He leans to the side and dips his hand under the bed, pulling out two envelopes. “Do you want me to go?”
“No. Stay, please,” I say softly, my shaky hands taking the pieces of paper off him.
He tucks me into the crook of his arm, and I stare at the letters. One is yellowed through age, crumpled at the edges, and the envelope torn as its contents have been ripped open by the person who stole it from me.
I glance over his brutish handwriting, causing my chest to tighten.
To my darling Indie.
It trembles in my hand; this would have been my golden ticket.
It’s just like I mentioned how one decision can change your life forever. Conrad stealing Saint’s letter altered whatever path I was supposed to be on. Or maybe it put me on the one I was supposed to take all along.
When my watery eyes glance over the words, each dark character matching the exact ones he spoke to me up on the peak, I realise I wasn’t supposed to get this.
Not until today.
The words had an impact when he first spoke them, but now I truly feel the entire weight of them.
I sniff as I fold it back up, and Saint takes it from me to slip back in the envelope, placing it on the bedside table.
The next one hums with a burn on my lap.
There’s no name over the fresh white paper, nothing to indicate what’s held inside it or who its recipient is. The only evidence is the government logo, and my sister’s office address printed on the top corner.
When I slowly tug it out, my tattered heart frays into pieces.
Indie.
I know I’ve told you sorry already, but it isn’t the right word. There wouldn’t be enough time left in this world for me to say it for how much I mean it.
Nor will there ever be a right word that fits how much I mean it. I wanted to tell you this today, but you’re right, I’m a coward. You didn’t have to say it; your eyes told me as much. I should know—I have the same look every time I see myself in the mirror.
I won’t bore you with more excuses, because that’s exactly what they are.
His ‘love’ made me blind from a very young age. I was never going to be saved from its hidden horrors.
I love you and Mom, so much. I know I never showed it, but the more I sealed myself off meant that hopefully whenever I got out of this, you’d both be safe, and my loss wouldn’t have hit the same.
Thank you for taking care of him. I wish I’d been as brave as you.
I have no doubts you’ll get them all, make sure they suffer.
I can’t leave this letter without saying I’m sorry I wasn’t the big sister you deserved.
I hope one day we’ll get to a place where I can say these words to your face, that I can find some of that courage that you have so much of, but with the way things are, my time is coming for everything I turned away from.
So if you’re reading this, then you know why.
Louisa.
My lids slam shut, though there’s no burn behind my eyes like you’d expect.
No.
It’s my skin, my heart, my fucking soul raging like it’s made out of fire and brimstone. The paper beneath my palms slowly glides away as Saint folds it back in the envelope, the sound of the drawer closing as he seals it away.
“What do you need?” he says next to me, his voice like gravel, but it does nothing to ease the flames that roar from me right now.
A stillness suddenly washes over me, and the moment I open my eyes, I know it’s only there to pacify me until I do what I need to.
It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for.
I turn to Saint as he stares at me expectantly. “Get him ready.”