Key to Hell (Hell Night Series Book 4), page 11
It’s too dark to know where I am. I just know it’s not my bedroom. There’s a weird smell. Like how people smell when they’re sick.
I turn my head and see a window. It’s dark out, and I can see the moon through the curtain that’s barely open.
Something pounds inside my head, and I reach up to rub my forehead, then realize my arms aren’t working. A moment later, my wrists start to sting. I glance down and frown when I notice my arms aren’t working because there’re black straps attached to them.
Why are my arms tied down? What’s happening?
My eyes move past the black straps and see something white wrapped around my wrists. When I try to move my arms again another sharp pain comes. My vision blurs again, this time with tears.
Memories of me in the gazebo with a knife in my hand flash in my head. Then I remember the pain when I pressed it against my wrists. It hurt so badly, but all I thought about was that it didn’t hurt as bad as when Mr. Masters made Aziah do those nasty things to me. I was sad because I just wanted to die, but I knew I would miss everyone I cared about. That’s why I went to the gazebo to do it. I felt close to them there. Like they were with me.
My nose burns, and tears slide out of the corners of my eyes. It was all for nothing, because I didn’t die. I’m still here, and Hell Night is coming up, so the pain will continue.
Scared and feeling alone, I begin to scream. My arms and even my legs are tied down, but I don’t care. I pull and yank until I feel wetness through the bandages on my wrists. I scream until my throat hurts. I pray so hard to God and beg him to take me away from this place.
I’m momentarily blinded, and my screams die down when a door opens, flooding the room with light. It takes me a moment to realize who walks into the room.
“Dr. M-Manor?” I stutter out. “W-What’s going o-on?”
“Hush, child,” he scolds, his voice harder than I’ve ever heard before. It scares me. “You’ve already caused enough trouble the last few days.”
He steps further into the room and pulls something from his pocket. It’s a needle. My eyes widen when he moves to the bed. I didn’t notice the needle stuck in the back of my hand until he lifts the small clear tube and it tugs against my skin. He puts the needle in some type of plastic thing that’s attached to the tube and pushes the plunger.
His eyes move to me once he’s done. “Now, you’re going to sleep for a while, and when you wake up, everything will be different.”
As soon as the words leave his lips, I feel a heaviness in my eyes, like something is pulling them closed. I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want to wake up. I’m afraid of what will happen if I do either.
My eyes close by themselves, and I try so hard to make them open again, but I can’t.
Trouble, Aziah, anyone, please help me, is my last thought before everything goes black.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED.”
“It’s all over the news. Have you heard from Harold or Jamie?”
“No. The news stations are saying most were apprehended, but some were killed and some got away.”
“Maybe they were some of the ones who got away.”
The low whispers filter in and out of my foggy head. I swallow, then lick my dry lips. My eyes feel swollen, and I struggle to lift my eyelids. I squint because the light is too bright. It causes my head to pound.
Everything seems familiar. Like I’ve done this before. Except last time it was dark. I suck in a sharp breath when I remember waking up in Dr. Manor’s office. Remember him telling me everything was going to be different, right before he gave me something to make me sleep.
“Marco, she’s awake,” a female voice says.
I turn my head and find a man and woman across the room. The man turns away from the television and looks at me. The woman has her hands pressed together in front of her, the tips of her fingers touching her chin like she’s praying. They both walk over to the bed.
“Hello, Daisy,” the man says, smiling.
I look at them both warily. “Rella,” I say in a small voice.
“I’m sorry, dear. What was that?” The woman steps forward.
I clear my throat. “My name. It’s Rella.”
She frowns and glances at the man. His eyes are still on me, and I don’t like the way they look.
“I think we’ll stick with Daisy,” he says. “It’s more… fitting. You’re a beautiful, delicate little flower.”
He licks his lips, and it makes my stomach feel weird. Like I’m going to be sick.
“Isn’t she a beautiful flower, honey?”
The smile the woman gives the man matches the look in his eyes. Fear crawls down my spine, and I begin to shake.
“W-Who are you? Where’s m-my mom and dad?”
“There’s no need to be scared.” She lays a hand on my knee over the covers, and I freeze, scared to move away. “This is my husband, Marco, and I’m Gabriela. We’re friends of Harold and Jamie Moore. Your mom and dad thought it best you come stay with us for a little while.” She moves her hand up my leg and stops on my thigh, way too close to my private parts. “But something happened, so you’ll be staying with us for a long, long time now.”
“W-What happened?”
It’s the man named Marco who answers. “There were a bunch of police that showed up in Sweet Haven. Almost all of the adults were arrested.”
My eyes widen. What about Trouble and the others? What happened to Aziah?
“So, you see? It’s good that you came here when you did. We’re going to take good care of you, Daisy.”
I swallow down the vomit that’s coming up my throat. Tears begin falling down my cheeks. I don’t think I’m going to like the way they want to take care of me. Something tells me it’s going to be worse than when I was in Sweet Haven.
“Shh,” Gabriela whispers. She leans over, and I whimper when she presses her lips against mine. I try to turn my head away, but she grips my chin and holds it in place. “Don’t cry, dear. You, Marco, and I are going to have a lovely time.”
Something touches my neck, and a nasty shiver crawls down my spine when I look at Marco. He moves his finger down and across my collarbone. I cry harder when he touches the collar of my shirt.
“Yes,” he says. His eyes look strange, and his chest is rising and falling fast. I recognize the look from Mr. Masters on Hell Night. It terrifies me. “Everything is going to be just fine, little flower.” He smiles creepily again. “We’ll make you feel very welcome here.”
Trouble! Aziah! Please find me! Please help me!
I scream the words over and over and over in my head, but it does me no good. They can’t hear me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RELLA
I STARE DOWN AT THE headstone with my name on it. It’s strange and almost fascinating, knowing that for a long time, everyone else thought I was here, in the ground.
The wind blows, rustling the leaves across the ground. The headstone is beautiful. A dancing girl is carved into the granite. The words A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep are etched below her. It was my favorite quote from Cinderella. There’s a vase of flowers sitting in front of the headstone. Real ones, not the fake ones people normally use to avoid replacing them.
“This is beautiful,” I remark quietly to the man beside me.
“Mom and D—” He stops and clears his throat. “Donald and Sandra picked out a plain slab. One of the first things we did when we came back was change it. Emo picked out the headstone, and I picked the quote.”
I glance back at Aziah, who’s several yards away, giving me and Trouble a moment alone together.
“It’s perfect.”
“He comes out here every week and replaces those.” He juts his chin toward the flowers. “I did it for a while too, to let him know he didn’t have to put them out there on his own, but he just kept doing it himself. I eventually left it up to him. I think it was something he needed to do on his own.” His voice lowers. “He has a flower garden in his backyard that he takes care of. That’s where all the flowers come from, and he only uses them for this.”
Sorrow fills me, and I look at Aziah again. He always portrays himself as this hardened, unattached man, but on the inside, he’s so full of love and compassion. Even being away from him for twenty-four years, I can still see it.
“Emo has a lot of problems,” Trouble continues, and I bring my attention back to him. He turns to face me. “More so now than when you knew him before. He’s volatile, unpredictable, and unstable. Half the time I don’t know what he’s thinking, and he’s capable of anything. The man isn’t all the way right in his head.”
Anger begins to slowly make itself known inside of me. I don’t like the way he’s talking about Aziah.
A small smile appears on his face, and it only irritates me further.
“You misunderstand me, Rella. I don’t say this out of disrespect to Emo or because I think less of him. I say it because you and he seem to be really close. The bond between you two is stronger today than it was back then. He’s changed over the years, but there’s always been two constants: his guilt over what he was forced to do to you, and his guilt because he felt like he failed you.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes and my chest grows tight. I take in shallow breaths of air because it hurts too much to pull in more.
“I’ve never blamed him,” I whisper through my constricting throat.
Trouble moves closer but stops a couple of feet away. “You and I both know that. It’s only him who doesn’t. I’ve told him many times over the years he had no choice, but we both know how stubborn he is. His mind is set on one belief and it won’t let him believe anything else.”
Guilt is a living thing that can swallow a person whole. I know this from experience. I carried my own guilt for years for letting my brother continue to believe I was dead. I never blamed him, Aziah, or the others for not coming and taking me away from Gabriela and Marco, but I often wondered why they didn’t. It wasn’t until a year after I came to live with them that they let it slip that everyone thought I died that day in the gazebo.
After I left Gabriela and Marco, I wanted so badly to find them, but then I found out where they were, and I just couldn’t go to them. Even if it meant they still believed I died. Even if it meant I knew they would blame themselves. I was selfish.
“I carry some of that guilt myself. I will always feel I could have done something more to protect you better. Done something so you didn’t feel like you had to take your own life.” He holds up his hand when I go to speak. “There’s nothing you or anyone can say to change that.” He taps the side of his head. “In here I know there wasn’t anything I could do.” He taps his chest next. “But in here, it eats at me.”
I lift my hand, desperately wanting to reach out to him, but let it fall to my side a second later.
He smiles, but it’s filled with sadness.
“One day, little sister. One day you’ll let me hold you. I can wait until then.”
More tears leak down my cheeks. “I love you, Trouble.”
“And I love you.”
He turns slightly, his eyes sliding to Aziah.
“I’m glad you came back. Not just for myself, but more so for him.” He swivels his head back to me. “He needs you. I know you’re going through more than what you let on, so I know you need him just as much. He’s been broken all these years, and I think you’re the only one who can help heal him. I think you can heal each other.”
I’m left with no idea what to say, because I don’t know if I can do what he’s suggesting. How can one broken person heal another broken person? Aziah has always carried a special place in my heart, even from my first memory of him. He’s always been quiet and withdrawn, and I watched him go deeper inside himself the years we were in Sweet Haven. But no matter how dark his world got, he was always one of the best parts of mine.
I bite my lip to try to stop my tears from flowing. I give Trouble a silent nod. I don’t know if what he’s saying is true, if I’m capable of healing even a small part of Aziah, but for some reason Trouble believes it so. And if there’s any chance at all, I’ll do my best. Because Aziah deserves more than the dark world he’s lived in so far.
“I have something for you.”
He holds out a hand and peels back his fingers. I gasp at the silver cross necklace cradled in his palm. I forgot all about it until now. I used to wear it all the time until the clasp broke.
“Oh, wow,” I breathe as he drops the necklace in my palm. “I can’t believe you still have this.”
“I had the clasp fixed years ago.” He clears his throat. “I actually gave it to Remi for when Elijah gets older, but she wanted me to give it back to you.”
A soft smile pulls up my lips as I run my finger over the cross. I hold it back out to him. “I want you to give it back to her. I think Elijah should keep it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
With a nod, he takes the necklace and puts it into his pocket.
“There’s something I want to mention to you.” He looks down at his boots for a moment then lifts his head. “I have a friend, Luke Stoops, who’s a psychologist. He has an office in San Antonio, but he’s willing to make a trip out here to speak with you.”
My stomach dips. It’s not like I don’t know I probably need to speak with someone after everything I’ve been through. Many people who experienced what I have would be severely unstable. I consider myself lucky. I have problems, but they could be so much worse.
Sensing my discomfort, Trouble shifts so he’s fully facing me.
“Emo’s told me about your nightmares,” he enlightens me quietly. “It might do you good to talk with someone.”
Even though I advised Thea that talking to a stranger may help her, to do so myself sends dread and unease creeping through me. I hate the thought of talking to someone I don’t know about my horrific past. They may try to understand and help, but unless they’ve been in a similar situation, there’s no way for them to know exactly what needs to be done to help. All the help I need is right here in Malus. My brother, Elijah, Judge, JW, and Mae. They are the calm to the raging storm in my head because they were there.
“I don’t know.” I bite my lip.
“Will you at least think about it?”
I pull in a deep breath. “Yeah.” It’s the least I can do for my brother.
We stand in silence for several moments before I turn to him. He gives me a questioning look. I take a fortifying breath and will my limbs to work. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and my hands start to tremble.
His questioning look turns to concern while I stare at him with desperation.
“Rella, what—”
I don’t let him finish. “Just wait,” I croak.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I count to five in my head. I can do this. This is my brother.
Opening my eyes, I take a small step forward on shaky legs. His eyes widen and fill with longing. It’s that look that gives me the courage to take another step. It’s the yearning in my soul to be close to my brother that gives me the bravery I need to slowly reach up and touch his cheek.
He holds real still, like he’s afraid the slightest movement will frighten me, and closes his eyes. A soft sigh falls past his lips. I suck in a breath through my own lips and let it out slowly. I let my hand drop from his cheek and press myself closer to him, tentatively wrapping my arms around his waist. Resting my head against his chest, I hear the rapid beat of his heart.
He doesn’t move or even breathe for several seconds, then he slowly lifts his arms and wraps them around me. A sob escapes me, and I squeeze him tighter. It feels strange, yet familiar to be in his arms again. I didn’t realize how much I missed him until this moment.
We stay just as we are for a while. Neither talking, both of us barely breathing, scared to break the moment.
“Thank you,” he says softly against the top of my head.
I pull back and tip my head to him. The same eyes I see every day in the mirror stare down at me.
“Thank you,” he says again, “for giving me this.”
“Thank you for waiting,” I reply quietly.
Leaning down, he gently presses a kiss against my forehead before letting me go.
We both turn away from my grave and walk back over to Aziah. As we do, a lightness I don’t ever remember feeling fills me.
MY THROAT TIGHTENS AND the back of my eyes sting with unshed tears as I flip to the next page. Looking at my mother’s life through a picture album is bitter sweet. I’m glad I have these small glimpses, but it hurts to know I’ll never get to meet her.
A smile touches my lips when my eyes settle on a picture of her and my father lounging back against a tree. They’re both facing forward, leaning against each other with smiles on their faces. They look young and happy.
“I remember that day,” Mae says wistfully, interrupting my thoughts. She’s sitting on the couch a couple of feet from me. “We all went out for a picnic. We had to hide Macy and Aiden’s relationship from the town because everyone knew she was promised to Michael. If he got word, we knew there would be trouble. Dale, Macy, Aiden, and I went on a picnic where no one would see.” Mae smiles. “Macy was so happy that day.”
I look back down at the picture and run my finger over my mother’s face. “What was she like?”
“All of the pictures you’re looking at she developed herself. She loved taking photos from an early age. We turned one of our spare rooms into a black room and presented it to her for her thirteenth birthday. The look on her face when she saw it….” Mae trails off. “She was always in that room developing one picture or another.”
“What else?” I ask, unable to keep the eagerness from my tone.
“Her favorite flowers were Daisies.” Mae looks at me with a sad smile. “That’s where your name came from.”
