Where Darkness Blooms, page 23
The rest was a blur as Caleb lifted her over his shoulder and carried her inside. The house was mostly empty. Whitney remembered thinking, This isn’t what most hospitals look like, before dropping out of consciousness. There was a flurry of whispers, then the sharp taste of something acrid on her tongue as one of them tipped a plastic cup to her mouth. The shh, shh, shh of gauze as they wrapped her shoulder.
Whitney hadn’t remembered much after that. She hadn’t even thought about the car ride or the hospital again until this moment.
But had her sister known? She had to have known.
Jude hadn’t been injured, or panicked, or drugged. She’d let them drag Whitney into that gross old house and call it a hospital, when it clearly wasn’t.
Whitney wouldn’t do the same to Delilah.
She stepped between Bennett and Delilah. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m trying to help her. Don’t you want that?”
Whitney pushed him. “Get away from her.”
“Whitney,” Alma said softly from somewhere in the dark.
“No, he’s lying.” She pushed herself fully in front of Delilah so he couldn’t touch her. “He’s not going to take her to the hospital. He’s going to take her to some haunted house in the middle of the fields and finish what his uncle started.”
Bennett’s eyes grew wide. “You remember.”
“Whitney, what did he do to you?” Bo was suddenly pacing, her fists clenching and unclenching as if she were ready for a brawl.
“There’s no hospital nearby,” she said softly as her brain tried to snap the pieces into place. “The Hardings just pretended. They took me to some abandoned house instead, and … I think they drugged me so I wouldn’t remember.” The realization dawned on Whitney as clear as a spring morning. “They’re never going to let us leave Bishop. We’re going to be trapped in this town until they kill us all, one by one.”
The air hung heavy in the room around them. Bennett choked out a sob. “I’m so sorry,” he said, staring at Delilah. “I had no idea what I was doing. I—I was just following my brother and my uncle, and I didn’t even think—”
“You didn’t think.” Bo stopped pacing and stared at Bennett with the kind of look that made Whitney’s whole body chill. “You just did all these horrible things that you knew were wrong because your family was doing it? You lied about taking Whitney to the hospital? You let them cut up your girlfriend and you led Jude on and—”
“I didn’t lead her on!” Bennett said, running his hands over his eyes. “I care about Jude. I always have. But this … thing inside me kept bringing me back to Delilah. It wouldn’t let me not be with her, like it would whisper things to me whenever I thought about it. Things like, You’re giving up on everyone and You’ll ruin everything we’ve built. So I just … kept doing it.”
He looked pathetic standing there, the peach-tinged light turning his skin a queasy shade of burnt orange. Whitney held back the urge to feel sorry for him. He’d done this to himself. “You did nothing, and now we all have to pay for it,” she growled.
“I’m trying to fix it,” he said softly, pulling something from his pocket. He held out a small box to the light. It was a first aid kit.
“Pfft.” Bo scoffed. “Screw you for even bringing that. She’s dying! Look at her. She’s bleeding out!”
Bennett swallowed. “Please, just let me do this.” Before Bo could respond, he sank down in front of Delilah and started to work. His fingers shook as he readied a needle and surgical thread. “Help me,” he said, the needle hovering just over Delilah’s wound.
Whitney slid to the floor beside him. Her stomach flip-flopped as she looked closely at the cut. It didn’t seem that deep, but the clean line across her neck was a deep crimson, and the skin around it had already started to turn pink and puffy.
“Pinch it together,” Bennett said, his lips quivering.
Alma gently placed both hands on Delilah’s shoulders, even though her eyes were closed again. Whitney took a deep breath. And then she pressed the widest part of the wound closed.
Delilah’s eyes snapped open. She started to yell, but Alma squeezed her shoulders harder. A bead of sweat formed on Bennett’s brow as he worked, expertly weaving the suture needle in and out, in and out, leaving behind a trail of zigzagging black thread. Bo frantically paced, wringing her hands until they were splotchy and pink.
When he got to the end, he leaned in so close to Delilah that his cheek was flush with hers. He paused there for a moment before biting through the nylon string. “There,” he said, tying it off. “That’ll help.”
Delilah looked up at him with woozy, lovesick eyes, and Whitney cringed. She couldn’t possibly still love him after all of this … could she? She’d thought the same thing about Jude, though, and look what had happened.
She glanced over at Alma, whose hands still pressed into Delilah’s shoulders, though she was looking at Whitney. Even in the temporary stillness of that small, dank space, Whitney’s pulse fluttered. She’d only known Alma for days—hours, really—but her heart remembered what the beginning of love felt like. It was like muscle memory. Once you’d done it, practiced it in thoughts and whispers and kisses, you knew when you were about to take off running again.
Even only having known Alma for hours, it would be hard for Whitney to unravel herself from her. Of course it would be even harder for Delilah, who had tethered herself to Bennett for years.
Delilah’s dark lashes fluttered as she breathed heavily. Bennett’s face was so close to hers that their noses were almost touching. She cleared her throat. Her voice cracked.
“What did you say?” Bennett asked. He reached his hand toward Delilah’s cheek, but thought better of it.
“You … did … this,” Delilah whispered, her voice raspy.
Bennett dropped his hand. “I’m going to fix it, I swear to you. I’m so sorry, I—”
“Sorry doesn’t mean shit now,” Whitney snapped. “It’s too late. How are you going to fix this, Bennett? You think your uncle and your brother are just going to let us go?” She let out a laugh. “No way. We’re dead.”
Bennett wiped his eyes. It took everything in Whitney not to slap him and tell him to stop crying. In the corner, Bo still paced.
Delilah scooted herself upright and whispered, “Get … out.”
Bennett started to mumble. “I just … I thought.”
“You heard her,” Bo interrupted. She stopped pacing and slid into the sliver of space between Bennett and Delilah, arms crossed over her chest. “She told you to get out.”
Bennett looked like a deflated balloon as he tried to glance over the brick wall that was Bo standing in front of him. Finally, he grabbed the first aid kit and stood. Without a single word, he ascended the cellar stairs.
The doors slammed open before he even touched the handles. More petals—hundreds of them—fluttered into the room on the wind. Whitney’s mouth dropped open as the petals swirled around them, a beacon of brightness in the dark.
“Hello?” Bennett said, climbing another stair. “Who’s out there?”
The only reply was a gust of wind, followed by another mass suicide of petals.
Whitney tipped her head to look through the door. There was nothing but gray predawn sky and the field grass cresting the opening.
Bennett continued up the steps, swatting petals out of his eyes. He stepped onto the grass and turned to shut the doors.
A shovel swung into view, making a sick thwunk as it connected with the back of his head. Bennett let out a muted whimper before dropping into the grass.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The shovel vibrated under Jude’s fingers as she made contact. It sank into the back of Bennett’s neck like a carving knife slicing into a pumpkin. He hit the ground and didn’t get back up.
Jude let out a breath as she dropped the shovel. She stuck her head into the cellar. “You all okay?”
Four pairs of eyes glinted in the dim light. Whitney stepped onto the bottom stair and squinted. “Jude?”
“Yes,” Jude hissed. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
But only Whitney took another step forward. Her face looked haunted as she looked up at Jude. “How … why should we trust you?”
She fought the knot forming in her throat. “Whitney … I’m your sister.”
“But you betrayed us! You let the Hardings take me into that fake hospital! You betrayed Delilah for Bennett. He said you weren’t a problem, that you were on ‘their side’ now.”
Jude had always longed for that telepathic twin thing, but she’d never wanted it more than she did right now. She wanted to inject Whitney directly into her brain so she could see how Jude had been intimidated by the Hardings without realizing it at first, how Bennett had used her, tied her wrists so tightly that her fingers went numb and called it love. She wanted her twin to feel the same agony that Jude felt, just for a second, so she could see that there was no way Jude could stay here anymore.
That she was ready to run.
“Give me the knife.” Bo appeared in the light, her face gaunt and angry. Tendrils of dried blood climbed up her freckled arms like ivy vines. She held out her hand.
“What knife…” Jude trailed off, remembering the knife she’d found beside the cellar after they’d dragged Bo inside. It was still in her pocket, the bloodstained handle sticking out at the hip.
“I don’t know if we can trust you,” Bo said, slowly ascending the stairs. “I need the knife.”
As collateral, Jude thought. So they have something to fight back with in case I take them to the Hardings. “Okay,” she said, slipping the knife from her pocket. “Take it.”
Bo snatched it from her hand and stuck it into her own pocket. She glanced behind her. “Lilah, can you walk?”
There was a groan and a shuffling sound, and Delilah appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Jude gasped. “Delilah, what happened to you?” She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. She knew what had happened to her.
The Hardings had happened. And it was all her fault.
Bo shot daggers at her as she backtracked down the steps to hook her arm around Delilah’s waist. Whitney emerged first, careful to exit the cellar as far away from Jude as she could, followed by Bo half carrying an exhausted Delilah. Alma tailed closely behind.
“Is that … smoke?” Alma asked, squinting at the sky. They all turned slowly toward the aroma. Jude pulled in a breath. It did smell like someone was having a bonfire, but it was the middle of a sweltering summer night.
“Doesn’t matter. We’ve got to find a way out of here,” Bo said. She glanced up at the Harding house. “They’re going to find out we’re gone.” It was a statement, not a question, and Jude knew in her bones that it was true.
“Where should we go?” Alma asked.
The girls grew silent. After a minute, Jude said, “The house? We could grab some supplies, get the keys to the car and try to drive out of here?”
Bo shook her head. “That car barely worked when our moms used it. I doubt it’ll start up now.”
“We still need supplies,” Whitney said. “A backpack of essentials. And then I guess we just … make a run for it.”
Make a run for it. Jude imagined them weaving through the sunflowers for miles, and then maybe they could find the old house the Hardings had used for a hospital. There had to be medical supplies there. And then …
Where?
Jude couldn’t picture what lay ahead for them. But it didn’t matter anymore; whatever was out there had to be better than this. “We’ll go grab some things—a first aid kit, water, some food—and head out through the sunflower field behind the house.”
The girls all glanced at one another, as if deciding if they could trust Jude’s plan. Jude’s heart climbed into her throat as she watched them silently deliberate in front of her. Finally, Bo nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.” She started off, careful not to let go of Delilah’s waist.
Whitney turned to Alma. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, clasping her hands around Alma’s shoulders. “You don’t have to, you know. I’ve already dragged you too far into this.”
Alma reached up and touched Whitney’s cheek with her hand. “Whitney. There’s nothing left for me here. I want to go with you.”
Whitney blinked. Her mouth broke into a hesitant smile. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.”
Together, the three of them ran across the yard, toward the street until they saw Bo and Delilah up ahead. “You can’t trust the cops,” Whitney hissed as they approached downtown. “They’re with the Hardings.”
“We’ll take the side streets until we can get to the gravel path,” Bo whispered back. “Then to the house. And then we run like our lives depend on it.”
Because they do, Jude thought.
The smell of smoke grew stronger as they got closer to Main Street. A pillow of smoke clouded the sky, casting a gloomy haze over Bishop. When they turned the corner, blue-and-red lights washed over the houses in front of them.
“Cops,” Alma whispered.
“And the fire truck,” Jude added.
“But we aren’t near the Nursing Care Center yet,” Whitney said.
Bo pointed. “Looks like they’ve got a bigger problem at the moment.”
Jude glanced at the smoke, which had expanded into a looming presence in the few minutes they’d been running. Now there were flames licking the sky just beyond her line of sight. “Oh god, there’s a fire at the police station,” she whispered.
Whitney’s eyes snapped to Alma’s. Her mouth dropped open. “Oh my god. A fire.”
Alma’s eyes widened. “They never got it under control.”
Whitney quickly explained what had happened with the cops, how she’d found Eleanor’s master plan buried beneath the old oak tree and finally put it to use. She’d never considered what would happen if they couldn’t contain the flames at the station. She hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“There have to be cops and firefighters all over downtown right now trying to contain it,” Bo said, watching the flames snap above the graphite roofs. “We need to get past town and head to the path while they’re busy.”
Jude nodded. The gravel path that circled the edge of town and led them back to Old Fairview Lane would be the safest route. They almost never bumped into anyone on it, and it pressed in so close to the sunflower fields that they could easily sneak into the mob of yellow if they heard someone coming. “Let’s do it.”
They raced through the streets running parallel to Main, weaving in and out of yards, pausing behind dilapidated garden sheds and chicken coops so Delilah could catch her breath. The smoke grew into an oppressive haze, clouding Jude’s vision as they tried to navigate their way back to the path. The wall of gray around them muddled everything; Jude swore she heard the quick pattering of footsteps trailing close behind at one point, but when she looked behind her, no one was there. Shouts trailed behind them like fairy-tale monsters in the woods, snapping at their heels.
The wind picked up as they pressed on, but it wasn’t a light, subtle breeze. It went from dead air to a ravaging, gnashing thing in seconds, making Jude’s eyes instantly water. Her chest tightened as panic coursed through her.
The Hardings must know.
Ahead of her, Delilah stumbled.
Jude raced to catch her before she dropped to the ground. She hooked her arm around Delilah’s waist and lifted. Delilah let out a puff of air as she tried to stand. Her face was as pale as milkweed, the skin under her eyes swollen and bruised. Delilah didn’t have much more in her. They had to move quicker.
“Whitney! Alma!” Jude shouted. “Help me carry her.”
Whitney lifted one leg, careful to shift most of the weight to her good arm. Alma took the other, while Jude and Bo wrapped each of Delilah’s arms around their shoulders. The four of them walked as fast as they could without jostling her too much.
You’ll never get out, the wind hissed in Jude’s ear.
She shook her head. It’s not real, she told herself. It can’t hurt you.
Jude felt the gravel path under her feet before she saw it. She let out a breath. They’d made it. They were going to make it.
She felt Bo push forward a little harder. “We’re almost there.”
Delilah started to cough as the wind raged. The smoke was everywhere now; it pressed in on all sides, dimming the sunflowers to a muted yellow. Every breath Jude took felt like a stone in her lungs, and what little oxygen she could catch was quickly swept away by the wind.
This is your fault, the wind hissed again. This time, it was tinged with the echo of a familiar voice. You betrayed them. You don’t deserve them.
You’re worthless.
“Stop,” she whispered to William’s voice. It was the same tone she’d heard on the wind that day in the clearing when Whitney had been trying to communicate with Eleanor through the weather vane. She’d thought it was Eleanor then, but now she knew better. Now they all knew better.
The wind was never going to lead them toward safety, toward love. It was an extension of the curse, the land, the Harding family, and she’d trusted it over her own voice for too long.
She gritted her teeth as the wind pushed against them head-on. It felt like running through molasses. The sunflowers were bent over, what was left of their petals shaking violently. Jude’s steps were labored as the gravel swirled around her, clotting her lungs and filling her mouth with dust.
“Got ’em!” A voice yelled from up ahead. Only when Jude squinted her eyes to look, the person it belonged to wasn’t very far away at all.
Sheriff Ableman stood in front of them, both hands on top of his hat to keep it in place. He was flanked by Bishop’s two other cops, blocking them on the path. The sheriff’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Y’all didn’t get very far, did you?” He picked up his radio and pressed it to his lips. “William? We found them. We’re on the path a few blocks from Old Fairview.”
