Blood and Bone (Blood and Bone Series Book 1), page 11
My head spins, and I have to replay the last couple of memories to figure out that I shouldn’t be in any car with him. It’s hard when he’s the only thing I recall for years. I instantly trust him every time I see him.
He glances back at me, smiling. It isn’t the one I love. It’s not a full smile—his heart’s not in it. “You’re awake.”
“What are you doing?” I almost want to ask what he’s going to do to me, but I think starting off accusing him of things is a bad plan. I don’t know what makes him snap. He’s always been sweet to me. I haven’t ever seen him lose his mind.
He lifts the folder from my room. “Do you know the effort it took to make this go away? Do you know how hard it was for me to take this from you? Why can’t you see that this was the whole reason for it all?”
My heart stops. “What’s in that folder?”
His expression changes. “I’m going to show you.”
I sit up, rubbing my eyes and trying not to vomit. “What did you give me?”
“Your sedative.” His eyes find me in the rearview. “I have tried to protect you from yourself for years, Jane. Years. Everything is for you. If you say you’ll trust me and won’t fight me on this, we can turn around and drive to a new place. We won’t have to discuss this anymore.” He pleads with his eyes.
I shake my head. “I need to know. I need you to tell me what’s going on.”
A defeated look crosses his eyes. He doesn’t talk again. I curl up in the backseat, contemplating what chance I have of escaping. It doesn’t look good. I’m lethargic from the sedative and not nearly as strong as he is.
When he stops the car I realize my eyes are closed; like an idiot I’ve relaxed. It’s hard not to. He makes me calm. He’s still the person in the world I trust the most.
I stretch, looking around. Instantly I’m panicked. We are parked outside of a small house. My father’s house.
My heart starts first, followed by my mouth drying out and my eyes watering. He sighs, staring at the house. “Don’t make me do this,” he mutters.
“Okay. I trust you. I don’t want to go in there. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t make me go in there.”
“Don’t lie to me, Jane. I know you far better than you know yourself.” He doesn’t look back, but I can hear the emotion in his voice. “You’re making me do this because you don’t believe I have your best interests at heart.” He takes a few deep breaths. Each one echoes in the silence of the car, torturing me with its intensity. When he’s worked himself up enough, he gets out abruptly, ripping open the door.
“Don’t do this. I don’t want to do this. Let me come with you. I’ll be good. I’ll stay with you forever.”
When his hands come for me I fight and scream, but the difference in us is remarkable. He drags me, kicking and screaming, from the car. I know I make contact with my flailing legs and arms but he doesn’t flinch. I scratch and bite but his hands are strong, nearly as strong as his will. He flips me over his shoulders, carrying me inside. He kicks the door open, letting light into the dank space. When he gets inside the small front room, he closes the door. I scream again, but he lowers me, clamping a hand over my face. “Shhhhh. You don’t want to disturb the energy here. Let it lie; it’s better when it’s calm in here.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. I don’t even care. I just want out. My insides feel like a bomb has gone off. He holds my back to his chest with his arms wrapped around me, making me face the room like I am facing a fear of the dark or monsters.
He leans his mouth down close to my cheek, speaking in my ear with breathy whispers: “When I met you, you had to sleep with the night-light on. You were the only agent I knew of who went days without sleep because of it. The dark scared you.” He’s trembling, but he doesn’t stop. He walks us farther into the house, pushing me forward with his body. “This living room is where he usually got you to do things for the camera. He filmed it.”
The word diddle suddenly burns in my head. I gag on his hand, losing my fight as all will and strength is sucked from me. I flop onto my knees as images of the camera flicker in my fuzzy memories with jerks. Words float into my head, words and images. A sweaty fat man talks slowly, talking about how he wants things done. Hot tears fill my eyes. They’re desperate to block it all out. They want this to end. They don’t want me to see. But the problem is the things I see are inside me. My tears can’t block them out.
“Your aunt’s file was mostly from after the police got involved. It’s essentially the police report she was shown. I have added the pictures you had from before the police got involved. The ones you made me keep, even though they have burned a hole in my heart just by existing.” His voice shakes.
I hear the rustling of papers as a heavy sickness covers me like a cloud of very bad things. They’ve waited for me to come back. The cloud sat on the ceiling, building and gathering strength so when I came here it could rain down on me. I open my eyes, realizing I have been watching a movie in my head. The papers from the folder are spread across the wooden floor, snapshots of the evil inside me. The vileness of my soul has been captured on film. They capture a young girl doing things she shouldn’t know how to do. Hands and faces, body parts I refuse to see. I can’t see her face or her tears. I refuse to see her.
Horrors of the worst kind sit there, taunting me with the possibility I remember all of this but have repressed it.
Derek takes my hand, forcing me to stand, and pulls me into the hallway. Every inch of my body clamps and tightens, squeezing and crying out for our feet to freeze. The hot tears won’t stop, and my mouth won’t open. It’s clamped in protest. He opens a door at the end of the hall. Muted light floods through dirty windows, making shadows on the wooden floors. Shadows that become monsters, or rather feed the ones that are already here, lurking.
I know this room.
I know this evil.
“This was your room. I made sure everything ended here for him. It was the only way. He needed to go in the worst way possible, but I wanted to make sure he went here.”
The room is bare, but I can still see it all. I can still see the small wooden bed and the little plastic bin for my clothes that was shaped like a dresser but not one. A poor child’s dresser. My father always said it was an upgrade from a box. My eyes dart to the closet where the other bin was, the secret bin. I was never allowed to touch that bin. It was for the shows. They were the only things that made him happy. He never hit or hurt me when I did the shows in the pretty clothes.
I back up slowly, feeling my stomach gurgling. I turn, running from the room. I leap out the front door, losing my stomach onto the gravel and weeds. I heave until there’s nothing but tears leaving my eyes next to the ropes of spit and drool.
Derek’s hands are there suddenly, holding me. My soft whimpers become sobbing. I don’t know how to get past this moment. It feels like a cage that has been lowered over top of me, trapping me back where I once was, stuck in my head.
My heart is burning and my stomach aching, but even worse is the way my blinding tears make a mess of the view I have of the world. They make it pretty with a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. He rubs my back, and I now see how far he would go to love me and protect me and save me. I finally understand his obsession with my memory and the bad things I have saddled him with. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know why I made him know those things and let myself forget.
But I know why I forgot.
I wish I could again.
There is a horror show inside me. A lifetime of misery that was squeezed into a few short years and made to be enough to ruin me forever.
“Just breathe, Jane. Deep breaths will calm you down.”
I shake my head. “I remember. Pat came to the foster house I was sent to when the police called her. She fought with them in the yard, arguing about what they were going to do about it all. They left, and she took me. She smoked and sang, and everything changed from that moment on. He never saw me again. She made sure. I was nine.”
He rubs like he’s massaging. “She saved you, but she couldn’t save all of you. The memories and the nightmares and the sleepwalking. It was all mental scarring, damage that couldn’t be healed.”
The sleepwalking still seems crazy, but the small house of horrors seems crazier. The fact that’s all that’s wrong with me is a miracle. The memories weigh a ton inside me, and I know I have only a tenth of what’s there.
He lifts me up, carrying me back to the car. He places me inside, laying me down. I curl into the fetal position, holding myself tightly. “Who knows about this?”
“Everyone. Your personnel file has it mentioned a few times.”
I glance up at him. He’s on his knees in the dirt, staring at me. He looks apprehensive and scared. “So the world knew he was doing those things and they never took me away?”
“They put you in a home for foster kids because Pat was your only living relative. Pat lost it. She wanted to be certain you were not going into a home where the same thing would happen to you. She wanted to bring you to Texas, where she was living for work, but they said that you couldn’t leave the state until after the trial, and she had to apply for adoption. She knew the process would be lengthy, and you were a mess, so she just took you. She went the opposite way to North Carolina and rented a house and got a job and never looked back. She put you in therapy, but it didn’t help, and you ended up repressing most of it, recalling only a few details. But in your sleep it all comes back and you sleepwalk, kill things, and act savage. You have always done it. When you joined the military and government they used your lack of emotion for their benefit. The same way they did me.” He strokes my head soothingly. “When we were assigned each other, we found one another in the dark, Jane, but we made light for one another. You are my light and I am yours.”
I believe him, but I fear I will always be stuck in the things that are associated with this house. I won’t age or grow beyond those moments. They’re a roadblock in my mind and heart.
10. SEE SAM LIE
The ride across town is painful. I don’t know what to think or say. Every thought has become linked to some aspect of the secrets I now know, secrets I gave up everything to forget. “I need to see Pat.”
He looks back at me with a frown. “We are disappearing, Jane. We need to re-create ourselves again. I’m taking this away from you again, erasing the damage. You understand why, right?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to leave her hanging like that again.”
He sighs but nods. “You can say good-bye this time. But then we leave and forget all about this vile coastline. There is nothing but horridness here. We’ll go to Europe, enjoy a beach or a village where nothing bad will ever happen.”
I nod. I’m lost on what else to do. He’s right, even if I don’t want brain surgery again. I’m not fond of the idea of being back where I started when my memory was erased, but I want the filthy feelings inside me gone, forever. I never want to come back here or see any of this again. I close my eyes, putting the passenger seat in recline. “How did we decide on the plan? The one where you erase my memories.”
“It wasn’t the plan at first.”
“Just tell me how it happened.”
“It’s a long story.” He sounds like he’s trying to dissuade me from being interested.
“It’s a long drive back to North Carolina.”
His voice calms considerably, regardless of the disturbing aspects to the story. “I decided to kill you. I decided that it didn’t matter that I loved you. It was you or me, and I was choosing me. I got to your house, snuck inside, made a sandwich, and watched you sleep. I turned the night-light off, not fully understanding the ramifications that would have. I was halfway through my sandwich when you started to whimper. I don’t know why, but I walked to you, touching your hand so you would fall back to sleep. But you were awake, or so I thought. You reached over to undo my pants, tears running down your cheeks. I realized then how damaged you were. It broke my heart, what was left of it.” He turns, facing me, and I can see the raw emotions playing upon his face. “I understood the pain you harbored and the suffering you had endured. So I woke you from the strange sleepwalking sex act you were about to commit. We fought, wrestled around the room, you trying to kill me and me trying to defend myself without killing you. Eventually, I overpowered you and told you I knew who you were but I loved you. We kissed.” He stops there, but he’s blushing like there’s more to the story.
“Then what happened?”
He shrugs. “Well, nothing. Don’t get me wrong—you wanted more, but I could see what it all meant to you. Sex was a way to manipulate men and control them. So we talked. I came over every night. We talked and I cooked, and then we talked some more until one night you fell asleep with the lights off. When you woke in the morning we stayed in the bed, in the silence, and we knew. I confessed I didn’t want to kill you, and I didn’t want to die, so the only solution was to run.”
“And that’s where we are now? On the run again?”
His eyes narrow as if he’s squinting to look down the highway better. “Not exactly.” He sighs. “We burned the car after the accident we staged and tried for three years to be an honest couple, traveling and hiding from our employers. But you slowly got worse and worse. Your paranoia, nightmares, and sleepwalking were getting so bad I didn’t know what else to do. The job had been a focus for you. It had closed off your brain. When you worked you didn’t have nightmares or sleepwalk. I looked into people with amnesia, operations that caused it, and accidents that resulted in it. We decided together it was the best option for you.” He pulls over to the side of the road and gets out of the car. He messes around in the trunk and comes back with a small box. He hands it to me and drives on. “This is everything we had from before the operation.”
He drives, and I flip through three years of my life that I will never get back. There is a small photo album with trips to different countries and holidays. In the beginning we are smiling and look happy. As I flip through it I can see the decline in myself. My skin becomes sallow and pale. My eyes have huge bags under them. My hair is darker and darker but messier and less glossy. By the end, in every photo I can see worry in his eyes and a hollow distant stare in mine. The last three pages are photos of me sleeping on trains and in cars and in beds. It’s disturbing how easily my father chased us around the world, even after he was dead.
When we get back to Pat’s, he stops the car, giving me a look. “Five minutes, okay?”
I nod, getting out and carrying the album to the front door. She opens the door with a leery look on her face. “You was gone when I got up. Ya been gone the whole day. I thought we was gonna spend time together.”
I nod. “Sorry. I had to see something.” She glances past me to the man in the car. I lift the photo album to block her view. “I have something I need you to see and that I need you to know.” She looks confused but opens the door wider so we can both walk in. I sit down on the floral couch and brace myself for the very real possibility she is going to tell me I am insane.
I flip to the start of the book. “Six years ago I ran away with a man named Benjamin. He was the first person I think I ever loved.”
She scowls at the photos. “I never heard of him.”
“I kept him secret. We traveled for three years, and I spent every waking moment trying to outrun my father and the things he did after Mom died.”
She swallows hard, shuddering a little. I know that feeling well.
“I went everywhere and did everything I could to be rid of it all, but it didn’t work.” I flip pages until I get to the depressed pages. She points at the one of me looking particularly horrid. “That’s how your momma looked when she died.”
I nod, not even a little suspicious about how that happened. “Well, I was done. I needed a new life. So I had an operation to make me forget everything. When I woke, I was told I was in an accident. I was told I was a victim of amnesia. I was convinced my life was perfect before the car accident. I had a great man who cared for me and a cat named Binx.”
The name of the cat makes her cry as she nods. “That makes sense.”
I turn to her as tears start to roll down my cheeks. “I need to go back to that place. That beautiful oblivion that sits there waiting for me. The innocence of my mind and creation of my new past is the only thing that’s going to save me.”
Tears roll from her oddly colored eyes, looking similar to mine, I imagine. She sniffles, sucking her trembling breaths momentarily before nodding again. “I don’t blame you at all. If I could have taken it all away I woulda. I woulda done anything. I woulda walked through fire to make it go away. I didn’t know what was happening until the school called the social workers for help. I just didn’t know.” She lifts my hand to her lips and kisses, closing her eyes and gripping me. “Is there a world where I won’t remind you of him, or do I have to stay here in this world?”
I nod. “I think so. But you gotta leave this all behind. You must come with us, not tell anyone where you’re going and not be in communication with anyone. Can you do that?”
“I can.”
I wrap my arms around her, gripping her. “You are going to have to trust Benjamin Dash. Whatever he says is how it goes. He knows how to do this. He’s the person I trusted last time with my memory erasing.”
She sniffles and smiles, leaning into me more. “I will do whatever it takes. I don’t want to lose you again, Sam.”
The name makes me feel dirty. “Jane. I like Jane.”
“Jane it is.”
“We’re going to bring you with us this time. Pack your things, Aunty. You won’t be able to bring much, just the basics.” I kiss her cheek and get up, leaving her there. When I look back I try to be as upbeat as I can. “I’ll send him to come and get you. He uses the name Derek since we ran away.”
She smiles nicely. “I’ll be ready when he comes.”
