Chapter 15
Mason
The plan in my head hadn’t included a hike through the woods, but apparently Brandon’s place was a hunting cabin that you couldn’t actually drive to. It belonged to his family and he’d lived there because it was free. Elijah told me it was about half a mile from the lane we’d parked on, but it felt further than that. Even so, the jeans he was wearing fit him perfectly, and I was enjoying the view as I walked behind him. “Are you staring at my ass?” He stopped abruptly and whirled around to face me.
“Who, me?” I batted my eyelashes and put my hands up. He laughed and shoved at me then started walking again.
What felt like approximately five miles later, we came up over a ridge and a cabin came into view among the trees. It wasn’t a magical scene, by any means. The place was two stories, simple, made of wood. A place to stay but not much more. It looked a little run-down, but not terribly, like someone wanted to keep it livable but didn’t care much more than that.
Almost as soon as the structure appeared, Elijah’s stepsfaltered. He turned back and tried to walk past me the way we’d come. I caught him in my arms and he stopped walking but buried his head in my shoulder. “I don’t want to be here,” he said softly.
“I know,” I replied, hugging him to me. “But we need to see if you feel anything. We have to find answers, and fast. We’ve got to try.”
“I do feel something,” he whispered. “I feel pain.” He didn’t elaborate, but with obvious effort he pushed off me and started walking back toward the cabin.
I had the presence of mind to text Chris and let him know we were here. He scolded me for not waiting for him, but I told him it couldn’t wait. We’d be in and out, it’d be fine. The police tape was broken and blowing in the breeze, making the place look a little creepy. The birds were chirping all around and the cicadas were singing, but suddenly it seemed desolate. It was empty but it wasn’t just that. There was an eerie feeling of loneliness I couldn’t explain.
I glanced at Elijah, but he was checking the perimeter like someone or something might be hiding just around the corner of the house. We walked up the porch steps, past the tape, and I tried the knob with Elijah standing right behind me, close enough to touch me. The door opened easily. I rolled my eyes at the thought that the police had just left everything open when they left. They really needed someone to get them in line. Too bad I wasn’t staying, because I’d whip them right into shape. I took a step inside, Elijah clinging to my back. “I don’t like it here,” he whispered.
“Is it Brandon?” I asked him. “Is he here?”
Elijah shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t... I don’t literally feel his presence, but he was, and I can not only feel his fear from that night, but my own from the even more distant past. I can feel anger, it’s everywhere, from so many different points in time.”
I did not miss the words he probably hadn’t even meant to say. I turned to him. “Tell me what happened to you here. No oneknows but you. I want to know. Get it out so you can let it go. He’s been paid back for all the times he hurt you, and he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. Tell me.”
Elijah looked down as he leaned on the door frame. He hesitated there for a minute, but finally said, “He told me to meet him here. He said he just wanted to see me.” He finally looked up at me, his eyes imploring. “He could be really nice when he wanted to be. That’s what people never understood. My friends always asked me why I was with him, but when he was sober, he was a different person. He was a gentleman, even though I know that’s hard to believe. He was charming and caring. He treated me like a fucking prince, and he was always sorry when he was mean. He seemed regretful, every time, and I truly think he was. But when he was drinking, he didn’t care. A lot of it I explained away, telling myself that even though he had a temper and yelled and threw things and threatened me, he wasn’t really abusing me because he hadn’t physically hurt me when he did it. I know that sounds silly now, but it was my way of coping at the time. Then there were the other times... like that night.”
I touched his face. “Just so you know, I don’t think you sound silly,” I said softly, and he looked into my eyes again. “I get it,” I said. “And it’s a common way of dealing with abuse, mental or physical. To tell yourself it’s not that bad, you’re overreacting. Especially when they act so sorry. It’s dangerous thinking, because it keeps you from leaving when you should, but it doesn’t make you sound silly. You were a victim of abuse, Elijah. I’m glad you got away before it was too late. Not everyone does.”
I felt him swallow, and dropped my hand back down. He finally straightened and walked past me into the room, looking around. I noted that even though the investigation was over, the place still hadn’t been cleaned. The walls were wood and there weren’t quite enough windows, letting in enough light to see but casting shadows all over. There was a stairway up to an open loft where I could see a bed and dresser beyond the wood railing. The living room was fairly large, with a couch and coffee table that faced a big TV on the wall. There was a doorway straight ahead.leading to what appeared to be a small kitchen, and off to the right another door that was probably a bathroom. The furniture was a little worn but the place wasn’t falling apart.
I paused as Elijah stilled in front of me, staring at the scene of what was obviously quite a struggle. An end table was overturned, a lamp broken beside it. A broken glass and beer cans were scattered on the floor next to a coffee table that had been moved sideways from its original position. And then there was the blood. A huge bloodstain on the floor right in the middle of the living room, in front of the couch. He’d kept fighting before landing there, though, because it was streaked on the coffee table, the wall, the broken lamp, even the couch. There was a distinct bloody handprint on the carpet in front of the overturned table.
Elijah had paled and gone completely quiet, and I had a feeling he was remembering some of the good times as he looked at the room in which his ex had died a horrible death. I hated that I’d had to bring him here, but I still felt that it had to be done. I knew it must hurt to see. I reached for him, but didn’t touch him, dropping my hand back down instead.
Elijah closed his eyes briefly, then took a breath and turned away from the scene. He continued his story. “When I got here that night, he was already drunk. I knew instantly I’d made a mistake, but he could outrun me even in that condition, and I knew I’d never beat him back to my car. He would’ve gotten pissed if I tried to leave just because he was drunk. All I could do was grit my teeth and try to keep him calm. He started out nice, started trying to make out with me.”
He glanced at me, and I knew it was weird for him to talk to the guy he was currently fucking about his previous love life, but I wasn’t judging him. I’d asked him to tell me. I’d dealt with a lot of domestic violence cases in my time as a cop, and I knew how it was.
He looked away and went on. “I just went with it, because he wasn’t pissed yet, and sometimes I could keep him nice until I could get away and come back when he was sober. We wentupstairs and I let him fuck me. As soon as he was done, though, he asked me about the weekend before when I’d gone out with my friends, and I knew it was about to go south. I told him we just went to the bar and we were drinking and dancing, having fun. He asked me if Trevor was there. Of course he was, he’s part of our friend group. Brandon started questioning me about talking to him and dancing with him and what we all did after we left the bar, which was go home. He asked if any other guys had talked to me. I told him no. Then he told me he’d heard I was dancing with Trevor. I mean, we were all dancing, but I wasn’t dancingwithhim. I had no idea if he was lying or had someone watching me who got the wrong idea, but the whole night was innocent. Trevor and I only happened the one time, when we were both single and desperate, and those feelings don’t exist. We’re just friends.”
He was staring too intently at the narrow staircase on the wall behind the TV, that led to the loft. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say, so I tried to brace myself.
“His anger finally boiled over and he was yelling at me, claiming I was cheating on him. He was at the point I knew I couldn’t calm him down or make him see reason. He tried to grab for me on the bed and I thought he might hit me, so I tried to leave. That always pissed him off and I knew it, but I also knew I couldn’t stay. I dodged him and jumped off the bed so he’d have to run around it—I was hoping to get a head start. I was going to run to my car in my underwear, because I didn’t know where the rest of my clothes were, and I didn’t care. My keys were downstairs on the table, and that was all I needed. I tried to be faster than him, but I was at the top of the stairs when he caught up. He shoved me, told me to stop trying to leave. But he shoved me hard enough while I was running that I pitched forward, and I fell down the stairs.”
My teeth ground together and my fists balled at my sides, but he wasn’t finished.
“I couldn’t move at first because it hurt too bad. I knew I was in bad shape. It hurt to breathe and my head was pounding,but I was so scared he was going to come down after me. He didn’t, though, he just cursed at me and said something about it being my fault. I heard him get back into bed. I finally managed to drag myself over to the couch, taking the tiniest breaths because it hurt so bad, and I tried to figure out what to do. I knew I couldn’t make it to my car even though he was asleep. I knew I had some broken ribs, but my phone was upstairs and I was pretty sure his was too. I wanted to call Rory, but I couldn’t even attempt climbing the stairs. I just stayed on the couch and tried to make myself keep breathing.”
I looked over at the couch, unable to even look at Elijah. My eyes were blurring with fury and I struggled to keep my breathing even. I wanted to bring Brandon back to life so I could kill him myself. I wanted his ghost to appear so I could send him straight to the afterlife. My entire body was tense, but I didn’t say anything. Not yet.
“He slept off a lot of the alcohol. I’m not sure how long it was, probably a couple of hours, but it felt like days.” I wanted to throw everything in the cabin around in a rage at the thought of Elijah sitting there with broken ribs for hours while that assshole slept upstairs. I didn’t move, though. “He finally got up and looked over the railing. He looked confused. When he saw me sitting down here, though, he seemed to remember what had happened. I’m sure I looked pretty rough.”
I grabbed his hand. I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to go back in time and fix it, change it all, but I couldn’t.
“He looked a little worried when I looked up at him. He came downstairs and walked over to the couch. I flinched away from him when he hovered above me, because I wasn’t sure if he was still pissed and I didn’t think I could handle any more right then. But he told me he wasn’t going to hurt me and asked if I was okay. I told him I was having trouble breathing, and he panicked a little bit. He asked if I could walk to the car and I told him no. He got some ice in a bag and put it on my head where I guess there was a welt. I knew that my head hurt, and really, everything hurt, but my ribs were the only thing I was acutelyaware of. I told him I thought my ribs were broken. He touched my side and I screamed. I couldn’t help it. He started apologizing and told me he didn’t mean to push me down the stairs, he was just upset that I was trying to leave.
“We both spent the rest of the night on the couch. He got me some water and for some reason tried to ice my side, which made me scream again, and he worried over the bruises on my arms and legs that I couldn’t even feel at the time. He fell asleep on the couch beside me after a while. I had the TV on to try to distract myself, but all I could focus on was the pain. I had to use the bathroom and made myself get up because I didn’t want him mad if I pissed on his couch. I struggled the whole way there, and cried out a few times even though I tried to stop myself.”
