“One night, I was invited to a party way across town but my parents forced me to stay home to watch Abby while they went out to celebrate their wedding anniversary.” My voice drops to a whisper and my eyes flutter open.
I stare at the wall for a long time in silence. Even now, after all these years, I can still see the flashing of red and blue lights from the police cars and ambulance parked outside on the street.
“I went anyway, leaving Abby behind. I promised I’d only be gone an hour.” I shake my head in denial. With a shaky breath, I confess, “In her final moments alive, as three men who had broken into the house and had their way with her, I know her thoughts were on me. She was probably wondering where I was and why I wasn’t swooping in to save her.”
Blair’s arm tightens around me as a sob slips past my lips and the tears start falling again. The pillow beneath my head grows damp. Minutes pass in silence. Blair doesn’t push for more, she simply lays there, breathing steadily. I focus on the rise and fall of her chest that’s pressed against my back and I mimic her breathing. After a bit, the tears stop.
“After that everything changed. I lost my favorite person because I was selfish and wanted to party. My parents lost a daughter and they had a failure as a son. They blamed me for what happened and they were right to. If I had been there, nothing bad would’ve happened to Abby. One of the worst parts of it all was that my parents didn’t even tell me when her funeral was. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. After that, their marriage fell apart and they acted like I didn’t exist. I…I spiraled. The guilt ate at me until I snapped. I went after all three men—the police knew who they were, they just couldn’t find them. But I did and I killed them.”
My tongue darts out to lick at my dry lips. I don’t regret killing them. In fact, the killing was the least awful part about those wretched months.
“I was caught almost immediately. Someone had seen and reported a guy walking around covered in blood. I was sentenced to thirteen years in federal prison and I did eight of those years. But I was going crazy behind bars. It was like those kills hadwoken something in me. I wanted to do it again, and again, until there were no more monsters in the world that could hurt little girls like Abby. So I escaped and started killing again.”
I pause to rub my face against the pillow, using it to wipe away my tears.
“Ledger found me on the rooftop after one of his contracted jobs and brought me to Gnarly Pines,” I continue after a bit. “He gave me a roof over my head, a job, and all that he asked in return was that I just stuck around. He didn’t ask much of me and didn’t care Santi and I kill people. It’s the perfect set-up here. I was so grateful for that. But over the past four years that I’ve been here, I became paranoid. I couldn’t go back to prison because Ihadto keep killing. It’s why I’ve been so against having you around. You could bring all sorts of trouble, including the police, right to my doorstep. I’ve been so scared I’d be caught and dragged back behind bars. But now… I think I’ve been doing this all wrong.”
I stop talking, gathering my breath as I mull over all of the blurry, incomplete thoughts I’ve been having over the course of the past few days.
“What have you been doing wrong, Rhett?” Blair asks after a long silence.
Everything, I want to blurt out. Instead, I give her question some consideration.
“I thought the killing was a way to atone for failing Abby and that I was saving others like her. It never crossed my mind that, with each kill, I was erasing the brother that she knew.” I grimace. “Abby would be horrified by the walking corpse that I’ve become. I… I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing anymore. I’mtiredof hurting the people around me but I don’t know how to be anything different thanthis.”
Voicing my shameful confession feels like I’ve crawled out from beneath a boulder that’s been crushing me for years. Thepain of its presence lingers but now I have room for my lungs to expand. When I suck in a breath, it’s deep and fulfilling. I drag in Blair’s scent; it’s something sweet like… oranges? An orange creamsicle maybe? It’s soothing without being overbearing. Her scent is in the pillow I clutch to my face, in the sheets that cover me, and wafting from her skin. I’m surrounded by all things Blair.
Another stretch of time goes by without either of us saying a word. Inwardly, I’m marveling at how good it feels to get this all off my chest. I haven’t spoken this much in general in a long time. Even around Santi. And definitely not about Abby.
Blair’s gentle breath hits the center of my back as she finally lets out a soft sigh.
“For what it’s worth,” she starts slowly. “I think, as someone who’s been in Abby’s shoes, that what you’re doing is both noble and necessary. I think she would still see you as a hero in that regard.”
It takes a moment for her words to process, but when they do, I stiffen and my empty stomach revolts. I start to roll over but Blair’s hold around me tightens—preventing me from turning to look at her.
“Shh, this isn’t about me,” she corrects sharply. “It’s about you.”
“But—”
“Listen to me.” She cuts me off. “It sounds like you’ve been ignoring an open wound and because of that, you’ve caught an infection and have gotten sick. It almost took your life tonight because you haven’t been tending to it. But that can change.”
I frown at the strange analogy.
Blair continues, her words softening as her hold loosens around me now that she knows I won’t turn around. “You made a mistake, but you were a kid, Rhett. I’m so sorry all that happened but you’ve shouldered too much of this blame for toolong. You’ve made yourself sick with bitterness from it.That’swhat was wrong, it’s not the killing. Your Abby wouldn’t like to see how riddled you are with self-hatred.”
A shiver walks down my spine. I don’t want to believe there’s any part of me that Abbywouldn’tlike.
“Abby might not behereanymore,” Blair hedges. “But parts of her are. You have to live in order for her memory to go on. That means loving, laughing, failing, and succeeding. If you kill yourself, who else will share stories about how wonderful Abby was? Hell, you and Santi might even get to have kids some day so you can pass those stories on.”
A snort slips past my lips and my body shakes as a chuckle makes its way through me.
“Kids? Plural?”
“Okay, maybe just start with one,” she concedes. “I hear they’re kind of a lot of work.”
Again, I find myself chuckling. “Santi would probably love that.”
“Yeah, he probably would,” Blair agrees. I can hear the smile in her voice. “Especially if he’s raising onewithyou.”
