Page 56

EVIE

Last night was the hardest one since I’d been here. Wayne spent hours in the basement, doing God knows what, making Jackson scream so loud, it echoed up through the floorboards and tore my heart straight out of my chest. At first I wanted to drown them out, but I didn't want to deafen myself incase…incase he called out for me. So I laid on the bed and cried until Wayne returned to the bedroom and bent me over the chest of drawers in front of the window, coating my skin with Jackson's blood.

Afterwards, I cried in the shower as the pink water swirled down the drain and the metallic scent bloomed in the steam. I’d held my hands up to my face, horrified with the way Jackson’s blood latched onto my fingerprints, crimson webbing woven into my DNA. I moved like a ghost after I changed into one of Wayne’s flannels. It was as though my body floated down the hall, mindlessly moving as one thought weighed heavily on my mind.

I had to do something.

I couldn't just stand around while Wayne tortured the man I loved. Because if the positions were switched and Jackson was in my shoes, he wouldn't wait around until it was too late. He’d fight for me. Even…even if he got himself killed in the process.

This morning during breakfast, Wayne had shown me how Jackson’s disappearance was on the front page of the Sunday Times. “Jackson Easton, latest victim of The Skinner.” He laughed, proudly boasting his infamy. A murky glass of water with Jackson’s teeth sunken to the bottom sat beside him. I almost screamed when he showed me before I sank my teeth into my bottom lip so hard, I'd taken a chunk out.

Wayne hacked out a deep, wet cough from the sofa, the sound tearing through the otherwise-quiet lounge room as I stirred the lemon soup on the stovetop he told me to make. The soup simmered softly in front of me, steam curling into my face and stinging my eyes in a way that felt almost like punishment for standing here and pretending everything was normal. Behind me, the television rattled through old reruns of M*A*S*H as Wayne wheezed a laugh.

He’d fallen ill throughout the day—a runny nose had turned into a phlegmy cough by the evening, so he was slouched into the cushions, surrounded by crumpled tissues and half-empty mugs of honey-infused water scattered on the coffee table in front of him.

“Christ,” he muttered, nose thick with congestion. “This bloody cough’s gonna kill me before anything else does.”

“If we’re lucky,” I muttered under my breath and forced my hands to stay steady as I stirred the soup…like I didn't have pain killers I’d stolen from his medication he’d been prescribed from the doctor this morning hidden in my pocket.

I turned the burner off and let it cool, my hands curling into fists as my stomach turned. I was either being reckless or brave—I hadn't decided yet. But Jackson had to be in pain, and I couldn’t let him suffer anymore than he already had.

I waited almost an hour after Wayne ate until his obnoxious snores filled the lounge room. My hands trembled as I filled a glass with cold water. It sloshed over the rim immediately, spilling down my fingers. I wiped it quickly on my dress and stood there for a second. Okay. You can do this, Evie. Think of Jackson. Do this for Jackson.

I hesitantly crept down the hallway with my heart pounding in my chest, slowly taking gentle steps until the loud explosions from the television became white noise by the time I reached the basement door. I froze with my hand gripping the handle, heart thumping deafeningly in my ears. Wayne coughed again, and the abrupt sound shot through my body like a bullet.

I held my breath.

Then…

Snoring.

I exhaled shakily and forced my fingers to close around the handle. It creaked as I turned it, and I froze immediately. When no sounds followed, I turned it again.

Okay.

Okay.

I pulled it open, and more water spilled over the edge as my hands trembled. I opened the door just enough to slip through, and every step down the stairs felt like it might give me away. The wood complained under my weight, no matter how gently I tried to move, each sound tightening something in my chest until I thought I might stop entirely. By the time I reached the bottom, my legs were shaking so badly, I nearly missed the last step.

Christopher was sleeping, the indentation of his ribcage prominent from the position of his arms. Jackson was awake—barely. His head lifted slightly when he saw me, like it cost him something just to do that much. Dark bruising sat heavy under his eyes, and his jaw looked swollen, with his lips parted as he tried to pull in slow, careful breaths. And still…his eyes softened when they found mine.

“Evie…” he choked out.

“I’m here,” I whispered quickly, moving toward him. “I’ve got you. Just don’t talk, okay?” I knelt beside him on the mattress and lifted the glass carefully. “Drink this,” I whispered, bringing the glass up to his mouth, his lips trembling as they closed around the rim. I tilted the glass back and watched with my heart breaking as he struggled to drink. “Slow,” I murmured, cradling the back of his head as he slowly sipped the water. “Better?” I asked as he pulled back. He nodded his head, and my chest tightened.

“I’ve got something,” I whispered, reaching into my pocket. His eyes following my hand as I held out the pill.

“What is it?” he mumbled, his words hard to understand through the swelling in his mouth.

“It’s for the pain,” I said before Jackson opened his mouth, blindly trusting me as I placed the red and white pill on his tongue. I hated the tremor in my hand as I tipped the water into his mouth again. He sputtered, but managed to swallow it. “I’ll try to come down again tomorrow to give you the other one, okay? Please just hold on.” My fingers slid into his hair without thinking, brushing it back from his forehead, sweat coating my fingers as he nodded slowly. I mimicked the motion, my eyes stinging as I noticed the dried blood around his mouth.

“I’m trying,” he whispered, and my eyes stung.

“I’m so sorry,” I choked out.

His brow tightened slightly. “Don’t…say that.”

I shook my head anyway, words spilling out before I could stop them. “I can’t, Jackson, I can’t stand seeing you like this. I need you to be okay. I don’t know what I’d do⁠—”