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“Positive. It’s not the kind of thing that is contagious.” I take a deep breath, not sure where to start. “I think Ren is mentally ill, like a split personality or something like that.”
“No shit,” Quinton grumbles from the front of the car.
“I’m serious. Ren kept talking about having a brother named River. He talked about him like he is a real person, so real that I believed him. He talked to him on the phone and on the computer, but I never saw him or heard his voice. He kept saying it wasn’t the right time to meet.” Though I met him today all right.
I continue to share about things that have happened, how Ren becomes a different person sometimes and how he isinfluenced by River, which I refer to as his bad side. I also tell them about Rebecca and her son, about New Haven, and how they are still taking children off the street. I skim over the part where Ren took me to kill someone and the trip to New Haven to kill Rebecca. Those fun facts I keep for another time. Right now, I need to get them on my side so I can help Ren.
“I don’t know, Scar,” my father says when I catch my breath. “I don’t know a lot about this illness, and I’ve definitely never heard about River before. Don’t you think this would have come up sooner? I can’t believe someone just gets this without any prior signs.”
“I’m not sure either, but we need to figure it out. We need to ask a psychologist and help him?—”
“We don’t have to do anything right now besides get you home to your mother,” Dad insists. “Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”
No, I can’t wait until tomorrow. “What about you, Q? Have you ever heard Ren talk about River or seen anything that was off?”
My brother stays quiet. Instead of answering my question, he silently looks out of the window. When he finally speaks, his voice is void of all emotion. “All I know is that he was my best friend my whole life before he betrayed me in the worst way possible. I’ve been trying to find an explanation, any kind of hint why he would suddenly change so much. This would explain it, but just like you two, I don’t really know much about this disorder. I don’t think we should jump to conclusions. Either way, he tried to hurt Aspen, and I don’t know if I can ever forgive him for that.”
“I really do think he’s sick,” I say. “He’s not doing this on purpose.”
“I just don’t want you to look for excuses. And even if you’re right, and he has a split personality, it would still be him, or at least part of him, doing all these things.”
My shoulders sag. Clearly, there is no reasoning with Quinton right now. I glance at my father sitting next to me. The expression on his weathered face lets me know he is deep in thought. At least he’s not dismissing me completely. All I have to do now is convince him that Ren is worth saving. I have to do it, not only to save him, but to save myself as well.
2
RIVER
That fucking bitch.
Those three words keep going through my skull on repeat as soon as I wake up on the cold, hard floor. How long have I been here? I don’t have a clue. My vision’s a little blurry when I first open my eyes. It’s still light out, so it can’t have been all that long. Long enough for her to get away, though. That stupid fucking bitch.
Because she’s gone. It’s like I can feel her absence, so I know I’m alone here. My head is pounding where that little slut hit me. My vision’s still blurred, but getting better as I make my way to my feet. The room spins, and I have to lean against the wall to hold myself up while my stomach feels like it’s flipping inside me. It takes a few slow, deep breaths to get control of the nausea, but soon I’m able to move without it feeling like I’m about to hurl my guts up.
All because of her. And because Ren lost sight of the goal.
I told him we couldn’t trust her, but the useless prick didn’t listen to me, of course. He fucked up everything. Fucked up my plan, my revenge, my fucking life. After everything we’ve been through, after all of our work and the hours spent talking over every last piece of what we would both have to do, he decidesto let a little cunt change his mind. Like she’s his family now or some shit. Like she matters more than me. More than blood.
I always knew I was better off alone. Without a woman to fuck with my head and get my priorities screwed up. How many times did I tell him we needed to stay focused? How many times did I remind him why we started this in the first place?
Somehow, I manage to stagger to the kitchen and turn on the cold tap. Splashing my face with the icy water is like sticking tiny needles in my skin, but it’s enough to wake me up a little more. I’m still fighting a brutal headache and sometimes my vision doubles, but I’m alive. It’ll get better.
And once it does, I’ll make sure the little bitch who did this to me regrets it until her last breath… which won’t come too long after I get my hands on her. It’ll only feel like an agonized eternity to her thanks to the damage I plan to do. Slowly. One cut at a time.
Cupping my hand under the tap, I catch some water and slurp it up. That helps, too. Like it wakes up my insides as it spreads through my chest. It doesn’t do a damn thing to cool off my boiling rage, though. It’s been boiling for too long now. It’ll take a lot more than a cold drink to put it out.
Years. Most of my life. There’s been a burning inside me all this time. Hatred pushes me forward. It’s what keeps me breathing sometimes, when the memories are too thick and too painful and want to crush me under their weight. Those are the times hatred is my best friend. Rage. The need for revenge.
The water feels good against the back of my neck once I splash it there before I turn off the tap. It’s so quiet in here now. All I hear is the thudding of my heart. Every thud makes my head hurt that much worse, but I can’t calm it no matter how much I know I should. Every time I close my eyes, I see the face of another person who’s betrayed me. Another person who needs to die for what they’ve done.
Though now, there is a new face, Scarlet. I like to remember her the way she was just before she hit me over the head. Wide-eyed, terrified, struggling even though there was no point. At least, that was what I thought before she taught me otherwise.
She has to go. Not only because she gave me a lump on the back of my head, either. Not because she left me here to die. Because she turned Ren against me. Before he fucked her, it was the two of us. We had everything we needed. We had a goal, a reason to get up every day. I could forget the worst of the memories even if only for a little while, because I had something to direct my energy toward. I had my plans.
She turned my plans into nothing. Made them useless. I put all of this together with the two of us in mind. My brother and me, the way it’s always been. The two of us against everybody who ever caused us pain. And there was so much pain, wasn’t there? For no fucking reason beyond the sad truth I figured out when I was way too young: some people just like to hurt other people because they can.
Rebecca could. And she did, and so did her braindead acolytes. They only needed permission to be the worst possible versions of themselves. Cruel, cold, sadistic. They told themselves it was God’s will or whatever it took to help them sleep at night. After a while, I bet, they didn’t have to bother with that. They slept soundly without having to justify their cruelty.
How many nights did Christian spend sleeping well while one or more of us shivered and wept in the dark?
