“Fine.” He hands me two twenties, slides into his black Beemer, and speeds off.
At seventeen, I have a driver’s license but no car. My parents aren’t wealthy, but I have a home. When my dad’s around, I wish my mom and I were elsewhere. But we’re stuck with him because he makes more money as an electrician than she does as a waitress.
With the money in my jeans pocket, I head home, cutting through the woods behind an elementary school playground.
A basketball rolls to my feet. I look up and see two men gesturing for me to return it to them.
Nodding, I pick up the ball, walk over, and hand it to the guy with the brown ponytail. I wish I had more time to play basketball, but my mother needs me these days.
“Thanks, bro!” says the man with the short blond hair.
“Sure.” I turn and walk away.
I hear the ball bounce to the ground near me, and I’m about to turn around when a powerful arm wraps around my neck, choking me. I fight him, but the ponytail man stabs a needle intomy neck. An icy chill overcomes me. It doesn’t take long for my body to weaken.
Then smoke fills my vision.
I woke up out of breath, gasping for air. This wasn’t a dream. This was a dark memory coming to the surface as a dream. I got out of the chair, stretched my neck from side to side, and walked into the bathroom to wash up. Exhaustion still tugged at me, so I slipped into bed, closed my eyes, and fell back asleep.
I sit up in a small bed that’s pushed against the wall of a cold, dark room. There are no windows, and I’m the only one in the room. Where am I? Who are those men who kidnapped me? My hand goes to where he stabbed me, rubbing at the soreness. Fear overwhelms me as I silently call for my mother. She’s probably worried I haven’t gone home to help her clean the house. If my dad comes home and finds it messy, he’ll hit her.
I hear cries from the other side of the room, so I get off the bed and walk over, pressing my ear to it. Did they kidnap more kids like me? Who are these people? What do they plan to do to us? Terror fills my mind, but I try not to focus on it. I’m about to ask who’s on the other side when I hear footsteps. My heart races as I rush back to the bed, resuming my position. The door opens, and the man with the ponytail enters, grinning.
“Get up. You’re getting branded.”
Fear numbs me. What does that mean? I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to say or do something that’s going to make them hurt me.
The guy seems to love the fear on my face because he says, “I’m Andrew. Don’t be afraid. You’re part of the team now. Behave, and you’ll survive. Don’t behave, and you’ll die.”
Nausea rises, coating my throat.
I choked awake with a burning sensation in my throat.Fuck.I wiped the sweat from my forehead and inhaled a deepbreath, forcing my pounding heart to calm. Thirsty, I reached for the glass of water on my nightstand and gulped it down. I didn’t understand this resurgence of memories coming back to me as dreams. I’d tried not to think about my experience, but something dark had already seeped into my bones, simmering there only to return unexpectedly.
I’d had nightmares of that horrible place, but they were mostly of body parts and faceless people wandering in the fog, looking for their missing organs. Their pain and suffering shuddered through my body. Most of all, I felt guilty for not being able to connect them back to their lost body parts. Though I didn’t kill them, I was part of the dismantling process—I helped remove their organs.
Their faces were never clear in my dreams, even though I’d seen many of their dead faces. A swarm of ghosts searching to complete themselves haunted me. After a moment of self-loathing, I dropped back into a restless sleep.
Two days after I’m branded with a tattoo of a cross of two black roses on my right bicep, Tony brings me into a room with three boys and one girl. They appear to be my age, but I’m not sure. My shoulder is still sore, but it’s more tolerable today. I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo someday, but on my own terms and with my art. Not some stupid black rose cross. The symbol makes me angry at God for placing me in this hell.
I’m not supposed to make negative comments about it. Razor, the guy who inked me, reminds me to keep quiet and just do as I’m told. He wears an eyepatch and doesn’t talk about his eye injury, and I don’t ask. I can’t trust anyone here. What if he tells on me, or worse, makes up some stupid story that could get me killed? All I want is to get out of here.
The boys and the girl stand around a long table, looking tense. They look at me, and I see hopelessness in their eyes. Howlong have they been here? Why are they wearing gloves stained red?
“Today, you watch and learn from them.” Tony points to the coolers near the back wall with the various refrigerators.
Razor enters, and Tony slaps him on the shoulder. “Perfect. You can show him what to do.”
“Isn’t that your job?” Razor places a box on the table.
“But you’re better at this. Come on! I’ll buy you something from the store. What do you want? Candy? Chips?”
“You’re going out again?”
He shrugs. “Another Black Rose drop-off with Hawthorne.”
My body jerked awake. Tony knew the details about Hawthorne’s MO. Could the copycat be him? But then again, Hawthorne had several men working closely with him. Aside from Massachusetts, he had locations in other states too. Because of his wide network, it could be anyone. I looked over at the clock on the nightstand: 4:00 a.m.
I had enough dark memories for one night. Work awaited me. Groaning, I went to wash up, splashing cold water onto my face and brushing my teeth. With coffee in hand, I walked into my office and searched Eva Collins’s family history. I already knew about Eva from my previous research, but something about her grandfather spurred me on. When I found his first name, a memory jogged in me. Could it be him?
