Page 100 of Volatile Waters

My jaw tightened as I fought tears. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

“Please… just end my suffering.” She collapsed against my chest like a waterfall finding a cliff. And she cried.

Absolute despair consumed her whole being. I felt physical pain watching the way she shattered, so I slowly wrapped my arms around her to collect the pieces I had created. In the arms of her destroyer, Fire finally allowed all she had been through since her brother’s death to take hold and completely own her. It was eerie and gut-wrenching. I leaned my head to the top of hers and whispered, “Shh,” trying to settle her exposed nerves, but I had uncovered them by brutal force, and I now had to pay the price by realizing her pain.

Witnessing the carnage—the death and loss—I had caused in one beautiful girl, was the beginning of the end of Yury. Every sob she released stabbed me in what I finally understood to be my heart.

How about that? I had one, after all.

Carrying her to my bed, I silently promised to somehow do right by her. I was clueless as to how to make up for all the devastation I’d generated in her life, not knowing if it was even possible, but I vowed to try. Beside her on my bed, I offered food and water, but all were denied by more gut-wrenching tears. Her whole body jerked and pulsed through every shattering sob, as if her torment was killing her from the inside out.

Not sure her heart could survive this catastrophic breakdown, my mind raced with what I could offer immediately to soothe her grief-stricken soul. Holding Fire, my eyes slammed shut as I could come up with no solutions. I was becoming alarmed she would die in my embrace. Her death would have been one I couldn’t live through myself. My eyes opened when I realized, at that very moment, what Crash’s self-sacrifice was all about. He understood his actions weren’t his own, or at least not only for him. They were for her, and for everyone else she indirectly affected. That thought had me seeing how my own actions weren’t my own, not when they affect those around me. With Fire’s tears drenching my chest, I laid there, dumbfounded by all those I had disturbed. Not only did I take human beings from their everyday lives, but I stole from those around them. How did those friends and family members react to the loss?

The answer was in my arms.

I rocked her. “I’m so sorry.”

Was there an end to the ripple effect I built in others?

“Psst.”

My eyes raced to my bedroom door. I jolted when I saw Crash again.

He was smirking. “She needs warm water.”

Suddenly overtaken with the sensation of needing to apologize to him, too, I let go of Fire and leaped out of my bed, but as I ran around the mattress, Crash disappeared. I stood in front of the bedroom door, wishing he would reappear. That is when I heard water running.

My head slowly turned toward the bathroom. No faucets or showers were on, and now all was quiet except for Fire’s sobbing. When I first brought her here, all she asked for was warm water.

I ran to the tub as if my life depended on it and started filling it with hot water. I let it continue to fill while I rushed back to Fire. She was trembling, slipping into shock. Tears leaked from dead eyes as she stared at the ceiling. I was losing her. She was drifting away…

The hands and arms that had brought her so much pain now lifted her from the mattress. The legs and feet that had kicked Crash now rushed her into the bathroom. I somehow knew, if I lost her, Crash’s sacrifice would have been for nothing. So, I begged, “Fire,” desperate to reach her. I simply couldn’t let her go—

“Let go of what?” Crash’s voice violently tossed my mind into a memory. He was on my bedroom carpet, Rainbow’s blood still on him. I had just pulled the nurse’s dead body from his grasp, and he was hysterical. “I don’t even know her name! Do you?”

Then, I remembered Mrs. Thompson in the SUV, in my lap, telling me, “And you don’t even know my name.”

It was as if the name was a metaphor. I didn’t know their names because I didn’t know them. Did I know Fire? If I did, why call her by a false name? I swallowed bile as I realized changing my victims’ names prevented me from having to know them. If I did take the time to learn who they truly were, harming and selling them might not have been feasible.

I thought of Wolf and how I knew his name before I’d had him abducted. Due to his price, much research had been done. I knew of his wife and child. I knew… his name.

Doctor Bram Janssen.

Bram and I had long conversations and tender moments. I had, for the first time, taken the time to get to know a slave. Because of that, it was difficult to bring him pain.

Fire? I literally knew her before she was born. I knew where she came from and by whom; Seafoam, the woman who had a connection to me no one else would ever have. Fire and I were so intertwined; she was never just another unknown slave to me. I knew more about her than she knew about herself.

Fire had never been; it had always been… “Whitney.”

Her body stilled.

At that moment, I released the notion of “Fire” into the night and welcomed Whitney into my life, once and for all. “I have hot water.” I had never kissed anyone’s forehead before, it was an act of affection that I lacked, but Whitney was special. My lips to her skin was a silent thank you for opening my eyes to a world that needed to come to an end.

Light green eyes, just like her mother’s, gazed up at me. The magic, the message inside, was as if both women were full of forgiveness. Father had it all wrong. Seafoam wasn’t a curse, nor was her daughter. They were both blessings.

As dramatically as it started, Whitney’s sobbing ceased. She was drained, and she was pale, but she still found the courage to find gratitude for the beast. “Thank you.” Then she rested her sweet little head on my shoulder and melted against the murderer who had literally stolen her life and everything she treasured. “Will you ever tell me your real name?”

All air drifted from my lungs as I realized my father refused to use my real name. I had learned this trick from him because I was experiencing it. I was his victim. I was a slave, just like the girl in my arms. And, she didn’t deserve to be here. None of the slaves did.

My cheek caressed her because her inner beauty was bewildering. “No, because my name will only remind you of this place.”

The burst of tears she exuded next didn’t frighten me. They were tears of joy. I had just told her I was setting her free.

Weak and not wanting to be alone, Whitney asked me to join her in the bath, so I carried her frail body as we sat in the water. I say frail because, now allowing myself to see the true Whitney, I saw how malnourished she had become. Her body had fed on itself in order to survive my treatment, my abuse. It would take some time for her to become strong, healthy, and vibrant again. But, at least, she would be given the chance. For now, it was only she and I in that tub. Those quiet moments were needed. With very few words, we soaked as the water cradled us both. I thought of the water that she swam in with Timothy and Link, the same water that drowned Crash. And, I prayed that Whitney would someday find her way back to that tainted water and see it clear of all the malice that had taken place there by my hands.

I would someday be a part of that prayer, more than I knew at that time. I would get the chance to personally see that water be a part of her for the rest of her life, but first, I had to destroy her, one more time.