Page 34 of Black Waters

Chapter Eight

Afar

The picture of Constance that had been sent to me, implicating me in her death, kept me away from Whit and my brother. Fear is a powerful tool when used properly. I missed them both. I actually missed the late-night talks with the guy who loved my girl. The feelings and comprehension were unrecognizable at the time, but Crash being my blood somehow made me understand how we could both care so deeply for the same girl. Caring for him and his well being gave me the strength to let him win her.

Yes, it was like severing an arm. Without it, I had to learn how to live life in a completely different manner, one I didn’t want, wish for, or desire. But she loved him, and he loved her. I knew when this chaotic situation all blew over, the two of them would find their way back together. The only choice I had was to sit back, watch over them both, visit Constance every day, and once again, love them all from afar.

The few weeks Whitney had her mom with her to help with her foot injury felt like tortured years. I learned there had been another change in our awful predicament. Another riddle implied the three children involved were to come together and meet their fate:

They may need a friend for the bitter end

To prepare for another soul to be sent.

Choose… choose who will lose

For it is time to tighten the noose.

No elders need be involved

For they’re the ones who caused it all.

Why the pursuers were actively on the hunt again, I didn’t know. Not yet. My father growled. “I’m not sending you in front of a jury of nutcases.” He stood in his library, warning me. “You are not going near Crash or Whitney!”

My mind had already been made up. And I was calm. “I have to.”

Notso calmly, my father screamed, “You’re not going to the executioners!”

My mother was on her knees at the bottom of our stairs, hands clutched together as she desperately prayed, “Please, God. Please don’t do this. They are innocent of my wrongs.”

I left my father and went to her. Kneeling, I grasped her trembling hands. “You have done no wrong.” I tried to smile as I began my good-bye. “Except for raising a son willing to sacrifice himself for… family.”

She burst into tears, hugging me. “No!”

I held her, speaking over her cries. “I have been so lucky to have you for seventeen years. You are the best mother any boy could ask for. And one of your boys has missed out on years of your love.”

She held my face, begging. “No…”

Once my decision was made, my future was clear, and I wasn’t afraid. I kissed her palms. “I love him, too, Mom. Let me do this.” I looked at her with pleading eyes. Then I got up and went to the man, who looked as if he were going to be sick, and hugged him. “I’m honored to call you my dad.” I let go. “My only request is that you make it possible for Crash to someday be able to do the same.”

He fell backward into his desk.

My mother screamed her misery, my father cried for his mistakes, and I left to surrender myself for the ones who needed me most. I will see you soon, Constance.

I assumed if I arrived at Whitney’s, the spying Russians would see my offer. Crash would be left to find a way to escape the life that had owned him, and Whit could possibly join him.

Needing the time to come up with an excuse before I arrived, I decided to walk. It was surreal. I felt the pavement under my sneakers, yet I felt like I was floating. I had relinquished all hope of being a part of their lives again, and there was a physical release in it. I guess the love I had for Whitney and Crash was so profound that sacrificing myself for them was easy. My own self preservation was not as important to me as their survival.

My cell rang, pulling me from my odd bliss—my calm before the storm. A car passing me on the road, almost hitting me, should’ve warned me about the storm presently on my phone. I prefer not to die before, well, I die. That’d be just your luck, huh, Linky boy? “Hello?”

“Hello, dear. Are you done with your preposterous accusations?”

My spine stiffened, and my shoulders rose with immediate tension. I went from a utopia to a rigid jaw in a second flat because this woman had that effect on me.

Swallowing my pride for Whit, I answered. “Yes, Mrs. Summers. I apologize.”

“I mean really, Reether, accusing us of wanting to harm our own child. How unimaginative. Anyway, dear, I was hoping to ask a favor.”

“Yes, ma’am. Of course.”