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“Please, Cee, please, we have to go,” he shouts as I crane my head in the direction of the house. He stops, cupping my shoulders and shaking me, drawing my eyes to his. “I need you to soldier up, right fucking now.”
I immediately stop my fight, swallow hard and nod. He grips my jaw to keep me focused on him as more gunfire sounds just inside the house, drawing closer.
“I need five minutes,” Tyler pleads. “Give me five minutes. You can do this.” I nod just before he grips me by the arm and takes off at a dead run. I follow, letting the adrenaline take over as we zigzag on the outskirts of the large yard until we reach the trees. A few more ravens emerge racing past us, not sparing us a glance as we sprint in the opposite direction just as the morning sun breaks through the base of the pines. Tyler scans the woods. His head cocked, his posture rigid, his military training appears to take over as he keeps me quiet and plastered to his side.
Safely, he navigates us to a break in the trees and roadside as we collectively catch our breath. My Jeep is parked at the side of the road, and behind it sits Dominic’s Camaro.
Tyler pulls the dress from my purse and turns facing the woods, keeping guard as I peel the blood-soaked clothes from me. When I’m redressed, he gathers my clothes and turns to me, slapping a wad of cash into my hand. “Cash only until you reach home. Get in and do not fucking stop until you reach Atlanta. Do not speed, do not drive erratically, and as soon as you’re there, find a place to wash off. No one sees you until you’re clean. You were not here, Cee. You were never here. Got it? Wait for my call.”
“Tyler, I can’t leave like this! I can’t leave them!”
“Cee, let me get back to them.”
I nod and nod as he pulls me to him in a tight embrace before releasing me.
“Go. Now.”
In a blink, I’m thrust behind the wheel of my Jeep, and in the next, Tyler disappears behind the trees. Shaking uncontrollably, I turn the engine over and put it into gear, the sight of the car I pass as I floor the gas has me releasing a guttural cry.
The road begins to rapidly blur as the sun climbs into the morning sky, shedding light on a day I know I won’t survive. It’s all I can do to keep the wheel straight.
Dominic is gone. Gone.
There’s no coming back from this. From losing him. Not ever.
“God, please,” I bang my hands against the wheel as agony rips through me while I re-live the last minutes of his life.
I did nothing.
I stood frozen with fear as I watched them fight for me. I watched Dominic die to protect me, and I did nothing, nothing at all to help them, nothing to help myself. I just stood idly by and screamed. I reacted like a coward.
We both know I was never going to make it to thirty, brother. Take care of her.
“P-p-lease, G-G-od, p-p-please don’t take them! Please!” I race away with the taste of Dominic’s blood on my lips, coating my hands as I drive past the county line and exit onto the highway toward a future I no longer want.
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed—
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.—A Dream, Edgar Allen Poe
Cecelia age 26
Nine hours ago…
“To the Bride and Groom.” Champagne glasses rise around the small restaurant as I clink flutes with Collin. A serene smile graces his handsome face as he squeezes my hand while covered plates are ceremoniously set before us.
When the cloche is lifted, I glance down to see lamb chops with mint sauce and rosemary potatoes. Just as I start to voice my protest, a familiar, masculine scent invades my nose. My breath catches as I inhale deeply while my eyes drift to the sun-drenched forearm in front of me. Beneath the rolled-up sleeve of a crisp white button-down, an unmistakable dark ink pattern lay etched into his golden skin. My gaze lifts to meet recognizable hazel eyes, but the face, it’s all wrong.
“Congratulations,” the waiter drawls, his voice covering me in warmth. My eyes gaze back to the tattoo just as he pulls away. I call out to him, and he hesitates at the kitchen door and turns to me, his muted features becoming more recognizable as the seconds tick past. I know this man, intimately.
“Wait,” I croak out, chest tightening unbearably when the chatter around me drowns out my pleas as he disappears through the service door.
And that’s when I feel him.
Slowly, I stand and take inventory of our guests who all seem to be oblivious to the shadow that’s entered the room, casting a dark hue over the rich, warm light from the dripping chandeliers. I’m thankful they’re all ignorant to it, because if they notice the shift, they’ll be afraid, but I’m not. And I want nothing more than to see the source.
