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I left a war zone not knowing if the men I loved were alive, if they were hurt, if they blamed me, or if they’d forever hate me if they survived. But those damning orders made me feel as if I were the poison, the cause of all that had gone wrong.
The details of that drive are still murky from one hour to the next. Once I got to Atlanta city limits, I stopped at a bustling gas station and turned down my visor to see Dominic’s blood smeared on the corner of my mouth. I found an old—inch full—water bottle left in my car, using my fingers to clean what I could from my face. I peered back at my reflection and saw bloodshot eyes and dark circles, my skin pale and clammy. When the bottle was empty, I raced inside the station, my hands tucked beneath my armpits as I kept my head down. I locked myself in the bathroom. Inside, I relieved my bladder before facing myself at the dirty sink, fully expecting to see what I felt. The only thing out of order was the stain on my hands, the blood of a man who pledged his love for me only minutes before he took his last breath. I turned my hands over and over, wanting to keep the stains, to keep the only part of him I had left, as sick and irrational as the thought was.
Unrelenting tears dripped from my chin as I scrubbed the caked blood from beneath my fingernails, watching the tinged pink water go down the drain.
When a gentle knock sounded a foot away, I quieted my cries and splashed cold water on my face. When I opened the door, I was greeted by a woman in a collared shirt and tennis skirt holding a little girl in a matching outfit. They’d smiled at me in greeting, and the shock of seeing them so neatly polished, so unassuming, their eyes alight with so much life, easy smiles on their faces let me know just how far down the rabbit hole I’d traveled. Instinctively I returned that smile, knowing it was a new mask. I remembered hating the feel of it, it didn’t fit, and from that day forward, I was stuck with it. That smile was the first lie I told after leaving Triple Falls.
Cecelia Horner died that night, the totality of her naïve innocence eradicated along with all her silly and foolish dreams in a reality where she was made painfully aware that evil exists, lurking in the shadows just waiting to prey on innocents just like that little girl in the Polo. The girl I used to be.
A reality where the wrong side often wins, where bullets are real, and the people you love can take their last breaths, and you could be the one to bear witness while their light goes out right in front of you.
And I asked for it, to be a part of it all because I was too greedy loving men who continually warned me away, and I refused.
Dominic died.
For all the questions I asked, for all the begging I did, I got few answers. I got secrets and a story, both I would never be able to share. The punishment behind the knowledge was unbearable. I knew I’d have to use the mask every single day for the rest of my life because I could never let anyone see what’s behind it.
I had to forget that girl existed.
For endless hours I sat in my car on top of a parking garage overlooking the Atlanta skyline, a world away from the small town that changed everything I thought I knew about life and love. My phone clutched in my hand, all I could do was pray to a God I cursed just hours earlier for taking my dark angel. Prayed that Tyler would keep his word, prayed that the people that had become a part of me made it through the day, hearts beating, still breathing.
The wait was unbearable and riddled with anxiety. Struck by nausea, I opened my door, spilling the contents of my stomach on the cement next to where I parked. Once the wave passed, I wiped my mouth and resumed staring at my cell phone, willing it to ring when I got a notification of an email from my father.
Cecelia,
I was delighted to have gotten your email yesterday that you’ve left early to prepare for the coming school year. I’m pleased to find you have enjoyed your time working at the plant. I’ll consider our agreement satisfied due to the good news and your dedication to further your education. Attached is the address and contact information for management concerning your new apartment in Athens. I do hope you see this gesture as intended with my congratulations. I will see to it that all your expenses are covered for the duration of your stay.
Please keep me updated on your performance at school.
Roman Horner
CEO Horner Technologies
Gesture as intended?
I read the email over and over in disbelief. After, I searched my sent items to find it was a reply to an email sent from my account hours before I confronted Sean and Dominic about my tattoo. A response to an email I never sent.
An email that gave me an alibi, placing me in Atlanta before a gunfight broke out in his home.
Roman knew. He had to have known what was happening.
Just like Tobias and Dominic knew Miami was coming.
The clues started trickling in the more I x-rayed that
night and started piecing them together.
The first was Dominic’s sudden appearance moments after I got home, that along with the fact that his car was parked outside the clearing and mine had been moved to sit next to it, probably minutes after I pulled up and resumed packing.
And I was always the last to know.
That’s where some of my residual anger lies. If Dominic had only told me what was happening, if he had trusted me…but it was my reaction to him that had him handling me with kid gloves. But keeping me in the dark is what caused Dominic to make his fatal mistake—tossing his gun on the stairs, leaving him defenseless while Tobias quietly searched the house for the threat.
Tobias must’ve been the one to send that email. I assumed that was one of the reasons why he never came to me as he promised. He was planning my exit strategy, giving me an alibi for my whereabouts in case things went south, in case the authorities got involved.
It was Tyler’s strict instructions that hammered that point home. He’d given me cash so there would be no trail as to when I traveled. “You were never here.”
Tobias was always a step ahead of me while keeping me in the dark.
