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Prologue
Her whimpers are worse than her screams. They sneak through the walls and latch onto me like ice creeping up the windowpane on a cold morning. Every night, I lie in my bed and wait. Her terrors come on a nightly basis and always near three a.m.
It’s her witching hour, so to speak, and if there were such things as spells, I’d weave one for her to cover her with peace. I doubt she’s slept through the night since her ordeal.
I manage to get my head down just before midnight and I wake from my own nightmare just before two. Holly has her nightly routines and I have mine. From around two to four, I succumb to the silence of the night, replaying my nightmares and my memories of India. After Holly’s whimpers turn to screams, I go soothe her and return to my room by four. Most of the time I can fall back asleep, and I’ve come to realise it’s because my head is full of Holly’s pain and fear and not my own. Rayna wakes around seven and then the day begins, and our routines continue.
It's the hour with Holly in the middle of the night that’s as real as my blood rushing through me, but at the same time, it’s not. It’s the only time that passes where I’m not stuck in my head. Most of the time, nothing is said between us. She needs someone there to hold her down and pull her from the nightmare lingering around her, and it gives me the excuse not to lie in bed, trapped in my own head, allowing violence and death to consume me.
Throwing the sheets off of me, I climb out of bed and cross the room to open the window. Lighting a cigarette, I lean out and exhale a long stream of smoke out into the night’s air.
India would’ve woken to the smoky scent and would’ve been on me to quit the deathly habit. I spent weeks after her death at this window, smoking, looking over my shoulder to see her curled up in the middle of the bed, only to find it empty and the sharp pain of her absence would hit me full force all over again.
The clock ticks over to two-fifty-eight and the whimpers begin. A chill runs up my spine and I take one last drag of the cigarette and flick the butt out front. Closing the window, I pick up my pace when her whimpers grow into gut-wrenching sobs. As I always do, I quickly check on Rayna, making sure she’s still asleep and, as usual, she is. For all of the screams and cries, Rayna is never disturbed by them. Sometimes I wonder if in her little life she has become used to grief. I hope not. It'll only add to the reasons guilt consumes me.
Opening Holly’s door, I hear a strangled cry escape her as she thrashes around on the bed, tangled in her sheets. Each night I come to soothe her, I’ve always found her with her hands clutched to her chest. I cross the room and the mattress sinks under my weight as I lean on the bed and take hold of her hands.
“Holly,” I coax softly, trying to wake her.
Somehow, we go from me holding onto her hands to her grappling onto mine. If she had nails, they’d certainly dig into my skin.
“Holly!” I bark, my tone sharp and loud.
She comes to with a jolt and her eyes fly open. Like every night, she fixates on me till she catches her breath, and it registers she’s now awake.
“Leo?”
“Yeah, I’m here. You’re safe. It’s over.”
Her shoulders sag as she sobs, “They always burn.” I flip her hands in mine and squeeze them lightly. As always, they’re sheathed in her gloves.
“Let me get you a glass of water.”
I’m never sure if she notices me leaving the room when I get her the water each night. After the trip down to the kitchen, I grab my pack of cigarettes on the way back up to her room.
She’s sitting in the middle of the bed, her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself. It takes her a moment to unwind herself and take the glass.
I stand at her window, and with no light out the back of the property, it’s hard to see farther than the patio underneath.
Opening her window, it’s almost déjà vu from less than an hour ago. I light a cigarette and tonight’s silence isn’t going to work for me.
I ask her, “Do you feel safe here?”
Looking over my shoulder, I see her nod, but it does nothing to make me feel like I’m doing at least something right.
“What happened to you will most likely stay with you forever. No one can take it away, no matter how hard they try. But there will come a day where you’ll learn to live with it and that will bring you peace.”
“How do you know this?” Her voice cracks and I inhale deeply on the cigarette.
“I’ve seen and heard it time and time again. My mom was taken a few years before I was born by a piece of scum who liked to torture and hang his victims. He beat her till she was unrecognisable. By the time my dad got to her, she had a rope around her neck, and he saw the prick kick out the box beneath her. He had less than a minute to save her from swinging. She suffered from nightmares for a long time afterward, but eventually she found peace.”
“I’ve seen your mom around a few times. It’s hard to believe she went through something like that.” Her voice is timid, and I have to strain to hear her.
“She had my dad and the club to help her through. But something like that is personal, and that’s why I told you about it. So you know that time does help.”
She shakes her head, and goes to say, “I don’t—”
“Not just my mom. You’ve met JJ?” She nods. “His mom was treated worse than an abused puppy before she came to the club. Her back and stomach are covered in scars. She was beaten and raped so regularly, she became used to it. But events led her to the club, and she found her peace. She’s been happy for over the last two decades.”
