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“We’ll see about that.” Judah snickered, and before I could turn around, he pulled out a gun I hadn’t seen on him before, pointing it at Lazarus. “You can hand her over, or you will die. It’s your choice, buddy.”
“No,” Lazarus answered calmly. “You can do whatever you want to do to me, but she is not coming with you.”
“Well,” Judah scratched his temple with the barrel of the gun, “if you’re dead, there’s little you can do to stop me.”
I knew that in the years that would come, I would never forget the sound of the gunshot that came next, or the blinding pain that rocked through my body when Lazarus grunted, falling down to the floor. I would never forget the roaring in my head, or the white-hot anger coursing through my veins.
But most of all, I would never forget the way Lazarus looked at me, his eyes filled with so many regrets, so many dreams that we would never get to dream together.
They say people were capable of many things in situations like these, and I never truly believed in those stories until this happened to me. For the moment, the entire world stood still, as if all the air got sucked out of the room, out of us, and we just waited for the next move.
Like slow motion, my heart pushed me toward the knife that stood lodged inside the girl’s chest. Before Judah could act again, I was barreling toward him with the knife pointed straight at him. There was no time for him to react. There was no time for me to stop. When the knife finally disappeared inside his body, only leaving the handle visible to me, I felt like I could breathe.
His mouth formed an O, surprise lining every single part of his face, but the knife lodged deep inside his stomach had him stumbling down, falling to the ground, much how Lazarus fell.
My foot connected with his hand, stepping down with all my might, making him release the gun he held onto. As I pushed it away from him, leaving him lying there on the cold ground, my eyes zeroed in on the lantern on the small table just behind Judah. The flame danced as if it was beckoning me, telling me to come closer.
“You’re going to regret this,” Judah mumbled, trying to get up, but we both knew that there was no way he would be getting out of this with only that wound.
“Danika,” Lazarus murmured brokenly, but I had no time to look at him right now. I had no idea where the bullet went or if we would survive this, but if I was going to die, so was Judah Blackwood.
“You took so much from the world,” I said, slowly walking toward the lantern. “You and your family didn’t know when to stop, and you’re still taking. You’re taking things that were never meant for you in the first place, but you don’t care, Judah. You don’t care how many lives you destroy as long as you get what you think you deserve. And me,” I looked over my shoulder straight at him, “you will never get me.”
My fingers wrapped around the round handle on top of the lantern, lifting it up from its place and turning toward him.
“They say that fire cleansed Jerusalem.” I smirked, holding the lantern high above the ground. “Maybe it will cleanse you, too.”
My hand opened up just as I stopped talking, letting the lantern crash down on the ground, spilling the oil that kept it running. Just as I thought that the flame would die out, it picked up, following the path of the gas, climbing over the wall, destroying the papers and sketches that Lazarus left.
I ran toward the man who held my heart, who still looked at me, paler than usual, with blood gushing out of the wound on his thigh.
“Can you stand?” I asked hurriedly, ignoring the curses Judah kept spewing at me.
“Y-yeah,” Lazarus stammered, looking at me as if he had never seen me before. “Danika—”
“Not now,” I cut him off as I bent down, putting his arm around my shoulders. “We need to get out of here.”
The fire started spreading all over the room, coming closer and closer to where Judah lay. He was trying to get away from it. His sins would finally stop here. His madness wouldn’t be able to stop me from leaving ever again.
Lazarus grunted as I lifted him, and as he leaned on me, I took one last look at Judah, at the hatred shining in his eyes, and started hauling us both toward the exit, smiling, because I knew. This town would forever remember my name.
Seven Years Later
I hated this day.
Maybe hate was too weak of a word to explain the feelings coiling inside my gut, but it was as close as I could get to explain the turmoil happening in my core. A cold war brewed in my heart over the past couple of months, trying to come to terms with what we needed to do.
That fire seven years ago might have erased any trace of Lazarus Morass and his family, but it created issues we couldn’t foresee in the middle of all that craziness and trying to get away from Winworth. The biggest issue of all—Judah Blackwood survived.
I had no idea why or how, but he was still a living, breathing reminder that neither Lazarus nor I would ever be free as long as he lived. So here we were, hiding in this little cottage close to Emercroft Lake, piecing together our lives, while at the same time pretending we were two different people and barely ever going into town.
We weren’t worried about people recognizing us—not anymore—but Judah was relentless, turning over every little stone, going through every little town in order to find us. The fire was supposed to free us, but instead it caged us in this endless game of cat and mouse. Being a fugitive wasn’t something I ever envisioned being.
It was all fun and games those first couple of years, but everything changed when I saw those two lines on the pregnancy test, feeling both elated and terrified at the same time. There was no worse feeling than knowing you would never be able to provide your own child with everything he or she needed because the world was a terrible place that had no problem destroying you, even when you tried to do the right thing.
And people like Judah Blackwood and his family controlled the narrative. They controlled the masses, appearing as this picture-perfect family to the outside world. I wanted to laugh when I saw his wedding to his own sister, standing proudly in front of that minister, in the middle of that church, as if he wasn’t the very Satan the church always warned people about.
So we watched from afar, planning and gathering information until the time was right to strike, but we had to stop. I had to stop the moment our son announced himself to us. I didn’t care about many people, but looking at him now, lying on his back with his little arms in the air, trying to catch something only he could see, I knew I would do everything possible to give him a life better than I ever had.
