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There had been no struggle in her last words.
Maybe the Reaper had a heart after all, making sure I heard her.
Maybe he knew those words were going to have to ground me to an earth that would prove to house some of the most heartless beings of them all.
Dripping with rainwater, I numbly stared at the little porch’s ceiling as I was carried up the front steps with my broken arm cradled to my chest. The doorway I was transported through felt like a portal to a world I wanted nothing to do with. Every natural instinct I possessed screamed that nothing in my life was safe. The walls that sheltered the next set of stairs I was to ascend were a foul pale green.
Maybe it is unfair to judge such a color, but it now represented the shade of actions against my will. My mother’s failed escape was just that—my brutal awareness that I was somewhere she didn’t want me to be. That knowledge had my internal fight for survival in such high gear that I was paralyzed. All my new sensors—feelers—that dared to reach out to my surroundings, instantly retracted, terrified of each new finding.
I was more alive than I had ever been, yet trapped in a stupor—a state of fear—because the better half of me was still laying in the cold mud of the front yard. I wanted her warm. I wanted her cared for, as she had cared for me all my life. I wanted… my mammy.
As pain sliced my heart, knowing that would never be again, I thought of the book The Giving Tree. When my mother first read it to me, I felt sad for the tree. Staring at the book, I felt like an outsider looking in, wondering why the boy couldn’t simply be content with the tree’s love.
“Why, Mammy?” I had asked. “Why can’t that man just be happy with the tree’s gift?”
With me sitting in her lap, Mammy rested her head to mine. “Some men don’t understand not to take what isn’t theirs.”
How had this young woman—only eleven when abducted—grown to be so wise? I can only guess that her mother had also been a pillar of light, and a wholesome example of the purest of hearts; a woman who had the divine strength to dare to see specks of light when drowning in darkness.
Now I had to pull strength from the beautiful roots these two women—my strong loving trees—had left behind. I had to find a way to survive, no matter how many of my young and naïve branches were severed.
As I was brought back into the bedroom, where I was to now live alone, I begged myself not to become a stump—a tree who didn’t know to love herself, like the little boy who always wanted more.
That violent night, I kept staring above, as I was laid in the bed I knew so well. Eejit-Da rushed to shut and lock the window, then ran out of the room again. The lock on the door clicked, then heavy footfalls raced back down the stairs and out the front door.
After a long moment, there was the closing of a trunk, then him running back inside to where Mammy said his bedroom was on the first floor. Soon, there was a scream that ended as fast as it began. Then, the front door opened and shut again, as did the trunk. The start of an engine, to Eejit-Da’s car hurriedly driving away.
Quiet replacing panic, the house settled, almost as if sighing after the tragedy it witnessed had ended.
I didn’t feel the same. I lay in the bed, staring at all the pieces of paper—leaves and branches—on the walls and ceiling, sheltering me. They were the only comfort I had as the horror of the night and the throbbing of my arm set in. Keeping a grossly misunderstood promise, I didn’t scream out. I didn’t roar at the unjust ways of my life. Instead, I lay there in unconceivable pain—both physically and emotionally, and let tears fall, only whispering one word.
“Mammy.”
Chapter five
Daring Angels
Lynx
Even with a dry blanket over my shoulders, my wet clothes had me shaking. Maybe it wasn’t the wet clothes at all, but the fact I was sitting at Mom’s picnic table, under her favorite tree—where she would never be again. As if even God understood the loss this world had just experienced, leaves blew eerily during a mournful wind that rushed through them.
Facing away from my childhood home, which was now tainted with the worst memory possible, I felt the wooden table at my back, while I stared at Lu, my dad’s Vice President. The strong black man was squatting in front of me, his expression rabid with grief and rage. “Duke—”
My heart feeling as cold as my body, I corrected, “Lynx, sir.”
Pity crossed his face for a mere second before he buried it. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, “That’s right. Lynx, are you sure they wanted your sister?”
It was still dark out, but motorcycle headlights strategically lit up the front yard, shining against the house and other dark areas to create a perimeter. “Yes, sir. The man I didn’t shoot said she was ‘his’.”
A hiss had me peering up at Dad’s best friend, Liam. He was standing next to Lu, rubbing Everleigh’s back as she slept against his formidable shoulder. He was being so gentle, yet the rest of his body showed a brewing monster begging to be set free to seek revenge.
My attention was rerouted back to Lu when he asked, “Anything… Can you think of anything that might help me find these bastards?”
“They were twins, but one felt older—” I pointed to his chest. “In charge.”
Lu’s road name was Lucifer for good reason, and he looked hungry to put his ‘in charge’ talents to use. His dark eyes beamed with hatred as he peered about, eyeing what could only be described as organized chaos. Men with flashlights searched the muddy grounds and woods around us for a trace of the intruders. Others were inside, searching for clues.
Dad? He was on the ground, on his stomach, roaring in rage at this horrid night. On top of him were Wings, his Enforcer, and Jett, his Sargent of Arms.
