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"But what about my parents?" I ask him. "We can't just leave them here like this."
"I don't want you to worry about any of that," he says. "I'm going to take care of everything."
He helps me scale the fence in our backyard and then stops, turning to look at me.
"Go on," he says. "Climb on." He's crouched down, pointing at his back.
"What? Why?"
"Because I don't want your feet getting any more cut up than they already are."
"It's okay," I start to say, but before I can finish the sentence, he's turned around and has his hands on my shoulders.
"No, it's not. None of this is okay. It's not okay that you've been starved, tortured, or neglected. I know it's going to be hard for you, but it's okay to let someone do something nice for you. You don't have to continue punishing yourself anymore."
He doesn't give me a second to process because he turns around and all but drapes me over his back. My will to fight, to insist that I'm a bad child, to refuse help snuffs out, and I wrap my arms around his neck.
His big hands grip my thighs and hold me tight. I can feel how strong he is beneath his shirt. His back muscles flex as he descends the slope back to the car with easy strides. He's wearing some sort of musky cologne, and I allow myself to lean into him.
As he carries me down the hill, I feel safe. My world goes dark, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I fall into a blissful sleep.
* * *
She's asleep before I even reach the car. I carefully place her in the passenger seat; it's obvious that she's completely out.
I buckle her seatbelt and close the door softly. I look back up the hill. Her house sits at the top like some deranged castle in the clouds. The beautiful white siding of the house gleams against the sunlight, a perfect prison for the darkness it's concealed for all these years.
As I climb into the car, I contemplate what to do with her. She's exhausted, malnourished, and filthy. I'd like to bring her home, but I can't risk that.
I don't know Father and Constantino's schedule. My brother just broke up with her. Me showing up with his ex-girlfriend would look pretty bad.
Besides, Constantino has never been one to put his neck on the line for someone else. I'm immensely relieved that I intercepted her at the gate. Had she asked him for help, it is very possible that she would be sitting in a police cell right now.
I scoff. And he'd probably tell the cops he was doing them a favor so he could cash in on it later for his own benefit.
No, I can't bring her home. But I can't just leave her in the car. That scene needs some serious work. As does the entire house. Not to mention potential street and other surveillance cameras. It's going to take me some time to get things sorted, and I'm going to need to rely on a few selected and trusted people for help.
I end up driving her to a hotel near the airport. Nothing fancy that would attract attention, one with doors that open right to the outside so that I don't have to walk her through a lobby. The place is quiet and clean. There aren't too many cars in the parking lot, but that makes sense. There's really nothing going on in the city right now.
The front desk is just a little room. I walk through the door to find a bright reception desk on one side and a table with some coffee pots on the other.
"One room, please," I say to the woman. I hand her my credit card and a matching fake ID that says my name is Thomas Jeffries and that I'm 25 years old.
We exchange pleasantries, and she hands me back a key card, none the wiser.
The room is on the second floor, and I park and make my way around the Mustang to where Raven is still sleeping. I lift her out of the car and bring her up the concrete steps. It's far too easy to lift this girl. I do enough to maintain my physique, but I'm by no means an Arnold Wannabe. I should at least break a sweat after carrying an entire human being up a flight of stairs.
It really shows me just how bad things have been for her. I can feel her body beneath the loose clothing she has on. She's far too skinny, even by today's standards.
I open the door to the hotel room. The hotel is more like little efficiencies than standard rooms. There's a sitting room with a television. Further back is a bathroom and off to the left is a bedroom. I walk straight to the bedroom and place her gently on the bed. I take my time to look through the rooms, pull closed the drapes, and lock the door. When I'm satisfied that everything is safe for her, I make my way back to the bedroom.
She's awake and staring up at the ceiling.
"Hey," I say to her.
"Hey," she replies back. "Where are we?"
"We're at a hotel just outside the city," I reply.
