Does It Hurt?: Chapter 31

She’s staring at me, waiting for a response, but I’m too stunned to speak. The only thing I can think is how the fuck am I going to save her?

Her blue eyes drop, and there she goes, hiding away.

“Look at me,” I snap.

She does, her eyes shooting to mine. They’re welling with tears, and I know she’s expecting me to get angry.

In a way, I am angry.

“How long ago?”

“Six years,” she whispers. “We were twenty-two. He was fresh out of the academy, but they all loved him instantly. They were devastated when they found out he died.” She shrugs awkwardly. “Some of his cop friends were on the news a lot, crying and promising they wouldn’t rest until they found me. I always hoped they’d move on somehow, but one of his old friends still emails me every so often.”

Blowing out a slow breath, I stand and grab her hands, helping her to her feet. She looks so unsure of herself, and I want to bring her comfort, but I don’t have the right words yet.

How do I tell her that I’m only angry because I wanted to see the life drain from his eyes, too? How do I say that I would’ve loved to see her end his miserable life and then probably fuck her for it after?

Carefully, we make our way off the broken table, ensuring she avoids sharp pieces of glass or wooden splinters. Then, I grab our clothing and help her get dressed, needing to give my hands something to do while I think. When we’re done, I grab the shotgun and lead her upstairs to our bedroom.

“Enzo?” she prompts, timid and uncertain.

I run my hand down my face, my mind racing.

“Where did this happen?”

“Nevada in the States.”

I sigh. “Australia would turn you into U.S. authorities,” he says. “But other countries wouldn’t.”

She nods slowly. “I was never going to stay in Australia, Enzo. I’ve been hiding out in different states over the past six years. I finally built up the nerve to use one of the identities to get a passport and leave the U.S., so I got a flight to Indonesia. But someone I knew saw that I was at the airport waiting for a flight, and they were going to out me, so I had to make a split-second decision and change flights. I went with the first one available and ended up in Australia. I’ve been staying low for now, but I was always going to leave.”

I was always going to leave.

And now I don’t know if I can let her.

“Look, I know what I did was wrong, but—”

She stops short when my head snaps to hers. Whatever she sees in my expression has her teeth clicking shut.

In the blink of an eye, her face is cradled in my palms, and she stares at me like she isn’t sure if she should be scared or not.

“Do you know how envious I am? I only wish I had been there to reward you after. And then, I would’ve made sure you were never caught for it.”

Sawyer shakes her head, confounded. “How are you not upset? I murdered someone. In cold blood.”

“Baby, I’m only sorry you spent the last six years regretting it when you could’ve been rejoicing in it.”

I focus on her pink lips. I’m also sorry I waited so long to taste those.

When I drag my focus back on her baby blues, she’s just staring at me, puzzled.

“Did you kill me back on that table? Did one of the legs impale me or something? This can’t be real.”

I grin, and her eyes widen. “Oh my God. I did die.”

“Do you want me to be angry?”

“No?” she says, but it sounds more like a question. “I guess a normal person’s reaction would be shock, a lot of judgment, and then maybe dial 911 on the low-low.”

“It’s not 911 out here, it’s 000. And we’ve been over this. We can’t call them.”

She rolls her eyes, stepping out of my hold.

“I just wasn’t expecting you to be happy,” she admits.

I inspect her closely. There’s a hint of relief in her eyes, but she still looks unsure.

“I’m happy he’s dead, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about our situation,” I correct. “You’re in a lot of trouble, and it’s going to be difficult to get you out.”

Her brow pinches. “Enzo, I don’t expect you to save me.”

“That’s because no one has ever found you worth saving.” Her mouth drops, offended, and I take the opportunity to hook her bottom teeth with two fingers and tug her into me. She nearly falls against my chest. “They were wrong, baby. You are worth it.”

She digs her little teeth into my digits, and I grin, releasing her.

“I’m capable of saving myself,” she tells me, fire in her eyes.

“You are,” I agree, brushing my thumb across her cheek affectionately. “You’ve already proven that when you ended your abuser’s life. But you’re not alone anymore. Now you have someone to serve you while you seek justice.”

She blinks. “This didn’t go how I thought it would,” she confesses in a hushed tone. She looks scared again; this time, I know it’s because she doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

Giving in, I softly kiss her lips. “We’ve known nothing but heartbreak. Maybe we can show each other something different this time, yeah?”

Her lips curl upward, just the slightest bit, then she nods and whispers, “Yeah.”

“And we’re going to figure this out together. First, we just need to get the fuck off this island.”

Again, she nods, her blue eyes shinier than usual.

Satisfied, I release her and head toward the bathroom for a shower when I hear someone moving around downstairs.

Not just their footsteps, but the sound of chains dragging.

“What’s that sound?” she whispers.

“Someone is in here. We’re not alone anymore.”

“Enzo,” Sawyer hedges hesitantly. “Don’t go down there.”

“It’s just a ghost, right?” I ask over my shoulder. “It can’t hurt me.”

She huffs with frustration, quietly slinking up to my side. “And we’ve been over this. If they can hit a solid object, they can hit you—another solid object. I mean, really, Enzo. You need to watch more movies.”

“They’re fake,” I argue.

“But some of them are based on real stories!” she whisper-yells.

“They’re grossly exaggerated.”

Her little fists are balled, and she’s scowling at me. It’s pretty cute, but the person—thing—whatever it is, moves something, and it’s loud enough to draw my attention away.

“Stay up here,” I murmur, ignoring her little mewl of disappointment while I grab the shotgun. Staying light on my feet, I head toward the staircase.

Of course, Sawyer doesn’t stay, falling in step behind me. She plasters herself to my back, nearly tripping me as we make our way down, the gun poised in my hands.

I’m tense, and when the bottom floor comes into view, I quickly sweep my gaze across every inch.

There’s no one here.

I pause at the bottom step, sensing the stagnant energy in the room.

“Oh, man, this is fucked,” Sawyer whines quietly, shifting on her feet and causing the metal beneath us to groan. “Can we go upst—”

“Baby. Shut the fuck up.”

“Rude,” she mutters, but otherwise, doesn’t have any further unnecessary commentary.

Refusing to believe that something can just vanish like that, I scout every inch of the kitchen and living room area. The rug and broken table are over the top of the cellar, so there aren’t very many places to hide, and within minutes, I’m forced to accept the fact that whatever was down here, isn’t anymore. At least not anywhere I can see.

I’m standing in the living room, glaring at the cold, dead fireplace, when Sawyer creeps in.

She looks around nervously, still on edge that the thing is going to come back.

Good chance it will, and I fucking hope it does. I’d love to see for myself if there really is an invisible spirit walking around, wreaking havoc on the place and our sanity.

“Uhh. You see that?” Sawyer asks, her spine straightening and all hesitance bleeding out in a matter of seconds. I follow her gaze, landing on the two bookshelves up against the wall opposite the couch.

One of them looks shifted. Not to the side, but at an angle.

As if it were a door.

Beelining toward them, I quickly order, “Grab the flashlights in the kitchen.”

She hurries off to get them, rejoining my side just as I start to tug at the crooked bookshelf. With little effort, it creaks open, sounding very similar to the noise we heard before we came down here.

Sawyer’s gasp is the only thing that can be heard now as we stare into a black abyss. The bookshelf is a fucking door, and behind it is a spiraling stone staircase.

“The beacon,” she whispers behind me, clicking on the flashlight and moving ahead of me.

“Sawyer, get behind me. You were scared not two seconds ago.”

She cuts a glare over her shoulder.

“I’m too excited now. So, you get behind me. Being a man doesn’t make you special. Last time I checked, I’m the murderer, not you.”

I raise my brows. “I’ll be happy to make it even, bella.”

She rolls her eyes, muttering “Men” derisively as she forges ahead. The corner of my lip curls, and I snatch the extra flashlight from her grip that she forgot to hand over, letting her go ahead.

She’s right. She doesn’t need me to save her, but that doesn’t mean I won’t protect her, and it sure as fuck doesn’t stop me from aiming the gun over her shoulder in case Sylvester pops out.

We both keep our steps light as we make our way up, spinning around the structure for what feels like forever. When she reaches the top, she pauses for a split second before she squeals with excitement.

“It’s the beacon!” she exclaims, though conscious enough to keep it quiet.

I step up into a small spherical area. It’s nearly all glass, with a door leading out to a railing that circles around the room. I catch sight of a metal ladder that must lead to the actual light above.

A wide grin spreads across Sawyer’s face, and she looks back at me with delight.

A control panel spans across half of the room. And on the far left side of it is a radio.

My first reaction is fury. It’s confirmation that Sylvester has been lying to us all along. Keeping us here purposely, imprisoning us.

And though he never said it aloud, I know without a shadow of a doubt that he did it because he’s a lonely, fucked-up man and wanted to keep Sawyer here.

“We can get out of here,” she breathes, her blue eyes alight with hope and excitement. Even in the dark, it shines brighter than the sleeping beacon.

She rushes to the panel, and just as I take a step toward her, there’s a slight shuffling sound from above. I freeze, listening intently while Sawyer presses buttons and tinkers with the radio. Lost in her eagerness, she hadn’t heard the noise.

“I think it works!” she squeals, and the low buzz of the radio follows shortly after.

However, I’m too focused on the growing disturbance from above.

“Sawyer,” I whisper sharply. She turns to me, her brows pinched with concern. Her mouth opens, readying to say something, but then there’s a slow drag across the ceiling.

Chains.

My heart rate kicks up as the drag goes in a circle, as if it’s walking around the light.

Whatever was downstairs is now up there, maybe deliberately leaving the bookshelf door open for us to find. Too focused on finally finding the beacon, I hadn’t even considered that the… thing came up here first.

“Come here, bella,” I say, holding out my hand for her to grab. The moment it slips into mine, I tug her behind me and reposition the gun.

The chains stop for a brief moment before appearing on the side of the glass where the ladder is. Adrenaline bleeds into my system as a pale, feminine foot appears, and then the other.

Two thick metal bands are clasped around each ankle, a long chain dangling between them.

“Enzo,” Sawyer hedges. “Should we shoot it?”

“Thought we couldn’t fight ghosts?” I remind her. Though, as it slowly makes its way down the ladder, it’s apparent that it’s a girl. She’s incredibly thin, with a long white dress billowing around her. She reaches the bottom, but her head is tipped down, long tresses of blonde hair covering her face.

“Oh my God. That must be the girl we saw in the ocean,” Sawyer breathes.

“This… doesn’t make sense,” I murmur, thoughts racing while I try to piece together Sylvester’s lies.

He had said that the chains were from prisoners he killed years ago, their spirits haunting the lighthouse. He had also said his daughter had killed herself, but if this is her spirit… why is she wearing chains?

My heart drops, and I feel my features slacken.

“Sawyer,” I start, watching the girl slowly make her way toward the door, the ring of metal dragging along loudly.

Her head lifts, almost as if hearing me, and my entire being freezes. I barely hear Sawyer’s gasp from behind me, both enraptured and disturbed.

She has no mouth. Or rather, where her mouth used to be is a line of thick, black stitches.

“Sawyer,” I start again, backing the both of us away as the girl comes closer, her hair blowing almost violently in the wind. “That’s not a ghost. She’s real.”

We watch her round behind us, her eyes straight ahead, and the thick strings in her mouth visible and grotesque.

“What?” Sawyer screeches. “What do you mean she’s real? Is that better or worse?”

“I think he lied about the prisoners, which is why we couldn’t find a report about it. Sylvester said he had two daughters here, remember? He claimed Trinity hung herself outside our window while Raven and Kacey left. Either she never did, or Kacey never left.”

I feel her tremble as she asks, “So, you’re saying there aren’t any ghosts here? It was just her all along?”

“I think so,” I mumble as the blonde girl reaches the door. “That’s probably how Sylvester got free from the cellar. She let him out.”

“Fuck,” Sawyer whispers.

The wind howls as she opens it, tipping her head down again, hiding herself once more. I keep the gun aimed at her, feeling Sawyer move out from behind me as the girl steps inside and closes the door behind her.

For a moment, none of us move or hardly even breathe. And then, she’s lifting her chin, and the brutality of what was done to her is glaring. It’s enough to curdle my stomach.

The white dress she’s wearing is more of a yellow, and there’s a rotting stench emanating from her.

But her face… it’s so much worse than I initially thought. Thick ropes of black thread loosen across her mouth and up to her cheeks. It appears as if the wound is rotting, the flesh around it blackened and decayed.

She stares at us with pale blue eyes, watery and wide. It takes another moment to realize that she’s shaking like a leaf.

Sawyer steps in front of me, and my hand instinctively flies to her wrist. She pauses and looks back at me, mouthing, “It’s okay.”

I let her go, but I step behind her, refusing to lower my weapon. I’ve no idea what the girl’s motive is. She could be seeking help, or she could have ill intentions.

“My name is Sawyer. Are you one of Sylvester’s daughters?”

The girl stares at her for a few beats. It’s unnerving, but Sawyer just meets her stare, waiting patiently for an answer. Finally, the girl nods, and it feels like a punch to the chest.

“Is your name Trinity?” I ask quietly.

The girl’s eyes snap to mine, and there’s still a dark, ominous feeling slithering through my veins. I can’t tell if it’s because of her or what she represents.

She shakes her head no, so I ask, “Kacey?”

Another pause, and then she’s nodding her head again.

Christ.

That means it’s entirely possible Trinity did hang herself, and maybe lost in grief or madness, Sylvester never let Kacey leave. So desperate to keep her here that he chained her and kept her locked up. Even sewed her mouth shut, assumingly, so she couldn’t make a sound when visitors came by.

Where does she sleep? She’s been trapped somewhere the entire time we’ve been here. It explains why Sylvester locked us in the room and why we hear her in the hallways only at night, when Sylvester must let her roam free. She’s been banging on the floor and even at our door, trying to get our attention all along.

Sawyer’s hand slides over her mouth, and I know she’s realizing these things as I am.

“We’re going to get off this island. Do you… want to come with us?” Sawyer asks slowly.

Kacey takes a step toward Sawyer in earnest, and I can’t help but grab Sawyer’s arm and pull her back into my chest before putting my finger back on the trigger. She pauses, sliding her eyes to mine. I can’t read the emotion in them, but there’s no question that she’s studying me as intently as I’m studying her.

“It’s okay,” Sawyer assures, drawing my attention to her as she peers over her shoulder at me with a soft smile.

Is it?

Nothing about this situation is okay.

Training my stare on Kacey again, I nod toward the radio on the control panel and tell her, “We need to use that radio to call for help.”

Kacey nods, and she steps to the side and away, indicating she’s not going to stop us.

“Go ahead, baby,” I urge Sawyer. She rushes to the radio and starts messing with the channels, intermittently saying hello through the speaker, attempting to get a response. I stand right behind her, ensuring her safety.

Only then do I lower the gun. As much as I want to believe Kacey wouldn’t attack us, there’s no doubt her mental state is in tatters, and I can’t determine where exactly her head is at with us. Sylvester is all she knows—it’s entirely possible she will be loyal to him over us, despite what he’s done to her.

I keep an eye on her while she studies Sawyer.

“Do you know where Sylvester went?” I ask her while we wait. She cuts her stare to me, and it’s almost unnerving how quickly she shifts her eyes.

She shakes her head, glancing at Sawyer again as she continues to fiddle.

“Is there anyone else being kept here?”

Another no.

“Does a ship come here once a month?” I ask, forging ahead.

Kacey nods. He was smart enough not to lie about that. Not with the amount of food and supplies he has, and he doesn’t have the space to store a massive stock that will last him years on end.

“Did your mother ever get off the island?” I question bluntly. There’s no good way to ask, but I’m curious as to what really happened to Raven, though I have a pretty good fucking guess.

Her gaze drops for a second, the question seeming to sadden her, but she refocuses on me and shakes her head. No.

“He killed her,” I conclude, more as a statement than a question.

She nods.

Christ. Sapevo che lo stronzo stava mentendo. But I never imagined the truth to be so fucked. The confirmation does little to calm the black fury rising in my chest.

“I’m sorry you went through that. But you won’t have to stay here with him anymore now, and we will be happy to help you any way you need.”

Though Kacey is unable to speak, her eyes soften.

“Hello? Anyone there? Hello? Three people are being kept hostage on Raven Isle. Please, we need help,” Sawyer calls into the radio.

But the buzz of static is her only response. She keeps repeating the same mantra into the radio while Kacey continues to stare.

It goes on like this for a solid minute until there’s a loud crack from downstairs. It scares the shit out of Sawyer, a yelp bursting from her throat. Kacey’s attention whips to the staircase, her eyes wide with terror.

Then, she drags them to mine, and I know exactly what she’s saying without having to hear a sound.

He’s back.