Creators(51)

Robert had ripped her heart straight out of her chest.

I covered my mouth with my hands. I wasn’t sure if I did so to keep from screaming or stop from throwing up. My father pressed his gun into Robert’s chest.

Robert slowly, gently reached up and pushed the gun away. “You aren’t going to shoot me, Charlie. Don’t you remember when you broke me out? What you whispered into my ear?”

My father lowered his gun. “I promised you that one day you could kill those responsible.”

“But why? Why?” I asked.

“She let Emma die,” Robert answered, his voice taking on a tone I had only heard once before—a tone of utter helplessness. I had heard it the day Emma died. He offered no other explanation. Somehow, those four words were enough.

I turned around without speaking another word. I walked away from them all, wondering if I knew anything or anyone in the world I called home. Every time I thought I understood the world, my world, it changed. Felt less mine. Nothing was as it should have been. Everything I thought I knew was wrong. Up was down. Right was left. Light was dark.

And I had no answers.





Chapter 21


Tess,

There isn’t any time. Even if there was, I wouldn’t be able to write much.

The pain. Thepain. ThepainThepain.

If I keep thinking of you, they’ll find a way to take you away forever. They’ll rip you right from my brain as if you never even existed. It’s a possibility. George found me yesterday. He told me that they aren’t happy with my progress. He said they had a way to completely wipe my memory. They would take from me every thought, feeling, moment I have connected to you, and there would be no way to get any of them back. He said they have been avoiding this tactic because they are afraid it will mess with my ability. But at this point, they are getting desperate.

I don’t know why George warned me. Only I think he needs me to keep my memories for some reason. He told me you were important. He said that we would need each other.

If my vision is right, you’ll be here soon.

I just don’t know that I’ll be me. Not the me you made me promise to hold onto.

It hurts so badly.

I will hide you back away.

I don’t know what comes next.

~James





Chapter 22


“How is she?” I asked.

Lockwood ran a hand over his face. I wondered if he had slept at all. Under his eyes were heavy bags and his hair was wild in a mixture of grease and life that had suddenly gotten vastly more unbearable. “She won’t see me,” he gruffed.

A note of anger ran between his words, and I saw that the world had finally caught him. Lockwood had been the one person I had ever known who seemed to find the best in any situation, but the man who stood by me was changed. Altered in ways that both he and I were just probably starting to understand. His face was gaunt. His body erect and unmovable. There was nothing of the carefree friend I had come to consider family.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, pushing past him. Louisa was hurting and lashing out at the one person she didn’t even realize she needed the most.

“She doesn’t want to see anyone,” Lockwood insisted, following after me.

“I don’t give a damn what she wants,” I yelled over my shoulder. I walked into the makeshift tent made out of tarp and burlap salvaged from the destroyed community. Shortly after talking with Abrams, I had been informed that my father had Louisa moved into his temporary headquarters.

My sister had a blanket thrown over her head as she lay on the ground. I nudged her with my foot. “I told everyone to leave me alone!” she yelled, her voice cracking.

“Being alone doesn’t help anyone,” I said. I took a seat on the ground next to her and pulled the blanket off her head.

Louisa reached up and shielded her eyes from the rays of sun that snuck through the tent. “What do you want?” she mumbled.

“I don’t want anything. I just want to sit with you. We both do,” I replied, looking back at Lockwood, who lingered by the entrance.

“The baby’s gone. You can stop pretending you care,” she said, yanking the blanket from my hand and throwing it back over her head.

“Maybe we should just let her be,” Lockwood suggested.

The sound of his voice caused a surge of anger to rise up in me. Maybe I deserved this treatment from her, payment for sins of the past, but he didn’t. I snatched the blanket from her and tossed it out of reach.

Louisa sat up and stared daggers at me. Her cheeks were covered in rapidly falling tears. “Look, the baby’s gone,” she repeated. “It’s over. I’m not going to die. I’m not—” Her words were taken over by sobs. She fell into my arms and cried into my shoulder.