The Arrangement Anthology 2(178)
“NO! Don’t leave me! Sean!”
I manage to pull my heavy body forward, enough to grip his hand firmly. I want to pull his hand to my cheek. I want to touch him, to hold him one last time.
My stomach is in knots as fear pushes my pulse into the stroke zone. I say things, things that have no meaning and lift his heavy hand, pulling it toward me. I press the back of his palm to my cheek, and when I lower my mouth to his skin, I press my lips to his skin.
When I open my eyes, I see what I’m holding--Sean’s severed arm, dripping with blood. A scream rakes through my body, bellowing out of my mouth.
I shoot up, covered in sweat and wailing like a banshee.
A hand firmly grabs me and silences my shriek. Sean’s warm breath brushes against my ear.
“You’re all right. Avery, we need to be quiet. Vic’s men are still here.”
I blink, confused. Slowly, I turn toward Sean, heart still pounding in my chest.
“You’re alive.” Tears sting my eyes as I throw my arms around his neck. “Oh, God, Sean.”
“You were dreaming. I’m right here,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
He holds me for a moment; his touch normally chases away my nightmares, but this time it doesn’t. Those hands, those strong, sure hands will end up as lifeless as his mother’s hands. A lump the size of a tennis ball forms in my throat. I can’t imagine my world without him.
This is my fault. All of it.
Sean pulls back but holds onto my shoulders. He offers a small smile before pushing a lock of hair out of my eyes.
“You’ve been through Hell today. If you didn’t have nightmares, I’d be worried. It’s okay, Avery.”
My lips try to pull into a smile, but they quiver and fall. I’m going to lose him. If we keep going down this path, Sean will end up beneath six feet of dirt. I look away, not wanting him to see my thoughts.
My brows pull together as I notice my surroundings. Planks of age-darkened wood cover the walls and floor. A patch of moonlight shines through the roof, casting silver light across the aged floor. In the center of the small room is the trunk of a massive oak tree. I blink again.
“How hard did I hit my head?”
Translation: Where the fuck are we?
“Welcome to Casa Dei Diamanti,” Sean answers, laughing. He breathes in the night air lustily, mirth reaching his eyes for a brief moment before the sadness sucks it away again.
“Welcome to the demented house? Seriously?” My eyebrow shoots up inquisitively.
Sean shakes his head, his dark locks falling forward. When he looks up, he glances up at me from beneath those dark lashes, as if he were going to share some deep dark secret.
“You’re joking, right? Everyone has to take a second language in high school. You are an over-educated woman, Miss College Graduate. How do you not know what ‘diamanti’ means?”
Offended, I smile with feigned patience.
“Spill, Mr. Jones. Where am I? The Batcave? Did the tree lift your evil underground lair into the sky as it grew?”
He snort-laughs boyishly as if I tickled him in the perfect spot.
“Why does everyone say that? I wasn’t a dark child.” He drops his gaze and looks at his hands, his tone serious now. “That came later, much later.”
I know this place is right on top of a raw nerve for him, but I’m not sure why. I look around, hoping he’ll tell me more, but he’s silent. There’s a chest on the side of the room, right below a little window. There’s no sign of the escape hatch or hole in the floor, but there is a rickety rope ladder piled into the corner. I wonder how he got me up here. He must have carried me.
The ceiling is low and crumbling, cedar shakes tumbling through holes in the roof. In its heyday, the little fort must have been swicked. I feel almost sad to see it in such disrepair, vines and branches growing through it unchecked.
“So, we’re still by the mansion, then?” I ask, crawling over to the window. I test the floor carefully, pressing on each plank, worried I’ll fall through.
“It’s sturdy. You won't fall. And yes, we’re still by the house.” Sean scoots back and leans against the wall.
I glance over the sill and look out. All I can see is trees. Disappointed, I sit back down. The floor beneath me creaks under my weight, and I crab-crawl forward toward the tree.
“Are you sure this isn’t like Owl’s house? That sucker blew away with Piglet and Pooh in it.”
“Are you talking about a children’s book?” Sean blinks and grins.
“Winnie the Pooh was stuffed with fluff. I’m a little more, well, stuffed with bones that don’t want to shatter when this thing falls out of the sky.”