He was barely there, so lost in his dark cage of anger and guilt he’d built for himself. He’d locked himself in and locked her out.
Hours later, Nick slipped into bed beside her. They made love, but there was no love. There were no words. He didn’t even notice her tears.
* * *
NICK DIDN’T KNOW WHAT woke him—he barely slept anymore—but he pulled on a pair of running shorts and went to Hannah’s room. With the light in her closet, he could see her eyes were open.
“Hannah?”
She didn’t answer. She never did. She heard them, they were sure of that. She got up now when they said dinner was ready. Even if she only ate a few bites, it was something. She’d sit on the couch if you told her to. She held books he didn’t know if she was reading or just staring at. Sometimes she didn’t turn the page for hours, and it killed him thinking of where her mind had slipped off to. His own slipped there often enough.
She gave yes or no answers to most questions. Beyond that she didn’t talk, didn’t engage. The most she’d ever said was, “I want to be alone.”
He sat on the side of her bed. “Hey.” Slowly, he lifted his hand to brush back her hair.
She jerked away so hard, she moaned at the pain the movement caused her. After nine surgeries, her bones intentionally broken had healed. Her delicate skin, ruthlessly sliced, had been stitched and cared for. But what could he do for her soul after forty-two days with a sociopath?
“I’m sorry. Hannah…” His voice caught in his throat. “I’m so sorry. What can I do? Do you want me to read to you?”
A tear dripped from her eye then across her nose. “No.” Her voice was so hollow, he wondered what was left of her spirit.
He didn’t think he could feel more empty, that his heart could hurt worse. But it did. Every fucking day.
What can I do? What the hell can I do for my sister who lays here crying in the dark?
With that question hanging over him, he embraced the bitter wind of January. It slapped at his face and arms as he ran. And ran and ran and ran, but the images were still there. He couldn’t go fast enough to turn back time.
You let this happen. You let this happen.
Over and over. Was it his own mind repeating it or his parents? Were they weeping tears in heaven over the horror done to their baby? Were they wishing him to hell for letting their baby be taken by a madman?
Well, he’d go to hell. Gladly. He wouldn’t reach out for a god who’d let something like that happen.
But it wasn’t God who’d failed Hannah, it was him. She shouldn’t have been on that campus. If Mia had been there early, been there waiting … But he should have picked her up himself. He should have been there early, been there waiting, then it never would have happened.
His legs and lungs burned, and still, he ran.
He got back to the house but didn’t go inside. Instead, he stood on the back porch, digging deep to pull himself together. His eyes burned. He didn’t want to remember his baby sister lying still like a broken doll the day he’d found her. He didn’t want to see anything or feel anything.
He heard the door open then close. Didn’t need to turn to know it was Mia. Mia, always with her soft voice and gentle hands. Her attempts to coax Hannah out of her shell when he wanted to scream.
“Hey.” She reached out, touched his back where his T-shirt clung to his damp body.
He didn’t flinch away from her hand, but he wanted to. And it made him feel even guiltier, even darker, until he couldn’t breathe.
“What are you thinking about?”
What I always think about. What I’ve spent every damn second looking at the dark sky and thinking about. “What I should have done. What I shouldn’t have done. Every single step I’ve taken since that funeral. All the way back to when I should have let her go.”
“Nick.”
He stepped away from her and she didn’t follow. He’d moved away from her touch so many times, he didn’t blame her. But if Hannah couldn’t be touched or comforted, why should he?
“You can’t question yourself, second-guess yourself,” she said in that gentle tone he’d once loved. Now, the more gentle she was, the more he hated it.
He rounded on her, always his closest available target. “Why the hell not? Why the hell can’t I? Shouldn’t I? All the way back to that first decision. I should’ve let her go to my aunt. I shouldn’t have thought I could do it.”
“You don’t mean that. Your aunt was a stranger.”
“Oh, but I do. I do.” His voice was barely audible, the things he was thinking almost too much to say out loud. But he did it anyway. “And take it back even before that. If I hadn’t been born.”