The Haunting of Secrets (19 page)

I return my attention to the more pertinent
crisis, relieved to see that my partner has calmed. I see him
motion impatiently with his hands for the other person to go.
Finally, my partner turns back towards me and nods in the universal
signal that all is well. I nod back, happy to have averted such a
serious interruption to our sacred game. His face is illuminated
brightly in the light that’s still pouring in from the door. I see
my conspirator as clearly as I would on a bright, sunny day. I
motion for him to return and finish what we started. With a smile,
he runs down, taking the steps two at a time. I know him better
than anyone else in the world. Just like me, he plays a role; one
that never shows what truly lies beneath. To me he’s nameless, just
a comrade in arms. To the world, he is Logan.

Chapter
Thirty-One

~ Betrayal ~

I awake with a start, gasping for breath as I
struggle to dislodge myself from the memory. My mind screams at me
while my heart hammers in my ears. I do my best to push away the
image seared behind my eyes with hot irons, but it stubbornly
remains. Even though my mind recognizes his face, one I know better
than any other in the world, my heart will not allow it to be. I
lie on the charred floor of my bedroom half in and out of
consciousness as an intense battle between my heart and my mind
begins. I justify what I saw with what I know about memories. One
thing I do know is that memories can be wrong. People remember
things wrong all the time.

Despite my best efforts to convince myself
that I’m wrong, Logan’s face in the torture room refuses to leave
my mind. The smirk I know so well is the same smirk I saw in the
killer’s memory. My mind scrambles to find a reason for his being
in the torture room with the killer, but I can’t. As much as I try
to deny the truth, it sits there staring at me, mocking me with an
intensity that burns my soul. The first and only person that I ever
dared to let into my heart is helping a sadistic killer hunt me.
That’s it, game over. Life is officially cruel. Willing the
confusion and disorientation to leave, I sit up, cradling my head
in my hands. I feel surprisingly numb despite the tears running
down my face. I dropped the flashlight when the memory took over
and it rolled across the room. The sliver of light illuminating the
room is focused on me. I go to pick it up, but stop, remembering
that I’m not alone.

I hear him before I see him, his heavy
breathing clearly indicating his stressed state. Out of the corner
of my eye, I see Logan sitting next to what remains of my bedroom
door. He’s close to me, but not moving. He’s staring wide eyed with
his hand reaching out to me, frozen in midair. It’s as if he wanted
to touch me during my trip to memory land, but decided against it.
I know I should run as fast as I can and get far away from him, but
I can’t leave yet. I have to know why.

“It was
you,
” I say my voice a mixture
of disbelief and anger. “You brought the girls to him. Innocent,
young girls that he tortured! You knew what he was capable of and
you still helped him!” I scream getting angrier by the second. “So
pursuing me, getting me to love you, was that just your job?” I
ask, watching him for any kind of reaction. I don’t need proof. I
saw it firsthand from the source. What I don’t know is if all the
nice things he did for me were out of love or out of duty. I have
to know if loving me was a lie.

He still sits there, motionless in the
corner. Judging from the expression on his face, he’s as afraid of
me as he is of the information I just found out. Witnessing my eyes
clouding over during the memory must have freaked him out, but I
simply can’t bring myself to care.

“When were you going to bring me to him
Logan?” I ask, continuing to berate him with questions despite the
frustrating lack of answers. “When were you going to hand
me
over to be tortured and killed?”

Frozen with shock, Logan remains huddled in
the corner saying nothing. Anger finally breaks the dam protecting
my hurt and grief, anger, and hatred pour out like a tsunami,
flooding every fiber of my being with the dark emotions. Riding the
wave of despair, I momentarily forget my fear, walk right up to
him, and slap his face. Logan comes out of his stupor quickly after
that. He grabs both of my arms, careful not to touch my hands and
pulls me roughly to him. The intensity of his hazel eyes, normally
something that makes my knees go weak, no longer affects me. All I
feel is disgust. His grip on my arms is fierce, animalistic.

“I am only going to say this once Aimee, so
listen up. Whatever just happened to you, it must have affected
your mind. I have no idea what you are talking about. Never in my
life have I hurt anyone, nor would I bring innocent girls to some
psycho. What just happened to your eyes to make you think that? All
I’ve ever done is love you and try to get you to love me back. I
swear to you, I have no idea what you are talking about, I don’t
know any killers.”

Still within his strong grasp, I stare at
Logan, not knowing what I want to do. While I expected a denial, it
doesn’t make this any easier. My emotions are kicking me in the
gut. My indecision paralyzes me to the point that I stand here
giving him the opportunity to sway me. I am disgusted with myself.
Why am I not running away? I don’t know which scares me more:
knowing that Logan is partially responsible for killing girls or
knowing that deep inside, my heart is screaming that it don’t
care.

“Aimee!” he starts as he begins to shake me
softly to get through to me. “You have to believe me. I would never
hurt you,” he pleads, begging me to trust him. Every fiber in my
body wants to believe him, wants to go back to the moment before
the memory enveloped me when we were about to kiss. But it’s too
late now. When I look at his face, all I see is his sardonic smile
as he runs down the steps, eager to join the kill.

“Let me go. Now,” I say, the anger
threatening to take over is apparent in my words. His eyes grow
wider with surprise, but he still doesn’t let go. I have no idea
what he is thinking, but I’m absolutely sure that I don’t want to
stay around and find out. Catching him off guard, I pick up my leg
and kick out with all of my might, aiming straight for his stomach.
As I had hoped, Logan is surprised and he releases his hold on me
as he falls to the floor, doubled over in pain. I jump up and run
across the room to retrieve the flashlight. The damaged floor
creaks beneath my weight. Logan makes no move to follow; at least
not yet. I grab the flashlight and run to the hole that was once my
window. I pick up speed in preparation to jump through it. As I
approach the hole, I put my arms out in front of me, bend my knees,
and push off hard with my feet, reaching out towards the same tree
that Logan once climbed to get into my room to see me after the
bombing. The irony is not lost on me that I am now using that same
manner to flee from said boy who claims to love me. I don’t dare to
look behind me at Logan. I can only hope that my distraction gives
me enough time to run away.

After a brief moment of weightlessness, my
hand reaches bark. I curl my fingers around a small branch and use
it to swing myself down to a thicker branch that I pray will hold
my weight. Though I am not the most agile person in the world, I
have been known to hold my own whenever we practiced gymnastics in
P.E. With as much grace as a rookie Cirque de Soleil acrobat, I use
my momentum to plant my feet on the large branch that extends out
towards my window. Though my feet slip a bit on the rain-drenched
branch, it does hold my weight pretty well. With my hands still
tethered to the branch above, I look down and see that my current
perch is located about 10 feet from the ground. Carefully, yet
quickly, I begin climbing down the tree when I hear Logan calling
my name from the window above me. I don’t dare look back at him,
afraid that any lack of concentration right now will cause me to
fall. The branches are soaked and it’s still misting. If that isn’t
a recipe for a nasty fall to the ground with a side of multiple
broken bones then I don’t know what is. Besides, my heart can’t
bear to look at the face of a boy who enjoys killing innocent
people, especially since I once loved every curvature of that
perfect face.

The ache in my muscles keeps me focused,
determined to make the guilty pay for all of the blood they so
capriciously spilled. Best yet, the pain keeps the horrible ache of
betrayal in my heart at bay. My arms shake from the strain of
grabbing and holding tight to wet branches as I descend as quickly
as possible. My palms are cut, but I don’t feel the pain. Finally,
I’m within a few feet of the wet, sodden ground. I let go of the
branch and jump, landing on my feet, but quickly slipping and
falling onto my bony butt with a muddy splash. I dare to look up
and immediately regret wasting the time. I see Logan is already
half way down the tree, climbing quicker than I would have
imagined. He’s in much better shape than I am and I don’t have much
time before he catches up to me. I jump up from the ground and set
out running full tilt towards the trees just a few short blocks
from my house. I don’t particularly care for a brisk run in dark
woods, but I know I can’t out run Logan, so my only hope is if I
can lose him within the confines of the trees. I sprint through the
streets of my neighborhood, running through as many backyards as I
can to avoid the streetlights. I’m lucky that so many neighbors of
mine don’t seem to have any use for fences.

I like to think that I’m in pretty good
shape, but as the running continues, I see that I’m clearly not.
I’m out of breath, there is a stitch in my right side, and I’m
losing steam quickly. After what seems like hours, I finally round
the last corner and see the front of my neighborhood where the path
to the forest begins. I almost collapse with relief, so happy to
finally see an end to all this running. I grab my side and fight
through the pain, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the
other. Adrenaline is all that’s keeping me going. I can see my last
hope, my solace just across the road a few feet away. I smile,
hopeful now.

My smile immediately fades when I hear
footsteps coming up fast behind me. I dare a quick peek and see
that Logan is hot on my heels, so close that I can see the steam
coming out of his mouth from his labored breathing. I
underestimated how fast a runner Logan is. Panic consumes me. If I
can only make it to the trees! I look forward again and bear down,
doing my best to give whatever I have left to make it to my
darkness, my salvation. I fly past the large brick sign that
displays the name of our neighborhood on it and almost run into
someone who steps out from behind the sign just as I reach the end
of it. I stumble back and fall onto the ground, a confused scream
heavily laced with fear, escaping my mouth. I look behind me and
see Logan stop as well, having reached me and the mystery person
lurking beside the sign. I turn my attention back to the obscured
figure in front of me. He looks so much bigger and more ominous
from the ground. I wish I could say that he’s my savior, but he
isn’t. He is my end; the one I have been waiting for.

My fear of Logan, thrown to the back burner
in light of the current turn of events, is temporarily sated as I
face the killer I have worked so hard to find. The memories I hold
in my mind sing, confirming the identity of the boy standing in
front of me. I still can’t see his face; he’s standing just outside
the halo of light emanating from the street lamp. I stare up at his
disapproving figure and note that his arms are crossed and his feet
are set shoulder length apart. It reminds me of a stance one would
take when berating a naughty child. Silence fills the air as
neither of us move, each wondering what the other is thinking. My
side is killing me from running. Since my chance to make it to the
trees is lost now anyway, I decide to accept my fate and end the
stalemate.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” I say
callously. “I was just about to give up on you. Luckily, Logan here
had your back.”

The killer laughs deeply, though I don’t know
if it’s out of humor or malice. Maybe he’s a little slow and didn’t
get my sarcasm.

Perhaps I should remind him exactly what I
think of him and his precious memories. “So are you here to take me
on a date or are we just going to skip to the part that you like
best, torturing and killing for the sheer pleasure of it?”

No longer laughing, the killer uncrosses his
arms and I see the knife he holds in his right hand glisten in the
light. It’s the same knife I’ve seen many times in his memories, a
part of him that is never far from his side. I shiver
involuntarily, a complete contrast to my confident words. My
reaction pleases him and he laughs sinisterly.

“You have no idea what true pleasure is my
dear Aimee, but I promise you that before this night is over, you
will,” he warns before taking a step forward into the light.

The second his face is illuminated I back
away from him in shock. I
know
him. All pretense of strength
is lost as I panic and try my best to crawl away from him. It’s no
use though as Logan’s still form stops me just a few short feet
away. The boy I love, the killer’s accomplice. I almost forgot
about Logan in the midst of finally meeting the killer. Defeated, I
turn back to my stalker and stare up into the face of the boy whose
memories have haunted and sickened me. So many times I have
wondered what his face looked like, exactly how evil it would be.
But never in a million years, would I have guessed this face.

“Tyler?” I breathe, desperate to understand.
This isn’t the face of evil; this is the face of an angel. It’s the
kind of face that mesmerizes you, that makes you want to trust
every word that comes out of his mouth. I’m just about to ask him
how he could possibly be so evil, but I never get the chance. A
heavy object hits me on the head from behind and I see stars as the
world fades and I crumple at Logan’s feet.