The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) (20 page)

I shake my head and study the washcloth.

“You’ve been here for two months now. I was hoping… Well, never mind.” Her expression is worried, contemplative, and she retreats from the room.

Two months. Two months? So long. I clench the cloth in my fist. I will never belong here. Everyone knows that. Every day the distance between me and them grows wider.

I’ve never felt so alone.

The following morning I’m up before the others. I straighten the couch as best as I can, folding the blankets and stacking them neatly inside the trunk that serves as a coffee table. I don’t want to leave a mess. I creep into the kitchen and root around until I find something small, something that won’t be missed right away, but still sharp enough to do the job. I put it in the pocket of my too-large pants. I pull on the boots someone kindly donated; they’re a hair too small, but I don’t mind. I don’t take a jacket.

“Honey? You’re up early.”

I start.

Missus is wearing a long flannel nightgown. I didn’t know people still wore those.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” she explains.

I smile at her, and she blinks. I don’t think I’ve smiled the entire time I’ve been here.

She takes a hesitant step forward. “Are you all right?”

I try to smile again, but the corners of my mouth refuse to lift, so I nod. I cock my head to the side. “You’ve been very kind to me.”

She blinks. “Well…”

“I just wanted you to know I noticed. Not many people have been kind to me since…” Since when? Since years ago.

Light is beginning to show, and I indicate the door. “I’m just going to go for a short walk. I won’t be long.”

I’ve strung more words together in this one conversation than I’ve uttered the entire time I’ve spent here.

My hostess nods, reluctantly, I think, and turns into the bathroom.

As soon as she closes the door, I’m gone.

I head for the opposite end of town. The wind bites into my flesh, and soon the cold stings the tips of my ears. I shiver and tuck my hands into my pockets.

I leave the last of the cabins behind and tromp into the unshoveled forest. It’s quiet here. I’ve never been any place as quiet as this. I can almost imagine what it must have sounded like before the ash fell, when there were birds to sing, squirrels to chatter, cicadas to hum and burr…but they’re all dead now. Just like the rest of the world.

I spot a nice fat tree. It looks happy even without leaves to flutter and whisper its story. I trudge over the snow and brush and sit down, my back against the lovely bark.

I think about my mother. She never stands up to Dad. Whatever he wants, she supports it. It occurs to me that I take after her. Tish is definitely more like Dad—fiery and willful. I wonder if those people who rescued Tish take care of her. There’d be no point in shooting her attackers and leaving their bodies behind if they were cannibals. For that matter, there’d be no point in abandoning me. I think maybe Tish is out there somewhere, brandishing a weapon and telling the bad guys to fuck off. I hope so.

Kent. I close my eyes. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make it go away. I want to forget him, but he’s so deeply entwined in who I am that he’ll always be there. I know. I made him my life, and now I can’t undo it. To him I’ll always be the deceitful whore. To my parents I’m the failure. To the rest of the world I’m that crazy girl that they can’t trust their children around. As for me, well, I guess I’m just empty.

I push up the sleeves of my shirt and remove the knife from my back pocket. I am not afraid it’ll hurt. I know what pain is, and this isn’t it. I make an incision deep in my right wrist. My hand shakes as I grip the knife in it and do the same to the left side.

Then I lean back against the tree and wait.

I close my eyes and I think of Kent. I remember that day so differently now. He comes to our room, and he sweeps me up in his arms. He tells me he loves me. He tells me I’m so necessary that he can’t live without me. Then we make love, just like we did that one perfect night. Afterward he holds me, whispers in my ear again that he loves me, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

Another clomp of footsteps in the hall. It’s my only entertainment. They’ve tied my hands to the bed rails, so there’s nothing much else to do.

“Again, we’re sorry to bother you. She got here two days ago, ma’am. She answered a few questions when she came to, but she hasn’t spoken since. She gave an address from that neighborhood you used to live in. It’s been bulldozed, so we thought maybe she lived there when you did. If you could give us a name, even a first name, that would be helpful.”

I don’t care who it is. I don’t care what name they give me. I’ll deny it. I’m done with Bianca Mason.

“How did she get here?” The voice sounds like…sounds like…

“Um, she got dropped at the emergency room just after dark-fall. One man, Mediterranean descent. He didn’t leave a name, and he took off before we could question him. He said they found her after a raid had left two soldiers dead. She was locked inside a dog crate, beaten nearly to death and hypothermic, so they took her home and tried to help her.”

The footsteps lose their echo sound, so I know they’ve entered the room.

“Her injuries healed, but apparently her mental state didn’t and she tried to kill herself. That’s when they brought her here.”

The worker whisks the curtain back, and the rings scrape across the metal rod.

She indicates me with a flick of her head. “This is her.”

Mom lets out a soft cry and goes pale. She looks down and to the side, as though she can direct eyes to the back of her head and see if the two soldiers—the two Barry soldiers—noticed. I note that she’s wearing handcuffs.

The Barrys. The first flutter of panic hits my chest, and my head swims. Just looking at the uniform does this to me. I turn away as my eyes fill up. I wish Mom would hold me and tell me everything will be all right. Then I wish she’d go away. I’m not Bianca anymore.

My mother clears her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m not myself since the Barrys took control of the city. It’s hard to see someone so young, so hurt.”

I think I might scream. Is he here? I choke. He’ll kill me. Worse than that, he’ll hurt me. I can’t take the lash again. I can’t take the psychological torture. I pull against the straps that bind me, but they are too strong.

“I’m sure this is very hard for you, Mrs. Mason.”

I turn my head just in time to see Mom set her jaw. She’s still not looking at me. “Who did you say had her?”

“We don’t know. She doesn’t speak. We asked her in the beginning, but she was pretty out of it.”

“What did she say?”

The scrub smiles wryly and shakes her head. “The Borgias.”

Mom frowns almost imperceptibly. She sneaks me a look, then returns her attention to the scrub. She wears frown lines between her eyes, betraying just how upset she is. Mom never allows lines to show. “Her name is Carolyn Bradley. Her family died a few years ago when a gang tore up our subdivision.”

Mom narrows her eyes at me, almost daring me to say otherwise. I cast a glance at the soldiers, but their faces remain impassive. She needn’t worry. I may have tried to kill myself, but I’ll do anything to avoid death by Barry.

I’m Carolyn Bradley.

“Are you sure?” presses the worker.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Mom snaps. She takes a breath. “She’s just a couple years younger than my Letitia would have been. They went to the same school.”

Tish. I suffer a wave of longing and grief. I hope my sister is telling someone to suck his own cock.

The scrub raises the clipboard to her chest. “Thank you. That’s all we need. We’ll take it from here. I’m sorry we had to trouble you.”

“No.” Mom’s eyes dig the floor for ideas. She’s gone absolutely rigid. She bites her lip and shoots the scrub a smile. “I mean, poor thing. I know what it’s like to be alone.”

“But…” The scrub glances uncertainly at the soldiers. Even they are looking at Mom like she’s nuts.

My heart speeds up and I turn my head to the window.

“Obviously I can’t care for her myself, but I have an old friend. From high school. She used to work in a personal care home. If you’ll allow it”—she flicks a glance at the soldiers—“I’ll arrange for her to take the girl.”

“She’s suicidal, Mrs. Mason,” the scrub chides. “Will your friend be able to deal with that?”

For a moment the room hisses with tension. Or maybe that’s just another illusion.

“She can and she will.”

Hesitantly I turn my head and meet her eyes. They’re blue with gold rings around the pupils, just like mine.

She turns to the soldiers. “May I write a note?”

Mom smooths a cuffed hand over what there is of my hair. “Your mother loved you very dearly. I’m not in much position to help you, but I trust my friend. Janice will do everything she can for you.”

My eyes water up and I choke back the lump in my throat. I blink up at her, unable to voice my emotions. I needed her. I needed her so very desperately. And she came.

~ ~ ~

“They haven’t said yet what they’re going to do with her,” says Leslie, my mother’s assistant and stylist. Mom can’t go anywhere, so she’s been sending Leslie each day.

“Hold still, honey.” It’s Janice, that friend my mother talked about. She grips my right hand and dabs what looks like homemade moonshine over my cut. I still don’t understand what I did wrong. I figured I’d bleed out long before anyone found me. The next time I’ll have to do a better job.

That is, if they ever stop watching, which in the three days I’ve been here, they haven’t. Janice and her two sons are with me around the clock. I can’t even go to the bathroom alone.

“It’s a miracle. I can’t stop saying it,” says Leslie. “Your father died thinking both you and your sister were dead.”

I straighten and pull in a long breath. “Dad’s dead?”

Leslie blanches. “I’m sorry, honey. The Barrys broke through and took over the city ten days ago. He and the upper cadre, well, they went a week ago. I’m so sorry.” Her face pinches.

“Don’t be.” It doesn’t matter to me.

Leslie recoils ever so slightly, and with a pang I realize it won’t be long before everyone here fears me, too. I’m not right. But Dad sold me to his enemy knowing he put me in danger. He gave me to a sadist who had me whipped, branded, and sent off to die. My father is dead and I can’t summon even a trace of grief.

“Why…” Why is it so easy to think but so hard to form words? “Is Mom…” I concentrate. Hard. “She’s here.”

Leslie stares at me, her expression blank. Clearly she expects me to express a complete thought. I grimace and look to Janice.

“She wants to know why they didn’t kill her mother, too.” Janice flicks me a kind look and begins dabbing my other wrist.

Leslie’s eyes come to life. “Oh. I don’t know the whole story, but they know somehow that your mother had nothing to do with what happened in Asheville.”

I scratch my temple with my free hand.

Leslie sighs. “Like I said, they’re not sure what to do with your mother. She didn’t do anything wrong, but she’s a Mason, a symbol of the old regime. Having her around could cause problems.”

I begin to shake as fear creeps through my blood. Not for myself but for my mother.

Janice glares at Leslie. “What is wrong with you? That’s her mother!”

“She has a right to know.”

“Do you see her? Look what they’ve done to her. She can barely speak. Do you want to traumatize her more?”

Leslie grimaces. “I’m sorry, Bianca. I know your mother never would have let either of her girls put one foot inside Asheville if she’d known what bastards these men are. Kent and his men have the whole city locked down. No one feels safe.”

I shake my head. Kent’s in Asheville. Isn’t he? Kent’s not… “He’s here?”

The two women exchange glances. Janice folds her hands in her lap. “I thought you understood that.”

My stomach lurches, and I’m out of the chair. I back away, my hands up to ward it off. It—knowledge. He’s here. He’s here. He’s…here.

My hands shake, my legs too as my gaze sweeps the room. How did I not feel it? The air buzzes with his presence, and I can almost smell him. No matter which way I turn, I feel him. My heart folds in on itself, and my insides coil like he’s going to come through that door any second, and it’s going to be okay. He’s here, and any minute he’ll be with me, and it’s going to be okay.

When the drop hits, it’s like a black hole in my chest, eating hope, killing me all over again. I curl into the pain. I’ve got to get it together. I’ve got to because I’m losing it.

Janice and Leslie rise from their seats and approach me like I’m a rabid cat. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I hate him? All I can feel is this desperate, keening longing, and it’s wrong. I squeeze my head, and tufts of short hair spike between my fingers.

“Bianca, honey, it’s all right,” Janice says as she eases an arm around my waist. “He won’t hurt you. I promise. He doesn’t even know you’re alive.”

He doesn’t know I’m alive. That’s because he sent me off to die. Grief hollows my mind and spreads like fast-moving venom.

Why did they stop me? Why did they fucking stop me?

~ ~ ~

I find it wedged in one of the dresser drawers. A nail file. It’s one of those old metal ones grandmas carry around in their oversize purses. It’s not much, but it gives me hope. I can make it work. They watch me even when I’m sleeping, but they can’t see under the covers. If I’m quiet enough, careful enough, I think I’ll manage it this time.

I glance at the clock. Ten hours until they typically put me to bed. Like I’m a child. Ten more hours. Well, really, eleven. I can’t do it the second I get to the room. I’ll have to wait a bit, let whichever of the sons is watching me tonight get good and bored. After, I won’t have to feel anymore. No more burning holes ripped in my chest, no more screams inside my head. No more yearning, no more hating myself for what I am and for what I’m not.

“Bianca?”

I shove the file into my back pocket and smooth the shirt down over my jeans. I’m pretending great interest in my hair, which is, maybe, an inch long, when Janice comes in. I don’t miss the relief that flashes across her face.