“Go pour a bowl of cereal.”
“I don’t want cereal. I want real food.”
“And I want your sister back.” My mother spins on the balls of her feet and pins me with an angry stare. “I’m not going to get what I want, so why should you?”
What does one have to do with the other?
“Okay, Mom,” I whisper, afraid to push too far.
“You’re the reason she’s not with us. You’re the reason her life was cut short. You may as well have died in that pool with her. Do you hear me, Marek?” my mother yells in my face.
“Marek, don’t you know you’re the reason why your sister isn’t here? You’re the reason why my sister is dead,” Palmer calls out, racing towards us. In the reflection of her sunglasses, I see I’m no longer the little boy, but the eighteen-year-old version of myself. “Are you happy with yourself, that everyone you love ends up dead?”
I pat my hands against my shirt, uncertain of who I am in this moment. Am I young, or in high school? My head tilts to the sky, stretching my neck for relief. I look down to see Palmer sprawled on the cement. Blood covers her clothes, and her body is bent at an impossible angle.
“Wake up, Marek.” From out of nowhere, Reagan appears from behind my mother. “It’s time to wake up. WAKE UP! Wake up now! Open your eyes!” she screams in my face.
Jolted from my dream, I spring from the bed and rush into the bathroom. Bent over the sink, I turn on the faucet and splash cold water over my face. Out of breath, I sit on the edge of the tub, covering my face.
What did that dream mean?
“Open your eyes,” I repeat Reagan’s words.
What do my mother, Palmer, and Reagan have in common? Reagan clearly was attacked by someone, but she made it seem as if she knew her attacker. Palmer was attacked on campus, but she didn’t know who it was.
Could it have been the same person? But that still begs the question, what kind of person walks around an academy campus attacking women? Will he strike again? Will someone else not be as lucky as Palmer and Reagan and not get away, much like Georgina Matthews?
“Shit!” I hurry from the room and race down the back steps and into the kitchen.
“I was just about to come upstairs to get you,” Breaker announces, moving to the side to expose an unexpected guest.
“What are you doing here?” I shout, moving towards her.
She takes a step back, proving I’m no longer the little boy she can ignore. I’m bigger and stronger this time around. I’ve learned the acceptance of my mother doesn’t mean shit after being physically and emotionally abandoned. She may as well have left me for dead.
“I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“Are you sure, lady, because that seems to be your MO when it comes to your son?” Dixon, the silent attacker, waltzes into the kitchen with confidence, fully prepared to go to battle with and for me.
“Excuse me?” Her eyes shift to Dixon.
“Oh, don’t clutch your pearls now, Mrs. Hawthorne. We know all about you, so please tell me why we shouldn’t eliminate the problem right now?”
“Are you going to allow your hoodlum friends to threaten me like this, Marek?” Her arms cross over her chest, attempting to make her look regal and in command. She has another thing coming.
“What delusional world do you live in that you think you hold any sort of power under this roof?” A large step puts me nose to nose with a shell of the mother she could have been to me. Resentment has my jaw clenching as I prepare to slice her wide open with my heaviest weapon. Words.
“Threaten you?” I laugh manically. As I do, my boys flank my sides. “We don’t make threats, Mother Dearest. Trust me, if we wanted to scare you, we’d have you rocking in the corner, trembling in seconds.”
“I didn’t mean to cause trouble by coming to town,” she pleads, sliding along the wall until she hits the doorway.
I’m on her before she can bolt out the door, slamming my palm against it to keep her trapped.
“Didn’t you, though, come here for trouble? It’s evident you didn’t come here to reminisce about my childhood and catch up. You’ve hidden in the shadows of Henry’s inner workings long enough. Do you want to know the truth, Mother?” I jab my finger into her chest, pushing her harshly into the door. “He’s been whoring my presence out all over campus for the last three years, expecting me to play the grateful godson. Did he pay you to let him do that?”
“Marek, you don’t understand.” She tries to grab my shirt.
Byron steps between us, slapping her hand away. “He may not put his hands on you because he’s a good man, but when I say I’m not afraid of giving you what you deserve, I mean it.”
“The only good thing you’ve ever done is let Dad get you pregnant with Penelope, but even then, you couldn’t protect her.” I slam my hand against the door directly next to her head. “Always so afraid of your image being tarnished that you allowed the world to believe I was to blame, instead of owning the fact that you left us with a sociopath like Henry.”
“Please move.” I get a sick satisfaction from hearing the fear in her voice.
“Don’t ever show your face on this hill again, or I’ll let Byron deliver on those threats, and his morals are loose on a friendly day. Imagine what it would be like if you crossed him.” I move to the side, jerking the door open for her to leave.
“It’s true, Mrs. Hawthorne!” Byron shouts after her, grinning like I’ve dangled a toy in front of his face.
The door slams, and I turn to see Breaker, Dixon, and Byron staring at me. My mother arriving in town isn’t a coincidence. Reagan being beaten is a direct connection to Palmer in some way. I’m certain of this part the most. What is the missing link between the three?
Somewhere on this dark and twisted campus, Palmer is exposed, left alone to fend for herself. She’s too damn stubborn for her own good. I can admit my faults and decisions have directly brought us to this situation, but if she’d stop playing games, she’d be in my bed right now, safe in my arms where she belongs.
“What’s the plan, Marek?” Byron asks, knowing the wheels in my head are turning a mile a minute. We’re the same in that right, trying to be two steps ahead of the game.
“We can’t leave her alone,” I say, realizing I’m projecting a lot of my own bullshit into our current situation.
“I already hired a guy,” Byron announces, waltzing into the kitchen as if we didn’t just do what we did. He stops in front of the stove, pulls a dish out of the oven, then places it in the middle of the table.
“What kind of guy?” I ask, sitting down at the set table, and lean back in the chair, overcome with relief and frustration with myself. How could I have been so stupid not to think of this before? I’ve left her unattended, so distracted with everything else that I have been too blind to realize she could be in danger.
Dixon nods, understanding my guilt for leaving Palmer in the grips of the unknown monsters on campus. Breaker relaxes into his chair, popping the back of my head, proving I’m not alone.
“He may or may not be keeping an eye on her when we can’t.” Byron offers me the tongs, and I help myself to the pasta he’s made. “He’ll fit right in with the rest of the elite bodyguards lingering around campus these days.”