Page 3 of Desecrated Saints
Stretched out on the sandy hill, a steep slope leads straight down to the thunderous crash of waves. Part of me is tempted to throw myself over the edge rather than face the people behind me. Instead, I watch the sun sink on the horizon.
On all sides, nothing but ravenous ocean waves surround us. The nearest town is miles away, with a total population of fifty this far up north. We arrived a few days ago, moving under the cover of night. The plan was executed to utter perfection.
I spent the first couple of days unconscious. My body had shut down on me. I wish I could go back to that oblivion now. As I turn my back on the sea, the deep hole I created with my bare hands waits for me. It took me almost an hour to dig. I’m weak from months of imprisonment.
According to Kade, it’s been four months.
I hardly believed him at first.
Humans are fucking resilient. Our bodies kick in and keep us alive, even when our minds have checked out. The last few months are a blur to me, punctuated by regular doses of horror. The devastating stares of all four of the men I left behind affirm the truth.
I was Patient Eight for a long, long time. Now, I don’t know who I am. Brooklyn West is gone, Patient Eight too. Someone else remains. A broken creature, born of blood and pain.
“Blackbird?”
Glancing back, I find my family waiting for me. All of them look at me with equal parts relief and guilt. I fucking hate it. Crouching down, I retrieve the journal from my discarded leather jacket.
“You don’t have to be here for this,” I mutter.
Tentative footsteps approach.
“We want to be,” Kade says gently.
“You don’t. None of you can stand to look at me.”
I catch Phoenix’s flinch as he runs a hand over his odd, natural-brown hair. He doesn’t look like the person I remember. Fuck, none of them do. My guys are gone, just like their girl is. We’re drowning in the unknown, lost at sea without hope of rescue.
Stepping forward to join his brother, Hudson’s gaze is too intense to bear. It’s like staring into the sun, full of fire and brimstone, fury and devotion in equal measure. He holds the entire group’s strength now.
“That’s not true and you know it,” he insists.
“We had to get here before the authorities could catch up to us,” Kade adds. “It wasn’t for any other reason, Brooke. You were exhausted too. We wanted to let you rest.”
I look away from them all, returning to the journal that’s somehow followed me for all these years. I was surprised to find they brought a bag of my belongings with them when we escaped Blackwood. Identifying the items that used to mean the world to me is an impossible task.
I cared so much back then, before my entire being was deconstructed, piece by fucking piece. Now, my memory is bruised and scarred from months of abuse. Flicking through the journal, countless dark entries assault me, along with the names of my lost family, immortalised by ink.
The battered polaroid photos that I entered Blackwood with are still tucked away in my bag. I can’t stand to look at them. With a final glance at the heavily laden pages, I drop the journal into the hole in the ground. There are no words to be recited at this funeral, no eulogy or emotional speech.
I’m the only one left alive to mourn Logan’s ghost.
I feel so alone without him by my side.
With his blonde ponytail and warm, humoured eyes, he was always ready with some retort to take my mind off the onslaught of torture. It feels wrong to mourn the dead. Why should we? It’s the living who suffer, the ones left behind to wade through the fallout.
“I’m sorry I forgot about you. I couldn’t have asked for a better big brother. I hope that wherever you are… you’re at peace. I know I won’t be until I see you again.”
Eyes closing, I find Logan’s imaginary face waiting.
You have nothing to be sorry for.
Forgive yourself, kiddo. Let go.
You have my permission to move on.
I crouch down, shoving wet sand back into the hole. Wild, desperate sobs wrack my entire body. Hudson quietly joins me on his knees. I instinctively dodge the arm he tries to wind around my shoulders, letting out a low growl.
“It’s just me, baby,” he murmurs.
