Lost Boy (The Lonely #2)

Lost Boy (The Lonely #2) Page 19

She tries to fight it but I cup her chin and force it, "You have to actually live that life you want."

"I don’t know how to live with what I've done."

I know that pain. I nod, "You will. I want you to start figuring things out. It's a long road from here but you can do it. You know the truth now. No more pretending."

She wants to stay with me, I can tell. She likes this version of me, the real me. She doesn't know about the others and the things they like to do. The one who wants to hurt, burn, and suffer, or the one who likes to make women suffer and crawl to him on their knees.

I want her to stay with me too, but I know I can't stay as I am right now, not for long anyway.

Chapter Fifteen

Her heels click across the floor when she hears the elevator. She points at the door, "Turn around and go back, Dr. Adams. You think you know her so well, you can finish her off then."

I almost gag, thinking about her fucking response but I pull it out anyway. She sees the turquoise box and stops. A slow grin crosses her lips, "A peace offering, interesting."

I nod, "I went rogue and I'm sorry." I'm not and I fucking hate her, but I keep that smile pasted across my lips.

She leans against the chair next to her and nods, "How is she?"

I shrug, as if Sarah isn’t doing well, but I know the truth. She is doing amazingly well, for now. That’s going to change. I remember the crash and I need Jane to be there for it.

Her eyes sparkle, "You need me to finish this, don’t you?" She doesn’t wait for me to answer, she doesn’t need my answer, "That’s fine. I actually pushed you to the point you're at now, in hopes that you would find the courage to tell her who she was." That is a lie. It's boldfaced and sad, and even desperate, but I don’t need the validation like she does. I nod, "I guessed as much."

"Where is she at, in the story?" She walks to me and takes the box, untying it slowly. The sapphire earrings inside are stunning. Her eyes light up but I answer her question.

"She is aware of everything that has happened, except Stuart and I being best friends. I still want him to be someone she can turn to, if she needs to. She is ashamed and devastated as we assumed she would be. She is sleeping in the purple room and when she wakes up, she is going to be sad I'm gone."

Her eyes narrow, "Did you film the break?"

I shake my head. I never want to relive that story again.

"Jesus, Eli. How am I supposed to treat her, if I don’t know the story?"

I shake my head again, "I'll tell you what you need to know, on the walk to the other side of the building."

She sighs, "Fine."

We leave the flat and head down the hallway to the industrial side of the building. I recount the breaking and the enlightenment of Sarah Mastermen.

Jane shakes her head, "What a tragedy." She clasps her hands and puts on her professional face, "Do you feel like you should stay for the next week?"

I shake my head, "I have to go to my mom's—Stuart and I. It's New Years Day, Jane."

She smiles, "Well, thank you for the earrings, they're lovely. Happy Christmas, Eli." She pulls me in and kisses my cheek. I step back, "You too." My feet try to walk to the room with my girl in it, but my heart tells me to let her debrief for a day with Jane.

I leave the building and walk to the Tahoe where my brother is waiting for me. He gets out and hugs me hard. His hand slapping against my back is the only sound in the world. The parking lot is silent.

It's cold and I feel alone. My whole heart is in that purple room with the sleeping girl, my girl.

"Let's go get us some of Franklin's bad-ass cooking. I know he's got some good shit on for tonight."

I laugh and slap him on the back too. We compose ourselves to look like men again and get into the truck.

He smirks at me, "You did it."

Tapping my cell phone against my knee, I nod and stare blankly, "I did it." I look out the window, "This has been the hardest two years I have ever lived through."

"Include…"

I cut him off, "Including the two years in the institution." We don’t talk about it. We don’t need to. The feel of the electricity coursing through my veins has never left me. The feel of the wooden bite in my mouth and the hand of the nurse of tightening the restraints have always been there. Even two years of hard therapy, as they called it, couldn’t make me admit to shooting her or stop looking for the girl.

He drives fast, probably eager to get out of the awkward silence we are stuck in. We are never awkward but the institution makes me awkward. I understand a lot of things in this world, but the fact they didn’t believe me is still incomprehensible to me.

They think I needed Jane for the things that happened at the Spicers' home but that was never true. I needed Jane to help me get past everything else. The frantic need I had to search for her, convinced the small child I had saved was being harmed or dying alone in the woods. The memory of the lost control and devastating incompletion I felt, makes the white noise come.

He parks and jumps out. I don’t even notice we're there. I stare straight ahead and finally deal with the fact she lived. She isn’t somewhere, wondering why I left her behind. The image of me being a boy clawing at the windows of the car as they made me leave the sheriff's station, has taken a hold of me. I screamed until they sedated me. I needed to find her. I needed to save her. I needed to say goodbye to Em. I left her body in the sand and promised I would be back. I never went back.

"You getting out?"

I look at Stuart and shake my head, "I never went back."

He shakes his head, "You didn’t need to, brother. They got her out of there. You went to her funeral. They got her out of there."

I don’t need to tell him things. We speak the same language. His hand reaches for my arm, but I climb out fast and walk up to the door. Franklin opens it with his same deadpan look. He's really about the most detached human being I have ever met. Even Jane has more life to her than him, even if hers is prescribed.

"Master Eli. How are you? Oh, and young Master Stuart, as well. Your parents will be so happy to see you."

I hug him slightly, the way I always have, and walk into the house. Stark, plain, and cold. "Good to see things haven’t changed around here."

Stuart snorts, "I smell some home cooking, that hasn’t changed."

Franklin nods, "Yes, I made duck."

Stuart nods at me, "Told you it would be something amazing." He rubs his belly, putting on an extra show to take from my awkwardness. "And let me tell you, I brought my appetite."

Franklin smiles and walks to the hallway to show us to my parents.

My mother stands, looking like she was dipped in wax. Since the last time I saw her, nothing has changed. She smiles but it never reaches her eyes. It didn’t before Em died but it got much worse afterwards. Dad looks up from his paper, "Son, Stuart, how are you both?"

Stuart sits and takes his glass of wine from Franklin. I nod, "Great. How was Christmas?"

My mother gives me a shitty look that still somehow looks plastic, "Eli, we told you to come home for Christmas."

I sigh, "I was with her."

Their faces tighten. My mother drinks a large sip of wine, "The girl, from before?" they don’t ever talk about it. Their way of dealing with it was putting me into a mental institute and visiting on Sundays, sometimes every second Sunday.

I nod, "The girl, Sarah Mastermen, from before. She is doing well."

My father frowns, "She still believing she is an orphan?"

I shake my head.

He nods, "Good. Her family must be desperate to see her."

To them, they lost Em and me on the same day. I never really came home to them. It took me a long time to see that, but I do now.

"Her family is excited. I spoke to them this morning. I think we are months away from her agreeing to see them. They really are the sweetest people ever."

My mother glances at Stuart, "How was your Christmas, dear?"

Stuart smiles, "It was great. I helped out with Sarah too."

My mother looks horrified. She vaguely understands what Jane does. Most people don’t get it. You have to understand the sick depravity we’ve come from, to get that the cure is made of the thing that made you sick. Hair of the dog, if you will.

Dinner is awkward, dessert is worse. I would leave but Stuart is moaning into his food like Matt Dillon in The Flamingo Kid. Mother is regaling us with tales of bullshit trips and how hard it was for them to get home from France for Christmas. They don’t do Boston in the winter unless it's a holiday. Even then, they try to convince me to come with them.

He finally finishes eating and I stand, "We should be going. Thank you for dinner."

Their faces relax. My father even smiles, "Thank you for coming out. I know how excited you are about this girl."

He doesn’t say anything about the fact this girl proves I was right, and they let the doctors torture and medicate me for no reason. He doesn’t have to. The fact he hates seeing me, lets me in on that discomfort.

My mother looks teary eyed. She's had too much wine. Dad walks Stuart out, telling him about some golf trip in the spring.

My mother grabs my arm, pinching into my skin, "Eli, honey. You know we love you."

I nod. I don’t, but I nod anyway.

"We just feel sick, just sick. If there had been anyway to know."

I smile, "Mom, it's okay. I'm just glad she's safe and I know you and dad did your best." I don’t believe that. I believe they had more than that in them.

She smiles weakly, "I hope this helps you put it to rest now."

I wish I could hug her and cry into her perfumed shoulder, and tell her the thousands of ways I am relieved and scared, and that this may never go away. Instead, I hug her and walk to the door.

Dad pats me on the back as we leave.