Page 137 of Manacled Hearts

“Look! It’s the forest.” She shows me a thick piece of paper covered in various shades of green.

But I’m numb, struggling to pick the dominating emotion ripping through my soul, because I cannot possibly show my fear right now. I feign enthusiasm as my gaze drifts back to my phone and photos appear on the screen. A few dozens of them load, one by one, and as I catch the first few, a chill runs down my spine.

“Evie, are you looking?” I turn back to Maya, the very subject of the photo gallery currently loading on my screen, forcing my staggering breaths to level out as I gush about my sister’s works of art.

“I told you! I’m pretty good.” She jumps up and down. “Oh, Aaro’s calling for me. I’ll put these away.”

I nod, squeezing her little body to mine. “You’re my little genius. I love you, sweet girl.”

She frowns for a split second, before kissing my cheek. “I love you, too.”

Then she’s off as quickly as she came, and I rise from the sofa, walking inside the house as calmly as I could muster at this moment. When I’m out of view, I rush into a guest bedroom, and close the door behind me, unlocking my phone for a better look.

There she is… my sweet sister… under fucking surveillance.

Frankie B has been watching her. Dozens of candid photos of her pop up one after the other. On the beach, in a store, in the back of a car. All in public. Some in front of our apartment building. I’m in there too, Annika, Mamaw June, but neither of us are the focus. Only Maya is. Every muscle shakes beneath my flesh and I drop down to my knees as I scroll through the images of the vulnerable girl lit up on my phone. The one I’m supposed to protect, shield from assholes like him. The words from that text run in a loop in my head, the nonchalant violence bringing bile up my throat.

Another text comes, like the son-of-a-bitch knew I read his messages.

Midnight, tonight. Dalton Pier. You may not see me, but I will see you every step of the way. And if you’re not alone, it won’t be just your precious little sister who will suffer.

I stare at my phone in pure disbelief, chest spasming as air fight’s to reach my lungs through the staggered breaths I manage. The slither of light creeping through the cracked door blurs before my eyes, but there are no tears brimming them. Only despair. It shatters through the chaos twisting my heart, and the beats bring nothing but pain. It’s relentless in its assault, gripping my memories in a sharp vice, and dragging them forward to my present.

I’m back in that dark room of the warehouse, my cheek pressed against the cold, concrete floor as muffled cries of children sound far beyond these walls. But I’m losing them. As poison fills my veins their cries turn too maddening, liquid sounds too distant for their notes to affect me. Except for one—a silent wail from a girl who shares our mother’s eyes. Its absence affects me. I know she won’t be crying. And she’ll be waiting for the sister who will never rescue her, who will lie half unconscious on this stained floor, as the man with a lisp and tar-laced voice takes his pleasure from her pain.

The texture of the concrete scrapes the tips of my fingers as I try to drag myself away from him. I’m questioning my reality.

Maybe I was never saved.

Maybe I’m still lying on that floor. Maybe his dick is still ripping my ass. Maybe I dissociated and made up the last few months of my life.

Maybe Finnigan doesn’t even exist.

I’m questioning how deep this panic goes. Which is the lie? The reality?

Laughter somewhere far away cracks the pain and a slither of light breaks through. There is so much effortless joy in that melodic sound, brimming with innocence. Familiar. With aching hands I grip the concrete beneath them harder, trying to drag myself toward that laughter and find out who it belongs to. A visceral need inside of me is screaming of its importance. I have to find out.

Then it comes again, not closer to me, but louder either way. It sounds… small. A tiny voice. Slightly high pitched. A little comical too. Joy blooms in the pit of my stomach. So familiar. The concrete scratches my palms, but I’m pulling away further. Frankie is losing his grip on me. Only, Bartiste appears in my periphery.

You might have to share this one.

His words bring a silent cry to my chest and tears fill my eyes as I struggle to move further away, but I’m not going anywhere. Then the laughter splits the darkness and fills it with colorful light that calls for me—Maya.

I blink frantically as air fills my lungs with vicious force, and fall forward on my hands, heaving. I’m alone, inside the dark, guest bedroom, the door cracked to the dimly lit hallway, and my sister’s laughter filters through from somewhere in the distance.

I’m safe.

But she isn’t.

My instincts aren’t screaming at me, no matter how hard I listen, and I don’t know what I should do. The Sanctum can help me. Finnigan can help me. But if what Frankie said is true, that he will see me coming, and considering the surveillance photos he sent me, it’s highly likely, then I will be risking Maya’s life. How can we protect her if we didn’t even know we were being watched?

What if I ask for help… and she will pay for it?

What if I do nothing… and they’ll take her from me?

On my phone screen the time seems to scream at me in that bright white—nine forty-eight p.m. I have plenty of time to make a decision, though there’s too much time for me to fail to act normal and not get away with it. Maya will get what she asked for and stay here. At least for tonight, Annika and Ronan will watch her.

What about the other nights that will follow? Without me…

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