Page 29 of Under His Protection

There’s a lump in my throat. This is the truth I’m trying to avoid. It feels like a jigsaw puzzle, and I’m just starting to see the picture that’s been hidden for so long.

Pulling out my phone, my fingers fly across the keyboard. ‘I looked into the accident the other night. Nothing fits. Alexander couldn’t have been behind that wheel.’

Harvey’s response is a series of three dots, a frustrating silence that stretches for an eternity.

‘It wasn’t him driving, was it?’ I write. My mind races. ‘It was her.’

The floor beneath me feels unsteady. I grab onto the nearest wall for support. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps. My chest tightens. My vision blurs.

‘How?’ I type before receiving an answer from Harvey. I don’t need an explanation. I already know the truth.

‘Michelle had a record, a history of reckless driving,’ I write. The pieces fall into place. My design program research included Alexander’s position in the car, the story from the articles, and how he climbed out the door. He couldn’t have been in the driver’s seat.

The truth slams into me like a freight train. It wasn’t Alexander behind the wheel. It was Michelle. And once again, the world feels broken. Harvey’s answer finally ticks in.’ Yes’ blinks on the screen.

I push back from the table; the bakery smells suddenly sickening. I have to get back to Michelle and Alexander to face this nightmare.

This wasn't just a bad decision, a lapse in judgment. This was her trying to kill herself, just like Alexander had said. Again, and again. The articles I read come flooding in – the reckless driving, the near-misses. And then, the last time, the ultimate tragedy: her recklessness in taking my parents away, leaving a gaping hole in my life.

The street feels different, electric like the city’s holding its breath. My eyes scan the crowd, searching for— I don’t even know. And then I see him. A guy with a fedora pulled low, his face hidden in shadow. I still see it, a black feather tucked into the hat band. My heart stutters, a prickle of fear erupting on my skin.

The city blurs around me as I start running. Fast.

I don’t know if he’s following me. I can almost hear the rhythmic thump of his footsteps behind me, a predator’s heartbeat echoing in my ears.

As I reach my apartment building, my vision is blurry. I run through my apartment, the lock clicking shut behind me, and only stop for a breath when I’m standing inside, my back pressed against the wall.

I’m safe— for now.

The door swings open, and the air inside my apartment feels charged with a weird energy. I see them before I hear their breaths. Michelle is sprawled out on the couch. Her dark hair is draped down the couch like a decoration. Alexander is sleeping on the floor beside her, his clothes soaked through, clinging to his body like a second skin. Has he been out in the rain? He cradles his gun, its cold metal glinting in the morning light filtering through the blinds.

I take a step back, my breath catching in my throat. They both look like they’ve been through hell. If he’s been outside does it mean he followed me to Sarah in the night? And for how long was he outside her apartment?

Michelle stirs, her eyes fluttering open. She looks at me. “Ava,” she rasps, her voice hoarse, “You’re back, damn it. He was up all night looking for you.”

My gaze shifts to Alexander, and my stomach drops. The light in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by a shadowed weariness. He looks— broken.

“Ava,” Alexander says.

The air crackles. My eyes snag on the gun in Alexander’s hand.

“You look like crap,” Michelle says, rubbing her eyes. “But my brother seems to like you, so—”

“Ava, are you okay?” Alexander cuts her off, his voice a low rumble that shakes the room. He pushes himself up on his elbow, his eyes burning with a dark intensity, the kind that makes your blood run cold. He tries to look at me, but I can’t meet his gaze. My eyes are locked on Michelle, my fists clenched, the anger building inside me like a pressure cooker ready to explode.

A single tear rolls down my cheek, a silent tear to express my shattered soul.

“Sorry, Ava, I just—I’m just joking,” Michelle says, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “Thanks for having me here, yeah?”

“You,” I whisper. The dam breaks, and my tears spill out, a raging storm. “You killed them.”

“What?” Michelle asks, scratching her head. “Huh?”

“My parents,” I say, the words a bitter truth. “That night in the car crash. You were sixteen years old, and you crashed your car into another car that drove off a bridge near Port Haven Harbor—”

Michelle stiffens, her eyes downcast, her silence deafening.

“Ava,” Alexander says, reaching out to me. But I hold up my hand, silencing him.

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