Page 23 of The Tower

"I know the feeling."

The words escape before I can stop myself, and they're met with Libby's instant attention.

"Yeah?" she asks. "Is that why you're doing this... job? A bad family history?"

A cynical tone laces her words, almost as if she was ridiculing me.

"I'm doing this job because I'm good at it," I say. "And I don't have a bad family history. I have no history at all. I never met my parents because I was given up for adoption right after I was born. And none of the foster parents I had would deserve the name father or mother."

Her expression softens. "Oh, I'm sorry."

I'm not sure how I feel about the way she looks at me now with such empathy and care. After all I've done to her, she's the one feeling sorry for me just because I shared some of the darkness of my upbringing with her.

It paints a new kind of beauty on her face, something so raw and honest, very different from the cute little punk she was when I first saw her. She looks even younger without all that color in her face, and while she bore more resemblance to a ghost than anything else during her first days with me, a healthy color has returned to her cheeks. It's good to see her healing and regaining her strength, and it fills me with a weird sense of power, knowing that I was the one who made that possible.

I took her to a place where she could get help. I made sure she was taken care of.

I protected her, and I will continue to do so.

It may not make up for all the sins I've committed under the Covey's command, but it gives me a sense of satisfaction and hope.

Hope that I'm moving in the right direction.

Wherever that may lead me.

Or us.

Chapter 13

Libby

With the darkness of the night comes a new spate of fear and worry. The beautiful sunset that dipped the valley in warm colors, the birds singing their good night songs, and the calm breeze whispering through the bushes surrounding the small house provided a false sense of security. It was too beautiful, too peaceful to worry.

The night is different. I can see nothing but black vastness through the windows, a perfect hiding place for all evil. If anyone followed us up here, they'd probably wait until nightfall to attack.

Keane never left my side, and I didn't mind one bit. If what he told me is true, I shouldn't have anything to worry about. As long as no one knows I exist, no one will come looking for me.

But if they come looking for him? What if they show up here, and Keane is willing to sacrifice me to save himself?

It's not like that's such an impossible thing to imagine.

I want to believe him, though. I want to trust him. I don't know what his plan is, but everything he told me lines up perfectly with his actions so far.

He never shot me on purpose. He took me to safety. He took care of me. He makes sure I'm getting better, and he doesn't leave my side because he wants to protect me.

I'm allowed a fraction of privacy to freshen up by myself in the bathroom. Just like the rest of the house, it looks new and unused, containing a big bathtub that I would love to use but can't because of my wounds. My left arm is still in a splint, forcing it in place close to my body while my shoulder is still covered in thick and heavy bandages. The graze shot wound at my hip is doing a lot better and healing nicely, but even that would probably not react well to a long, hot bath.

I'm forced to keep things down to a cat lick, but at least I can do it on my own now. For the past few days, it was always the doctor who awkwardly helped me with cleaning, displaying just as much discomfort as I was experiencing. It's a small step, but being able to wash myself all on my own feels like a massive victory tonight.

When I walk out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a loose shirt and jogging pants that are a few sizes too big, I find Keane standing in front of the door.

"These are your clothes, aren't they?" I ask, feeling a blush of shame travel across my cheeks.

He nods. "I didn't expect to have any company up here. You'll have to excuse the limited choice in outfits."

We exchange a look heavy with questions.

"So were you planning to take a little vacation up here by yourself?" I give voice to one of them. "After the job was done?"

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