Page 68 of Her Faithful Protector

My mouth clamps shut, contending intentions spinning in my throat like a tornado gathering speed.

He responds on my behalf, “You’d go as far as you need to. Am I right?”

My attention diverges as I hear a toilet flushing behind the wall.

“I have your truth, Jack,” Willem’s voice sneers through the phone. “And I’m willing to trade it for something in your possession.”

My head bows, contemplating the tantalizing prospect of finally unraveling the mystery that has haunted me my whole life. However, I respond resolutely, “Go to hell, Willem!”

His response is surprisingly calm, “Okay, I can’t coerce you into doing something you’re unwilling to do. This is a peaceful negotiation, after all.” I pick up on a faint sound of breathing just before he mentions, “By the way, don’t bother searching for me. I’m currently in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.”

He lets out a sinister laugh before ending the call. I immediately raise my voice and call into the restroom, “Ava, are you all right?”

“Yeah. Just give me a minute. I’ll be right out,” she replies, followed by the sound of running water from the tap.

Suddenly, I feel a tug on my jacket. I pivot, preparing myself to defend against an attacker. To my surprise, it’s a young boy holding out an envelope. He looks no older than seven or eight, and there is no sign of any adults who could be his parents nearby.

“Who gave this to you?” I ask the boy.

But he turns around and sprints away.

Caution fills me as I gingerly peel open the envelope, revealing a photo inside. The image shows a room, its dimness making it hard to distinguish any details. However, what catches my attention is the crumbling ventilation on one of the walls, causing my heart to beat faster. Leaning against the restroom’s plastered surface, I shut my eyes. Trembling fingers remind me of the scratching sensation from my nightmares, now vivid in the harsh daylight. The basement’s damp smell attacks my senses as the image of Scalpel looms in my mind.

I pack the envelope away and hide it in my pocket. Just then, Ava appears.

“Everything okay?” She throws a glance at the abandoned picnic blanket and our belongings. Perhaps trying to find a reason herself, she perplexedly asks, “Was it raining?”

“No. Quinton wanted you,” I say.

“What is it, Quinnie-Bear?” Ava takes over carrying him, and Quinton smiles as if assuring his mother everything is as wonderful as the cloudless blue sky despite her picking up some odd behavior from me.

I glance down at Elmo. The dog looks back, seemingly acknowledging that my secret’s safe with him.

24

AVA

The bed shakes, and for a moment, I mistake it for an earthquake. As my vision adjusts, I catch sight of Jack, his face contorted in agony, his body convulsing violently on the bed. The sound of his labored breathing soars, mingling with the thuds as his massive frame repeatedly crashes against the mattress like a stone slab.

I hover above him, caressing his face. “Jack, baby, wake up.”

Despite my touches, his eyes remain shut as he unleashes a roar.

“Jack, it’s me!” My voice struggles to match the intensity of his menacing tone. I press both of his cheeks, tapping them repeatedly.

He thrashes, his arms flailing and clawing at an invisible target.

As I grasp his heaving shoulders, his hand swings wildly, his fingernails scraping against the top of my chest. I recoil as three distinct red lines etch themselves onto my skin, breaking open in a few spots, releasing a trickle of blood. I snatch my robe, concealing the scars.

Searching for a way to take him out of his nightmare, I return to him, clasping his wrists as his fingers turn rigid. All this time, his physical strength has become a symbol of his protection and masculinity. Now, for the first time, I taste what it’s like to be on the wrong side of Jack Kelleher. The man wrenches himself free as if my grip is paper-thin. In a burst of movement, he sits upright, seizing my arms and unleashing another piercing scream.

“Jack, baby, listen to my voice!”

He opens his eyes. As if confronting a different man, I see fear suffocating him. I don’t think he sees me. His expression and pose look as though he’s defending himself against a great enemy. Gritting his teeth, he has my left arm in his locked grip like it was a twig.

“Let go.” I grimace in pain. “Jack! Let me go!”

His grip loosens as awareness slowly rises in his eyes. At the same time, the sound of Quinton crying echoes in the background. Jack fights for each breath, his back contorting in spasms.

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