Page 14 of Jericho

She hasn't heard my voice in nearly eight fucking years, and we only had a few short months together. Maybe she didn't recognize it.

She recently wrote about Damien hitting her, and she's afraid that even turning back to look at someone else would land her in more trouble.

She could possibly think that I was someone who was there to hurt her, and that goes both ways if she didn't or if she did recognize my voice. She has to know what a massive betrayal her silence was that day.

I wish this was something I could do on my own, but I know it's going to take more than just me to get to the bottom of this. If she doesn't want my help, I won't force it on her, but I at least need to look her in the eyes and let her know that she has options. She doesn't have to stay in a home where she doesn't get to see her son and where she runs the risk of getting hurt by the one man who is supposed to care the most about her.

I know better than to think that Damien sees her as more than another possession he can use and abuse at his every whim,but despite what she did to me, I don't want to know that she's out there getting hurt and worrying about her kid.

I pace the small motel room, trying to think of any way to take care of this shit myself, but I can't. My resources are all linked to either Cerberus or ICE, and I walked away from ICE without so much as afuck youseveral months ago. I have no good graces left with anyone there, I imagine, and I wouldn't be able to choke down my pride enough to try and find out.

I pull out the new burner phone I got when I arrived in town yesterday and dial Hemlock's number.

"Good to hear from you," he says when he answers.

"How do you know it's me?" I mutter.

"Everyone else is home right now. I can honestly say, I don't know about Nyx. I'm a surly fucking bastard, but he looks like he's one stubbed toe away from taking out an entire convention center of people."

A chuckle escapes my throat. Hemlock and I were the first ones in the new cabin in East Tennessee, and I think us existing together alone for a few weeks kind of bred a deeper camaraderie than what he's been able to form with the others so far.

"Take him to the basement and set him straight," I mutter, knowing Hemlock has a certain set of skills that have come into play a lot more recently than I ever imagined they'd need to.

"Kincaid counseled against it," he says, sounding a little sad that systematic torture of a teammate was advised against.

"What was Kincaid's suggestion? Let me guess, some sort of team-building exercise? Maybe a campfire, s'mores, and a good old round of Let's Be Friends?"

His deep exhale tells me that my joke might've gotten a little too close to the truth.

"Maybe remind him that our chapter of Cerberus isn't like his chapter of Cerberus."

"They're both his chapters of Cerberus," Hemlock reminds me.

"You might have to do things a little differently than he does in New Mexico."

I knew we were picked for Gatlinburg because we're all different from the guys and gals that are on the Farmington team. We're a bunch of surly, angry bastards. I'm not saying the folks over there are chumps, but they do better with a group surrounding them. We were chosen for our ability to blend in and get shit done with a little more subtlety than kicking in a door and blowing shit up. Not that the way they do things doesn't seem like a load of fucking fun as well.

"Did you call just to give me shit?" he snaps, well and truly past our little bitch session.

"Is he scaring Zara? What about Ace's woman Cora? If they get a bad vibe off him, then you might need to do something about it," I say instead of keeping up with the joking around.

"Zara isn't scared of him and I haven't seen Cora enough to know what she thinks of him. I just don't want any problems in my fucking house."

"Keep an eye on him," I urge. "But you and I both know that Kincaid is a spectacular judge of character. He wouldn't put someone in your path who wasn't meant to take the journey with us."

"Sounding all fucking poetic and shit, Jericho. Are you being held captive and forced to get all reflective on your life?"

"I am sort of trapped," I mutter. "I'm back in Boston."

His silence is telling. He's read my file. He knows what happened here eight years ago.

"You think that's a good idea?"

"It's the only choice I had," I answer. "I need to put my monsters to bed."

"People will notice if Damien Gaines goes missing."

"I'm not talking about that kind of bed, but it might be unavoidable."

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