Page 45 of Dead By Dusk

I don’t answer her question for a while and instead let it sink in. Wondering for a few moments before turning to make eye contact with her, but she keeps her focus on the view instead.

“Yes. All.”

Carmen hums in thought, and I wish I knew what was going on in her mind. When her eyes gloss over and she enters this faraway place, I wonder where it is that she goes. I long to know what she finds there.

“Do you want to know what I remembered?” she asks, and I startle when she does. I search the area around us, looking for the men, but no one is in the room with us so I slowly nod my head. Before she can answer though, I find myself asking one more question.

“Did you lie last night?”

“No. But I wasn’t wholly honest, either.” Her response is immediate, as if she anticipated my question, and so I nod and face the window again and what lies ahead, humming in thought, waiting for her to speak.

“It’s why I don’t get much sleep,” she starts, a slight tremble in her voice. “I try my best to, but it can be so incredibly heavy. Sometimes, it’s easier to close my eyes and pretend something better finds me.” She pauses for a moment, and I stare at her in the reflection of the glass, watching her chest rise and fall evenly with closed eyes. But when they open, it’s not only exhaustion that I see, but a look of someone that’s being haunted by the simple memory of what they had endured.

“I remember my father more than I wish I did—the marks he left on me after my mother passed. I remember how he beat me into a silent submission. I was so terribly lost for so long just doing what would keep me alive in hopes of finding a better way of living. I—” She stops for a moment, taking a deep breath when she realizes that her voice has increased, not just in speed, but in volume as well. I allow myself this moment to inspect the room, ensuring it’s still empty before offering her my hand. She gently wraps her pinky around mine, a habit we’ve fallen into these past few days. I want to believe it’s carried over from our life before all of this.

“I don’t regret asking for your help. I know it was selfish. If I hadn’t, neither of us would be in this situation. But, I know that I wouldn’t have survived much longer there if I kept living the way I was.”

She steals a glance at me through our reflection, giving me a tight lipped smile before looking down and continuing. “I can’t help but be thankful that I’m here. With you. In the chaos, you have remained steady. I can think of no better way of dying.”

I turn to face her completely and cradle her cheeks in my hands, forcing her to meet my eyes. If I could take away the pain she has lived and is forced to replay in her mind—forced to feel all over again, I would.

“You’re not going to die. We get out of here. Tomorrow. And then we live.”

If uncertainty was a picture, she would be the painting. Her inhale is soft and slow as she backs away from me. With furrowed brows, crinkled eyes, and a fallen smile, there’s no questioning whether she believes me or not. I know she doesn’t. If it’s due to a lack of faith in me or the naivety that died the first time her father laid a hand on her, I can’t say. But I won’t fault her for being skeptical.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Ronan and I think we found the way out,” I say softly, reaching for her hand again. She allows me to hold it within my own, but still appears to be uncertain about the words that I say, so I give her hand a gentle squeeze before adding, “A real way out of all of this”

“I thought you didn’t trust him?” she counters, as she shifts her weight. I feel her palms grow sweaty as she scans my features. I know my smile is relaxed, but my brows are practically halfway up my forehead as I try to convince her to trust me. The way she has this whole time, I just need it tocontinue a little longer. No matter how things look, I just need her to trust me.

“He doesn’t trust anyone here either, but he wants out. And we found the way together.”

“How do you know he didn’t find it earlier? They all kept the files from us. What if they kept that away too? To try and gain your favor.” As the words leave her lips, my mouth pops open, suddenly dry. Turning the possibility over in my head, it feels wrong. Asking her to trust me is different than me trusting anyone else here, but the idea of Ronan plotting something like this just…doesn’t feel right.

It feels nauseating and disgusting and impossible. The idea makes me sick, and I know I wouldn’t feel this way if I truly held any distrust for him. I may still be weary, but my gut is telling me our discovery last night was genuinely that. Ours.

So, I roll with that, forcing my face into a neutral expression and squeezing her hand once more before letting go and continuing.

“Trust me. Please. You have this far, I need you to keep doing so, just a little longer.” I’m not sure if it was my tone of voice, pleading with her, or the fact that I actually asked her for something, but her shoulders release the tension that was holding her hostage as they fall forward. She nods her head quickly. Now that both of her hands are free, she wraps her arms around her body before asking me if I really believe we have a chance at this.

When she does, I just gently smile as I’m reminded of all the times I’ve made this promise and how every time I answer, it’s the same. I’m certain we live through this. The first time she had approached me about her father’s activities, I told her we would figure it out together. When we were in the field alone and I felt compelled to save her, and before we found the fence, I toldher the promise I made to myself regarding her safety. It’s non-negotiable.

“I don’t just believe, I know. We’ll get out of here, move to Greece and live on a goat farm. I think you would like it there,” I respond, and for the first time, a small smile—a genuine one—breaks through any cracks of doubt that remained. It’s accompanied by a small chuckle as she looks down at the ground and covers her face with her hands before pushing them through her hair and out of her face. None of what she did was big or boisterous, in fact, all her actions were minimal and contained. Nonetheless, being on the receiving end of them felt foreign, and I suspect it may have been the first time she’s had any real hope in a very long time.

“Why’d you leave?”

The last time I had this conversation was with Ronan. Beside him, I never spoke of why I left home or what happened there. I never spoke of my family life, one that was far too similar to her own before I took matters into my own hands. I never wanted to remind myself of what I had to do and wonder what kind of person that made me in the end.

“I had no one, and no good memories,” I say so quietly that I’m not sure if she hears me, but if she doesn’t, she doesn’t say anything. I turn back to face the outdoors. “It was easier that way, but I do miss it at times. To move back with a friend, somewhere I know we could both call home, I could think of nothing more beautiful after so much pain.”

Another small, simple smile appears on her face through the reflection for a moment, but I don’t appreciate it the way I should because I’m locked in memories and thoughts of how to make these promises come true.

We do not die today.

This becomes a prayer to whatever or whoever is out there listening to me.

I refocus my attention on the reflection of her behind me but watch as her smile falters and her gaze falls to the ground as if any hope is reserved only for my eyes as Ronan approaches.

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