Legacy // H.S

11.

'Try to untie from an old life

But it always drags me down'

*

Harry

'Go faster!'

No matter how much pressure Claude puts on the accelerator, it feels as if the car moves a fraction of an inch each second. Nothing seems to be enough. No level of haste or care could make this better.

With her head in my lap, Atlas lays across Belly and I in the back seats, unconscious, but breathing. Her head is covered in blood, and her face isn't much better. Cuts and bruises littered across the perfect complexation I've come to love so deeply. Shades of purple and red that shouldn't belong on her skin yet remain etched into place like the carvings of a pencil pressed too hard into paper.

I realised she was gone when I went to call her in to help with dinner. We'd been cooking together a lot recently because she wanted to improve her skills. She said she always enjoyed watching me but hated the idea of never contributing. So, we came to an ultimatum. She'd be my sous-chef.

But when I went outside as Belly walked up the stairs, Atlas didn't respond. Each time I called her name, no response came. Only the sound of my voice echoing in the distance was heard. Belly hadn't seen her when she arrived, but the gate was already open.

That was the first red flag.

I ran around the perimeter of the house several times just calling her name. And every time, she'd never answer. Down the street I went, still searching for her but finding nothing. Only when I noticed her phone, its screen shattered as it lay on the gravel of the driveway, did I realise how bad things were.

Someone had taken her, and I had no way of knowing where she'd gone. Atlas, my happy ending, snatched from me like the priceless objects I've stolen over the years. So easily ripped from my grasp. So quickly taken from the one placed that I promised her was safe.

I've always said I'd protect, yet I failed.

I called Santine. Desperate and scared. I just wanted to find out where they had taken her, what bargain they wanted to make sure she lived. There was no answer, but I'm sure her voicemail has been filled with every plead from a broken man. I was prepared to hand myself over. To do whatever Hugo wanted. All to make sure Atlas would live.

I made a promise to her all those months ago that I would protect her, and every time something has threatened that, I've made sure she knew I still meant it. Words that seem so empty compared to the weight of them. A statement anyone would say to someone in a moment of sheer panic, but to me, it was an oath. Something to reassure her. Something to confirm what she means to me.

But somehow, as if it were a sick trick, a punishment from whatever God exists above us, my efforts weren't enough. The one place she should have felt completely safe, and she was taken.

In my panic I'd assumed the worst; that we'd never find her. It's inevitable for your mind to start reacting that way when the routine you once enjoyed becomes tainted. An attack from the outside, something to halt whatever story you've been writing. At that point I started to believe our book would come to an abrupt end.

But then I remembered something.

Her watch.

It wasn't outside, and no matter how many checks of the perimeter I did once I realised she was gone, it was nowhere to be seen. Meaning we had something to find her with. Shortly after Hugo's first attempt on her life, I placed trackers inside some of her devices and objects. Should anything happen, at least I'd be able to find her. That watch, if still with her, or, at the very least, near where she was taken, would lead me there.