𝗣 𝗬 𝗥 𝗢 𝗠 𝗔 𝗡 𝗜 𝗔 | BOOK THREE

T W E N T Y - T H R E E

[jolene hale]

"Ma'am, you sit tight. Officer Pedrad and I are going to go get some more water and some oxygen for your daughter from the engine. We'll be right back." I say.

The woman with thick brown locks pulls her daughter into her arms and nods at me. Jaxon bumps my arm with his elbow.

"Wow, you're like a regular at this. Are you in the military or anything like that?" He asks, an eyebrow raised.

I shake my head and laugh as we approach the fire engine.

"No, nowhere close. I'm an artist. I mean, my mom was a mathematics professor and my dad was a physical therapist, but I am just an artist." I say.

He laughs and nods. I climb into the back of the fire engine, pulling him in behind me.

"You grab the case of water, I'll grab the oxygen." I say.

I spin around, looking at him.

"Jolene, watch out!" He exclaims.

A pair of arms wrap around my torso, squeezing me tightly. I groan, kicking to try and throw us off balance and get this asshole off of me. Jaxon runs forward, ripping the hands off of me.

"Let her go!" He exclaims, pulling me away from the first person.

Something solid swings and hits him in the head, knocking him out on contact.

"Jaxon!" I exclaim, covering my mouth.

I look at the driver's area where the holder of the bat stands.

"Hey, sweetheart," A voice says, low and gravely like a snake is crawling across my skin.

James, or whatever his name is, approaches me, smiling devilishly.

"I see you've got a new boy toy, how fun. Too bad he let his guard down for five minutes." He says.

I jump out of the fire engine, running. He runs after me, grabbing hold of me tightly.

"Graham!" I exclaim, before my mouth is covered by his hand.

"No, don't do that. You don't want to make me angry," He says, raising a knife to my throat. "Don't try it."

He pulls me away from the fire, his hand slipping off of my mouth.

"Atticus!" I exclaim. "Help!"

The blade moves quick, cutting my cheek just above my cheekbone.

"I told you not to try it." He says.

He pulls me towards his car, shoving me into the back seat. He retrieves a fun from his waist band, cocking it.

"Tie your feet together." He says.

I nod and tie my ankles and feet together, tears streaming down my cheeks. He checks the tightness and nods. He grabs another length of rope and ties my wrists together. He pulls a white cloth into my mouth and ties it behind my head. He slams the door and approaches the fire engine. He climbs inside and my heart plummets. Is he going to kill Jaxon? He's gone for a few minutes, then returns to the car and climbs into the driver's seat. He starts the car without making eye contact with me and pulls away from the apartment building.

[olivia eaton]

I stand in the café beside 'The Flytrap', Graham's newest obsession. He says the artist behind the paintings is a mind of artistic genius. He says her pieces, no matter what they are, deserve praise. I'm third in line from the counter where I'll place my order. I think about what I want—do I want hot or cold? It's almost summer so the temperature is rising. Definitely cold. Caffeinated or no caffeine? It's almost five o'clock at night. I don't really need caffeine. What size do I want? I'm not that thirsty so maybe just a medium. My phone rings in my pocket, grabbing my attention. I retrieve it, looking down at the contact name. Old Man—My father.

"Hey, Dad," I say. "What's up?"

"Where are you right now?" He asks.

"The café by the fire station. Why?" I ask.

"You need to get to the hospital. Your brother is injured." He says.

"Which brother?" I ask. "Are they okay?"

"I have to go. Get here soon, please." He says.

"Dad, wait! Which brother is hurt?" I ask.

He hangs up and I'm staring at the screen, dumbfounded. One of my brothers is hurt? What happened? Why are they injured? What happened to them? Which brother, not that it matters, I love them both equally, but I'd love to know some details. I grab my car keys and run out of the café to my car. I climb in and start the engine. I pull out of the parking lot and drive to the hospital, weaving through traffic and taking shortcuts. How badly injured is he? Is it just a broken bone? Is it life threatening? I've always known that one of them would get injured--it's that line of work. They're basically destined to come home with a broken hand or burn. We've all accepted that. But this... My father's voice had a tone I've only ever heard once before in my life--when Grandma got cancer and nearly died on the table. Otherwise, that tone is one I haven't heard often. I park in the parking lot between a white truck and black escalade and run inside. I run to the emergency room waiting room, my heart pounding in my chest. I approach the counter where Lydia sits.

"Oh, Livia dear, go on back. They're waiting for you." She says.

I nod and thank her as I walk away. I walk into the ER and spot my mother sobbing in my Father's arms, broken apart. I approach the tall man in the firemen's jacket, hoping they can tell me who it is. But, my question is answered before I see his face. That's Graham standing before me. I approach the window and watch as what feels like dozens of people standing over one boy try to resuscitate him, one woman doing compressions like her life depends on it, another person, a man, stands beside her with the defibrillator paddles ready, another stands at the head, pumping oxygen into the boy's body through a tube place in his mouth leading down into his lungs. 

"Atticus?" I ask.

Graham spins around, his eyes red and puffy as he stares back at me. My father approaches me and I dive into his arms, burying my face in his chest to muffle my sobs. My brother is dying.