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I closed my eyes as I felt the baseline of his life vibrate through my hand. He was alive. Jackson was here, and he was alive.

“Evie,” he murmured, and I glanced up, seeing his face twisted, as if the word physically hurt to say. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I stopped believing,” he admitted, his eyes glistening.

“Believing?”

“I thought…fuck, I thought you were dead.”

“You…you thought I was dead?” I asked, my voice no louder than a whisper, because then maybe he wouldn't hear, so I wouldn't have to know his answer.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned, his heart speeding up beneath my palm. I pressed my hand into him harder, grounding him like I was afraid he’d float away—like I’d float away.

“Don’t…don’t be sorry.” I sniffled. “It’s my fault anyway. I should’ve waited,” I blurted, words spilling now that they’d finally found an exit. “I should’ve stayed where you could’ve found me. I should’ve…I ruined everything, Jackson. I ruined us.” My self-hatred for ruining what we could’ve had ate away at me every single day that I was here. I made the biggest mistake of life getting in Wayne’s car that night—a mistake that cost me everything.

“Wait, what?” he breathed, his eyes wide. “That’s not what I—Evie, that’s not how this works.” His voice was wrecked now, fraying at the edges. His head dipped back, jaw tightening as pain rolled through him again, but he fought through it anyway. “It’s my fault,” he said, forcing the words out like they weighed too much. “I should’ve protected you. I should’ve been there.”

I shook my head frantically. “No. it’s⁠—”

“Wayne’s fault,” Christopher chimed in. “It’s all Wayne’s fault.” His words echoed and bounced off the walls. I…I knew he was right. I certainly didn't ask Wayne to take me away. But the guilt of knowing I’d placed myself in that position, that I'd left Peter and Jackson behind, knowing how distraught they'd both be when they realised what happened to me, hovered above me like a shadow constantly. I used to think about Peter’s reaction. Did he fall to his knees and cry like when Dad died? Did he search all night? Did hope abandon him the way it did me, or did he keep holding onto it anyway, even when there was nothing left to hold?

A car door slammed above us, freezing all of us into place.

Wayne was home.

I stumbled back, and Jackson's eyes widened. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, trying to get down from the hook again, his face pinched in agony. “Evie, for the love of God, please don't go⁠—”

“I have to, y-you don't understand,” I breathed as my body screamed at me, begging me to stay in his arms—which made it hurt even more, because I despised when Wayne touched me. Yet, I never wanted to let go of Jackson. I wanted to know what it felt like when his arms were wrapped around me again. Would it feel the same? Like nothing could ever hurt me as long as he was around to protect me? I quickly bent down and picked the bucket up.

“Evie…”

“I’m sorry,” I cried before I hurried up the steps, my heart pounding in my ears. I gripped the wooden banister, clenching my eyes shut as my heart squeezed in my chest. I looked back down and only saw his legs hanging. Jackson. My Jackson. I looked up at the ceiling. “I know I prayed to see him again, but not like this,” I whispered.

“Darl!”

I jumped as Wayne’s voice penetrated the door. I quickly bent down and wiped my face with the bottom of my dress, erasing the tear marks from my skin. I swiftly opened the door and closed it shut, briskly making my way down the hall to the laundry room. Only when I entered, I jumped back in fright.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” Wayne complained as he removed his dirt-stained flannel.

“I didn't know you were home.” The lie fell so easily from my lips, I impressed myself with its effectiveness.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he teased, his thin lips curled in amusement as he put his shirt in the washing machine. “The butcher in town was closed, reckon one of those bastards is sick. Not a bother though, I get to spend more time with my favourite girl,” he crooned, smirking at me with an intent that sent an ice prick down my spine, and my mouth filled with saliva as my stomach clenched.

Now more than ever, the thought of Wayne’s body on top of mine made me sick. But I smiled and stepped into his open arms, playing the game. Dancing the dance. Those same arms took the man I’d always loved from his life, marking him for death. The same arms who never made me feel an ounce of warmth or safety. My heart smashed to smithereens in my chest.

Wayne groaned and squeezed me tight, kissing the top of my head. I clenched my jaw as he started humming, his chest vibrating against my cheek, and sank my teeth into my bottom lip, trying to trap my scream inside.

“You missed me, Angel?” he hummed.

I wrapped my arms around his thick torso and closed my eyes, picturing the man in the basement with my name inked across his chest.

“Of course.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

PETER

Seven Years Ago

March 10th, 1985