Burn Like An Angel (Harrowdean Manor #2)

15. Lennox

CHAPTER 15

LENNOX

BLEED – CONNOR KAUFFMAN

Packing the supplies we’ve gathered over several cautious trips, I set the third and final backpack at the end of the double bed. I’m straining my ears for any sign of Xander and Ripley’s return. They’ve been gone for two hours.

We decided to take the plunge and test his counterfeit skills before moving on. Raine collected his medication yesterday without issue. Now it’s round two.

After working tirelessly to forge fake IDs and prescription slips, Xander has taken Ripley to collect her medication today. It can’t come a moment sooner. She’s been semi-lucid since the first manic symptoms manifested.

“They’ve been gone for too long.” Raine folds and unfolds his stick, obviously agitated. “How long does it take?”

“He’s taken her to the pharmacy in the next town over. We don’t want anyone asking questions about Xander’s forgery.”

“How long can we continue hiding like this? Living off scraps and stealing to survive?” He sighs. “We need help, Nox.”

“We’re not trusting those Sabre people.”

“Then who can we trust?”

“Ourselves.” I glance over the packed supplies again. “We just need to keep moving. I’m not letting any of us get taken back into custody or worse.”

“And if this situation rumbles on for years to come? If the investigation doesn’t find Incendia at fault or clear our names? What happens then?”

Ignoring him, I perch on the bed and watch the door. When they get back, we’ll set off. Xander found a sleepy bed and breakfast in a small town farther east. It’s a mammoth trek, but we can’t risk public transport right now.

“Lennox! I’m talking to you!”

“I don’t know, alright?” I bark at him. “I have no idea how this ends. My concern right now is getting through each day. We can’t think beyond that.”

“We can, and we should. This is untenable.”

“What do you suggest, Raine? Hand ourselves over to the authorities? Let them quietly execute us? I suppose you’ll be okay. They may ship you off to one of the other institutes and just kill us three.”

He slaps his folded stick down on the bed. “That’s not fair. We’re in this together.”

“Are we? I don’t remember you dealing contraband, killing the fucking warden or breaking out of the Z wing.”

“No,” he replies hotly. “I suppose I just accidentally tagged along on this little trip, right? The same way I accidentally chose to go all in with the three of you. I do hope they let me off easy.”

Head bowing, I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. Escaping Harrowdean feels like a lifetime ago, yet the infinite nightmare has also passed in a terrifying flash. None of us can live like this much longer.

“I’m sorry,” I croak. “That wasn’t fair.”

“You’re damn right it wasn’t fair.”

“I said I’m sorry, alright?”

“Don’t turn on the people who love you most.” Hurt laces his words. “Not when they’re all you’ve got left.”

Regret swamps me, provoking a burst of honesty. “I just feel so powerless.”

The bed shifts as he shuffles to the end to sit with me. Raine bumps his shoulder into mine.

“You’re doing the best you can.”

“It sure doesn’t feel like it.”

“Look, I know you don’t trust these people. I don’t think any of us do. But we’re running very low on options right now. This could be our last play.”

“We can’t risk ending up back there, Raine.”

He whooshes out a sigh. “Bouncing from place to place, hoping we’re not spotted or tracked down, isn’t exactly a long-term plan either.”

Lifting my head, I look down at my mangled hand. It’s healing, a shiny, puckered scar forming. The discoloured skin reminds me of the horrors we escaped every day. And what I’ll do to keep my family from enduring them again.

“Footsteps,” Raine announces.

“Jesus, man. Your hearing really is creepy.”

“You’re starting to sound like Ripley.”

Right on cue, the woman in question storms into the room. Xander follows behind, a baseball cap tugged low to cover his ash-white hair. We decided he needs to be more inconspicuous, given how many supply runs he’s been making.

Ripley doesn’t even spare us a glance as she marches straight to the bathroom and slams the door shut, the lock snicking into place. Pulling several medication boxes from his hoodie, Xander tosses them on the bed.

“Well?” I prompt.

“We got everything.” He gestures to the boxes.

“Then… what’s the issue?”

“We need to get moving. There was a slight complication.”

“Slight?” Raine repeats apprehensively.

Xander runs a hand over his pale face. “Ripley was a bit agitated and got upset. The pharmacist took her into a side room. I wasn’t allowed in.”

Dread blooms in my gut. “Why?”

“Concern for her safety, I guess. We had to play along.”

“Then what happened?” Raine asks.

“She won’t say. All I know is we left behind a pharmacy tech with a broken nose on the phone with the police. I managed to swipe the meds before we hauled ass.”

“Shit!” I exclaim. “Were you followed back?”

“No. There was CCTV, though.”

Frowning at the soft vibrating coming from his pocket, Xander pulls out one of the stolen phones. I walk over to the bathroom door and tap, my ear pressed against the wood to hear Ripley’s response.

“Rip? Are you okay in there?”

“Go away,” she fires back.

“What happened?”

“Leave me alone, Nox!”

“Please, open up. Let us help.”

Silence.

Shit, this isn’t good. She’s been hanging on by a thread. If this tech did something to trigger her paranoia, it’s lucky they didn’t get worse than a broken nose.

“Raine. Can you talk to her?”

Turning around, I find him tuned in to the voices emanating from Xander’s phone. They’re both totally immersed. My scalp prickles uneasily as I stop at Xander’s side to look over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Another press conference,” he mutters. “I just got the notification. But it’s not Bancroft dolling out more professional lies this time.”

“Then who is?”

Bloodthirsty journalists gather on the live feed. It’s being shot against a professional backdrop, the pedestal and microphone set up next to an oversized easel with a board positioned on it.

The floor falls away beneath me when I realise whose face is printed on that board. She’s younger. Hazel eyes filled with innocence. Smiling. Arms tattoo free. Tawny-brown curls pinned back with two criss-crossed paintbrushes. No septum piercing in sight.

Ripley.

“What is this?” I gasp.

“Some kind of missing persons’ appeal?” Xander laughs without humour. “This is a new low.”

The hum of voices on the live feed falls silent. Striding over to the pedestal, a broad-shouldered man takes the stage. His smooth skin is tanned, like he’s been sunning himself on a tropical island recently.

Dark-brown hair that doesn’t seem to match his age belies an expensive dye job. Even his beard is well-trimmed without a hair out of place, complementing his crisp, pinstriped suit.

Businessman, clearly. From his confident walk to the way he holds his head high with self-importance, his entire persona screams extravagant wealth and power. Already, I hate him.

“Who’s the suit?”

Xander exhales loudly. “That… is Ripley’s uncle.”

“Oh, shit,” Raine mutters.

On the screen, journalists lean forward in their chairs, notepads poised and questions ready. This is another staged show for the world’s media to gulp down. I have a bad fucking feeling.

“Good afternoon. My name is Jonathan Bennet.”

“Weren’t her mum and dad married?” I question. “He’s the maternal uncle, right?”

Raine braces his elbows on his knees, listening closely. “This dickhead made Ripley change her surname when he took custody. I gather he was more concerned about his public image than being a parental figure.”

“Be quiet,” Xander orders.

He turns up the volume on the phone. We all lean closer.

“I’m appealing for information about the disappearance of my beloved niece, Ripley Bennet. She was undertaking a rehabilitative program at Harrowdean Manor until the recent violence broke out.”

Jonathan actually manages to look concerned. It makes my skin crawl.

“Ripley is unwell and has serious, long-term, mental health needs that require ongoing treatment. She’s vulnerable. I’m very worried about the delinquents my niece has gotten caught up with.”

I guffaw at his choice of words. “We’re delinquents now.”

“Been called worse,” Xander grumbles.

“Delinquent is a damn compliment for what you are, Xan.”

“Hey, idiots,” Raine redirects our attention. “Why is he going public now? Minimal information has been coming out of Harrowdean for weeks.”

Xander studies the asshole wiping away his fake tears. “He’s Bancroft’s new mouthpiece. It’s probably just another tactic to hunt us down. They’re getting desperate.”

“Ripley, please.” Jonathan bleats emotionally. “The riot is over. You don’t need to run from us. Let us provide the help you need.”

“He’s actually convincing.” I shake my head. “Fucking hell.”

“I know you didn’t mean any harm… Please come home. We only want to help.”

“This piece of shit never wanted to help Ripley,” Raine viciously snarls. “He’s treated her like damaged goods ever since she was diagnosed. The man disowned her!”

“But now his investment is in danger.” I watch the journalists throw up their hands to ask questions. “This is the performance of his career.”

The first journalist takes hold of the microphone. “How does a renowned investment banker and respected public figure like yourself justify bankrolling a criminal enterprise?”

A nasty, red flush creeps up Jonathan’s neck, spilling from his pressed collar. “I have full faith in the important work Incendia Corporation is doing in the private medical sector.”

“That’s a non-answer, Mr Bennet. Does that work include illegal human experimentation and abuse?”

“Most certainly not.” Jonathan’s sneer is a very brief crack in his facade. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Miss Moore.”

He turns his attention to the next journalist, his picture-perfect smile back in place. The slick bastard’s been media trained to within an inch of his life. Though I recognise a snake when I see one.

“Sir Bancroft announced the death of Harrowdean’s warden, Abbott Davis, in his latest update. Does the disappearance of your niece and several other patients relate to his passing?”

“Son of a bitch.” I roll my head over my tense shoulders. “I can’t believe they dared to ask him that.”

Xander keeps his lips sealed shut. Cool as a cucumber. The warden’s death was publicly announced not long ago—we caught that news while moving to this location. So far, no information is being released as to the circumstances.

Xander assured me he wasn’t seen and the killing can’t be traced back to him. I’m sure all manner of violence that took place during the riot is being investigated, like the multiple guard deaths.

I can’t help worrying that this will come back to haunt us. We’re being drip-fed updates while management scrambles to make sense of the destruction we left behind. That doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences.

“Warden Davis’s death is a senseless tragedy,” Jonathan replies calmly, his fingers steepled in front of him. “One that is being actively investigated. I am confident that justice will be served.”

The questions keep coming, prying for any updates into the riot, Harrowdean’s now closed doors and the increasingly serious allegations facing Incendia. I watch Jonathan’s cool, PR-perfect mask falter again.

“Ex-patient of Blackwood Institute, Brooklyn West, has publicly accused the corporation you support of medical malpractice and negligence. Tell me, has your niece fled for the same reasons?”

“Oh, killer.” Raine excitedly pumps his fist. “Please tell me the asshole is melting into a puddle right now.”

“More like a purple-faced ogre,” I respond.

“I will not be commenting on media speculation and the false accusations of unwell individuals.” Jonathan keeps his reply curt. “I’m only interested in locating Ripley and bringing her home where she belongs.”

“How can he say that?” Xander spits in disgust.

“Because he only cares about the money.”

We all turn at the sound of Ripley’s flat voice. Focused on the screen, we didn’t hear the bathroom door reopen. She stands in the doorway, chest heaving and eyes shining, her hands curled into white-knuckled fists.

“Ripley.” I start towards her.

“Uncle Jonathan would throw his own mother under a bus if it scored him a pretty penny.” She steps past me, heading for the medication.

The press conference wraps up as Jonathan stalks off. Apparently, his patience for uncomfortable questions has expired. The comparison to other escapees was the final straw for him.

Xander tosses the phone aside, turning his focus to Ripley. She’s unpacking various boxes, checking over the names and dosages. We watch her line up a handful of different pills—methodical and oddly calm.

I grab a bottle of water to hand over to her. “Got it all figured out?”

“I wasn’t always locked up in a fucked up psych ward run by corrupt maniacs,” she replies dryly. “I know how to organise my own medication.”

Ripley takes her pills, one by one. It’s the calmest I’ve seen her all week. I guess part of her understands she has to do this, the same way a type one diabetic takes Insulin every day. Mental health is no different.

Repackaging the boxes, she neatly stacks them up. It almost seems like a calming ritual. I thought we’d have to beg her. She’s been fluctuating up and down faster than a goddamn yo-yo recently.

“You want to talk about what went down in the pharmacy?”

She shudders. “I just got muddled up, that’s all.”

“On what, exactly?”

“The woman was asking me all these questions. I couldn’t think straight.”

“Did you hit her?”

Ripley frowns, glancing down at her fist. The knuckles are red, marked with a shallow abrasion. She studies the evidence, her brow crinkling.

“I just wanted to get out of that room.” She exhales slowly. “It felt like the walls were closing in on me. I couldn’t see Xander. I was scared it was a trap.”

Honestly, it’s hard to tell where the manic paranoia ends and legitimate concern for the insanity we’ve found ourselves in begins. If we weren’t running from a criminal conspiracy, I’d be concerned about her justification.

Taking her hand, I trace her swollen knuckles. “It’s time to move.”

Ripley glances between the three of us. Her freckle-dusted features are filled with apprehension. Biting down on her lip, she seems to think something over.

“What is it?” Xander prompts.

“Are you sure you want to take me with you?” Her chin drops, eyes pinned to the ground. “I’m a proven liability. The police could be on their way here this very second because I couldn’t keep my shit together.”

This fucking woman.

I’m such an idiot for ever making her doubt us.

I want to crush her to my chest and forcefully strangle it from her mind. Her demons aren’t liabilities. We started this journey together, and we’re going to finish it together.

Before I can do just that, Xander strides over to us. He snatches Ripley from her chair, trapping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. I watch her visibly gulp as his darkening gaze bores into her.

“You are not a liability, Ripley. Say that about yourself again, and I’m going to take you over my knee.”

Her mouth opens, and he promptly clicks it shut.

“Priory Lane. Harrowdean. On the run. Dead in the ground. I don’t care where we are. You will stay right by our sides. Where. You. Fucking. Belong.”

Something about Xander’s emotive growl feels so right. Ripley has become our nucleus without even trying. She’s transformed the chaos and suffering we’ve endured together into an opportunity.

A chance to belong.

A twisted, toxic, perfect family.

Releasing her so she can respond, Ripley sucks in a breath. “I want to stay with you. I just… I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.”

“That’s our choice,” Raine speaks up. “We’re choosing to stand by each other. Whether we get hurt or not is irrelevant. It’s our decision to face the danger as a united front.”

I nod in agreement, gaze locked on her. “If we get hurt, then we do that together too. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Ripley flashes me a knowing look. We’ve witnessed far too much of one another’s pain. Caused plenty of it too. My motivations are different now, though. We’re standing together on the right side of the line this time.

I swore to myself that I’d make right on all the damage I’ve caused. If she thinks I’m giving up so soon, she’s in for a real surprise. We’re only just getting started. I’m going to stick around and fix what I’ve broken.

“Let’s go, then.” Her lips lift ever so slightly.

Picking up his stick, Raine unfolds it. “That’s our girl.”