Torn (Deep 8, #5)

19. Harlow

NINETEEN

Harlow

The lights go out, casting us into a suffocating darkness. Surrounded by blackness, I should feel at home. I’ve hidden out in the shadows for years, scared to face the one demon that keeps me on the run. I looked the other way when I should have stepped in, and it cost me everything.

My decisions on this op may cost us getting the second piece of the device and finding Lucas. I can’t stand by and watch Roger lose everything. Convincing Amalia to give us the piece will be a hard sell. If I’m ever going to redeem myself, I need a solid plan. The next forty-eight hours are critical before we push the panic buttons.

Rays of sunlight stream through the window at the end of the hall, highlighting the dust particles floating in the air. They drift freely, unlike this caged bird. Roger sneezes several times and coughs. His hand appears between the bars, wiggling his fingers.

"Good morning, Mrs. Dujardin." His throaty voice heats my core.

"Our cover has been blown, so I don’t think I’m your Mrs. anymore," I quip.

"You’ll always be my Mrs. Dujardin. How did you sleep?"

His words warm me. There will never be another Mr. Dujardin. "The blankets kept me warm, but the bed is lumpy. How are you doing? It sounds like you don’t do well in damp conditions."

"No, I grew up in bone-dry Texas. I think I have allergies kicking up too. What’s our plan for today?"

"Time ticks away for us to press our panic buttons, but I think we should wait until the last minute. I need to buy time to convince Amalia to give us the device piece. It’s our only hope at this point." I squeeze his hand.

"I thought you would be telling me you are going to cut out after we get out of here. You’ve had a change of heart."

A heavy wooden door creaks open as the butler comes in. "Her Highness did not want you to starve down here." He pushes a plate filled with gourmet eggs, bacon, and pancakes under the bars.

I meet him eye to eye when he stands up. "We’re not bad people. We want to save Lucas. Is there a chance Her Highness would be willing to talk to me?"

"You’re barking up the wrong tree. I’ve been with the duchess for many years. Lucas Bane was my least favorite visitor. He’s manipulative and arrogant, not a good combination." He glances over at Roger.

"I’m not my father’s son, but I need to find him and take down the criminals behind this. If you could have a word with the duchess, we might be able to work together," Roger says in a diplomatic tone.

The butler nods and leaves.

"Good job, honey," I tease.

"That’s me. Your rock-star husband during negotiations. You can thank me later in your own special way."

I laugh. "Of all the people I could be stuck here with, I’m glad it’s you. You make me laugh, which I forget to do sometimes."

"I wouldn’t have it any other way. I can’t wait to see your face again. I’ll make you laugh until you cry."

"I’m sure my mascara is having its way, and I look like a raccoon."

"Raccoons are very intelligent, resourceful, loyal, and cute. You’re a stunner, no matter what." His voice takes on a soft tone.

"I’m not the person you have portrayed me. There are things in my past I wish I could forget." I push my hand through the bars and wiggle my fingers.

"Don’t we all have parts of our past we wish we could forget? I’ve been my father’s puppet for years, and here I am again. You think I would have learned my lesson by now."

"Some lessons are harder to learn than others." My voice cracks.

He rubs his thumb across the top of my hand. Our scars are similar. We live in the shadows to protect ourselves. He craves his father’s spotlight. I crave saving those who can’t save themselves. Amalia doesn’t know she needs to be saved.

"Why do you try so hard to dull your shine?" His voice is gentle and understanding.

Something in me gives way and a door opens I need to step through. My truth is about to unfold. "When I was in secondary school, I witnessed something I can never forget and will never forgive myself for."

"Sounds like a lot for a teenage girl." Not being able to see his face makes this easier. I won’t have to witness his disappointment in me.

"I attended a private school for kids of the very wealthy. My popularity was on solid ground, and I did well in school. Sam was my boyfriend and captain of the rugby team. He was Ken to my Barbie. We were on top of the world or so I thought. Na?veté can be blinding." I swallow and tighten my grip on his hand.

"My best friend, Hope, was not as popular and not skinny, but we had been besties since we started school. She could light up a room with her smile and had a great sense of humor." A ball forms in my throat I'm not able to swallow.

"One night after a big game, everyone had been drinking, and I was lost in the woods. I heard voices beyond the row of bushes." I breathe out through my mouth to get my bearings and gather courage.

The tears flow of their own free will. "In the clearing was a group of boys, including Sam, surrounding Hope. She was drunk and naked but laughing. They told her to roll around on the ground and cover herself in dirt because she was a dirty girl. As soon as she got on the ground, they started kicking her and calling her names like pig and whore. She tried to get up and they knocked her down again. I didn’t know what to do and started to hyperventilate. I ran away as far as I could get."

My words come out in a stutter, and the bile rises in my throat. Recounting the event feels like I’m reliving it. Roger stays quiet but never lets go of my hand.

"I locked myself in my bedroom for two days. My body shook day and night until my mom unlocked the door and brought me food. She and my father kept asking me what happened, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell the story. I lied and said I broke up with Sam.

"My life was never the same after that night. I dressed in sweats and refused to talk to Sam. Hope avoided me and everyone else. Her sparkle vanished along with mine. There were rumors about what happened to her, but no one witnessed the event except me. I never found out what else happened to her that night."

"It sounds like you suffered from PTSD. Your body shut down, unable to deal with what you saw." His tone is meant to comfort me.

I rip my hand out of his as anger boils to the surface. "Don’t you see? I could have done something to stop them from hurting her. She was my best friend, and I couldn’t save her. I didn’t have the courage to step in when it was necessary. I’m to blame. It’s my fault she turned out the way she did."

I grab the bars and shake back and forth, screaming at the top of my lungs. Crumbling to the floor, the blackness within me seeps out as if it’s alive and I’ve given birth to it. I crawl to the bucket and vomit until there is nothing left in my body.

Somewhere beyond my consciousness, Roger calls my name over and over again. Panic laces his voice. "Talk to me, Harlow. Are you okay?"

Dirt covers my hands, arms, and legs. How fitting that I should be the one covered in dirt. Sweat covers my body, soaking through my dress. A peacefulness drifts over me. My crying stops and my body calms down.

"Harlow?"

"I’m okay."

The wooden door bursts open as Amalia runs toward us with the butler in tow. She stops short in front of my prison, a fitting place for me. Her eyes take on sadness and understanding as if she’s looking in a mirror. "Are you hurt?" she whispers.

"I’ve carried this pain for a long time. I just let some of it go." I focus on the dirt on my hands.

Her eyes never leave mine. "Let’s get you two out of here. You need a bath to soothe your soul. I’ve seen your demons before."

The butler unlocks the cages, and Roger puts his arms around me as if he’s trying to hold me together. "A wounded bird heals and becomes strong enough to fly again." He kisses the top of my head. "We’ll talk more later."

In an odd way, this may be my in with Amalia. She recognizes my ghosts, and I might be able to save her.