Archer's Voice
Page 12

When I got back to my cottage, I got everything ready and packed it up in Tupperware containers and put it in my larger cooler. It would have to sit both on the back of my bike and on top of my basket rather than in it, but I thought that would be okay.
Phoebe was going to have to sit this trip out, but she'd survive. I'd take her for an extra long walk on the lake shore tomorrow.
I stepped outside into the warm, only slightly muggy air and smiled, happiness running through me. Why was I more excited to go show my strange, silent boy how to cook for himself than I had been making out with the town hottie on my porch last night? Whoa. I stopped and just stood beside my bike for a minute. My strange, silent boy? Not hardly, Bree. Just get on your bike and go show your friend how to make a decent meal for himself.
I left my bike leaned against a tree at the beach entrance like usual and walked to the wooded area next to the shore. I moved the branches and bushes aside very carefully as I peered through. There they were–a whole crop of blackberry bushes loaded down with succulent fruit, ripe for the picking. It would be a shame to leave all of that to rot and fall to the ground.
I stepped through the bushes gingerly and slowly, avoiding the sharp branches that poked out. Once I had made it through the initial overgrowth, there was a clearing that I could walk through easily enough straight to the berries.
I made my way to them and plucked one soft, ripe berry off the bush, popping it in my mouth. I closed my eyes as the sweet juice burst across my tongue and moaned softly. God, that was good. These were going to make a delicious cobbler.
I started picking them carefully and dropping them in the small basket I had brought with me. After a while, I started humming as I picked. It was cooler in here, the woods keeping out the heat of the late afternoon sun, only small patches of sunshine coming through breaks in the trees, the feeling of warmth caressing my skin as I moved through them.
I stepped further into the woods toward a lone blackberry bush holding an abundance of berries. I reached toward it, my lips curved in a smile, and suddenly, my ankle twisted harshly beneath me and I was grabbed violently from behind, arms everywhere, my head smacking into the ground before my entire body was catapulted up and off the dirt, into the air.
I screamed and screamed and screamed, but he wouldn't let go. He had found me–he had come for me. And this time, he was going to kill me. I struggled and thrashed and screamed, but his grip just got tighter around me.
It was happening again. Oh God, God, God, it was happening again.
CHAPTER 13
Archer
I laid the last of the stones in its spot and stepped back to survey my work. I was satisfied with what I saw. The circular pattern had proven to be a bit challenging, but in the end, it all came down to math. I had worked out the configuration on paper first, mapping out the diagram and spacing before I had even laid the first stone. Then I had used string and stakes to make sure the sloping was just right so that the rain flowed away from my house. It looked good. Tomorrow, I'd collect some sand from the shore and sweep it between the cracks and spray it down.
But right now, I needed to take a shower and get ready for Bree. Bree. Warmth filled my chest. I still wasn't a hundred percent sure about her motives, but I had let myself begin to hope that it really was just friendship she sought. Why with me, I didn't know. It had started with the sign language, and maybe for her, that fulfilled something. I wanted to ask her why she wanted to spend time with me, but I wasn't sure about the social rules there. I could figure out advanced masonry diagrams, but when it came to other people, I was lost. It was just easier to pretend they didn't exist at all.
Of course, it had been so long, I wasn't sure what came first, the town acting as if I was invisible, or me sending the message that I wanted to be invisible. Either way, I embraced it now. And Uncle Nate had definitely embraced it.
"It's good, Archer," he had said, running his hand over my scar. "There's no-one on God's green earth who can torture you for intel. You show 'em your scar and pretend you don't understand, they'll leave you alone." And so I had–but it hadn't been hard. No one wanted to believe any different. No one cared.
And now, so much time had passed I felt like there was no going back. I had been okay with it–until she came waltzing onto my property. And now, I was getting all kinds of crazy, unwelcome ideas in my head. What if I went to see her at the diner she worked at? Just sat right at the counter and had a cup of coffee like I was a regular person?
How would I order a cup of coffee anyway? Just point at everything like a three year old while people laughed and shook their heads about the poor mute? No way. Just the thought alone filled me with anxiety.
As I was stepping out of the shower, that's when I heard the distant screaming. I jolted and pulled my jeans on quickly, putting my t-shirt on as I ran for the door. Shoes… shoes… I looked around and the screaming continued. That sounded like Bree. Forget the shoes. I ran out of my house and toward the woods.
I followed the sound of her anguished cries through the brush, down toward the lake to the beach at the very edge of my property. When I saw her, tangled in the net, thrashing and flailing, eyes closed tight, crying and screaming out, my heart felt like it burst wide open in my chest. Uncle Nate and his damn traps. If he wasn't already dead, I'd have killed him.
I ran toward Bree and put my hands on her within the tangled rope. She jolted and began whimpering, bringing her hands up over her head and curling into a ball as much as she could within the trap. She was like a wounded animal. I wanted to roar with the anger coursing through me at my inability to reassure her. I couldn't tell her it was me. I released the top of the trap. I knew how these things worked. I had constructed enough of them as Nate and I sat on rocks down by the lake, and he plotted out the security of his compound.
She was shuddering violently now, little whimpers coming from her, tensing whenever my hands brushed her. I lowered her to the ground and I removed the ropes from around her body. Then I picked her up in my arms and started back through the woods to my house.
Halfway there, her eyes opened and she stared up at me, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. My heart beat loudly in my chest, not from the strain of carrying her up the hill–she felt like a feather in my arms, I was so filled with adrenalin–but from the fear and devastation I could see etched into her beautiful features. There was a big, red welt on her forehead where she must have hit her head before the trap lifted her. No wonder she was all discombobulated. I clenched my jaw, swearing again to knock Nate out when I got to the afterlife.
As Bree stared up, she seemed to recognize me, her wide eyes moving over my face. But then her expression crumpled and she burst into sobs, bringing her arms up around my neck and pressing her face into my chest. Her cries racked her body. I held her more tightly as I stepped onto the grass in front of my house.
I kicked open the door and walked through, sitting down on my couch when I got inside, Bree still in my arms, crying harshly, her tears soaking my t-shirt.
I wasn't sure what to do, and so I just sat there, holding her as she cried. After a little while, I realized that I was rocking her and my lips were on the top of her head. That's what my mom used to do when I got hurt or was sad about something.
Bree cried for a long, long time, but finally her cries grew quieter and her warm breath on my chest came out in gentler exhales.
"I didn't fight," she said softly after a few minutes.
I held her away from me just a bit so that she could see my questioning eyes.
"I didn't fight," she repeated, shaking her head slightly. "I wouldn't have fought either, even if he hadn't run." She closed her eyes, but then opened them a few seconds later, looking at me with heartbreak.
I lifted her slightly and laid her back on my couch, her head propped on the pillow at the end. My arms were sore and cramping from holding her in the same position for so long, but I didn't care. I would have held her for the rest of the night if I thought she needed me to.
I drank her in, still so beautiful even in her pain, her long, golden brown hair lying in loose waves and her green eyes shimmering with tears. Didn't fight who, Bree?
The man who tried to rape me, she signed and my heart crashed to a stop before resuming a fast, erratic beat in my chest. The man who murdered my father.
I didn't know what to think, what to feel. I certainly didn't know what to say.
I didn't fight him, she repeated. Not when I saw him holding the gun on my dad and not when he came for me. My dad told me to hide and that's what I did. I didn't fight, she said, her face filling with shame. Maybe I could have saved him, she said. He killed my dad, and then when he came for me, I still didn't fight.
I studied her, trying to understand. Finally, I said, You did fight, Bree. You survived. You fought to live. And you did. That's what your dad was telling you to do. Wouldn't you have done the same for someone you loved?
She blinked at me and then something in her expression seemed to relax as her eyes roamed over my face. And something inside of me felt like it released too–although I wasn't sure exactly what.
Bree's tears started to fall again, but the distant look of agony in her eyes seemed to dim just a little bit. I scooped her back up and held her against me once more as she cried quietly, and more gently this time. After a little bit, I felt her breathing deeply. She was asleep. I lay her back on the couch again and went and got a blanket and covered her up. I sat there with her for a long time, just staring out the window, watching the sun lower in the sky. I thought about how Bree and I were so different… and yet so similar. She carried the guilt of not fighting when she thought she should have, and I carried the scar of what happened when you did. We had each reacted differently in a moment of terror, and yet we both still hurt. Maybe there was no right or wrong, no black or white, only a thousand shades of grey when it came to pain and what we each held ourselves responsible for.
CHAPTER 14
Bree
I woke up and pried my eyes open. I could feel that they were swollen. The room was dim, just a single standing lamp on in the corner next to one of the built-in bookcases. I was lying on a worn, leather couch and an older, wooden coffee table sat in front of me. The curtains on the window were open and I could see that the sun had set completely.
I moved the blanket that was over me to the side. Archer must have done that. My heart squeezed. Archer. He had taken care of me. He had saved me.
I sat up, and despite my sore eyes and the spot on my forehead that was slightly tender to the touch, the rest of me felt pretty good, rested. Surprising since I had turned into a wild animal when that net came down on me. I had realized very distantly what was happening as Archer was removing it from my body. Why there was a trap set on his property, I wasn't sure, but figured it had something to do with his uncle.
God, I had freaked. I was embarrassed now. But somehow I felt relieved too. Somehow I felt… lighter? When I had realized I was being carried and looked up into Archer's concerned eyes, I had felt safe, and so the tears had finally fallen.
I was interrupted in my thoughts as I heard Archer's footsteps behind me, returning to the room.
I turned around to thank him, an embarrassed smile on my lips, but when he came into sight, I froze. Sweet mother of all that was holy. He had his hair pulled back, and he had shaved his face.
And he was… beautiful.
I gaped.
No, not beautiful. He was just masculine enough to take the edge off what otherwise would be full-on male prettiness. His jaw was not hard, slightly square, but not in an exaggerated way. His lips were wider than they were full, a beautiful light, rosey color.
With his hair pulled back and his facial hair gone, I could see how his eyes and nose fit perfectly in the portrait of his face. Why had he ever hidden it? I had known he had a nice face somewhere under all that shag, but not this. I had never imagined this.
Just as I was about to speak, he moved closer to me, into the light and it was then that I saw the scar at the base of his throat–pink and shiny, the skin raised in locations and flat in others. It stood out harshly against the beauty of the features above it.
"Archer," I breathed out, staring.
He paused in his movement, but didn't say anything. He stood there, uncertainty in the expression on his face and in the way he held himself, rigid and unmoving. And I could do nothing but stare, spellbound at his beauty. Something pulled tightly inside of me. He had no idea. None.
Come here? I said, indicating the couch next to me. I turned around as he walked around it and sat down at my side.
My eyes moved over his face. Why did you do it?
He was silent for a couple beats, looking down, taking his bottom lip between his teeth before he brought his hands up and said, I don't know. His expression turned thoughtful, his eyes meeting mine, and then he continued. When you were in the trap, I couldn't speak to you to reassure you. You can't hear me… I can't help that. He looked down for a second and then back up at me. But I want you to see me. An expression of vulnerability washed over his face. Now you can see me.
My heart squeezed. I got it. I understood. This was his way of making me feel more comfortable about exposing a part of myself to him–by doing the same for me. I brought my hands up and said, Yes, now I can see you. Thank you, Archer. I felt like I could stare at him forever.
After a minute, I breathed out and spoke again. And thank you for… what you did earlier. I shook my head slightly. I'm embarrassed. You rescued me. I was a mess. I looked up at him. I'm sor–
He grabbed my hands in his to stop my words and then pulled his back. No, I'm sorry, he said, his eyes intense. My uncle set traps all over this land. I've tried to find all of them and take them down, but I missed that one. He looked away. That was my fault.