Souls Unfractured

Sheer terror took over. I felt a hand on my arm as I stared at the cabin door, as I listened to the screams behind the wood. “Maddie,” Mae whispered, sadness etched in her voice.

All I could see in my mind was Flame’s eyes watching me. And if… if… A sob hitched in my throat when I thought of those eyes, drained of life. When I thought of them no longer standing guard beneath my window. No longer watching my every move, whenever I was near.

No, AK could not take him from me. My soul would rip in two.

I needed him.

He needed me.

Clasping my lips together to silence a hurt cry, energy surged through my body. From the corner of my eye I saw AK start to walk toward his own cabin to retrieve something. Mae had already joined Styx and Ky next to Viking. Viking had buried his face in his hands.

But I was still near Flame’s cabin door.

The cabin door Styx and Ky had left closed but unlocked.

Instantly, I knew what I had to do.

Giving myself no time to change my mind, I lifted my long dress and sprinted to the door. My labored breathing echoed in my ears as I ran. I reached the cabin door just as Mae’s voice screamed my name. But I did not stop. I had to get inside.

Wrenching the cabin door open, I rushed inside, slamming it shut. With trembling hands, I snapped the locks shut. I grabbed a nearby chair and jammed it under the doorknob.

“Maddie!” Mae shouted. “Open the door!”

Loud male voices followed suit, demanding to be let in. Resting my palms to the wood, as if reinforcing the door, I shouted, “I will not let you hurt him. Please… just let me calm him down. Let me calm his rage.”

As if on cue, Flame screamed out from behind me. My skin crawled in sympathy with the pain in the sound. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath.

I turned round.

My breathing was rough as I stood still, knowing I was facing the man I thought of constantly. Then I flinched as another roar left his throat. I counted to three, then forced myself to open my eyes.

My back hit the door as I did so. My legs lost strength, and scalding tears sprung to my eyes. As I slumped to the floor, a pair of tortured black eyes seared through mine, and I whispered, “Flame… no…”

Chapter Eight

Flame

I couldn’t stop the flames.

Men had tied me down.

I couldn’t get to my blades.

And he was in here with me. Even with my eyes open, I could see him. I could see him in my mind's eye.  I could hear his voice in my mind's ear. I couldn’t silence his voice. He called me sinner, cussing about the evil in my blood. But I didn’t know what he wanted from me. Didn’t want to remember that face when he shouted at me. Didn’t want to remember that cold dark place. Didn’t want to remember his belt lashing my skin. But I couldn’t get to my blades to stop the memories... to stop the memories fucking with my brain…

“He’s a fucking retard, Mary. He sits all day in his room, playing with that fucking Lego set. Building and building, never showing happiness or joy or any-fucking-thing!  He doesn’t speak, doesn’t respond to anything I say. He doesn’t cry or laugh. Where's the fucking emotion?”

I cowered in the corner of the room, watching him scream at my mama. Her eyes were sad as she stared at me. But she didn’t cry. My mama never laughed or screamed or cried anymore.

“Michael,” she begged. “Please, just leave him alone. He’s just not like other kids. But he’s ours… he’s mine. I know he’s special. I can see it in how he thinks and behaves, but—”

“Special? He’s a damn retard!”

He was talking about me. He was angry with me, again. But I didn’t understand what I’d done to make him so mad? I tried. I always tried to make him happy. But it never worked. He just got madder. He just hurt me more and more. And I felt his disappoint deep inside me. I couldn't sleep, and all the worry made my hands shake. I… I was so confused. I didn’t mean to make him mad. I tried… I really, really tried.

He moved to the table where my mama was preparing food. He swiped out his arm and all the dishes crashed to the floor. I put my hands over my ears when my baby brother began to cry. I rocked on the floor, humming under my breath to block out the sounds. I hated the sound of screaming. It hurt my ears. It made my chest hurt and my stomach feel bad.

But my hands covering my ears couldn’t block out the sounds—the crashes, my baby brother’s screaming, his booming voice.

“I’ve spoken to Pastor Hughes. He believes the boy could have evil in his body. Hell’s flames could be flowing in his veins. That’s why he acts like that. Why he acts retarded.”