Page 120 of Love is Angry

“Yes. Which is why you should at least trust that everything I do, I do it so you and every other person I actually love and hold dear are safe and happy.”

“Are you talking about Madison?”

My heart hurts at the mere mention of her name. “Yes.”

“Any news from her, yet?”

“No.” No news from her, exactly. I just happen to know where she is. Some subtle change in her tone keeps me from saying so, though—but it won’t keep me from speaking my mind. If he's listening, he can damn well hear what I think. “He did this, you know? Maybe you’re not ready to accept or admit the hard truth, Laura, but you’ll look back on this moment someday and understand why I did the things I’m about to do.”

I overtake a couple pick-up trucks on the interstate and follow the usual signs to Ithaca. It’s a two-hour drive, but with my current speed, I doubt it will take me that long. The engine roars as I switch lanes, trying to shorten the distance between here and Madison. Laura’s stubborn ingenuity isn’t helping, either.

“What are you about to do? No! No, don’t tell me. Just—call me when you’re safe, okay?”

I will need hard evidence for Laura. Indisputable proof of our father’s crimes. Anything less, and she might reject it. I don’t know what he said to her or did to her to make her flip like this, but it wouldn’t take much. With our mother dead, all she has as a person to follow and to look up to, all she has as a parent, is our father. And he’s a fucking beast.

There are many questions I’ve yet to find the answers to. Many things that happened which I have yet to fully understand—the rash of apparent suicide attempts in my family, for one. First Mom, then Laura—now Laura switching from accuser to protector overnight for no apparent reason. It’s like they’re all possessed or something, like the people I know and love disappeared, replaced by people who look and sound the same, but their thoughts are all backwards.

“Rhue, are you still there?” Laura reminds me that I’ve yet to hang up.

“Yeah, sorry. Okay, yeah, I’ll call you back. Bye.”

I glance at Maddie’s phone. There are no new messages from the unknown sender, and nothing on my phone except campaign-related garbage. I never signed up for any of it, but I suppose Laura put my number on every possible mailing list anyway. My mind is a tangled mess, my synapses frantically firing every which way.

It’s hard to get that image of Sibel at her dinner table out of my mind. The sound of her dying. The window breaking with that second bullet. It’s even worse when my subconscious somehow substitutes Sibel’s face with Madison’s within that wretched scene, bringing my worst fear to life in a twisted fashion.

By the time I reach the woods, my skin feels cold and slick.

It’s the fear oozing through every pore. I am not prepared for any of this. No one taught me how to deal with a kidnapping. Until a few weeks back, I wasn’t even aware how rotten my family truly is—my father, in particular. I guess, in a way, we all have our faults. Mom allowed his behavior to go on for far too long, even while she treated the broken minds of women who had been victimized by people like him. Laura is so soft and malleable, all it takes is a day or two to change her whole outlook, all of her convictions—and at this point, I can’t even blame her age. Then me—just as flip-floppy as Laura, just as passionate about the righteousness of my position whether I’m heads or tails.

At least Julian has always been consistent in his evil.

Again, Sibel pops into my mind.

At the dinner table. Bleeding from the gaping hole in her throat.

With Madison’s face.

“Jesus fucking… Argh!”

I have to pull over. It’s a local road I’m on, a two-lane strip of black asphalt that snakes along the forest’s south side. There’s barely anyone else out here. I’m shaking as I get out and start taking deep and surprisingly loud breaths. I don’t even realize that I’m crying until the tears are running down my cheeks. Fuck.

The minutes go by. Heavy little things that roll over, crushing me with their weight.

I don’t remember crying since Mom’s funeral. This––this feels much worse because I can almost feel Madison slipping through my fingers. It’s the despair that’s getting to me. With Mom, I had no say in her demise. She was gone, and that was it. But with Madison, I have a chance to stop it, a chance to save her.

And yet I am so scared of failure that I can’t stop envisioning the worst-case scenario. Because that’s what these visions of Sibel with Madison’s face are. Simple manifestations of a possible outcome that I dread more than anything.

I need some time to pull myself together. Cars drive by. The occasional truck.

Every time, the draft of their sudden passing-by smacks me in the face, cold and unforgiving. It’s evening, now. It’s dark, save for the distant streetlamps and the stars twinkling overhead. It’s so quiet and nice out here. Cold and lonely, too, but quiet.

I can’t stay here.

She needs me. I get back behind the wheel and hit it. I drive like the crazy devil I know I can be. The road becomes a thin line, poorly illuminated until I reach my destination. It’s a side road with barely any gravel on it, but it dead ends near the cabin. From there, I’ll grab a flashlight and make my way up and through the woods.

According to the map, this is where I’m supposed to be. I’ve studied all the possible routes, but this one gives me a slight advantage. I keep a gun in my glove compartment. There was never a need for it, though I fear that will change tonight.

Checking that it’s loaded and that the safety is on, I slip it in the back of my jeans, grab my flashlight and take a deep breath. Just as I’m about to step into the woods, I get a text from Rita—it’s a single word.

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