hiding himself from everyone, even from me, but not like this, not with my ear pressed to his chest where all the hurt was.
I told him it was okay. Everything was going to be fine. I was there and he was going to be alright. He breathed hard in my hair, tightening his grip around me as I soothingly talked him through it.
You’re not bad, I told him. You’re not. You’re not.
Every time he did something bad, he hid in here where it hurt his soul the most. I knew it was his way of punishing himself. He came apart in the dark when he knew nobody could see. He trusted me enough to see him in all his pain. I regretted telling him I’d never be there for him again. He must have felt so alone in here, wondering if I was going to come or not.
Finally, he began to calm down. His heart slowed and his grip loosened. I sensed he was still withdrawn, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. I pulled away to get a better look at him. When his empty eyes met mine, I knew it was time to go. He needed to go to his apartment. I needed to put him in a tub of hot water and call the doctor.
Pocketing the phone, I tugged on his arm. “Get up,” I told him. “Get up, Max.”
When he didn’t move, I took his face in both hands and pressed my forehead to his. His forehead felt cold and damp. His breaths were slow and shallow.
“Max,” I repeated sternly, “get up.”
I wrapped my arms around him and tried to pull him up. This time his legs worked, albeit slowly. He was super heavy, and I felt dizzy with the weight of him.
“Come on,” I urged him breathlessly. “Let’s get you out of this place.”
I helped him across the room and up the steps. The second my head poked above ground I felt the weight in my chest ease. I hated being in that room. The vibes were all wrong. I could feel its despair and it was haunting.
Locke was silent all the way to his car. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he looked up at the sky and stared at the moon with a faraway look.
“You should have hidden under the slide,” I murmured, trying to break the tension between us.
Despite the hand pressed against his wound and the obvious pain he was in, Locke’s lips flickered up. “I should have.”
It was such a fucked up joke, but he appreciated it every time.
As we approached his car, he suddenly grabbed at my wrist and tugged me behind him. He stopped us, his gaze locked ahead at something on the road.
“What is it?” I asked nervously.
When he didn’t answer straight away, I stepped away from him quickly and risked a glance at his car. I immediately noticed that, unlike before, its trunk was wide open. My breaths slowed as Locke took cautious steps closer, forcing me along with him.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered.
About ten feet from the car was a man’s suited body lying on the road, stomach down, face pressed into the pavement, arm outstretched. There was a trail of blood from the car to where he lay.
“I guess he didn’t bleed out entirely,” murmured Locke.
I bristled. “At least act a little upset.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “He stabbed me first. If you’re looking for my sympathy, I have none.”
I was speechless. I absorbed the scene in front of me, even peered into the trunk and at the blood saturating the interior.
Oh, my God.
This was bad. So, so bad.
“Please tell me there were no witnesses,” I whispered. “Please tell me this won’t get back to you.”
“Have they ever?”
My frustration levels rose. “You couldn’t wait, Locke? You couldn’t have him arrested for something stupid? You had to kill him?”
“No, no,” he admonished, like I wasn’t getting it. “This needed to be done by me, Charlotte. He was one of them. One of the first in that hole.”
I stilled, understanding. My heart took a nosedive in my chest. “Who is he?” I asked weakly.
“Does it matter?”
“No, but…is he part of town? Like…”
Like Henry Tiller.
Glancing at me briefly, he vacantly answered, “No. He came a long way to molest me.”
I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh.”
Yeah, oh. Because what else could I say?
Despite his exhaustion, he moved to the body and dragged the fat man by his leg all