I returned to the ranch with Lloyd and Derek. Most of the ride passed in silence. Instead of music, Lloyd slipped in a CD of James Earl Jones reading the Gospel of John. There was something strange in the sound, a joy that felt almost illicit, in hearing that deep, resonant voice whisper, “…Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee.”
When we pulled up in the driveway, Lloyd gestured for us to pause. “Before we go in, let’s talk about something. Alex, I’m not in the habit of keeping secrets from my wife, so I’m going to tell Carol about your panic attack. Understand?”
“That’s fine.” The words were shallow, almost ragged, leaving me breathless. My chest was already bracing for the questions I knew were coming.
“Do you want Katie to know?” Lloyd asked.
She’d been curious enough about my past already. I could imagine the interrogation if she knew about this. Still, maybe she was exactly the sort of person I ought to confide in. There was a calmness in her presence that I’d never found in anyone else.
“Not yet,” I said.
Lloyd gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Alright. I’ll tell Carol when we lie down for the night, and I’ll let her know not to bring it up in front of Katie.”
With that settled, we stepped out of the car and into the house. Dinner passed in a fog of pretense. I chewed mechanically, swallowed rehearsed words, and nodded when Carol asked about the farmer’s market. Lloyd and Derek offered vague, clipped answers such as “good,” along with accounts of how much we sold. I threw them thankful glances that they hadn’t mentioned my doctor visit or the brief, ugly confrontation with Bob the child abuser.
That night, I went to bed and found my demons quieter than usual. Sleep came easily, and my dreams were strange but not nightmarish. When morning arrived, I felt almost human. Maybe it was the first time I’d felt safe in years.
As I went about my chores, I pondered that safety. It was a sensation that was alien to me. Even as a child, I had understood that calm was only the lull before the storm, the lion asleep before it pounced. But as white clouds drifted across a pale blue sky, shading the sun, I allowed myself a thought that felt almost reckless: perhaps the lion wasn’t there at all. No beast crouched in the brush, waiting to maul me.
Robins trilled in the trees, honeybees darted among wildflowers, cattle lowed in the distance, chickens clucked. There was no traffic, no shouts, no clamor. Just quiet. The kind of quiet that scraped at the edges of memory, reminding me how strange it was to hear it. Focusing on it, I felt the demons inside me shrink back, retreat to their hidden corners.
I knew they weren’t gone. Not really. At the first sign of trouble, they would wake, venomous and insistent. Still, for now, I let myself enjoy their sleep.
After dinner, I was heading for my loft when Derek asked me to step into his room. I followed him down a hallway I’d never traversed, my eyes catching on family photos. There was Evan, Lloyd and Carol’s eldest son, his wild grin framed by the younger siblings pinned under his arms in mock wrestling. He looked like the sort of person who found fun in reckless behavior.
Derek’s room was a different sort of chaos. Posters of fantasy films, novels, and games crowded the walls. Shelves sagged under the weight of Lord of the Rings, Chronicles of Prydain, Redwall, A Song of Ice and Fire, Chronicles of Narnia, and dozens more.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a fan of this sort of thing,” I said.
“Why?” Derek asked. “Because I’m a country boy?”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “I would have thought your bookshelves would have something more like Louis L’Amour. Or perhaps no fiction at all.”
Derek settled into his desk chair, chuckling as he nudged the computer awake. “Why would I want to read westerns? I live in a western. I’ve never had to outdraw some ‘low life varmint.’ I’d rather read about mice with swords fighting rats. But that’s not why I brought you in here.”
He pulled up a page online, and over his shoulder, I saw it: my high school graduation photo.
The blood left my face in a rush, leaving ice behind. My demons stirred, crawling from their hidden places, sharpening their claws, ready to whisper, ready to strike like a pit of rattlesnakes.
Derek read aloud, “Authorities Identify Person of Interest in Local Firefighter Death.”
I froze, unsure if I ought to speak or run.
He cleared his throat and kept reading. “Police say volunteer firefighter Victor Castle was found dead from a gunshot wound inside his home, and that the firearm used belonged to Castle himself. Authorities have not disclosed whether the death is being investigated as a homicide, suicide, or accidental shooting.
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“Investigators confirmed to this reporter that they are currently searching for Castle’s son, Vincent Castle, who has been missing since the night of his father’s death. Police described Vincent as a person of interest in the ongoing investigation.
“Authorities cautioned the public not to approach Vincent if he is seen, noting that he may be desperate. Any sightings should be reported immediately to local law enforcement.
“When asked whether Vincent Castle may be armed, police said it is possible, as the handgun involved in the shooting was not recovered at the scene.
“Vincent Castle is described as 19 years old, approximately 5 feet 11 inches tall, weighing around 180 pounds, with dark hair and brown eyes.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching.
If you flee now, you can steal one of the four-wheelers. Now you can escape into the wilderness. Lose them on the difficult trails.
Derek pivoted in his chair, turning to face me. His tone was flat, even, impossible to read, like the expression on his face. “In Dr. Connell’s house, you accidentally said your name is ‘Vincent.’” He pointed at the picture. “And this is clearly you. So, you going to tell me what happened?”
Why are you confronting me? The police said the suspect might be desperate. Dangerous. Why are you unafraid?
It occurred to me that Lloyd might be just outside the door, ready to step in if I caused trouble. That made sense. It had to.
Dread gripped me, twisting in my stomach like a coiling snake. I flung the door open, fists ready to fight my way out if Derek or his father tried to subdue me.
But the hall was empty. Only the distant murmur of Lloyd and Carol’s voices floated from the living room, calm and unassuming.
“I haven’t told anyone else what I found,” said Derek.
Slowly, carefully, I closed the door.
“This is just between us,” he said, brow furrowing. “Now, what happened?”
My mouth and throat were dry as dust. The tremors starting in my fingers spread through my whole body. My knees wavered, and Derek gestured toward the bed. At his cue, I sank down onto it.
“I…”
The words stuck, thick and immovable. Where could I begin? There was too much leading up to that night. My hands rose in front of my mouth, twisting my lip between thumb and finger. My other hand crawled to my temple, half-hiding one eye. I wanted to vanish, to become invisible or cease to exist, but I couldn’t say which.
“It’s alright,” Derek said. “Take it slow. Don’t forget to breathe.”
He was impossibly kind. How could I know that wasn’t the lure in the trap?
He’s recording your confession, Thorn said.
He’ll turn you in and become a hero, whispered another.
Silence him. It’s the only way.
They’ll rape you in prison. Kill him!
NO!
“He had his hands around my throat,” I said at last, gesturing where the bruises used to bloom.
Derek’s brow softened. He sighed. “Your dad?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But not just that night. He was choking the life out of me for years, if you know what I mean.”
“I can only imagine,” he said.
“That night, he got so angry he tried to murder me.” The memory of collapsing airways, of sting crawling through my skin, surged. I rubbed my neck, as if touching the past could soothe it. “So, I shot him.”
Derek gave a half-smile, but sorrow was in his eyes. “That sounds a lot like self-defense to me. Why did you run?”
“Because people who kill in self-defense still go to prison,” I said, tears blurring my vision. “And I can’t go there. They’ll kill me. And worse. I can’t do it!”
“Hey!” Derek rose and came to sit beside me. I flinched as his hand landed on my shoulder. “I get it. Alright? You’re afraid, but I don’t think there’s anything to be afraid of. Any judge worth his salt will see plain as day that you had to defend yourself.”
“It’s the jury I worry about,” I said. “So many things can influence them. A silver-tongued prosecutor could convince them I’m a cold-blooded murderer.”
“And a decent defense attorney can convince them you’re not,” Derek said.
“I can’t afford a decent attorney!” I snapped. “They’ll trip me up. I’ll say something stupid, and they’ll treat it as incriminating. I’ll be in Hell before I die!”
Derek’s arm shifted, sliding around my back, his hand pressing against my other shoulder, his side against mine. “Alright. I get it. So, what do you want to do?”
“I want to keep being Alex,” I said. “Because he’s far better than Vince. Alex isn’t a killer. Alex is a good person who works hard and helps those around him. If Vincent Castle gets caught, Alex dies.”
Derek let out a long sigh and shook his head. “Man, I hate keeping secrets, but I’ll make you a deal. We won’t talk to anyone about who you really are until you’re ready, ok?”
“Ok,” I said.
“In the meantime, you won’t begrudge me when next I try to talk you into going to the police,” Derek said.
I froze, my body tense.
“This could all be over sooner than you think,” he said. “And after you had your panic attack, do you remember what Dr. Connell said about avoidance?”
“No.” In all honesty, I’d tuned out most of the doctor’s advice.
“He said that avoidance of trauma triggers can make it worse.” Derek squeezed my shoulder. “Running away just tells your body, ‘I need to run because it’s dangerous.’ You go on living in fear. One of these days, you’re going to have to face it, Alex. Otherwise, it’ll kill you from the inside.”
