Page 82 of Behind These Four Walls

Chapter Sixty-Two

Eden

Ten Years Ago

I grip the handle of the passenger door so tightly my knuckles ache, because Roger is a horrible driver. It’s why he has that dent in his back fender from the tree stump he hit in reverse back in high school. The Jeep jolts as it turns off the paved road, the tires crunching gravel and fallen leaves. Roger is driving, his face hard as stone, and Danny is fiddling with the radio like it’s the most important thing in the world. James sits in the back seat, silent, staring out the window, sneaking glances at me like he can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe it either. My chest tightens as we go deeper down the familiar path I used to travel toward the old Abbott barn. I hope Isla doesn’t get too freaked out after seeing me get in with the guys. Maybe I shouldn’t have kept who I was and why I was really here from her. I’ll explain it all when I get back to our room.

The barn is exactly as I remember it from two years ago: crumbling beams, broken slats of wood letting moonlight streak through the gaping holes in the roof, the musty smell of rotting hay. It’s a ghost ofits former self, just like me. No, scratch that. I am no longer a ghost. I was a ghost two years ago, flittering in and out of the estate and grounds like some lost soul. I lost my soul that night. Tonight I intend to regain it. I’ve planned this ever since my mother’s funeral. Ever since she told me to stop living in fear, stop living like I didn’t belong.

“You belong more than any of them,” she said. “I wish I had known that then. But I’m telling you that now. Use what you know to your advantage. Be who you are.”

When we finally stop is when I turn on the recorder.

We file inside in a line, Danny then me, followed by Roger, with James bringing up the rear. James is jittery. He’s never been one for the hard stuff, because that’s what I think these guys are aiming to do. Be hard. Be tough. Scare me into submission. Little do they know that I’ll get the last word, and we’ll pay for what we did to that family.

Danny circles the span of the first floor. It’s wide, like a square, and surrounded by stalls for the horses the Abbotts used to raise decades ago. When I found this place, it was already run down, and I imagined happier times. They kept the upstairs loft for hay and the main floor of sawdust shavings and areas for supplies, feed, tack, and the washrack. Remnants of all those things are stark reminders of what once was when times were good for the Abbotts, before they died off or migrated north or wherever the remainder of their family ended up when their underground moonshine operation went bust.

The staircase leading to the loft where stacks of hay were housed looks perilous and like a skeletal structure of its former self, filled with scraggly holes where steps used to be. The wide, nearly wall-length widows are all broken, tall, sharp shards of glass jutting out at all angles, no doubt victims of target practice from the occasional passersby who happened upon this deserted structure. Or maybe it was these guys, because no one knows this place still exists except us. But times have changed. It has been two years since I saw it last.

Danny chooses a stall, leans against one of the rusted stall doors, and takes up a menacing stance, hands in pockets so his big gun-barrelmuscles are on display, one foot kicked behind him and propped against the beam. He wants to look like he’s running the show when what he’s really doing is waiting for his leader.

My sneakers crunch on the dirty floor, which is littered with hay and glass, pebbles, branches, and leaves. The barn in varying stages of decay. The wind gives off a low howl as it moves from the door we entered to the back door, which is slightly cracked, glimmers of moonlight shining through.

I swallow down my fear because I refuse to back down or let my fear show. “Then do the right thing. Convince Bennett to give me the money I asked for, and I only want to hear you all say it for once. Admit what we did so we’re all clear and no one is buying the bullshit we made up. Bennett was the one driving that night. He was the one who flipped off—”

Danny grabs my arm, his grip bruising. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarls.

“No, you don’t get to make the rules. You lied about that night. We got a family killed. Say it, Danny. Say it was our fault.”

He squeezes, and I swallow down a whimper. “I’m not saying shit. You aren’t fucking this up for me, Edie. I have a good thing going now. Bennett and I have plans, and we’re gonna be partners. He’s gonna find a place for me in the company when he gets in the right spot, and I’m not letting you take that away from me.”

“Danny,” James says gently, moving closer. He places a hand on Danny’s free arm. He looks at me, and all the warmth from years of wanting but never acting are bubbling up behind his eyes. If only he had had the courage back then to tell me what he wanted, but instead he let Bennett come between us. Always Bennett first. James hadn’t been able to tell Bennett that he and I would find our own way home after the barn, to stand up to my brother and declare his feelings for me even though his buddy Danny had already tried staking his claim and been shut down over and over. James was always too weak then. Just like he’s being now.

Danny snatches his arm away. “Get off.”

Roger stammers, “Man, we don’t need to get all heated. Let’s just be cool, all right? Edie, we’re just surprised is all. This isn’t like you. This is more—” He stops himself.

“Like Bennett? I’ve learned from my big brother. Maybe it’s in our genes. You know, something you’re too Neanderthal to comprehend? It’s probably why Bennett still keeps your ass around,” I say, letting out a dry laugh. I refuse to rub my arm in front of them, though it hurts.

Since he’s got me by the other, I slip my free hand in my pocket, palming the can of Mace I bought along with a few other things at RadioShack earlier today. The pad of my thumb feels around for the tiny safety latch, and I push it to the side. The heat rolling off Danny is intense and suffocating, taking up all the space. We face off.

In all the time I’ve known him, Danny has always been big talk and no bite, strutting around like he’s going to do something.

“It’s in our genes,” Danny mocks, sneering. “Maybe you need to learn when to stop talking.” His face is inches from mine, and his breath reeks of alcohol, weed, and stale cigarettes. Bad combination. “Be meek little Edie again.”

“Danny, cut it out.” James steps forward as if to pull us apart. “You’re hurting her.”

James has replaced Danny’s focus and growing anger at me with himself, something that fills me with a flame of warmth. It reminds me of back then, when James and I kept low profiles, letting the other three fight over who would be top dog, the strongest, the funniest, the smartest, the alpha.

It was always Bennett, though. Bennett is the alpha while Danny is a distant second, always wanting to impress, always wanting to prove himself with the stupid schemes and bullying and excessiveness that makes him the least likable. If it wasn’t for his intimidating demeanor, his big burly linebacker self, Bennett would have dropped him long ago, I think. And if it wasn’t for that night that binds us together tightly in this soul-eating web dangling over Bennett’s head like a swinging noose,Bennett would have gotten rid of all of them. Me, he thought he had, but I’ve come back to finish what was started, to hold us all to account even though they think what I want is money. Schemes as debasing as blackmail and power plays are the only things that Bennett and his goon squad understand. Accountability. Remorse. Restitution. Truth. Words never included in their vocabulary and in their world of overindulgence, entitlement, and privilege. A world I hope to free myself of for good.

But now I’ve come back to do what I was too weak to back then. Right a wrong as best as I can. I will free us all, even if some of us don’t want to be freed.

That second of distraction is all I need. I break free of Danny’s grip and slap him. It is a sharp crack, a flat-palm-against-flesh crack that reverberates throughout these weathered walls. It is a declaration that Danny can’t intimidate me anymore. Not like he used to do before with the teasing and shaming when we were kids, all to impress the unimpressible Bennett Corrigan.

The slap shocks even me. It is the first physical manifestation of my innermost rage. The first I’ve ever let my repressed anger unleash and spew forth, like a dragon. But I don’t let the shock hold me back for long. I hit him again for good measure. And again, the years of bottled-up resentment and fear and appeasement so he won’t get angry rises up like a leviathan until everything stops because Roger is holding me back and James grips Danny’s bulging arms. Danny’s eyes redden. He can barely hold back his rage.

“You’ll never be his equal, I hope you know.” I want to keep pushing. “He’s just stringing you along like he’s been doing these past couple of years, and he’ll keep doing it until you stop him. He’ll keep promising and promising you shit, but you’ll never get it.” The words spew forth, and I can’t stop. “You’ll just be his bitch for the rest of your pitiful life. Just like your daddy was for mine, simpering and sniveling, hoping for scraps that Bennett may or may not feel magnanimous enough to bestow upon your dumbass head.”