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BLYTHE

NINE YEARS LATER

M y phone buzzes from its spot on my notebook. My boss gives me the evil eye as he pauses his speech to the staff. I mute the call, letting it go to voicemail. It’s the sixth time today that an unknown number has flashed across my screen. I don’t answer calls from unknown numbers. I learned a long time ago not to trust the unknown. It’s the only way to keep my secrets safe.

“Again, I want to reiterate that everyone needs my approval before you pursue any stories.” My boss continues his reprimand.

Okay, so I was the one who went off the reservation and started researching my own story. It worked out. I didn’t lose my job because it turned out to be a huge exposé on a corrupt politician with ties to a local gang. I’m good at uncovering lies. I have a knack for sniffing them out. Maybe it’s because of my past, or maybe it’s because I’m sick of liars hurting people.

My counselor says it’s because of what happened to me. How I was never given justice or closure. She could be right. I couldn’t get justice when I was hurt, but now, I’m ready. I’ll make them all pay.

I dig for dirt on everyone involved. Each one of them will pay for what they did to Sam and me. No one knows the whole story of what happened that night except for me and the men who attacked me. Not even my friends who found me know. But I’m a damn good researcher, and I’ve uncovered information on all of them. I’ll end them, destroy their dreams like they did mine.

I wish I could hurt them physically. I’ve trained to fight and learned to use a gun, but I’m not sure I can kill them. I’m not heartless like them. They left me for dead, only to discover I survived. After that, I had to disappear.

My phone goes off again, breaking me from my thoughts, and again, I send it to voicemail. If it were important, they’d leave me a message, but they don’t. I hate when people do that. Why can’t they leave a message or text me?

“Hawksley, don’t you think you should answer that?” my boss barks at me.

“No, sir.”

I power off my phone and turn back to my tablet, ready to dive into my next story. I have several ideas, one of which I shouldn’t even consider. I should let it go since it doesn’t focus on what’s happening here locally. But living in LA, where the latest gossip could be the next bestseller, it’s hard to ignore. I’ve worked for this online magazine for years now, and one thing we’re good at is sniffing out a story.

As the meeting concludes, my boss asks me to stay.

“What are you thinking of doing next?”

“I’m still deciding.”

He knows I’m lying. When he hired me five years ago as a researcher, he watched me develop into the award-winning reporter I am today. I was a month away from graduating with my master’s in journalism when he took a chance on me. At the time, I worked remotely from Seattle while the business was based in Los Angeles. He knows I’m tenacious and hate to give up.

He just stands there, staring me down.

“Fine. I have a couple of thoughts.” I give in.

“I heard you’ve been asking about some politicians in Rhode Island. Why is that?”

He doesn’t know I’m from Rhode Island. No one here does. I moved to Seattle, changed my last name, and had an entirely new identity created to protect myself. Moving here only reinforced that new life.

When I left for Seattle, my doctors in Eastport didn’t want me to go. They said I wasn’t stable enough, but we had no choice. My attackers had killed someone close to me. I had to leave in order to protect everyone else I cared about. Shortly after we arrived, I met with doctors and surgeons to begin the many surgeries I would need for my recovery. I also learned how to be independent. The hardest part was leaving everyone I cared about behind. I let the man I love think I no longer loved him.

All to save them.

I only had Wayne, now a very good friend and father figure, to help me. He got me set up at a local university, arranging for nurses to take care of me while I healed. He also helped me to get to know the area and learn my new background. He still comes to visit me regularly.

It’s taken a lot of therapy for me to learn how to care for myself, but I would still give my life to protect them all. I still put everyone before me. No matter what my counselor says, they will always be my priority. I love them all, and after Sam died, I felt the need to protect the others even more. I harbor so much guilt over his death. It wasn’t an accident that killed him. He died because of me. I took him away from the woman he loved and his newborn baby. Me. I did that. And I’ll never forgive myself for it. All because I wanted justice.

Justice will never happen now, at least not the kind I craved. I’ll have to do it the illegal way. I’ll make them all regret killing Sam and hurting me.

“Well, are you going to tell me?” My boss interrupts my thoughts.

“Not yet. I’m still doing research and making comparisons.”

“I’ve got you set up to attend that romance book signing in Dallas in March.”

I start to protest, but he raises his hand to stop me.

“Now listen up. It’s time you moved on from all the doom-and-gloom stories. The readers want something fun, and with Monica on maternity leave, you’re up. I’ve already booked your tickets and hotel. Besides, it will get you out of town for a bit, let the heat with the gangs cool down.”

“Fine.” I turn and head back to my desk.

It’s been a long day already, and it’s barely noon. Time to turn my phone back on and wake up my computer.

The headlines for Eastport, Rhode Island, stare back at me.

Hometown boy goes big, running for governor at the ripe age of 29.

A full-body shiver runs through me, and the fear I’ve carried for years crawls across my skin. The anger is there too. I once thought I would settle down in Eastport and have children after my husband did his stint in the military. But I was wrong. One night destroyed all those dreams and my life. It destroyed the woman I was becoming, leaving the one I am now.

I shake off the thoughts and get out of my head as my cell phone rings. It’s an unknown number again.

“What?” I snap. I’ve had enough. “Can’t you leave a voicemail?”

“I’m sorry. Is this Ms. Hawksley?” A woman’s voice comes across the line. She sounds so formal, her speech slightly stilted.

“Who is this?” I don’t give out any information until I know who it is. I have too much to protect.

“This is Loreen Ambrose with the Rhode Island Department of Children and Youth Services. I need to verify that I’m speaking to Ms. Blythe Hawksley before I reveal any more information.”

Memories of DCYF flash through my mind. I remember them coming to check on me while I was growing up. Along with those memories come thoughts of Karyn and Clark. I was a lucky kid in the sense that my foster parents loved me and wanted to adopt me. But the state wouldn’t let them. There was some issue with my father never signing off his rights, and he couldn’t be found. I barely remember him. All my memories of fatherly love are of Clark. He would help me with my homework, giving me extra lessons so I was advanced in all my classes.

I didn’t get away fast enough to protect them. I know their deaths are related to what happened to me. They had wanted to go to the police. They wanted to get justice for me. Instead, I got them killed.

They would never have driven as fast as the sheriff’s department claimed. Karyn and Clark were sticklers for the law and rules. I was told their car rolled several times as it went off the embankment, and neither of them had their seat belts on. They had always believed in safety. I was still in the hospital recovering when they were killed.

“Ma’am, are you there?”

I shake off the memories and the pain. It’s a pain I’ve learned to live with. I have to in order to protect all of them.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I am Ms. Hawksley.”

“I’m calling to inform you that you’ve been named as guardian for Hartley Grimes?—”

“What? Where is Oliver?”

My body starts to tremble as the panic hits me. I stand up from my desk and glance around the room. I’m on the 20th floor of a skyscraper in downtown Los Angeles. There is no way they could have found me. Yet, I’m scared. I’m scared that someone I work with has betrayed me. That after all these years, I’ve finally been found.

People are starting to stare at me. I slowly sit down so they don’t think I’m crazier than I am. I don’t take my eyes off them or the exit. I need to get out of here. The urge to flee is overwhelming.

“The police were unable to contact you, but they will have questions for you. I’m sorry to inform you that Oliver committed suicide last night.”

Her words don’t make sense to me. Oliver would have never left Hartley alone. Hartley had already lost his parents. He wouldn’t have abandoned his grandson.

“No,” I yell, gaining everyone’s attention again. “It’s not possible. He wouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Give me your number, and I’ll call you right back.” My hand shakes as I grip the pen, not believing what I’m hearing.

She rattles off her number, and I hang up as she continues speaking. I have to verify if this is true. She could be fishing for information, trying to learn my location.

I move quickly back to the empty conference room, closing and locking the door for privacy. I walk over to the plate-glass windows and look out over the city that has almost become home to me. The sun is shining through all the pollution in the air, causing it to look foggy. I can just make out the ocean in the distance.

I clear my throat. The strain of the stress is causing my voice to get raspier. That wound never fully healed. My throat is permanently damaged from nearly being choked to death. My roommate, Sonja, jokes I could get a job as a phone sex operator, but I hate it. It’s a reminder of what they did to me. I try to calm my racing heart and dial the only number I can. The only person who will know if Oliver is really dead.

“I wondered how long it would take for you to call me,” Wayne says by way of greeting. He should have called me first to warn me. Why didn’t he call me?

“It’s true, then.” A sob rips from my chest. I scream as pain tears through my heart. “I did this.” I cry harder as pounding sounds on the door behind me.

The phone slips from my hands as I fall to my knees. I beat on the glass of the window and wish it would break so I could fall to my death. If I had died that night, none of this would be happening. Sam would be alive. Oliver would be alive. Hartley would have never lost all his family.

Arms wrap around me, and I scream, jumping away. My body slams into the glass. I still don’t care to be touched.

My boss picks up my phone and starts talking, identifying himself and questioning who’s on the line.

“I n-need it.” My voice cracks as I reach for my phone. My boss hands it back to me. “Please, D-Dad, tell me it’s a nightmare. That I’m asleep. It’s not real. Just fucking pinch me, already,” I yell into the phone. Everyone knows Wayne as my dad, and even though I’m hurting and my mind is reeling, I have to continue our charade. He’s now my only contact from my old life.

“It’s real. He’s gone. I don’t believe it. I wanted to call you, but I’ve been on the line all morning, trying to get things taken care of. Now, get up and be the warrior I know you have become. Hartley needs you. We all need you. It’s time.” He’s referring to the plan we started years ago. Not only have we dug up dirt on all four of my attackers, but we found a couple of other women they attacked too. One died from the attack, and the other ran. We suspect she’s in hiding like me. We’ve found her, though.

“I can’t. What if?—”

“You can do this. I know you can, sweetheart. I’m working on getting a private jet for you by the time you get to the airport. I’ll protect you. I can hire a company. There’s a really good one here now. Come home. Call me when you get a car service to take you to the airport. I’ll pick you up when you land. I have to go. I need to find you transportation.” He hangs up, and I try to calm my breathing.

I focus on the techniques I’ve learned to use when the panic sets in. Slowly, I brush myself off and stand up on trembling legs. I take several breaths. Each one is a painful reminder that I can breathe while two more of my loved ones can’t.

“I’m sorry, sir. I just learned that a man I was very close to has died. I need to take some time off and go back home for a bit.”

“Whatever you need, Blythe. Can I help?”

I shake my head and rush to my desk to grab my things. Once I reach the lobby, I dial the caseworker back.

“I’m so sorry. I’m on my way. Where is Hartley now?”

“He’s staying with some friends of his instead of in a group home. The father is a paramedic. Trevor Myer.”

Everything in my body freezes at the mention of that name. I stop dead in the middle of the lobby. Memories of the man flash behind my eyes. I couldn’t see his face, but I remember his words. I remember his name. He tried to help me that night, but I was too far gone, praying death would take me.

“Ms. Hawksley, are you there?” The woman’s voice shakes me from the memory.

“Yes. I’m here. There is a flight waiting for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” My voice is becoming more and more strained.

“Call me as soon as you land.”

I add her number to my contacts before continuing out of the building.

The next person I dial is my best friend, Briar. I was seventeen and she was fifteen when we met in college. We were both advanced for our ages, but she’s a genius. Now, she helps run a multinational company with another friend of ours back in Seattle. She is also the mother to a young boy. Briar won’t tell me who the father is, but I have my suspicions.

I hated leaving Seattle and coming to Los Angeles. But my job brought me here, and I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.

“Hey, girl.” Briar laughs as she answers the phone.

I needed her when I didn’t want her to be my friend. I had walked away from my best friends back in Eastport, and Briar forced her way into my life. She became very important to me.

“I need your help.”

“Anything,” she responds, her tone shifting to serious. “You know that.”

I clear my throat, trying to calm my nerves. When I get stressed like this, I can sometimes lose my voice completely.

“I need you to do what you do best. Get me all the information you can on those names I gave you years ago. It’s time. I’ll be on a plane flying back to Eastport.”

Briar only knows some of what I went through back there.

“Why? What’s changed?”

“Oliver was killed. I need to get to Hartley.”

“Get packed. I’ll have a car waiting at the curb for you. They’ll take you to the airport. You have an hour.”

“B-But Wayne is already working on getting me a flight.”

“I can have the jet there in an hour. Call Wayne back and tell him I’ve got this. I’ll get you the password to the online cloud where all the information is stored.” She hangs up.

Instead of heading to the bus stop, I order an Uber to take me to my condo. As soon as I step through the door, the last of my resolve shatters, and panic sets in. I drop to my knees and fall forward. With the little strength I have left, I dial my counselor’s emergency number.

“Blythe?” She answers on the first ring.

I try to speak, but my breathing is ragged.

“Okay. Let’s focus on your breathing,” she instructs, knowing exactly what I need.

I take a deep breath when she tells me to, then exhale. Slowly, she guides me through the anxiety, helping me regain control. When I’m finally able to speak, I pick up the phone and rise from the fetal position I collapsed into on the floor.

“I can talk now.”

“It’s been a couple of years since you’ve gotten that bad. What’s going on?” she asks, and I explain what happened. “Going back is going to be hard, but it’s time. You need the closure.” She pauses. “Closure of the loss of both him and the others.” She doesn’t say his name or anything more, but it still tears at my heart. “Use this number if you need me.”

“I will.” I hang up, then rush to get packed.

I glance down at my outfit and decide it will have to do. I’m wearing a black high-waisted skirt with a slit up one leg, a black silky tank top, and a white button-down shirt. A black belt cinches my waist, and the black high heels make my long legs look even longer. I should change into jeans, but I’m too focused on getting to the airport. I need to get to Hartley as soon as possible. My panic attack added a time crunch to everything. The car is probably already waiting for me downstairs.

As I race back to the elevator, I call Wayne to let him know Briar has the jet heading this way. He’s relieved. He was struggling to secure one on such short notice.

O nce I’m settled on the private jet, I pull out my laptop and enter the dark web. Briar taught me how to dig for information here. I search each of the men who attacked me and find that most of them are still up to no good.

I access the cloud storage and read through the information Briar has been collecting. One piece of information shocks me. The corrupt sheriff who let my attackers get away with murder is in a special facility for people with severe brain injuries. He was attacked a few years ago by an unknown assailant and left for dead. His son is now the chief deputy sheriff. I briefly wonder if he’s as dirty as his father. It’s a valid thought. After all, he is working for another corrupt sheriff.

The current sheriff happens to be one of my attackers. I remember how he didn’t want to rape me, but he still did. He was also one of the men who held me down as the others beat me.

Wayne and I have decided he’d be the first to fall. It will draw the attention of the state police and force an investigation into the department.

My fingers itch to search for information on Reed, to see what he’s up to, but I can’t. I promised myself I wouldn’t.

I told Reed to move on, but it still hurts that he never tried to find me. He was in the Air Force as a pararescue, but Wayne said he never mentioned me after I’d been gone for six months. Before that, I guess he had been searching, but he gave up. He didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I want him to be happy, and I know I can’t be that woman for him. Too much has already happened. But if I found out he really did move on, it would hurt.

When this is all done, if this doesn’t go the way I plan, I could face jail time for what I’m going to do. Well, what I want to do. I want these men to suffer the way I did. Just looking at their pictures causes my body to tremble in fear.

I can’t stop the memory as it slams into my mind. I can still feel each strike of the bat, breaking my bones. Each one of them forcing themselves on me, penetrating my body. And the blood… The scent of coppery essence fills my nostrils as I recall the innocent life draining from me.

A sob cracks from my throat, and I take a deep breath, pushing down the pain. I close my laptop, feeling the weight of everything, and decide I need to rest. Sleep is my only escape before I get there.