Page 63 of Last Seen

Chapter Forty-Four

Catriona

Darkness is something real. A presence.

I lived in darkness for so long that I still find comfort in it. Being in the light makes me nervous. Uncomfortable. Sounds, too. I’m sensitive to everything, prefer to use my inner sonar to move about.

Of course, I have to exist in the light, because I have to take care of my charges. I am their lifeline to the world. I do what is required of me because not doing so means many will be lost. And I can’t let that happen.

I almost escaped once. What he did to me when he dragged me back to the underground warrants description, for it is not what you think. Oh, yes, he did plenty of that. But after a time one can put aside the difficulty of being forced.

No, he did something so much worse.

He gave me a choice.

He’s given me many choices over the years, starting when he placed the knife in my hand and explained in no uncertain circumstances that although he struck the fatal blow to my mother’s heaving chest, it was me who actually did it.

Me, who would take the blame.

Me, who would, if we were caught, explain in minute detail every step of the process in the how, why, when, and where of my mother’s murder.

He spent three days explaining it to me with voice and hand until, I have to admit, I half believed I had done it.

I could certainly feel the silken caress of the knife as it split the skin under my palm.

I was his surrogate; he created the sensory memories to make it real.

Then he beat me, and other things, to make sure I understood the stakes.

That if I didn’t do as he said, he would find others to hurt, and make it clear that I was behind it.

Honestly, Halley, that choice was easy. I did it to save you.

For years, he thought you were dead. I knew you were alive. I knew you were safe.

I shouldn’t have gone to Brockville. It was a mistake, but that’s the problem with the kind of illness I have. Being able to stop myself from becoming obsessed with an idea is almost impossible. The voices inside me, you know. They sometimes make me do things I’d rather not.

I was tempting fate. I knew that. I knew there was a chance he would realize I was near, that strange sense he always had about me from the moment we met.

Putting myself back in his sphere was illogical on so many levels.

But writing quelled the demons, and Brockville was the best chance I had to make my work sing.

And since we’re being honest, because there’s no reason not to, I really did want to see him again.

I know that’s wrong. It’s sick, and twisted, to love your abuser.

Any psychologist would tell you that. Dr. Chowdhury tried, so many times, to help me fall out of love with the monster who made me.

Especially when I told her I had to seek him out and end things on my terms.

Without darkness, though, there can be no light.

I am the light to his darkness. I had to be. To save them. To save you. To keep you safe, and off his radar. I did everything I could to hide you from him.

Terrible things. Awful things. Unforgivable things.

He was the spider, yes. But I was the web.

Believe me when I say everything I’ve done is to keep you—them—us—safe.

I have tried to be their light in the darkness, too. Though I brought the dark with me, I am their only hope.

And now, my dear little sister, I am your light, as well.

You came for me, and I will love you for that forever.

I was so hard on you. Yes, I was a child.

Yes, I was jealous. Yes, I was overwhelmed with the fearsome creatures who lived in my head and screamed.

Yes, I reached into the darkness and pulled close the one creature who I thought truly loved me, loved me to my bones, to my very soul.

I was mistaken.

When he started to do to others what he’d done to me, I realized there was no hope for him. No hope for me.

But I loved you. I always loved you. Then, and now.

I am coming for you, sister.

I have the code to the chamber.

And I know how to get you out.