Page 26

twenty-four

Out of the Woods

Noah

" Y ou should grab one of those chairs, too," Silas says as I dig through the kitchen drawers for zip ties.

I know they were here. She asked me to run over and grab them once for the café.

Because she trusted me with a key to her house. She gave me a home and her dead daughter's clothes.

She called me sweetheart and darling, and I let a couple of murderers rob her house, and then one of them beat her with a shovel, and now I'm going to help them tie her to a chair.

I'm a bad person. I wonder if I was born this way—if it was always me, like Tate said, or if it was them. Maybe it was a disease, and I got infected somewhere else along the way, and now, it's burrowed so far into my psyche that I'll never be able to escape it. Because I'll never not choose them. Even when I don't want to.

I could have warned Jodie, but I didn't. There was a voice in my head telling me to stop Silas, that we all belong in jail and to just let it be over. But it was quiet.

It was loud when I first arrived here—beaten, broken, and terrified, the images from that night still vivid and fresh in my mind. It wanted me to go to the police. But slowly, those images faded, becoming black and white, and in grey scale, bloodstains and vacant eyes don't look so bad.

Now, the voice is so quiet, its presence so rare, I barely have to ignore it anymore. It just fades into the background the way it is now.

I finally find the zip ties and drag one of the chairs from the kitchen table into the living room, stepping around Jodie's feet and stopping in front of Silas.

I can't even look at her.

"Noah?"

"What?"

"I want you to know that we don't just go around killing people, okay? This is not what our life is going to be like," Silas says.

"Okay."

"Hey." He stands and grabs me by the arm, turning me to face him. "I mean it. It's going to be peaceful. And there won't be any more of this. I promise."

"Peaceful?" I scoff. "With Tate?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, right."

"You'll see, Noah. We belong together—all three of us. That's how it's supposed to be. We'll be able to rest." He wraps his arms around my waist. "I haven't been able to rest in so long."

"It's a nice idea, Silas," I say, shrugging him off. "But we're a fucking mess. I don't think rest and peace are in the cards for any of us."

He frowns. "We should start zip tying her hands and feet. "

"This should help," Tate says with duct tape in one hand and rope in the other.

Yeah, I'm a bad person. I'm a really bad person.

Silas holds Jodie in place while I zip tie her hands and feet and Tate ties her arms and torso to the chair with the rope. Once I'm done with the zip ties, I grab the duct tape and wrap her limp limbs with that, too.

Realizing she's secured, Silas takes a step back, admiring our work.

"Maybe I should stab her a little," he says.

"What? No. You're not going to stab her a little ."

"It might be a good idea to keep her weak, Noah," Tate agrees.

"No, Tate."

"Hmm…okay. I'll be right back."

I don't ask Silas where he's going, but I have a pretty good idea when he heads for the staircase.

Just as I rip the duct tape on her legs, deeming her efficiently secured, Jodie jerks awake, screaming.

"Help! Someone help me!" she shouts. Then she looks down at me. She tries kicking me, but her efforts are futile. "You evil little bitch! You're going to rot in hell for this!"

"Uh, can I get that tape, Noah?" Tate asks.

But I ignore him.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. "You have to believe me—I never wanted to hurt you. We're just going to leave, okay? Someone will find you, and you'll be okay."

"Bullshit," she says. "You're a fucking serial killer! You took advantage of me. If I had any idea who you really were and what you did, I never would have shown you an ounce of kindness." She spits on my face, and I gasp, wiping it away with my shirt. "I should have shot you in the goddamn parking lot."

"You sure I can't kill her?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. My real mom shot me, too, remember? I can take it."

Still, it hurts. I spent a lot of the last year thinking if I'd had a mom like Jodie, I could've met someone nice like Mason, and I would have been different. Different things would have made me happy, and that version of me would have gone to the police at the carnival; she wouldn't have gotten infected.

And I loved her, too. I jumped into the hole for her. But that's something she'll never know or understand.

"When they catch you, I hope they shoot first and ask questions later. How could you do this to me!?"

"I'm saving you!" I yell back at her, realizing I sound exactly like them. "They were going to kill you, and now…" I shrug. "Now, you just get to sit in a chair for a while. And that's not that big of a fucking deal. I've been through worse."

"Mmm…true," Tate says. He sits on the sofa, props his feet up on the table, and fucks around with her revolver. "I've seen it, and I've caused it."

"Lilah…" She pauses before correcting herself. "Noah…" She grimaces, the name rolling off her tongue like a disease. "If there is any goodness in you, you will let…me…go."

I shake my head. "I can't do that."

"God, tape her damn mouth, Noah," Tate bemoans, rolling his eyes .

"Turn yourself in," she continues. "It's the right thing to do. You're going to get caught, anyway. And you deserve it. You know you deserve it. Do it for your dead mother."

"Eh, wrong button," Tate says. "Did you hear the part where Noah's mom shot her? She let her husband abuse her, too."

But she is getting to me…just a little bit. It's not that I want to go to jail. I just don't want to disappoint one more person. I don't want to be a plague on someone else's life.

"Is that true?" she asks, her voice softening. "A court will understand something like that, L-Noah. If you were being abused at home, and you were coerced into killing—"

"I didn't kill anyone!"

"You have to turn yourself in. You know it's the right thing to do. If they kill more people, that will be on you."

I shake my head. "Silas said they won't. He said they don't hurt people, and we'd just…live in peace."

Jodie throws her head back and laughs. "Oh, sure. If the other mass murderer says you'll live in peace, then it has to be true." Her words fade into laughter. Once she finally calms down, she adds, "You will never know peace."

My cheeks burn, and my eyes sting with fresh tears.

"Noah?" Tate calls. "He's not lying."

"Well…have you killed anyone else?"

"Just the hiker," he says. "And…one other man. That's the truth."

"That blood's on you," Jodie says. "You helped him get away, didn't you?"

I blink, sending thick tears down my cheeks just as Silas descends the staircase .

"Not exactly," I almost whisper.

"Fucking finally," Tate says. "I'm getting bored with this bitch. What'd I tell you, Noah? The second this woman found out who you were, she went after you with a gun. She doesn't care about you—she doesn't care about what actually happened. Don't fucking listen to her."

"I'm not going to turn myself in," I tell her. "I don't want to hurt them; I love them." I shrug. "I can't help it. They're my family."

"Get me the fuck out of here now!" she screams. "Help! Somebody fucking help me."

"Ugh, god," Silas says, taking the tape from me. "That fucking accent—it grates on my nerves."

"You're ugly, you know that?" Jodie says, spitting at me again. "Inside and out. You fuck them both, too, don't you? I bet your mama is glad she's dead; she doesn't have to see what a nasty little whore you are anymore. God will punish you! I hope you die…slowly and painful—"

Before she can finish the sentence, Silas tosses a few pills into her mouth and tapes it shut, wrapping it around the back of her head and through her hair before tearing it off.

"Let's go," Silas says.

Tate gets up from the sofa and moves toward the door, but I stay there, frozen, her eyes pleading with me to stay, to help, to do something that isn't just leave her here and run off with a couple of serial killers.

"Hey, baby?" Silas says, doubling back. He takes me by the hand and places a hand on my cheek, brushing a tear away with his thumb. "Don't listen to her. You're beautiful, and there's nothing wrong with you. I'm going to take care of you now, okay? The way you deserve—the way I should have been taking care of you all along."

She's searching my eyes, perhaps hoping to find that fabled ounce of good. But Tate's right, too. When she learned my name, she came after me with a gun. When I saved her life, she spit on me and told me she hopes I'll die and rot in hell. She called me ugly.

Mia called me ugly. Too ugly to love.

And my mom did call me a whore.

There's a knock at the door. I look at Tate, standing in the back doorway, but it wasn't him.

"Jodie!" Raymond, her boyfriend, calls out. "Are you home?"

His fist pounds against the door again, and Jodie smiles beneath the tape.

"I'll get it," I say, glaring at her over my shoulder while I grab the knife from the coffee table.

She's not smiling anymore.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Silas asks, following me toward the front door. When I don't answer, he pulls another knife from the counter and stands close behind me as I open it.

"Hi, you must be Raymond," I say, smiling. "I'm Lilah; I live in the apartment over the garage."

"Oh, hi, Lilah," Raymond says. "I've heard a lot about you. What are you doing here? Is Jodie home?"

"Yeah, she's upstairs sleeping. I just came over to do some laundry. Come in. "

"Oh, well, I worked second shift today, and she asked me to come by after work, but she wasn't picking up her phone. I guess that's why."

Raymond laughs a little, and I step aside, letting him pass me into the home. He removes his jacket, hanging it on one of the hooks near the door, and then he sees her.

And I drive the knife into his back in front of her…not so much for self-preservation as for revenge. Because I loved her, and I jumped in the fucking hole for her.

But there are only two people who would ever jump in the hole for me.

I pull the knife out and stab him again and again, stopping once he falls to the ground.

But he isn't dead. I must not be good at it.

"Help…" Raymond cries.

A sputtering sound comes from somewhere in the back of his throat as he pulls himself forward on his stomach toward Jodie, maybe moving a foot or two, before Tate takes the knife from me, pulls the man's head back by his hair, and slices across his neck deep enough to expose the bone.

I watch the blood run from his slit throat, seeping into the white shag rug beneath him. And I can't help it—I cry.

I did it. I finally gave in and became what they all already thought I was, anyway. In a way, it's a relief—only because I don't have to scream that it wasn't me anymore. I can just let it be.

"I knew it," Tate says. He releases Raymond's hair, letting the man's head drop onto the floor, and then beams at me like he's proud, but I ignore him .

"And that was your fault," I shout through tears to Jodie as she screams from behind the tape. Just. Like. Him. "Too bad you had to spend so much time running your mouth."

"Noah? Baby? Are you okay?"

I look at Silas, wiping my eyes with my wrists. "We should tip her chair over. I've seen movies where the person tips the chair over, it breaks, and then they get free."

"Okay." Silas walks around me and then tips the chair onto its side. "Wash your hands, baby. We'll get you changed in the car."

I walk to the sink, stopping to stare at a Fabio-esque crucified Jesus on the wall. "Don't worry, Jodie," I say, my tone just lifeless as I feel inside. "You're the good guy here. I'm sure god will save you."

I wash my hands in the sink, and then leave through the back door with Silas's hand on the small of my back. When I walk past Tate, he's laughing.

"I knew you were a killer," he says as we walk toward the car. "I fucking knew it. You're no better than us. I bet you feel better now, don't you, Noah? I bet you feel free. Do you feel like a god?"

"Leave me alone, Tate."

"Take off your clothes, and we'll throw them in the dumpster," Silas says, opening the trunk. "Then, we'll go. I'm driving."

"I've got shotgun," I say as I sift through the bag of clothing for something warm to change into. "I'm not sitting by him."

Tate stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs. "That's fine, Noah. I don't need you to sit by me. "

I can tell he isn't finished talking, but I ignore him and start stripping down; as I do, Silas takes my clothes from me and tosses them into the dumpster.

"I just need one thing from you," he says.

"Tate, leave her alone. Just get in the car."

"It's just one really, really small thing."

"I don't care what you want."

"I just want you to say that you're just like me—that's all. I think we'll both feel a lot better."

"Tate, she's not," Silas says. "She's not like us. And she's been through too fucking much for you to be doing this shit to her right now."

I pull my sweatshirt over my head and walk around to the passenger side of the car with Tate behind me. As I open the car door, he opens his fucking mouth again.

"Okay, but Noah? Can you just—"

"What?" I shout, whipping around to face him. "Can I just what?" I shove him hard in the chest with both hands. "What the fuck do you want from me, Tate? Huh? Do you want me to admit that I'm just like you? Fine." I throw my hands up in defeat. "Of course, I'm like you. You made me!"

He smiles. "Thank you."

"Fuck you!"

I scowl at him and get into the vehicle, slamming the door hard behind me. Tate gets in behind me, calm and quiet, closing his door softly.

Silas takes my hand, lacing my fingers with his own, and pulls out of the alley .

And Tate taps his fingers against the window. Tappity-fucking-tap. I don't know if it's just to piss me off or because he can't just fucking sit still and quiet, but if it's the former, it's working. I grit my teeth until Silas turns on the radio, drowning him out.

We drive like that for thirty minutes or so—Silas focusing on the road ahead, Tate with his incessant tapping and nearly constant shifting in the backseat, me with my thoughts and a splitting headache. And I'm exhausted.

I rest my head on the center console, Silas's hand still clasped in mine, and close my eyes.

I wonder if he's disappointed in me. Quiet is normal for us, but he's always put me on a pedestal. He babied me; he treated me like I was this shiny, new, innocent thing. I never asked for it, but he did it anyway.

I bring his hand to my mouth and press my lips to his skin, and then leave it there so I can smell him.

He promised me peace. But how the hell are the three of us going to live in peace? Last night, I was sure I didn't even want to live.

And if I'm honest, we'd probably all be a little better off if I didn't.

"You know, if you want to lie down, Noah, there's more room back here," Tate says.

"No, thanks. I'm fine here."

"Yeah, I get that," Tate says. "He's all big and muscly; makes you feel safe, right?"

I ignore him, but…yeah. Pretty much.

"Like a tiny little baby," he continues. "And he's sexy. Smells really good. Good kisser, too."

"Tate…" Si las laughs, shaking his head. "I don't think she wants to hear you talk right now."

"No, he's right, though," I say softly. "You do make me feel safe. And all the other things, too. Silas?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you still want me? Even though I'm…bad?"

"You're not bad, Noah," Silas says. "You're still a good girl. There's nothing you could do that would ever change my mind about you, okay?"

"What about me?" Tate asks. "Am I a good boy?"

"No, absolutely not," Silas says. "But I'm happy. I know I'm probably the only one. I know it's selfish, and you're not happy, Noah. I can feel it coming off of you, filling ever corner of this small space, so don't think I don't know it." He rubs his thumb against my hand. "But you told me you were happy last night. And this is how it's supposed to be—we're supposed to be together. We're a family. It will get better. This is the only way it can get better."

My eyes well with tears. I swallow a lump in my throat to stifle a sob, grateful for the radio right now, even though it's breaking into static.

"Don't do that to me again, Noah," he adds. "You have to promise."

I stay silent, unwilling to make a promise I'm not sure I can keep.

"You should get some sleep, Noah," Tate says. He leans forward, resting his head against Silas's arm, and runs his fingers into my hair. "It's a really long drive."

"You don't even want me here. "

"Mmm…that's not exactly true. I think you know that. I'm not that good of a liar."

"Yes, you are," I whisper.

"Do you want to know where we're going now?" he asks.

I don't answer, so he continues, stroking my hair.

"There's a small community in the Northwest Territories. They're going to give us a house and let us live there as long as we follow their rules."

"Why would they do that? Do they know who you are?"

"No," he says. "They don't care who we are."

"They aren't giving us a house," Silas clarifies. "We're smuggling enough guns and ammo for the entire community to hunt through the winter in the walls of this vehicle. That's what they get out of it. That's one of their rules—everyone contributes."

"So, it's a cult."

"I think they prefer the term off-grid community ," Tate says.

"You'll like it, Noah," Silas says. "It's peaceful. The people there live without televisions and the internet. There are no newspapers. No one will ever look at us twice."

"We're a biracial queer throuple wanted for murder. Are you sure we'll fit right in with the cult? I've watched a lot of cult documentaries; they never end well. Who or what are we supposed to be worshipping?"

"You called us a throuple. That's sweet," Tate says.

"Shut up, Tate."

"I'm sure," Silas says. "You think I'm unaware of who we are and how we look? I'd never put us in danger like that. And it's not a cult, Noah; there's no religion involved."

"Okay," I relent.

But I don't really believe him. I don't believe any of it. When I close my eyes, I don't see peace. I don't know how to see peace; I have no idea what that would even look like. I still see a body impaled on a wrought iron fence and my mother's dead green eyes when Silas stepped around her body on our living room floor, still open and following me out the door.

I see an open grave filling with muddy water, and now I see blood staining Jodie's white area rug and the look in her eyes when she realized I'm a monster.

But in grey scale—so it's not that bad. It's just enough to remind me that I'm not the kind of person who gets things like peace and quiet. Still, when I sleep, I don't have nightmares.