Darkness Before Dawn (9 page)

"The fuck are you doing here, Con?" Dean asks from behind me.

"Grace asked me to wait for her while she showers," he replies with a shrug, not taking his eyes off me.

"Huh. When did you start dating?" Dean asks curiously, as I look between the two of them, wondering who the hell Grace is.

"Not long ago," the guy replies vaguely before returning his attention to me. His eyes travel my body, but something about the way he does it doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. When he looks back into my eyes his forehead wrinkles together, and he shakes his head in disbelief.

"How long?" he asks, turning around to face Dean.

"Soon. Fucking Fort Knox, you know."

"Yeah, dude, but...shit's gonna hit the fan soon. Rumors are going around and—fuck. You hear Jamie talked to my grandpa?" he asks.

Dean formally introduces me to Connor, who shakes my hand firmly and holds it in his grasp for a little too long.

For the next fifteen or twenty minutes I just sit there, quietly eating the pasta that Dean plated for me, while he and Connor speak in code. It's worse than listening to a conversation between Cole, Aubry, and Greg. I can tell these two have known each other for a long time. I don't know what shocks me more—the fact that they're such good friends, or the fact that Connor Benson, Mark's former client, that looks like he could be his own son, is sitting inches away from me and I can't say anything to him.

When I'm done eating, Dean takes my plate and waits for me to get up. The Grace girl never came down, so I guess I won't get to see her. Dean and Connor say goodbye to each other with a handshake and shoulder pat. I wave to Connor, but he strides over to me and wraps his arms around me, making me stiffen. His embrace reminds me of Cole's, and even though the thought of that makes me sad, something about it soothes me.

"I'm going to get you out of here," he whispers against my head before letting me go. He winks at me and turns around, leaving me gaping at his retreating figure.

Confusion clouds my head as I walk down the stairs, through the commercial kitchen of illegal shit, and into my room. I continue my dazed walk to the bathroom and think about Connor and his familiar face. Flashbacks of seeing him on the news with Mark at some point earlier this year invade my thoughts. He obviously knows who I am and the possibilities of what he could've been discussing with Dean make my heart flutter. When I walk back in the room, I see Dean sitting in the corner, playing with his phone. The phone I've dreamed of snatching away from him countless times so that I could use it to call somebody for help. The logical thing to do would be to call the police if I ever get a phone in my hands, but I'm too scared of what the consequences may be if I did that. I push my phone jacking thoughts aside and lay in bed quietly as I listen to him ramble about Alex and Jamie. I drift off into sleep and am awakened by the vibrating of his phone. I blink my eyes open, shifting in the bed to face Dean in the dark room, the only light coming from the phone held at his ear.

"Hey," he murmurs quietly. The softness in his voice sparks my interest; he never picks up the phone around me. "Nah, I'm still at Alex's. Yeah. You need anything? Call me if you do. And if he comes back you call the cops and call me next."

"Who was that? And why didn't you turn the light on?" I rasp as I sit up on the mattress. It is now pitch black in here and I can't see anything at all.

"My sister and I didn't wanna wake you up after I bored you to sleep giving you information about your kidnappers," he replies sarcastically.

I exhale harshly. "Sorry, I'm just so sleepy." I've never been this tired before in my life, so I chalk it up to the pregnancy. Dean has been giving me prenatal vitamins every day; he won't leave them here because he says it's not safe for anybody to know my
situation.
Because that's what it is, growing a child inside of one's body when you're being held hostage—a situation.

"I didn't know you had a sister."

He chuckles. "There's a lot you don't know about me, chick."

His words clink around in my head until they wedge themselves into my curiosity folder, and I'm thankful that he can't see my gaping face in the darkness.

I clear my throat. "You're right, so tell me. How old is your sister?"

I hear him exhale and shift off of the floor and I think he's leaving, until the edge of the mattress dips. My heart begins to beat rapidly, even though he's not close enough to touch me...yet. I squirm, moving myself back a little closer to the wall behind me and away from where I feel he is.

"Relax, chick. My ass was hurting from sitting on the floor. I'm not gonna hurt you." He takes a deep breath before muttering, "What the hell do I need to do to get you to understand I don't want to hurt you?"

"Why don't you? Everyone else here seems to not care whether or not I'm hurt."

"Hmm, why not hurt a pretty and innocent pregnant girl locked up? Eh...not my style," he says and I can hear the smile in his voice.

"You're an idiot," I mutter.

"Yeah, you've said," he replies, still smiling.

"So tell me," I push.

He groans. "My sister's twenty-four, has a three-year-old son. Cutest little boy in the world, really." My heart skips a beat, hearing the pride in his voice as he talks about his nephew.

"Do you have pictures?" I ask, already knowing the answer to that.

"Of course I do, what kind of uncle do you think I am?"

His phone lights up and he begins to scroll through his photo album. I try not to look too interested in seeing his pictures, I mean, I don't know if there are any naked people on there, but I'm too curious to care. I end up scooting right beside him and watching as he scrolls through photos of him by himself, with friends, Alex, and other people I don't recognize. There are a couple of him with a pretty brunette, he hovers on one of them before clicking on one of him with the most adorable little boy. In the picture, Dean is wearing a navy blue Cubs T-shirt and carrying the little boy, who is wearing the same outfit, on his shoulders. They're both smiling happily at the camera. I put my hand over his slowly, taking the phone from him, and he lets me. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time as I sit there, staring at the picture of him and the little boy. Tears fill my eyes as I look at their bright smiles and the bright sun and green grass around them. They're so happy. So free. And I'm so jealous.

"He really is the cutest kid ever," I say with a sniffle. "Can I look through the rest?"

"Sure," he whispers.

I scroll through the photos, stopping at the one he hovered on before. It's him and a beautiful girl with shoulder length dark brown hair and caramel colored eyes. She has a button nose and a dazzling smile, and Dean is standing beside her with an arm draped over her shoulder as he kisses the side of her face. The strangest sensation moves through me as I stare at them together.

"Who is she?" I ask in a clipped tone.

He laughs softly and scoots closer and he cups my chin to look at his face, which I can make out with the phone's light. "That's my sister Sandra," he replies, his eyes boring into mine. We look at each other for a long moment, drowning in silence, before he brushes his thumb over my cheek. I lick my dry lips, watching as his eyes drift down to them and his own lips part. "Do you want me to kiss you, chick?" he asks in a whisper that I can barely hear through the loud pounding in my ears.

My breath falters for a moment as I stare at him, wide-eyed, pondering his question, even though there's nothing to ponder. He can't. We can't.

"I'm pregnant," I whisper back, as if that places a chastity belt over my lips.

"I know," he says back just as quietly, moving his face closer to mine until I can feel his breath over my lips, though they're still not touching. "Fuck," he mutters before barely brushing my lips with his. The smell of cinnamon and cigarettes makes me snap out of the moment and I gulp down loudly while backing away from him. He follows suit, scooting his body so that our knees are no longer touching.

"Sorry," he says quietly.

I shake my head even though he can't see me without the light of the phone. "No. I just-"

"I know," he responds before I finish my sentence.

He takes the phone from my hands and gets up, muttering his good night as he steps out of the room, leaving me staring into the dark.

What the hell just happened?

Aimee and I pull up in front of her parents' house, our parents...I guess. I look up at the house I haven't seen in twenty-two years and feel absolutely nothing. According to Aimee, when she told her mom, Colleen, about me a couple of weeks ago, she fainted. Her dad, Camden, still doesn't believe it, and I don't blame him. I don't think I would believe it either. I step out of the car and look around, and that's when I see the house across the street and my chest starts to ache. The Home Alone house.
Blake.
I can't go anywhere without seeing her in everything I do. She's rooted so deep into me that no matter what happens, Blake has ruined me forever. She fixed me and broke me all at once.

Aimee stands next to me, wraps her arms around my waist and lays her head on my chest. "Don't worry. She'll come back to us, I know she will," she whispers.

I want nothing more than to believe that, but it's been so long. I do believe it, but I think she needs to be found, and I'm going to look for her.

"I know, Aimee. I know," I reply and steer her toward the front door.

She takes a step back and looks at me, holding my hands between us. "You know Blake would be horrified if she saw you right now, right? We're all hurting and worried about her, but you need to stay strong. Take care of yourself so that when you get her back you can take care of her too. You look like a mess. A ghost of yourself," she says, her voice breaking as her eyes fill with tears.

I take a breath, wishing I could offer positive words, but come up short. "That's all I am, Aim. A ghost of myself. I don't even know who I am without her."

A soft sob escapes her and she hugs me one last time, comforting me and herself at once. When she backs away again she wipes her tears and sniffles before leading the way again.

As we make it up the steps, the door swings open and a man and a woman appear in front of us. I've been seeing them on television for a while now, so I'm not surprised by how they look. Still, seeing them makes the color drain from my face as I stand on the steps of their colonial style house. The house I was taken from. The house I slept in, played in, potty trained in. The woman is looking at me with eyes that only a mother could have for her son, lost or not.

"Oh my god," she gasps as she clasps her hands over her mouth and tears stream out of her big green eyes. "It's really you."

Camden is staring at me as if he's trying to figure out whether or not I'm real.

I surprise myself, by stepping forward and extending my arms out to them before they both rush toward me. The woman clings to my neck as the man sandwiches her between us, holding us tightly. Aimee grabs on to my left arm and squeezes it. For a couple of minutes, we're as united as our family could be. Yet the more I think about family, the more I think of Blake. And even though these people, my blood, are holding me up, I feel myself shattering beneath them.

They eagerly lead me inside and we settle down in their living room.

"Wow," Camden says, his eyebrows pinched together. "I just can't believe it!"

I nod and give him a shrug and a slight smile, as Colleen looks at me, and touches my face and my arms continuously. I let her, because that's probably what I'll do when I finally have Blake in my arms again. Though it is a little strange coming from a woman that hasn't seen me in over twenty years, but a mother is a mother and her touch doesn't make me uncomfortable.

"Aimee tells us that you were involved with Blake Brennan before she went missing?" Camden asks, and I know I shouldn't feel the rage I feel at the question. He makes it sound so insignificant. No, I was not
involved
with Blake. You are not just
involved
with the person that causes your world to make sense. You live for that person. You breathe for that person. So no,
involved
, is not the word I would use to describe my relationship with Blake.

"Blake is everything to me. She's not somebody I'm
involved
with, she is my reason, my everything," I say calmly.