Jaden Baker (62 page)

“I was for sixteen years,” she said. “But not anymore.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was like he’d dreamed her into existence, this funny, beautiful woman. Only his dream could not compare to the real version of her. Kind, helpful, friendly, she was better than who he imagined. He had never been so well regarded, treated with so much dignity, than by her. She was special in a way she would never know and could never understand.

“You’re Molly,” he said again, in a voice just above a whisper.

This time she studied him.

“Molly Dalton,” he smiled, closing his eyes, sighing. My Molly.

“How did you know I went by Molly?” she asked, skepticism in her tone.

A peaceful smile stole over him. “I borrowed your books.”

She shook her head, confused. “What?” she asked.

“Your father is Chad Dalton. He’s some kind of doctor, a neurosurgeon, I guessed. Your house had an art gallery, a grand curved stairway, and double doors for an entrance. He loaned me your books, your father did, when he wouldn’t come down for a long time. I made him think it was his idea.” Jaden watched her. Libby’s face did not read joyfully like his.

Her face was pale, eyes shiny, mouth open.

“You know my father?” she asked, her voice hollow.

He nodded. “Very well,” he said. “He’s Archcroft.”

She shook her head and turned from him, putting her hands to her face.

This was not the reaction he expected. They shared a connection. He’d lived downstairs from her for four years. He knew her before she knew him. They wrote imaginary notes to each other. He dreamed of her.

Before he could say anything, she turned, her face red and tears flowing down her cheeks. She kept shaking her head, then glanced at his hands on the counter.

“No, that can’t be,” she cried. “It c-can’t be.”

He didn’t know what to say. Her lower lip quivered as more tears cascaded down her face. She wiped them, then ran out of the kitchen, heading for the stairs and her room.

“Libby, wait,” he said.

“No, just go away!” she shouted, hurtled up the stairs, sobbing now.

He chased her, knocked on her slammed door.

“Libby, please. Please open the door!”

She opened it with so much force, the wind of it blew her hair from her face. “Leave me alone! Just go AWAY!” she yelled, and slammed the door on his face.

He heard her howling in her room, as if her whole world had been ripped from her. Jaden stood at the door, staring at it, unsure what, if anything, he should say or do. He was not equipped to handle this. He hated that she was so upset. Listening to her cry eviscerated his soul. The sound was so terrible. He wanted to hold her.

Trinity and Tucker skirted down the hall, tails between their legs, ears pulled back. But Jaden stayed at the door, listening to her crying.

He reached for her door knob, put his fingers on it. They were numb. Everything inside him was numb.

She asked him to leave her alone. To go away. She yelled it with anger. She yelled at him. He hadn’t made anyone that angry in years, to yell with so much pain. Jaden didn’t want to upset Libby further. In that moment he wanted to do what she asked, and she wanted him to leave her.

Jaden walked downstairs, watching his feet thud on the steps. His backpack was on the floor in the kitchen. Jaden strapped it to him and looked outside. Cloudy again. He could still hear Libby crying, even from here.

She wanted him to leave.

Without a goodbye, Jaden picked up the notepad she’d written her blessing in and held it to his chest, just like he had her books. Remembering her address was easy. Maybe he’d send her a postcard, telling her he was sorry. But he didn’t know for what. Listening to her cry was torture for his ears, painful on the inside.

She wanted him to leave.

A light breeze blew in his face when he stepped outside. He walked with purpose down her gravel driveway, hitching up the backpack. He had a long way to go, better start now. It wouldn’t be dark for hours. The ferry terminal was thirteen miles from here. If he walked fast, he could get there in three or four hours. By this evening he’d be back in Seattle, and then make his way across the country.

He tried not to think of Libby.

He thought about what he’d do once he got to New York. Pick up where he left off? It was so far from here, he had plenty of time to think about what he would do there. The real question was where he should sleep tonight. It had been so long since he worried about that. He’d come full circle.

The rain started as a mist, leaving him damp. That was one thing he wouldn’t miss, the rapid changes in weather. Overcast mornings, sunny noons, stormy nights. A grab bag of climates. It would be so much simpler to travel to New York by car.

A car flew past him. It was a small black Honda, like Libby’s.

Jaden tried not to think about her, but all he saw was her face, how she screamed at him and told him to go away. She was so upset. It was the last memory he would have of her, the yelling, the anger.

He would buy a compass when he went through town, it would make traveling easier.

Her emotion changed when he mentioned Dalton. He was the reason she was angry. It was not Jaden’s fault that Dalton was with Archcroft, why would she be so upset with him? Dalton was a tool, a selfish, arrogant, egotistical man. Jaden had nothing to do with the way Dalton was, or how he behaved. Was it his fault Dalton and Archcroft had abducted him? No. Yet Libby was angry at Jaden. It was illogical.

How far had he gone? Two miles? Felt like it. It was hard to say; he hadn’t checked his watch before leaving the house. A couple hours? Who knows. Who cares. He had bigger issues to deal with than Libby’s irrationality. Jaden was prey, and Libby just a naive young woman.

But he couldn’t get mad at her. Try as he might, he simply couldn’t hold his exasperation longer than a few minutes. The further he walked from her house, the more distance he put between her and himself, the more dejected he felt. The past day and a half with her had been the best of his life. Even with Archcroft hunting him, Jaden had experienced happiness, real happiness for the first time. He trusted her implicitly, despite his rational side urging him not to. Jaden told Libby things he had never told anyone, and even now, after she dismissed him, he did not regret sharing with her. Libby was the only real human being he had confided in. For that he would always appreciate her, even if she hated him.

He was coming into town. It was five p.m. He had been walking for a few hours and he was hungry. Traveling on the road would get expensive, probably drain most of his savings.

What else could he have said? Why was Jaden to blame, to receive her fury, over something her father did? Jaden had done nothing wrong. His only sin was protecting himself. On his way upstairs with a glass of water, living in a nice home with good people, and it all changed. Dalton kidnapped him, locked him away under-ground for four years, spent every free moment of his life with Jaden, forcing him to do things against his will, making Jaden perform in front of other people. Dalton dedicated countless hours to Jaden, to making his life miserable, and then, on top of it all, after he tried getting away, Jaden was sent to Joseph Madrid for two years of sadism and maltreatment. It had all begun with Dalton, if he’d never taken Jaden, never spent so much time with him—

Oh.

He stopped. His eyes drifted out of focus as he stared at some rocks on the side of the road.

Oh!

Dalton spent time with
him
. Dalton kidnapped
him
. Libby’s father took his life and altered it, molded into something perverse, a life without purpose.

Libby’s words about her parents came back to him. They were absent. They gave their lives to research, to figuring out what made Jaden’s special mind tick.

They ignored her.

It was worse than that. They traded time, spent it with someone her age, a little boy underground. Because they thought Jaden was special.

Jaden looked at the backs of his hands, crisscrossed with scars.

Madrid did that. Madrid etched and burned every scar he had into his skin. Dalton had never laid an abusive finger on him. But Libby didn’t know that.

In five minutes, less than that—in three minutes, Libby had been told in not so many words that her father was a monster, a monster who ignored the special person that she was for someone else, a boy he kidnapped.

For once Libby had won the game of Who Has it Worse.

Lynn Baker, for all her problems, loved Jaden. Perhaps he was being delusional, but he thought if she hadn’t been addicted to her drugs, life would have been good. Christmases with stockings. Easter egg hunts. Helping him with homework when he came home from school. Having a dog and going to the beach, just her and him. But the drugs, she had to have her drugs. Libby’s theory had been his ridiculous hope, that her addiction addled her mind. But she still loved him.

Chad Dalton was sober. There was no excuse. He was an intelligent man. Learned. Scientific. Logical. He chose Jaden over his own little girl.

He spun and ran on the side of the road, with the traffic, sprinting for as fast and long as he could, through the light rain that hit his face like little nails. Why hadn’t he solved this sooner?
Of course
she was upset, she had every right to be. Not everything was about him, was it? Libby’s family, the people who should have loved and taken care of her, had abandoned her. Molly, a little girl in her room, reading her precious books, all alone. Like him. Dalton stole her books, some of her treasures, to give to someone else, to the person he cared about more.

His legs felt like rubber when he got to her driveway, but he didn’t care. He ran up it and burst through her unlocked front door and took the stairs two at a time.

Libby flung herself out of her room, a semi-automatic pistol in her hands.

Jaden halted and held his breath.

Libby lowered the gun and stuffed it behind her back.

For a silent minute, the two stared at each other. Jaden took a few more steps, one at a time, not crossing the final two. He had to look up at her. He removed his backpack and put it on the step with him. His heart and lungs were working hard to catch him. He had run for miles at a full sprint. Now that he was here, facing her, his mind buzzed with what to say next, if anything at all. “Sorry” wasn’t enough.

He had to tell her everything. Things had changed. She was involved. Dalton’s choices affected her as much as they affected him. Her scars were emotional. She had been rejected by her own parents because they didn’t find her interesting. He didn’t know what that was like, not to the extent she did.

She watched him, a frown in her red, swollen eyes. Her arms were crossed, muscles tensed. The way she stared at him was defensive, as if expecting some kind of attack.

“Your parents are fools,” he began, and he waited. She put her hand on the doorway and didn’t move, which was better than retreating and slamming it. “Foolish isn’t enough to describe them. Dalton spent too much time with me instead of you. I’m nothing compared to you. You’re incredible.” He looked away from her for a second as he gathered his thoughts. Everything. He had to say everything. Even if it was hard, or embarrassing, or whatever, he had to tell her. Yes it was risky, but he didn’t care. A big part of him wanted her to know. He needed to share with her, she deserved nothing less. After everything he experienced, telling Libby the full truth could not be any harder than living it. It was time to tell someone else, and she was the one who deserved the full story.

“There was so much time I had nothing to do, when Dalton wasn’t there. He supervised the exercises and tests. When he wasn’t there, I got bored. After some trickery, I got him to give me books. Your books. The first time I saw your name, Molly, written on the inside of a cover, with so much...frivolity...I stared at it. I loved the way you wrote your name—curling the Ys—and I imagined what you were like. I knew, even then, you were nothing like Dalton. I knew you were special.” He looked up at her, and her face was hard to read, but she listened. “Having your books there made me feel less alone. Your signature, you, made me feel safe.

“I’ve been terrified my whole life, always running or trying to run. There came a time where I did escape, when I clawed my way free and tried to get away. I almost made it, but they got me right as I was ready to burst out the doors of your house. The miserable life I had before got worse. I used to think Dalton was Satan incarnate, but he wasn’t. He was so lenient, and I knew he liked me. Your dad didn’t do things to me,” he said, putting emphasis on his statement.

Libby stared, stayed silent.

“There was a second man. His name is Joseph Madrid, and I only found that out yesterday. He made Dalton look pedestrian. He’s the one who did—who did things to me. I tried to kill myself. I hated life. I didn’t know what else to do but give it up. But Madrid wouldn’t let me go.

“When I got out, when I finally managed to break free, I thought I wanted to be alone because it was better that way. Being alone, I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t so miserable. But I wasn’t happy either. I didn’t believe in it. I couldn’t even fathom happiness as a concept. I watched people and I wondered how they went through life, when I couldn’t see any purpose to it.

“But you,” he said, and he saw Libby crying, slow individual tears rolling down her swollen cheeks. “You make me feel safe. I trust you, Libby, and I’ve never trusted anyone. You make me believe in happiness. Dalton’s an idiot for not spending every free second he had with you. Because if I had my way, if anything were up to me, I’d never be without you.” He took a deep breath, then sighed. “You are my purpose.”