Running around a sloping wall, I ended up back outside, this time in a field of grass. Next to her was a section of untamed taller brown grass. It was dusk, but I could see mountains off in the distance all around us. I say ‘us’ because Isabella was in the center of the field, next to an old metal swing set, cradling a baby.
Adoration beamed from her as she rocked the no longer crying baby. Then she peered up at me, still standing by the cave’s entrance. “You found her, Angel of the Night.” Tears began to drip down her smiling face. “Just like I will find you… when it is time. Hold on to your Faith. It is with—” she gasped when the baby suddenly disappeared from her arms. “No.” Frantically, she looked around. “No!”
I spun around to search for the child. Behind me, I found the dilapidated home where I had rescued Scarlett. “No.”
A wild wind started blowing. I could hear rusty swings creaking in the growing storm.
I turned back to Isabella to see her hair eerily whipping through the air. “Angel!” She stood still and deliberate, pointing at me with rage. “Do not call again! Do not call again!”
She kept repeating it until I finally noticed Sal, now close by her, with the baby in his arms. There was a gun floating in the air, pointed directly at his temple.
“Do not call again!” Isabella demanded.
In terror, I screamed, “I won’t! I won’t! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot him!”
My heart pounding, I sat up in bed, yelling, “I won’t! Don’t shoot—”
I was alone. A bit of dawn was shining in my room. The light wasn’t enough to keep me from swinging my legs over the edge of my bed and slipping into my shoes, nor taking off down the hallway. Sal should’ve responded to my screams.
Scarlett’s room was empty.
“No.”
I rushed into the living room, only to calm as soon as I spotted Scarlett and Sal sitting outside on the balcony’s bench swing. He had a blanket covering her and an arm around her shoulders. In her lap, she was holding her plastic cup.
Casually talking, I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but instantly recognized the shift in Scarlett as her body went rigid and her eyes vacant. She was experiencing a flashback. Just like her mother. I hadn’t realized Scarlett had lost memories until this very moment.
By the time Sal yelled for me, I was already running toward the door to get to Scarlett, who was now on her feet. In her trance state, her plastic cup had fallen because she believed her arms were being restrained above her head.
No! I couldn’t bear watching Scarlett stuck in this memory, so similar to Isabella’s. “Can you see me?” I quickly asked the one now gasping for air as if feeling horrible things. My stomach roiled and flipped.
Eerily distracted, she asked, “Angel?”
“Right here.” Trembling with worry, I lifted my arms over my head and grabbed hold of her suspended hands. If she was going to be violently strung up, I was going to be there with her. “Right in front of you.”
I wanted to scream as her eyes slammed shut, the memory stealing her from me again. “T-Two tired cars.”
I could barely breathe. “W-What? Two tire—” It dawned on me that she was talking of motorcycles.
Needing her free of the thought of being raped by motherfucking bikers, I released her hands and firmly grasped her exquisite face, now drawn and tense. I wasn’t going to let her experience more terror, not while my heart beat for her. “Scarlett, look at me.”
As if the imaginary rope had been cut, her arms fell. Her head lolled. “Scar. My name is Scar.”
Vile hatred toward anyone who had ever brought harm to this woman had my whole body quivering. The only thing that brought an ounce of solace was Sal’s shaking hand landing on my shoulder. “Breathe.” His voice shook. “We have her now.”
My voice quaked. “Sal, look at her.”
He was pale. “I am, and she’s in your arms.” I think he was trying to convince himself as much as me.
Scarlett’s legs gave out as she uttered, “Prospect.”
I yanked her to me, holding her up, wanting her so close our breaths became one. “Shh. No more prospect.” I angled my head over hers, wanting to shelter her from any attack, real or from the past. “You’re safe. No one will touch you again.” With deeply yearning revenge, I told Sal, “I will soon reach down throats and pull their balls up through their fucking mouths, then shove them back in and make them fucking chew. If this has anything to do with those fucking Steel Stallions, I will burn the whole God-forsaken club to the ground.”
He sneered, “I will strike the match.” He got on his cellphone and searched the web. “What do these fuckers’ patches look like? I must know so I can kill them on sight.”
We eventually got Scarlett calm. She even smiled, but the idea that she had hidden memories—and had to experience part of one again—seemed to drain her. The realization that her journey of healing was far from over seemed to be wounding her spirit.
Sal and I wanted Scarlett to get some rest, hence why we took her to her room. Even though the sun was up, she was still feeling the nighttime that usually scared her. Now, we knew why. It was when she became live entertainment for the vile men who had lost all the humanity they had been born with.
To offer comfort and safety, Sal and I each took a side. Lying next to the Giordano Princess, we covered her with a blanket. As we propped her back with a couple of pillows, she quietly asked, “What does the word sorry mean?”
Leaning up on his elbow, Sal eyed me as if I should be the one to answer.
On my side, I explained, “It is an apology. A word to describe regret or sorrow for something that has happened or something the person apologizing has done.”
“I’ve heard you,” she looked at me, then to Sal, “and you, say this.” She paused for a moment, then told us, “My mother said it to me once. After I woke to her with a knife.” She pointed up, then imitated her mother holding a knife, directly over Scarlett’s chest.
Oh my God.
Remembering Isabella in the cave, tormented over this knife, I never understood she had thought to use it to kill her daughter—wanting to end her child’s life to save her from all the rapes to come.
I whispered, “I’m sorry.” I meant it to both women.
Scarlett asked, “What would my life have been, had my mother succeeded,” she tapped her chest, “with the knife?”
Sal’s forehead fell to Scarlett’s shoulder. I think it was too much to look into her deep galaxy eyes and imagine us never being able to fall helplessly into them.
Gently, I explained, “You wouldn’t have a life.” Not that she’d had much of one staying alive.
Her mouth parted. “She wanted me dead?”
It was almost impossible to swallow. “She wanted you spared. She… wanted to keep you from all the suffering your ‘fathers’ would cause you.”
“She lost Faith?”
In sorrow and disbelief, Sal’s head slowly lifted, tears falling.
It was that amazing being around this spirit of grace.
Scarlett wiped one of his tears. “I am glad to still be alive. Here. With you two.”