“Why’d they allow you but not Mak?” I ask without thinking through how it might sound. It is only in Arek’s response that I am made aware.
“One was meant to be and the other wasn’t. Besides . . . I wasn’t going to accept anything less.”
I watch him for a moment as he taps his fingers on the door, but he won’t look at me.
\/\/\/
High on the mountain’s edge, beside a steep cliff, is a rustic cabin surrounded by a thick forest—very different than Arek’s home in the meadow. The terrain is so difficult that it takes a four-wheel drive to get there, but finally Sassi’s headlights land on the dark structure. As she turns off the car, she smiles at Kilon, “Home sweet home.”
He squeezes her hand.
Inside, I notice it is larger than it appears from the outside and, once the lights are on, it’s not nearly as threatening. It reminds me of the old lodge my grandmother had once taken me to where a bunch of stodgy men hung antlers on the walls and played poker till midnight, cussing like sailors and drinking scotch while emphatically selling their souls to the gambling demons. However, our group isn’t gambling with cards—just lives.
It is obvious why we have come to rest here before meeting Leigh. No one will ever know where we are or how to reach us. It is clear by their reaction that it has been years since even they have been here, as I catch sight of Kilon and Sassi sharing a kiss in the kitchen.
Before long we all sit together at the precipice of war—the generals and their army—knowing that Leigh is preparing the arrest. Sassi makes coffee and tea, and all I can do is watch the dance of the steam coming from my hot liquid while I pull my sweater closer. Outside, ice collects along the glass windows, making thin layers of crystal snowflakes.
“Leigh will meet us tomorrow.” Arek says.
Sassi can’t hide her feelings as she stands at the end of the table. “Leigh knows exactly what he is doing, and we are walking right into it . . . willingly.”
“We have no choice,” I say quietly.
“There is always a choice,” Arek counters.
Before this, I was always reminded that life would move on, whether I chose to go with it or not. If I pull the brakes, would the train continue to run away down a steep mountain? This was always mine—Willow’s —downfall, never believing the brakes would work. And as everyone’s phones ping suddenly, sweeping the table one at a time, it is like a crash course along the tracks. Each one of them becomes a casualty as they pull up whatever has been sent and each of their faces warns me of the danger that I have been expecting. My phone rests somewhere in Arek’s things, probably out of battery or no longer with service.
Kilon speaks to Arek in the other language for just a moment, obviously hoping I won’t understand, and most of it is too fast. “Don’t show her,” is all that I can make out.
The empty sound of a crowd whistling and cheering reverberates from the phones, but it is the shrill and uncontrollable begging and wailing from one person that hovers just above the masses. This cry contracts my skin and makes me sweat.
Sassi and Beckah set their phones down, unable to watch to the end, yet neither will look at me when their eyes glisten from emotion.
“Tell me,” my voice breaks.
Yet everyone stays quiet until Arek explodes with anger and throws his phone across the room, exiting outside to the snow before another eruption.
Peter’s phone is right next to me and I swiftly grab it out of his hands. “Don’t!” he warns while trying to retrieve it, although I won’t let him.
Sassi leans forward, “Willow, don’t.”
Yet the frozen video sits in the middle of the screen, so I press play. A video begins, instantly filling my ears with the same sound I heard already. The picture shakes as it passes over the shoulders of others. It changes direction this way and that, obviously being shot live and freehand. Men, women, and children are packed together so tightly they must be claustrophobic in the somewhat dark warehouse that is under construction. People chant and holler. The video pans around the room, finally landing on a man in the front of the gathering holding something in his red-covered hand. His lean muscles and tall frame are very familiar.
“Navin,” I whisper.
Yet it is the man, slumped in a chair, the side of his head bleeding down his neck and jeans that squeezes my lungs and makes my palms sweat. “Is that Ian?” I ask the room.
Yet no one says anything, except Sassi with her nurturing eyes. “Willow, give it to me.”
My cheeks are on fire, my temples sweating with panic. “Is it Ian?!” Yet the cry of the man in question answers me. Ian’s baritone groan rips my attention back to the video.
Navin forces Ian’s hand down on to his denim leg. My stomach instantly lurches, twisting until it cramps, when Navin pulls a rusty metal nail from a nearby table. Ian is anguished and defeated. His body convulses with pain and fear, yet fatigue weakens his voice. When his head turns and I can see his face, my hand instantly covers my mouth. He no longer looks like himself. His spirit has departed. Navin lifts a hammer from the table.
“Willow,” Sassi says sincerely.
Tears fall down Ian’s face as he sluggishly fights Navin, who holds Ian’s hand to his thigh. Whoever is shooting the video runs close, to get every angle, the need to share whatever happens with the world—to live this moment forever.
“Willow,” Sassi says again, this time the concern melds with stern care.
Navin slams the hammer down and the nail disappears into both Ian’s nailbed and leg. The sound of Ian’s agony steals whatever breath I have left.
“Willow.” Her slow voice is like palms on my cheeks, turning my eyes to hers.
“Some things are not meant for us,” Sassi says like a mother to her child. “Give me the phone.”
Peter puts his hand over the video, yet the torment continues in our ears.
“It’s okay.” Sassi walks around the table and kneels with her elbows on my knees, her hands somehow turning the phone to silent with no effort. She pulls the phone from my hands and gives it to Kilon behind her. I fall into her arms. She walks me outside, yet the icy temperature feels comforting somehow. Arek is just now walking back to the cabin after escaping to the forest, his face red from rage as he shakes his hands as though they hurt.
I run to him and our bodies crash. He wraps me so tightly that I can’t breathe, but it’s okay . . . breathing is too difficult. Perhaps he can do it for me. His cheek drops to the top of my head and I’m not sure who is shaking more.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
For the first time, I feel something different—an unfamiliar rage within me. I open my eyes, my tears collecting on Arek’s sleeve.
“I’m ready,” I whisper. “Whatever we need to do. How do we find Ian?”
“We don’t. We ask Leigh to help us.”
