The Truths we Burn (The Hollow Boys Book 2)

Sage

One more day.

We had a plan, and it’s finally time to execute it.

This had been a long time coming, and the finality of it sticks to the air like rotting meat. It follows me around, nagging me.

I wanted it done today, but we had to wait for Alistair, who was spending the day with Briar at her uncle’s for his birthday. Had to make sure there was a balance between revenge and love.

I’d learned over my time being around them that Alistair had a need for needing to be around when things went down. Not just because he had control issues or needed to be in charge, but because if things went badly, he wanted to be the one to take the fall. To be the one that got them out of trouble and away from any harm. That’s who he is to them.

The older protector.

The protector.

Their constant shadow.

And I respect him for that, even if he still hasn’t warmed up to me. Actually, none of them have really warmed up, especially Thatcher. He’s made it very clear that he’s not a fan of mine.

But that’s okay because Rook has.

Rook is on fire for me, and I intend on being the oxygen to continue fueling those flames.

It had been a few days since the Spring Luncheon, and I don’t think there had been a moment he’d spent outside of my body. And I was more than okay with that.

Even amongst all the turmoil and chaos that was happening around us, we had found our own little haven between the cracks, living and breathing in the moments where it was just us.

I hadn’t realized just how much I was missing before due to us not being able to be out in public together. Now I can openly gawk at him when he walks into a room or sit beside him in class if I want.

We are together.

And I’ve never felt more alive, even in a time when I was going through so much sorrow. I know I have him, and I no longer have to face the darkness alone, because he is the light that never goes out. And it’s all mine.

It amazes me how we’re all still living such normal lives, all the while such sinister plans are in the making. That despite the wickedness that is happening, we’re able to make something beautiful from it.

“It’ll only be a minute, I promise. I just need to change clothes,” I tell Lyra, who walks behind me up the sidewalk to Silas’s home.

Rook still wants me staying there, just until Frank meets his end.

“What’s wrong with the outfit you’re wearing? We’re just going to Tilly’s.”

“I’ve been wearing this skirt all day, and I am desperate for a pair of leggings. It’ll take two seconds tops.”

What I found in Lyra’s closet was something I knew I’d take to my grave. It was her secret to keep, her truth to burn. I knew it would come out eventually, but until that time came, I would keep her obsession close to my chest just like I’d promised.

Everything had been going so smoothly for the past few days that I should have expected something to go terribly wrong.

I should have seen it coming.

But there was nothing that could prepare me for what was waiting for us or just how drastically it would change the course of everything.

When the door opens, there were three things that happen.

One.

Silas’s mother, Zoe, is sitting on the couch with Caleb and Levi flanking her sides, consoling her as large tears stream down her face.

Two.

Scott Hawthorne, a sophisticated, mild-tempered father, is pacing a hole through the floor. Whoever is on the opposite end of the phone call he’s having is braving a storm I want no part of.

Three.

There’s blood on the floor leading to the door. Not enough to warrant someone’s death, but enough to make you worry.

“Sage!” Zoe gasps, standing up. “Have you heard from Si?”

“No, what’s going on? Is he alright?” I ask, concern taking over.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

It is now I notice that Scott is sporting a white bandage on his hand, one that is allowing blood to leak through it.

“What happened?” I say, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Silas is in the middle of a psychotic episode, one of the first since he was a young boy. He has given in to his psychosis and has started to believe that is his reality.”

“But his medicine, I thought that was helping—”

“It was,” Zoe sobs. “But he’s stopped taking them. We had no idea until today when his father confronted him about his symptoms getting worse, and he admitted that he had switched the pills for a vitamin supplement. There was no way we could have known.”

I turn to Lyra. My first instinct is to call Rook—he would know what to do, right?

Guilt swims in my gut.

This is partially my fault. I gave him too much time to come clean to Rook about what happened between us. But he’d been okay the past few days. He seemed alright, and now we are here.

All it took was a snap of a finger.

“I tried to stop him from leaving, but he was too far inside his head. I fought him, trying to keep him in the house long enough to call an ambulance, but he—” Scott raises his wounded hand, saying it with actions instead of words. “He just kept talking about how the voices were telling him what he needed to do so he could—” He chokes on the words, the sadness of a worried father taking over him. “So he could get Rose back.”

There are so many things that could mean, and at the same time, we could have no idea, because whatever is happening inside Silas right now is between Silas and his demons, something that none of us is able to comprehend.

Schizophrenia is an unpredictable mental disease, one that takes no mercy on its victims, and Si is no exception.

My hands are shaking as I pull my phone from my pocket.

“We don’t know where he’s at, where he’s headed, what he is capable of doing to himself.” Scott runs a frustrated hand down his face.

“My baby boy,” Zoe cries, the tears continuing to flow as she walks to her husband for a comfort that can only come from Silas being home safe. “Scott, our baby.”

He pulls her into his chest, holding her tightly to his body as if his arms could protect her from the pain outside of them.

“I’m going to call Rook,” I say nervously. “Maybe he’ll have a better idea of where he might be.”

I click his name on my phone, still titled Lucifer.

“We already called him. He was the first person we contacted,” Scott says just as I hear the dial tone end.

I can hear Rook’s breathing on the other end.

I can feel his panic. His worry. His pain.

“We are going to bring him back,” I tell them, not knowing what else I can say that will make this better.

“Don’t tell them things you aren’t sure of, TG,” Rook says in my ear, making my chest throb.

Lyra and I leave the house and head towards the car.

“Rook, I have to tell you something,” I mutter, “I should’ve said something earlier, I know, and this is my fault. I know this is my fault—”

I’m afraid to say what I need to.

Because I know when I do, he is going to hate me.

And I can’t do that again. He can’t hate me.

I just got him back.

One of the last things Rose talked to me about was her fear of Silas hating her, and I thought how crazy is that. That she’s afraid of something so silly.

But I understand now.

“I’m so sorry, but Silas—”

“He told me.”

Relief and confusion wash over me.

“About everything?” I croak.

“Everything. He even included the part about you giving him the ultimatum.” He breathes out. “It’s not your fault.”

I slide into the passenger seat of Lyra’s car, wanting nothing more than to be in front of him so he could see me saying this.

“And it’s not your fault, Rook. You thought he was taking his medicine. There was no way you or anyone else would have known he switched them out.”

I know where he is mentally. I know all he is doing is blaming himself for what he couldn’t have seen coming. He is punishing himself, wanting to hurt himself for not seeing the signs or recognizing this sooner.

“It’s not your fault,” I mutter into the speaker, hoping he can understand that for himself.

“He’s my best friend, Sage. I knew something was wrong, but I just didn’t want to accept it. And now—”

There is a loud slamming in the background, like a fist against something hard, followed by Thatcher’s voice muttering something about calming down.

“There is nothing we can do about it now, Rook. But you are right, he is your best friend. You know him better than anyone else. Where is he headed? Where would he go right now?”

It’s a long shot because we don’t know who Silas is when he’s inside of his psychosis, but if anyone would know, it would be Rook. I would take the blunt end of whatever came from the pain Rook needs right now, but I need him to focus on finding Silas first.

Because yes, he is his best friend.

But he is also my sister’s one and only love. She’d never forgive me if something happened to him, and I would never forgive myself.

“Rook,” I say with a little more force. “Where would Silas go?”

There is a beat of silence.

“Frank. He’s going to Frank.”

Rook

I knew he wasn’t okay.

I knew it long before this moment.

I knew it long before he told me he tried to kiss Sage in the middle of a hallucination.

I knew he wasn’t okay, and I didn’t do anything because I watched him take his medication. I saw him take them, and I trusted them to do their job. To protect him from the voices that I couldn’t shield him from.

But he was taking fucking vitamins for who knows how long. I couldn’t figure out why he’d do something so reckless. Why he would risk falling into his illness even further on top of grieving Rose. I thought I’d done enough, read enough about it. I thought I was prepared for this possible outcome that came with schizophrenia.

I wasn’t.

“Silas—”

“Shut the fuck up! Shut up,” I hear my friend shout. “I know what you did. They know. We know. And I have to do something about it. If I do this, I’ll get her back, do you understand? I can get her back.”

His back is to me, but I can see Frank lying on the living room floor, blood dripping from his forehead. He raises his hands almost in a praying position.

“She’s gone.” His voice is shaking, “I’m sorry for what I did, but she’s gone. Killing me won’t do anything.”

Wrong.

Killing him is going to feed the hellhound in our souls. Frank wears the omen of death like a thick cologne. His time is up. He’d corrupted and fooled enough people, and it’s time for the bearers of death to serve their purpose.

But it won’t be the end, will it?

It can’t be.

We can’t just turn this information over to the FBI or the police as we had originally planned. Not when we knew Cain was dirty—we have no idea how many of them were involved in the Halo. It would be a mistake to go to them.

However, that brought up the question of what do we do about the missing girls?

We could live our lives with blood soaking our hands, with the stench of death attached to our souls forever. It was a decision we’d all come to terms with, but could we knowingly look the other way while more girls were being taken and sold into sex slavery?

I can’t speak for all of us, but I know my answer.

“No, no,” Silas mutters, the gun trembling in his hands. “I know, I know what he did. I know what I did. Yes, I know what I have to do, just—” He presses his hands into his head. “Be quiet. Be quiet.”

It’s like he’s having a conversation with multiple people and he can’t figure out who to reply to first. All of his words are rushing together, and everything he’s saying doesn’t make any sense. He’s trapped in a war inside of his own mind, and I have no clue how to help him in this battle.

There’s no sword. No shield. No weapon.

I have nothing.

“Silas,” I say calmly, stepping farther into the space, Thatcher close behind me. “It’s just me, man.”

I hate treating him like some wild animal because he isn’t. He’s just trapped and can’t see a way out.

He just needs help.

Abruptly, he spins around, staring at me, but it seems like he isn’t actually seeing me.

“Rook,” he expresses, “they wouldn’t let me wait. I couldn’t wait anymore. We were running out of time.”

I nod. “That’s alright. We don’t have to wait. You don’t have to wait.”Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

I walk closer to him, needing to get that gun out of his hand. I had stood in front of multiple targets while Silas shot objects around me. I would never doubt his aim, and I’m not going to deny him Frank’s death, but I’m afraid of what he’ll do after he’s done shooting him.

“Let us help you, okay? That’s why we’re here. We are here to help.” I try to keep my voice level, despite my nerves.

I keep walking until I’m right in front of him, only focusing on him.

I’ve never been inside of the Donahue house, only seeing it from the outside when we would drop Rosie off and when I’d sneak Sage out at night. You would think I would be used to normal places harboring ominous things.

“Don’t let him kill me, please. He has lost his mind—you can’t let him kill me. You have to help me,” Frank shouts from his place on the ground.

Silas shakes his head aggressively, looking to the right of me where there is no one, just a love seat.

“He is my friend. He wouldn’t do that,” he says, “He wouldn’t.”

“Hey, hey, Silas, look at me,” I tell him, trying to keep him here in reality, afraid to touch him because I’m not sure if that will help or harm him.

“What are they saying? Talk to me.”

“They—” He squeezes his eyes shut, cringing like he’s in pain. “They are telling me you’re going to stop me. That you don’t want me to get Rose back. They want me—” He reopens his eyes, looking at me and I swear all I see is him screaming for help. “They want me to kill you.”

I feel Thatcher shift behind my back, both of us facing away from the kitchen.

“If I could bring Rosie back, I swear to God I would, Silas. I would do anything,” I say, meaning every ounce of it. “But I can’t. There is nothing anyone can do to bring her back. The voices, it’s your mind playing tricks on you. They aren’t real, okay? It’s just inside of your head.”

I’m so angry that these things inside of his mind are taking him from me, and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t fight them. I can’t battle them for him, and I just feel useless. Not right now.

I promised I would look after him. I promised myself I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

And look at what I let happen.

“You can’t do this. They won’t let you—”

My hands twitch a few times before I snap my head in Frank’s direction. “If you open your mouth again, I’ll burn your fucking eyes out, is that clear?” I bite out.

“Please, Rook. You’ve known me since you were a boy. Don’t do this. If you let me live, I’ll tell you everything I know. There are more people here in Ponderosa Springs involved. So many, you don’t have the slightest clue. I was just a victim to their organization. There are more powerful people in charge. You can throw them all in prison, me included, just don’t kill me.”

“Frank,” I seethe, staring down at him hard, “What isn’t clicking for you here? We don’t need you to figure any of that out. You are of no use to me alive, understand? The best thing you can do for me right now, is die.”

He shakes his head, fat tears streaming down his ballooned face,

“Please, I never wanted Rose to die, she was my little girl—”

“He said to be quiet!” Silas shouts, slinging the butt end of the gun into Frank’s head, causing a loud thud, followed by him crashing onto the floor. His eyes are closed, and his body is limp, but I can still see his chest moving to let me know he is still alive.

Doubt hits me like a wave, could we figure out who else was tied into Halo without an insider? I mean we had gotten this far.

We’d gone too far.

And if I had to guess we wouldn’t need to go looking for anyone else in involved.

They would be coming for us.

Very soon.

Silas continues to pace, muttering incoherently to himself and whoever else it is that he sees inside of this room right now. I walk a little closer, reaching my hand out tentatively.

“It’s over, Silas. It’s over, okay? Frank is gone, see.” I point towards the ground where the re-elected mayor of Ponderosa Springs lies rigidly still. I know he’s unconscious, but Si doesn’t need to.

“We did it. It’s all over, and now we can get you some help,” I say easily. “Just hand me the gun, and I promise you, it will all be okay. I just need you to trust me.”

He looks to be in physical pain, his body trembling and head shaking, and there’s nothing I can do to soothe him from the anguish he is feeling right now.

“No, no, this isn’t right. She was supposed to come back.” He rubs his hand down his face, looking back to the right of me instead of looking at me. “What do you mean?” he says, eyebrows furrowed. “You promise? Yeah, if you promise, I’ll do it.”

My entire world seems to come to a staggering halt as Silas pulls his eyes back to me, and all I see is an emptiness inside. Nothing but a harsh void staring back at me as he raises the barrel of the gun to his head.

I feel my mouth go dry, and my gut twists and churns.

Round, heavy tears leak from the edges of his eyes.

“Don’t do this to me, Silas,” I demand, stepping into his space. “Let me help you.”

Tears fall to the floor as he shakes his head, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. “You can’t help me. The only way you can help me is if I kill myself. You have to understand I have to do this.”

“No,” I choke out, grabbing for his shoulder, “You are not leaving me. I won’t let you. You have to know this isn’t you, that those aren’t real. This is real, Silas. We are real.”

Something inside of him breaks, because as soon as his hand twitches, I remove the gun from his fingers, pulling it into my own grip.

His head drops onto my shoulder, his body nearly falling limp in my arms.

“I’m so tired, Rook,” he whispers.

“I know,” I say, rubbing his back.

Tired of the voices.

Tired of his sickness.

Tired of it all.

At some point, I have to ask myself if we were doing more harm than good to him while hunting down what happened to Rose. We knew that revenge wasn’t going to bring her back, it wouldn’t make any of us miss her any less, and all it seems to be doing right now is breaking Silas even more.

“Son, I’m going to need you to put that gun down, and I need everyone to put their hands in the air.”

You have got to be fucking shitting me.

With the gun still in my possession, I lift it up as I spin around, meeting eyes with Detective Finn Breck holding his own weapon to the side of Thatcher’s head, his arm wrapped around his neck, yanking him into his chest to keep him still.

Thatcher is still slightly taller, making this situation look quite comical if his life wasn’t in danger.

“Why are people always pointing guns at me?” Thatcher sighs, rolling his eyes as if it’s only a minor inconvenience and not a matter of life and death.

They stand in front of the open kitchen, Finn having come from the back door, I’m assuming. Most likely because Frank called him before Silas had subdued him.

I keep the gun pointed at Finn, fully aware that if he makes a move, I’d be more likely to punch.

“You either put it down and come willingly, or I’m going to shoot your friend here. Even stevens for my partner,” he says, eyes flaring maliciously.

I don’t bother to deny it, because only one of us is gonna make it out of this, and I’m not gonna go out a pussy.

“Here I was thinking you were one of the good ones the entire time. Is it something in the water here that makes everyone turn into backstabbing pieces of shit? Or are you all just born into sex slavery and pedophilia?” I ask, tilting my head in question.

I want to be surprised that he was in on this with his more-than-dead partner. The one that had been turned into soup. Sulfuric acid is a miracle worker for a man trying to get rid of a body.

But I’m not shocked. Everyone has their foot in something immoral. This town is drowning in it.

“Don’t look down on me for shit you can’t comprehend, boy.”

The back door cracks open quietly, and I can see it out of the corner of my eye. I’d never been the damsel in distress, and I had never needed rescuing, but I’m not opposed to a little help at this moment.

“You’re right. I can’t comprehend how a man with a family would throw of it away for what, some quick dirty cash? Who seems like the boy now?”

“It’s much more than that. You haven’t even touched the surface of how far the Halo runs or who it has its claws dug inside of. Even if you could find a way out of this, they won’t stop till you are all dead. They know you. They know your names. Your families, your life. I’m doing you a favor here,” He laughs, “Ending it here and now, before people much scarier than me come hunting you down.”

“This isn’t going to end the way you think it will,” I tell him, holding my arm around Silas to prevent him from moving anywhere.

“Yeah? Who seems in more control here?” He scoffs, choking Thatch a little tighter, causing my friend to slit his eyes threateningly, tired of having someone he doesn’t know touch him. “The fed whose partner was killed by a group of college kids on a rampage? Or the decorated officer trying to protect the town mayor?”

Bad things happen when angry people are left to grieve. Even worse things accrue when good people are forced to protect the ones they care for.

“My money is on the girl with the knife.”

Lyra sends the silver edge of the blade into the side of Finn’s neck, sinking into the vein like she’s slicing through a ripened fruit. The blood loss is immediate. It spurts from the open wound when she yanks it from the hole.

Scarlet liquid that reeks of metal cascades across Thatcher’s shoulder, pouring down the front of his shirt like a rushing waterfall. There is a wild look in his eye, one I’ve never seen before as he watches it drip down him, slipping down the collar of his shirt.

Lyra’s hand is steady as she drops the knife to the floor. There is no fear or panic on her face; she looks like she always does—passive and unbothered by what’s going on in the world. Blood coats her tiny pale hand, and instead of looking to the man she’d just killed as he falls to the ground, she simply steps back, letting his body slug to the floor, and stays fixated on Thatcher. Her gaze never moves from him, not even for a second.

“This was a new shirt,” he breathes, his chest heaving as he turns around to look at her, a dead body the only thing between them.

“It was ugly. The blood made it look better,” she says, lifting her sunken eyes up to him. With her bloody hand and the purple bags beneath her eyes from the lack of sleep, she reminds me of a Tim Burton character—frizzy hair, eyes too big for her face, pasty skin.

“Is he dead?” I hear come from the kitchen, and it only takes her voice for me to turn all my attention in her direction.

I never believed in Heaven or Hell.

Fate or destiny.

I never stood outside and wished on falling stars.

No, I never believed in anything like that, but I do believe in her.

“Is my dad dead?” she breathes, her eyes dancing with innocent little demons, and I’d never seen chaos in such a beautiful state.

Such a striking shade of blue, tangled with the fire I love to play with.

Is it fate? Is it destiny?

That as a boy, even before the death of my mother, I would sit for hours staring into open flames, refusing to pull my eyes away from it. Too consumed, too enthralled with the way the smoke sang in swirls and the embers stung my skin.

And those same flames dance in the corners of her eyes. So hot, so fucking blue, and I want to roast alive inside of them.

Maybe I’d always seen her inside the fire.

Or maybe I’d just been born in the blaze.

“Not yet,” Thatcher says. “We need to get this cleaned up, Rook,”

“Get Silas, go with Lyra, and get the fuck out of here. When the police show up, I can’t have you covered in blood,” I say, moving towards Sage.

“What are you going to do?”

“Whatever needs to be done. I just need you out of here before that happens.”

I reach her, my hands caging her face between them, pulling her lips to my own. I drown myself in her touch for a solitary moment between the mayhem. My piece of heaven inside my very own hell.

“Do you trust me?” I whisper against her mouth.

She nods, wrapping her fingers around my wrist. “Always.”

I lead her farther into the kitchen, searching around for the materials I need. I toss a copper pan onto the stove, opening her fridge and grabbing some random piece of frozen meat before grabbing the vegetable oil.

We don’t have time to get rid of two bodies. We don’t have the time to clean up our evidence from being inside this place. There are too many variables involved, and we need to get rid of this mess now.

“What are we going to do?” she asks, watching me as I turn on all the burners on high, placing the pan onto one of the open ones along with the meat.

I drain the entire bottle of oil across the stovetop, the pan, along the kitchen counter. Our best bet out of this is making this fire look like an accident, like the people who died inside weren’t murdered; they’d simply gotten trapped by the flames.

This was it.

The moment we’d all waited so long for.

Rome hadn’t been built in a day, that’s what Alistair kept telling me when I’d get impatient.

But it burned down in one.

“Burn it. All of it. To the fucking ground. And it’s not we,” I say, looking at her, knowing if something were to go wrong right now, I’d do anything to protect her from it.

She had never been the innocent Eve in the garden.

She had always been my Lilith. My equal. My queen. A phoenix.

I reach into my front pocket, pulling my matches out.

“This is your revenge. Your embers to make and your ashes to rise from. You never needed anything but the match.”