Page 7 of Give Me Peace

I’m afraid to move her without knowing the severity of her injuries, but EMS will take forever and I’m not sure how much longer she’s going to last. I carefully slide my arm around her back and pull her forward. Scooping her too thin frame into my arms, I hope like fuck if she does come around she doesn’t fly into a panic. If she freaks out down here one or all of us will likely end up hurt.

I nod at Ro to lead the way, and with carefully placed steps, I follow closely behind. Saylor’s cradled against me, her blonde hair matted and filthy. When we reach the shaft, I pass her off to Roan, knowing he’s the stronger one out of the two of us. He avoids looking at her bruised body at all costs, choosing to stare blankly at a spot on the wall instead. I climb back up as quickly as possible. Once I’m back topside, I take the few free seconds we have before Ro and Saylor make it out to fill in Denvers.

“Call it in. The old lady was spot on and she needs medical attention. Immediately.” Ro pops out before Denvers can even process my words, Saylor’s frail form visible a second later. Muffled curses can be heard as he pulls himself up, everyone scattering to make room. The deputies who’d been less than helpful have come closer, their eyes wide with shock. There’s this moment of silence where no one moves or does anything, the gravity of the situation surrounding us all. And then Denvers bursts into action, barking orders and directing us to his suburban.

Ro carefully hands Saylor over once we reach the SUV, his entire body trembling as his takes the passenger seat. I slip in the back, situating myself in the middle of the bench. As she lays in my lap, I carefully brush as much of the grime from her face as I can. The pictures I’ve seen of Saylor were from five years ago, and while some parts of her look familiar, a lot has changed.

“Five minutes, Calloway. How’s she doing?” Denvers states, his eyes connecting with mine in the rearview mirror.

“She’s alive.” That’s the only response I know to give. He swallows thickly, his eyes darting back to the road.

“Duncan and Woolard were pulling in as we left. The scene’s still secure.” I nod, grateful we didn’t just leave everything to the locals. It’s going to be a shitshow trying to weed through the department to see if there’s anyone else who’s been on Price’s payroll for more than just their civic duties. Every case the sheriff worked will now have to be reviewed.

I glance down, in awe of who I’m holding. Grazing the back of my knuckles along her cheek, I let the stress of the last few hours start to fade and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. I trace my thumb across her eyebrow, then towards her temple. When her lashes flutter, I focus on the movement. Slowly, her eyes blink open and connect with mine. I’ve never seen such a pretty shade of blue. Saylor stares at me, but before she even has the chance to be confused, they slip back closed.

We come to a screeching halt at the entrance of the Emergency Department of Laiken Regional, snapping me back to the present. It’s chaos as we rush through the automatic doors, Denvers demanding a doctor while the nurses and receptionist look on in confusion. And Roan, fuck…he looks like he might need to get checked out himself. Finally, someone in a white coat comes to offer assistance. We follow the middle-aged man through a set of double doors and down a long corridor before we reach an exam room. As I lay Saylor on the table, I have to force myself to step away and let the medical professionals do their job.

Denvers relays as much information as he can, giving him the basics of her medical history and the circumstances. I’m only half paying attention to their conversation, too busy watching Saylor, but I can tell the doc recognizes her name. I have a feeling her sudden reappearance is going to send a shock through the whole community. Once they’ve gotten what they need from us we’re ushered out and directed to a private waiting area meant for family. I take my first full breath of the night, closing my eyes as I sink into one of the chairs.

It takes a while to get myself back together, my nerves well and truly shaken from everything that’s happened. Without making it too obvious, I glance at Roan. He’s tense, his hands squeezed into fists at his sides. He’s exhibiting all the signs of a panic attack, but I know it’ll only make things worse if I try to intervene. Denvers steps out to take a call, but I keep watching Ro, choosing to stay silent for the time being. I know he prefers to work through shit on his own, and I have no problem with that, so long as he actually does.

I’ve known Roan for nine years. Of all places, we met playing a video game. He was seventeen and I was nineteen. It’d been a way to pass the time, something to do to stave off my boredom. But for Ro? He’d found a way to live out his revenge through a computer screen. We’d been playing together for over a year before he finally confided in me. I learned he was born in Albania but his family had moved to the states when he was eight. He didn’t remember much about living there, and never really knew what made his parents make such a drastic move.

Turns out, his dad had gotten involved with the mafia. He’d accrued debts he wouldn’t have been able to pay in five lifetimes, much less one. So, he packed up his family and ran. But people who traffic everything from guns to flesh aren’t the type of men you walk away from. Maybe if he’d handed himself over as payment, they wouldn’t have hunted him down and demanded the life of his innocent daughter in return.

Even more fucked up than that, is that Ro’s father agreed. He traded his own pathetic existence for his child’s. Elira had been four years younger than Roan, but he’d loved his baby sister something fierce. He’d been her protector from the day she was born, and in the end, her last moments in this world were full of pain and betrayal. I don’t think Ro has ever, or will ever, forgive himself for not being able to save her.

Poetically, the Albanians put a bullet through his father’s head anyway. They had him hand over his kid, made the entire family watch as she was brutalized, and still took his life after making him believe it’d been spared. It fractured Ro, having to stand there, unable to do anything. His mom disappeared shortly after, her heartbreak turning her into someone he didn’t recognize. So, from the age of sixteen, Ro had been on his own. He’d fixed his own problems and made his own way.

For someone like me, his life was…unfathomable. Things like that didn’t happen in the real world. Those sorts of horrors were reserved for movies and books. I was dumbfounded that no one had intervened. But I’d lived in a bubble. My parents have more money than they know what to do with, but it’s never been enough. They’ve chased career achievements my whole life, and that didn’t leave much time for me. I was never treated poorly, just indifferent. But every summer I’d vacation at my Nan’s house in the UK, and those trips plenty made up for the lack of affection I received at home.

When Nan died, she’d willed me everything. Along with the trust from my parents, I was pretty set. I guess my superhero obsession, steady cash flow, and Ro’s fucked up childhood somehow led us to talking about what we’d do differently if given the chance. How we could make a difference, miniscule or grand. We were still kids when we first tossed around the idea of SOTERIA, but over the years, it started to feel like it could become a real possibility. Once Kash and Krew came along, it felt meant to be.

I’ve tried to avoid putting Ro in a position like we were in today. He’s come a long way and the last thing I’d ever want to do is set him back. I’ll give him time to work through his emotions, but I won’t sit back and watch my brother sink himself farther and farther into the pit of depression he’s currently circling. No one deserves that sort of metal torment, least of all him.

Chapter Four

Roan

It feels like the blood pumping through my veins is made of lava, burning me from the inside out. Guilt is a nasty bitch. She’s had her claws sunk deep in my psyche for so goddamn long, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be fully rid of her. The pain of losing Elira has dulled over the years; it’s not as debilitating as it once was. Those early days I barely left the bed. I lost all sense of purpose, and a few times I debated if it was even worth it to keep putting up the good fight. It sounded so much easier to just follow her into the next life.

It'll always hurt, but I’ve gotten better. I’ve learned how to cope with the loss of my sister, as much as one can. But there are moments, flashes of a memory or physical reminders, like this fucked up night, that suck me right back in and it feels like the very day it happened. I’m once again that scrawny sixteen-year-old being held by two beefed up criminals as I’m forced to watch the desecration and death of my sister. I’d screamed my throat raw but it hadn’t mattered. Nothing I tried had made them deviate from the orders they’d been given.

And like an obsessed lover, grief is always shadowing guilt. I’ve thought about that day so often I have it memorized, picking it apart down to the minute Elira took her last breath. I’d agonized over what I could’ve done differently. If I’d taken her for ice cream, then maybe we wouldn’t have been home when those Albanian fucks kicked in the door. Or if I had noticed sooner that our father was a shady piece of shit, I might’ve convinced our mom to leave him while we still had the chance. We could’ve been long gone by the time his sins came back around, demanding penance for crimes we never committed.

Lochlan Calloway is the sole reason I’m still here. When we first connected, I had no idea the role he’d come to play in my life. I don’t think I’d even spoken to another person since my mom decided to bail. Until him. The separation my headset offered helped me let my guard down. He didn’t feel real, so I had no reason to filter my words. I was a gruff asshole at first, but he never disappeared. Like clockwork, he’d log in daily to the first-person shooter game I’d become obsessed with and we’d talk about mindless bullshit for hours.

It'd taken time for me to fully open up, but Loch was patient. And when he finally got the full picture, he cemented himself in my life and refused to watch me self-sabotage any longer. I was seventeen and bordering on alcoholic. I’d drink whatever I could find just to numb the pain for a little while. But it always came back, accompanied by a hangover so brutal I’d rather take an icepick through the eye. So, he got me help.

From the other side of the country, he worked his magic and paid up my back rent. Kept me off the radar of the local department of family and children services. Loch found a therapist that specialized in post-traumatic stress disorder and kept me accountable every step of the way. As soon as I hit eighteen and couldn’t be flagged by the state, I left the shithole my sister died in for the last goddamn time. Loch purchased a condo close by, since we weren’t sure where we wanted to plant roots permanently.

He became my family, the only I had left. It made sense to make it official, so I changed my last name to his. We’re brothers in every sense, fuck what a blood test might say, and I couldn’t stand to be attached to the Ahmeti line another day. I’d been determined to sever any remaining connection to my father, including my heritage. It was unwarranted, but I came to loathe anything Albanian. It was hard not to when the ruthless fucks who ran the country had torn my family to shreds.

Even now, I can feel Loch’s eyes on me. Analyzing every tic of my jaw and labored inhale. I’ve gone through the breathing exercises I’ve been taught to do in moments like this about a dozen times. But I can’t get that image out of my head. I’d sworn we were too late. The broken state of Saylor’s body and the knowledge that she’d been enduring who knows what in that pit of fucking horrors for five years, had the walls I’d carefully crafted crumbling in an instant.

And the guilt. Fuck me. She’s been here, only a few miles from where she grew up, all this time. How the hell does something like this happen? There’d been no indication she was even in the states still. In fact, everything pointed to that being the least likely scenario. Yet here we are, twiddling our fucking thumbs as we wait for someone to come update us on the state of the girl we’d all thought was long gone. None of us would ever admit to it, but I know we never thought this day would come. Not after the twins came across that picture.

“What a fucking night.” Denvers sighs as he ambles back in, roughly running a hand through his graying hair as he takes the seat across from Loch. “I hate to leave, but I have to get back over there. I’ve got several places I have to visit, one being the nursing home in Lyola. We need an in-depth statement from Ms. Price and the CNA who called it in.”