(The fortune teller saw this in a past life. To a tee. I should have believed her but I didn't because after she told me everything Lochlan appeared, put his arm around my neck and pulled me away, telling me not to listen to the crazy old woman. He said she works for Wegmans when she's not with the show and doesn't know how to spell the future, let alone see it. He laughed and that was the end of that.)
As the breeze blew in against the cliff, I watched a million shreds of silver paper flutter into the sea.
Three evenings, three envelopes and tonight Ben has resorted to sitting on the verandah waiting for the devil in the flesh. You see, last night the devil didn't appear, instead sending John with the car, thinking that if I were to travel with Lochlan I might be more inclined to show up at all.
He would be wrong.
I ran out to the car in my bare feet in the dark after staring at it through the window for the better part of an hour and I told John to go home, that I wasn't going in town, that he shouldn't come back and yet another envelope was delivered tonight around six by a city courier company, wedged in the front gate, insistent on a hand delivery that failed because I refused. John will be here later. Like clockwork. Or maybe Caleb himself will come back because this behavior is unusual. This is what Ben would like to see, anyway.
We refuse because I know what Caleb is doing. He doesn't want Ben there, he wants to punish me for venturing too close to the truth and he wants to punish Lochlan for breathing, by making him watch. Caleb's a sick fuck like that, and he's got an axe to grind that has nothing to do with Ben. (I guess that changes too, now). Oddly enough, Caleb quite enjoys Ben, they get along well.
They get along well but Ben is tired of the fear and tired of the sickness and sober enough (thank you very much) to see the wearing and tearing on his princess. He doesn't care about the past. He cares about the present and he cares about our future and neither of those things is going to be sent three steps back and then stumbled over the low railing into the fires of hell. Not on his watch, not anymore. What he considers to be Lochlan's hold is over. Been there, done that, have a t-shirt and a lifetime of psychological scars to prove it. Maybe Jake's methods of barring the door were of the best intentions until Lochlan and then Caleb somehow got to him (I still don't know if that's true). Maybe it will work better for Ben. Ben can't be bought. He only has three weaknesses. Bridget, sex and mind-altering substances so really, how can his plan go wrong?
So he stood on the porch in his jeans and his bare feet (something new) and a black tank top and he tore those envelopes up into little pieces and they're everywhere, scattered all over the front lawn, in the trees, in the grapevines far out by the cliffs and all over the porch. I imagine the wind will take what's left away overnight.
I wonder if I'll still be alive to check.
You see, when push comes to shove here, my knights go into Protect Bridget mode. That's where we are right now. I am the singular focus of everyone in the house and it's an odd and uncomfortable position. One that cricks my neck and makes my knees ache. Hiding behind Ben, sitting cross-legged on the porch as he sits on the top step, my hands gripping the back of his shirt, my head down, pressed against his back, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer in some sort of ultimate sick joke because God does not have the power to save me from Satan and neither does Ben.
No worries, little bee. He can't have you. None of them can. You're mine now. Mine.
I just squeezed my eyes together a little tighter and resumed my prayers to the fallen angels in my concrete room. They will protect Ben for me. The beautiful part is he knows what he's up against, and he wanted me anyway.
Now we wait.
