Back then, it had been a molten-glowing weapon that turned me into a possession.
Della crept to my side, resting her head on my arm. “He was a sick fuck, and I’m so sorry.”
My lips twisted into a smile. “Language, Della Ribbon.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. He was a fucking sick fuck, and I’m glad he’s dead.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “How can you make me smile at a time like this?”
“Same way you make me the luckiest girl alive even when we stand in a place like this.” Her voice caught. “To know I came from these people…” A tear ran down her face. “I’m disgusted. I-I’m appalled. I feel like I’m going to be sick for what they—”
“Della.” Turning to face her, I let the brand clatter to the concrete floor and gathered her in my arms. “Stop.”
She clung to me, her fingernails digging into my back. “I’m so sorry, Ren.” Her tears soaked into my t-shirt. “So sorry for what they did to you.”
“I’m not.” I kissed her brow, pushing her away with a quiet cough. “I would live it all over again because it gave me you.”
Her face contorted with love and abhorrence and everything in between. “We shouldn’t have come here.”
“We didn’t have a choice.” Looking past her to the innocuous barn that had been the stage for so many vile things, I murmured, “I don’t regret running that night, but I do regret not coming back and trying to help. For not going to the authorities and telling them what I escaped from. For not doing something. If I can do something now…even if it’s too late, then I have to try.”
Her slender frame wedged against mine again, gripping with a fury that made my heart leap with love and gratitude. “You saved two lives that night, Ren. Two lives that wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t taken that chance.”
“Is it enough? Is it enough to be grateful that we have each other when so many kids died here?”
“It has to be.” She pressed a kiss to my chest, snuggling into the borrowed coat I wore. “I love you, Ren Wil—” Her head came up, forehead furrowed. “Shaw. Your real last name is Shaw.”
I shook my head and kissed her nose. “No. It’s not.”
“Who are you then?”
“I’m Ren Wild, protector of Della Wild.
“A boy who survived.”
* * * * *
Night had fallen by the time the mayhem slowed down.
A building crew had arrived to remove the asbestos, a trailer was parked up to catalogue the corpses they’d found, and the farm crawled with trespassers.
Officers set up spotlights for the evening crew, while fellow workers handed out takeaway cups of coffee and store-bought sandwiches.
I was hungry, tired, and ready to leave this place.
My bones ached and my lungs throbbed. I couldn’t get rid of the pressure inside me, the ever constant rattle these days.
I wanted nothing more than to sneak away in the dark and vanish with Della.
But I didn’t know if we were allowed.
Was I still under arrest?
Was I free to go or bound to stay?
Another eleven bodies had been found throughout the farm, all in various states of decay and mutilation.
Della had refused to eat an offered muffin, and my stomach was a snarling mess of snakes.
When dusk crept over the overcast day, we’d sat on the steps of the veranda watching, always watching, as tarps covered freshly dug up bones and dogs panted with a job well done on their leashes.
Della stayed close, sharing body heat as the air chilled both of us. I opened my coat wide, welcoming her against me.
“Mr. Shaw?”
My eyes tracked a young detective as she stomped past in muddy boots with a clipboard.
“Mr. Shaw?”
I glanced at the beagle slurping up water in a stainless-steel dish that its handler had put down for him.
“Mr. Shaw?” Someone tapped my shoulder, wrenching my head to look behind me. Martin Murray bent over me, his eyebrow raised.
“You want something?” I asked, my voice gravel and soot from lack of rest.
“Yes. We found something you might want to see.”
Standing on creaking legs, I helped Della up and shrugged out of my coat, so she could keep its warmth. I coughed as my heat dispersed.
She tried to refuse, but I merely bundled her tighter, did up the button, and kissed her forehead. Turning my attention to Martin, I ran a hand over my face, trying to wake myself up.
“Miss Mclary? Mr. Shaw?” A female officer with long black hair in a plait appeared from the house. “Can you come with us, please?”
Della padded toward her, but I stopped short. “That is not my name nor Della’s. We’re Wild. Use it.”
Martin scowled. “But it is. You finally know your real name.”
“It ceased to be my real name the day I was sold.”
He studied me, finally nodding. “You know, all records and proceedings going forward are going to be under the name Ren Shaw and Della Mclary. You have to get used to it.”